Washington Examiner
Moderna CEO Stephane Bancel announced his pharmaceutical company is throwing out millions of its COVID-19 vaccines due to a “big demand problem.”
Bancel’s comments came while speaking on a panel at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, this week.
“It’s sad to say I’m in the process of throwing 30 million doses in the garbage because nobody wants them. We have a big demand problem,” Bancel said. More
The lack of demand is very encouraging from my perspective. It means that the sheeple are finally waking up. What worries me now though is what are they putting in the baby formula that is being shipped over here from Europe.
What if they flush this stuff down the drain and it causes mutations in water creatures and microorganisms in the streams, rivers, lakes and oceans?
You won’t hear one libtard whine about it.
maybe they should go back to the ‘free donut’ bonus
I don’t know why he is whining. The junglejuice jabs were paid for by the US taxpayers.
toss them in fauci’s yard
probably, they need to make room for the next scam
Oh, boo-hoo.
I demand you shove it up your ass.
Sideways.
After breaking one end of the vial.
All 30 million doses.
Problem
Solved.
Sorry Dr. Tar, but Fur, who never reads anything I write, closed down the last thread I hijacked even though I don’t recall giving permission.
So I’m taking this, https://iotwreport.com/bear-spray-does-not-work-like-bug-spray/ and I’m sticking it here.
Because I don’t play four square by your school yard rulez……man.
Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted by Hurricane Hank down there in Florida I was talking about Buttface. The worlds coolest dog.
Never told anyone this before….but you know how Cartman and me are like frienamies? O.K. I found out that Buttface liked to creep under the covers and snuggle with Cartman. Even if he had female company. Actually especially if he had female company. She’d wiggle between them and then lay on her back and snore.
So anyway, I hear all this. It’s early afternoon. Gave Buttface a slim jim. Hours later I heard Cartman complaining about his stinky dog.
Days go by. Everything is mellow. Cartman has a date. Extremely rare but it happens. He leaves the house, Jimmy Volmer calls me up so I know the coast is clear. I head over to Cartmans house trailer in Jimmys yard. There’s my old buddy Buttface. Hey girl! How ya’ doin? Want a slim jim? Want another one? And then I left.
Next day Cartman was raging. Like all day. He came home with some chick and tried to knock boots but “MY DAMN DOG STARTED RIPPING FARTZ!!!” So he didn’t get laid and had to clean up after his rancid dog.
I laughed harder than anyone and Cartman was kinda’ puzzled and sheepish. You know, like “geeze, it wasn’t THAT funny.”
Trust me, it was. You cannot escape slim jim dog fartz in a trailer.
He never figured it out.
Burr, straight up bastard
MAY 26, 2022 AT 8:31 PM
…wow, went back and read your late entries on that thread, your Major Dad/Colonel Dad sounds like he was a real force of nature and a great man and Marine. Than you for sharing him with us, him and the smelly exploits of Cartman and Butthead.
And you win the sheer volume award for Biggest Thread Jack On iOTW too. Even I am humbled by your output.
God bless you Mr. Burr, you’re a treasure. If you go back to Mexico, please find an Internet portal again, don’t just dump us like last time.
Heath and happiness to you always,
SNS
I may or may not have a bad feeling about this upcoming ADVENTURE OF THE AZTEC PYRAMIDS and am probably stocking up this place with reading material actually worth perusing. Or I may be dumping out the kernels of my best stories in case of a prolonged or permanent absence.
In any event, here’s why Kenny McCormick is Kenny McCormick and why he is indeed, immortal.
If there’s time, I’ll tell you about the Sad Tale of Dildo Schwaggins. But probably not.
And these aren’t my stories. I don’t want the people in the stories to be forgotten. Has nothing to do with me….usually. It’s their adventures. I’m merely this century’s Boswell.
So before Kenny did 7 years hard time in Florence Arizona he was fat. If you saw him today you wouldn’t believe it. Today he’s incredibly fit and ripped. Has a 12 pack, not a six pack. Every muscle cut and defined. But before that he looked like a young Uncle Fester. Creepy ass gangsta kid.
But now not only is he ripped, but he stays ripped by doing manual landscaping. He leads a crew of Mesikins. He leads by example. I pity those poor brown bastardz. Why? Kenny works White Boy hard. I’ve only seen it in the South West and South. Dudes who work hard, relentlessly and efficiently putting all others to shame. Kenny works insanely hard. So not only is he ripped and deep tan, he’s got all these insane prison tattoos. PAGAN in Old English letters arced above his stomach. Skulls and forbidden runes and stuff like that. Kenny’s a Peckerwood. Sorta’ like an Aryan Brotherhood or White Supremacist….but not really because everyone has a Mexican girlfriend or Latin wife or ex wife. We’ve all been there man….
Kennys got a redhead wife now but for a while there…. it’s actually not all that uncommon in this state. A lot of Garcias who don’t speak a lick of Spanish or even likes Mexican food and a lot of McMillans and Campbells that sound like Cheech Marin.
