Oscar Wilde observed that “life imitates art,” and there they were: the three grand poohbahs of social media, stone-facing the Senate Homeland Security Committee on their zoom screens like a trio of James Bond villains — Jack “Twitter” Dorsey, complete with sinister nose-ring and necromancer’s beard, Mark “Facebook” Zuckerberg, pasty and blank as a knish, and Sundar “Google” Pichai the Merciless. Only missing were the Persian cats in their laps. They were on-board to answer how come their monstrous information engines were censoring the news so as to possibly influence a national election, and they offered the confabulated fantasy that their cancellation of the Biden Family influence-peddling story in The New York Post, and
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Oscar Wilde observed that “life imitates art,” and there they were: the three grand poohbahs of social media, stone-facing the Senate Homeland Security Committee on their zoom screens like a trio of James Bond villains — Jack “Twitter” Dorsey, complete with sinister nose-ring and necromancer’s beard, Mark “Facebook” Zuckerberg, pasty and blank as a knish, and Sundar “Google” Pichai the Merciless. Only missing were the Persian cats in their laps.
They were on-board to answer how come their monstrous information engines were censoring the news so as to possibly influence a national election, and they offered the confabulated fantasy that their cancellation of the Biden Family influence-peddling story in The New York Post, and disabling the accounts of sundry un-Woketarian journalists, was actually a policy of “transparency.” With the election only days away, the subtext of their demeanor was a clear “Fuck you, you can’t do anything about it” to the American people.
Apparently so, but their insolence may be answered by the antitrust case lately teed up against them by the Department of Justice, especially if said election doesn’t go exactly the way they’ve attempted to engineer it. The rest of the Woke news media followed suit with the trio, of course, in an extraordinary affront to the public interest. The New York Times, CNN, and the rest of the gang completed their metamorphosis from a free press to Orwell’s memory hole, where reality goes to die.
But the Biden family grifting story has a life of its own, and the story is that the Democratic Party’s candidate for president would not survive a month in office before being dragged through some dreadful legal proceeding as a threat to national security, having sold himself to the rulers of several foreign countries, all too neatly documented to ignore.
For now, with the news media covering for him, Mr. Biden has managed to duck the story without refuting the authenticity of the evidence, namely, troves of genuine emails and texts between the principals of the various companies set up (in Delaware!) by his son, Hunter Biden, naming the former vice-president as an informed accomplice in schemes to sell his “services” to all comers. And he came pretty cheap, too, considering that the tens of millions proffered was mere walking-around-money to the CCP-connected Chinese billionaires, and others, who sought the deals. They even sent Hunter a hundred-large just “to buy a car.” (Did he get a Chevy Spark and blow the change up his nose, as was his wont, I wonder?)
The now infamous “Laptop from Hell” left behind brainlessly by Hunter in a Delaware repair shop apparently contains a parallel trove of photos and videos self-chronicling the scion’s sordid private life — sex, drugs, etc. — suggesting that he has set himself up as the perfect target for blackmailing operations. And goodness knows what Chinese intel on its own initiative recorded him doing in the hotels there (with amenities supplied) on his many visits to their land. Said laptop was also, it turns out, in the possession of the FBI as far back as the impeachment preliminaries in Adam Schiff’s House Intel Committee, fall of 2019. Since it was full of material counter-evidence about the issue at hand — the president’s phone call to Ukraine’s President Zelensky vis-a-vis the Biden family’s shady doings in that country — the question arises of how deep was the FBI’s complicity in the impeachment ruse?
Could FBI Director Christopher Wray not have known of the laptop’s existence when it came into the agency? I doubt it. Could Mr. Wray have concealed the information from Attorney General Barr? Yes, quite possibly. In the meantime, Mr. Barr has not said a word about the entire Biden pay-for-play / laptop extravaganza. I imagine he’s chewing the office furniture at Main Justice in a fury over it with the election pending, and his duty to avoid influencing the outcome. Mr. Trump has felt a little freer to share the wicked business with the public in his campaign appearances, setting the table for a banquet of consequences when the election is over.
If it can be gotten over, since the Democrats have made no secret of their elaborate plan to confound the results with post November 3 ballot harvesting and Lawfare shenanigans in the swing states — to be accompanied by riots staged by their Antifa and BLM shock troops. I think the idea is to provoke Mr. Trump to call out US troops to quell the riots, thereby opening him up to accusations of being a tyrant. I suspect the Dems will overplay their hand on that trick, since a sizable portion of the public that has not collectively lost its mind is good and goddam sick of riots, arson, destruction of property, and the looting capers that go with them. Mr. Trump has overcome every adversity thrown in his path for four years, and I believe he will get through this final tribulation, beep-beep. And then the games can begin in earnest.
Mr. Biden apparently changed his mind about “putting a lid” on the last week of his campaign and strayed out of his basement in what looks like a desperate effort to dispel the odium hanging over him. He might as well just paint a big “L” on his forehead. Thursday evening, he was onstage in Tampa, angry and fulminating to his usual sparse audience, when the skies opened. The audience peeled away in the pouring rain and so did Joe Biden after only nineteen minutes of bitter vituperation, the perfect picture of loserdom… Captain Queeg meets Willie Loman… without the charm.
Reprinted with permission from Kunstler.com.