Anyway, Kenny gets hurt…spectacularly hurt…every so often. He’ll pee coagulated blood, or wear a cast. Hardly ever goes to the hospital, has a gold toof. He just….won’t die. Stubborn Irish bastard. Injuries I guarantee would have SNS scratchin’ his noggin’ Kenny will shrug off.
But that’s not what makes him an actual Legend. Memeber when i said Kenny is all ripped after doin’ 7 years hard time? That’s no joke. Kenny will F*CK you up. He’s only 5’8″ if that but his personality and physical presence makes him seem much bigger. Time and again I’ve seen him shatter bigger dudes who thought they could talk ish’ about…I dunno’, the weather, anything. Kennys Irish. It doesn’t take much.
But this one time….wow. Don’t know how it started but me n’ Kenny and the kids were in the back of his house settin’ up a barbecue. We hear a commotion. I recognize the sound of Kennys wife voice. Kenny is off like a shot around the house and out front. I walk after. What happened was this. One of the neighbors had an inlaw over. Total new guy. Unknown by everybody. He was out on his lawn with a beer. He said something to one of Kennys teenage kid. Or said something in front of her. This caused Mrs. Kenny to ask the guy to watch his language and he said something worse…..and walked over to Kennys yard. By the time I turned the corner of the house Kenny was already barefoot in shorts with his shirt off. (Told ya’ he was Irish) The guy with the beer is in Kennys yard. He’s easily 6 2’6 3′. Kenny is all of 5 8′ if that. Beer guy had no clue. All he had to do was look at Kennys tats. Those weren’t tats of Garfield. They’re all clear warning signs to law enforcement that this guy will most definitely ruin your whole week.
Beer can guy said all of “Oh yeah?” as he stepped forward and raised his free hand. Stay with me now. I’m stating as God as my witness this is what happened next.
Kenny closes the gap between them, beer guy drops his beer and is getting squared up. Kenny leaps up and connects with a right cross, barely an uppercut. Mostly a straight right hooking cross. Beer guy went down, down like a slowly collapsing oil rig. He bell was so obviously rung it was plain as day no one had ever hit him that hard. Down, down he went. By the time his shoulder blades touched earth Kenny was on top of this giant like an MMA fighter. Every blow right in the big mans face. fast. REALLY fast. PAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP!! Then Kenny got up and paced around the guy who had actual tears in his eyes.
Holy goodnight that was awesome. I saw it, his wife saw it. All the neighbors saw it. Of course baby huey calls the cops. Cops took HIM away. But….alas, charges were pressed. Kenny beat the rap the same way the Mole always beats his cases. Wear down the system. Take no plea bargain. Pay no fine. Admit no wrongdoing. Long story short, 18 months later and 6 or 7 court appearances after, you’re free to go.
But meanwhile the legend of Kenny the Great, Kenny the Invincible, Kenny the Immortal grew and grew. No one who hasn’t met him but have heard the stories cannot believe this lil’ polite and hardworking Irish guy is the Holy Terror of central Arizona.
He’s the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet. The dead last hot tempered Celtic son of a bitch you want on your ass. How bad ass is Kenny? Well, Kenny has an older brother. Guy’s pretty institutionalized. By which I mean he’s in jail more than out. He’s a big guy, bald, just as ripped as Kenny. Kenny has kicked his ass. A couple of times. Convincingly. Wow.
Savage, savage fury. I’m convinced it’s his inner fire that keeps him alive. Nothing else.
He’s my best bud. Our daughters hang out together. We’ve had many adventures together. Kenny and Kyle.
Seriously. You really want to stay away from our crew when we get together. Stuff happens.
FWIW, last time I saw a guy with prision tattoos, my Hatian EHS guy was working his chest while I was prepping the AED after his jaw unclenched enough to get some air in him.
We got that guy back, and he was fine after they narced him.
He didn’t come back to work, tho, probably because his chest hurt. The Hatian guy’s pretty strong.
They have Interwebs in Me Hay Co, Burr.
No excuses.
Or I’ll have him pump your chest next.
“Haitian”
Great spelling, nicht wahr?
…guess my spell check isn’t international, and maybe a touch racist…
If i had to analyze that fight, which I have. Plenty of times. This would be my take. Rich big frat boy used to bullying nerds on campus and at his whatever corporate job he now has visits a working class neighborhood that he thinks he’s too good for. Then he meets an actual working class guy.
The fact that baby huey called the cops is what makes beer can dude such a puss. I’ve had that happen. Just….really? I hit you hard enough to make you call the police after a clear case of mutual combat? Really? Such a wuss move. Unheard of in our world. You takes your beating like a man, which he didn’t, because tears. Or you go home and eat your Wheaties and try again, or you let it go. You got your ass beat for being a dick. But you never, ever. Call the cops. It simply isn’t done.
In my case no particular alarm bells go off after incidents. Cops check me out. A few watch lists, “known associate of” a couple “member of” One or two possibly hilarious A.K.A.s. No big deal.
But with Kenny? You ever see those space movies where a ship is being tailed by a couple of enemy fighters and every thing looks good……until they run a background check on the ship and then red lights start flashing and A-oohga! horns start blaring and fricken’ lasers are goin’ off everywhere?
Every time.
You know, I’ve never asked him what he was in for. Seems impolite.
I just know that a few times when he’s CLEARLY been in the right and even when the Police are actually and honest to God apologizing, he’s in the back of the cruiser. Sometimes we go bail him out. Sometimes he’s stubborn and wants to go someplace where he can pick on somebody super no way not his size so jail is the perfect place to go let off some steam.
He does all my tattoos. He’s had a lot of practice.
Completely unasked for! Solely for my own amusement! As well as your possible edification and delight, ONE(1) NIGHT ONLY!!!! Everyone’s favorite best lil’ guy….hererrrrs’ BUTTERS!!!!!!!
When I first moved out here was one of the first people I met was an independent contractor. No, not my kind of independent contracting, the other kind of independent contracting. You know, hammer, speed square. Probably nails at some point.
Anyway, this guy was shy and quiet. Sorta’ a Garth from Waynes World. Good guy. Hard worker, Just solo. He did have a neat hobby. he played guitar. From when he was 10 or 11. Total guitar nerd. Could play anything, would sit in for other players in bands. Just…no stage presence. Shy.
It’s a small town and eventually I find out Butters knows Kenny. That’s how he got the name Butters. I was telling Kenny about John. And Kenny confused John with Jon and the other John but not big John or bigger John. See, we have a lot of common names around here. So to avoid any future confusion I said, “You know, Butters.” Instant recognition lit up across Kennys face. He knew who I meant.
So we started dragging Butters along with us. Actually he always was there at social gatherings but was so damn quiet no one noticed. So check this out. After a couple of years of knowing us and then getting named Butters, something happened. Imagine you live in a small town. Whole life spent there. You know everyone. You’re in your assigned social role since forever. But now….he’s introduced as Butters. To the same people he’s always known but the difference was fantastic. It’s just a name. A word. But picture walking into a room and everyone in it shouts your name. Like NORM! from cheers. Except it’s BUTTERS!!!! Hysterical. Plus, it made him visible to the ladies in a way he had never been before. But here’s the neater part. Butters was actually a nice guy, people were lucky to get to meet him. And then….. he’d play the guitar. Like a pro. Chicks were always stunned. “Butters plays guitar!?!?! But I know him!?!?!? He’s really good!!” See, that part was him. The real him that had always been there. They just noticed now. He was genuine. As a person and a knowledgeable musician.
Dope.
Dudes married, has a couple of kids. I take zero credit for any and everything he’s accomplished in his life. He’s earned it all by hisself. All I did was call the dude Butters. It was the way he responded to being called Butters that made his life turn around.
Meh. Being called Butters could have ruined his already fragile life. Either way I could have made a yarn about it. Glad it turned out the way it did. (even in praise, I have to f*ck with the guy. Because….Butters)
Thank the lord Buddah that we’re all alone in here. And by we, I mean me, myself, and I. Shifty, Left Eye and Professor Blank.
Ending with the Butters story is cool. An uplifting tale of….something. Probably with a positive message about not smoking or the evils of…teen….gingivitis
But I’m not here to moralize. No moralizer, I. Just the facts. Strict Ernie Pyle life with dogfaces journalism. Not about me. Never has been. Did you know non of my buddies know what I do for a living? No means of visible income, extended trips to probably not a Sandals resort…. None of them have ever asked. Some have seen my comic books. Others, my cars or bikes. Others, completely different stuff. But we all abide by…:hats off, held over heart, faces sunset: “The Code of the West” :guitar strum, distant eagle cry:
It’s simple politeness. No one asks anyone about personal stuff. Except skirts, or Midwesterners. Southerners ask, but are more sensitive than their norther neighbors, so they quickly get the drift and change the subject. Californians are loud, brash, and clueless. But in general, asking people from the West about themselves is a damn irritant. Wish they made a pest spay for that.
That’s just a personal aside tween’ you and me.
Anyway. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us….can’t remember which fag said that. Probably English.
So use your time wisely, be rebellious, menace…..stuff..possibly small, innocent dogs.
I’ll see you all back in Bree soon enough. Do get into trouble. It’s good for the soul. Absolutely try stuff I wouldn’t do. Who knows, maybe it’ll work.
And for heavens sake, if you have a Ring of Power, USE THAT BITCH! It’s like having a fully automatic, belt fed, backpack rig, mini gun. Instead of KAPLOW!KAPLOW! KAPLOW! All gangster style with your 9, you can go wwhhHHSCRBRRRRRRRRRRRT!!!!!! zzzzzzz BBBBRRRRRRTTTT!!! And cut down jungles all Predator style.
P.P.S. Shenanigans whenever you can.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNPW2wZ4D2s
As for me, I have business matters to attend to south of the border.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqBJP4sh3c0