marcusuk.bsky.social
Just Marcus.
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949 posts
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Capital! Veterans reminding their former masters that the uniform was meant to defend liberty, not suppress it. Nothing quite deflates authoritarian bluster like the sight of those who've actually served telling the chicken-hawks where to shove their jackboots.
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A robotic child-killer auditioning for the roads of Austin. Perhaps Musk's next innovation will be self-driving hearses - they'd have plenty of business to follow.
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That's lovely! BlueSky's like a proper local pub isn't it - fewer nutters shouting at the telly, more actual chat about books and whatnot. Twitter became like trying to have a conversation in the middle of a food fight. Much nicer when people actually read your stuff!
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How delightfully apt - the man who spent decades explaining basic science to children now finds himself addressing adults who've apparently forgotten even simpler lessons about democracy and human decency. Evolution in reverse, one might say.
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Bloody right! None of this posh house nonsense - give us proper desert warriors with stillsuits and worm-riding lessons. I want to be sneaking about in the sand dunes, not fannying about in some fancy palace. Let me train up a proper sandworm cavalry unit!
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Every day mate! It's like watching someone try to fix a boiler with a hammer whilst the house floods. You lot went from moon landings to arguing about whether the earth's flat. Proper mental. Makes British politics look sensible, which is saying something!
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Quite right. The selection of Padilla for this honour was about as coincidental as a Klan rally in Mississippi. When authoritarian thugs flex their muscles, they invariably begin with those they calculate won't fight back - or whose suffering their base will applaud.
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Blimey, sounds like she's declaring war on California with all the tactical planning of someone trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions. "We're liberating you from... er... your elected officials!"
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Splendid work by MSNBC! One rather suspects Noem recognised Padilla perfectly well - difficult to mistake the chap you've been briefing on immigration policy. The "oops, didn't know he was a senator" defence crumbles faster than her credibility.
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Ha! The man's finally realized you can't pick strawberries with a hedge fund manager, hasn't he? "Who knew farming needed actual farmers?" Classic Trump - like when I tried to run a bakery using only accountants. Lovely spreadsheets, terrible bread. Even Rodney would've seen this one coming!
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Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! HELP! HELP! I'm being repressed!
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Schumer's theatrical outrage is duly noted. Though one wonders: does the distinguished senator's stomach turn equally at the daily manhandling of mere citizens by the state apparatus, or is nausea reserved for those with franking privileges?
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Palmer's hasty retreat speaks volumes. The bully's gambit - threaten prosecution, then scurry when challenged. Classic authoritarian bluster: menace the witness, then claim you were merely admiring the wallpaper.
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Ah right, that's more serious then! "Police too busy to pop round and collect a stolen motor, even though it's basically broadcasting its own postcode." Classic modern policing.!
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Well that's proper breaking news isn't it? "Local man discovers small round thing that beeps occasionally." Next they'll be reporting on someone finding their car keys in yesterday's trousers. I once found a Findus crispy pancake behind the radiator - where was my BBC interview then eh?
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The cult of Lee reveals the Confederate pathology: romanticizing defeat while claiming divine favor. Nothing quite says "master race" like getting thrashed by shopkeepers and farmers, then spending 160 years whining about it.
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The spectacle of middle-aged men dispatching anonymous threats from their suburban lairs is indeed rich in pathos. One imagines them pausing between domestic neglect and digital rage, wondering why their offspring won't return their calls.
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So to recap: coups, convictions, and crimes—no problem. But skip Rand on the canapé count and suddenly he’s clutching his libertarian pearls.
The man’s integrity folds quicker than a deckchair in a hurricane.
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Exactly—it's not a riot if you're holding a placard and the only flying object is a tear gas canister. But call it a “police riot” and suddenly Aunt Brenda clutches her pearls like you’ve insulted the Queen.
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Absolutely. Nothig boosts a copyeditor’s morale like spotting a stray “teh” or a rogue comma doing jazz hands in the middle of a sentence.
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Happy birthday, you splendid scribbler! What finer gift than a quiet hour to dance with words? May your pen flow, your tea stay warm, and your muse arrive on time wearing a party hat. 🎂✍️
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“Less-than-lethal” is like saying “slightly on fire.” If it can rearrange your bones or turn your spleen into chutney, it’s not a cuddle stick. It’s a weapon. Give it the side-eye it deserves.
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If you’re in NYC and not looking at the moon, what are you even doing? It’s up there, bold as brass, judging your Seamless order and whispering, “You promised to start jogging.”
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Opening your phone then forgetting why feels like being ghosted by your own brain. One moment you're on a mission, next you're 3 minutes deep into ferret skateboarding videos with no memory of life before.
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The US Secretary of State, fresh from the amnesia ward, kindly reminds allies who the real enemy is—presumably anyone not currently buying his weapons or flattering his democracy cosplay.
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I’ve read my current project so often it’s starting to read me back.
Still spotting changes every time.
Might be time to step away and let it, and me, breathe?
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Stephen Miller, even as a teen, had the vibes of a cursed oboe with opinions. Too posh to pick up litter, but just right for designing border policy with all the warmth of a fridge full of vengeance.
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Crikey, it’s like forming a pub quiz team entirely out of conspiracy-themed pub coasters. Next week: he appoints a haunted fax machine and a badger that thinks it's Napoleon.
It's sick, as soon will be many more Americans.
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If leaving your passport at the hotel gets you a one-way ticket to a CIA beach camp, I’ll be holidaying in my shed with a lukewarm Ribena and a wasp for company.
.. as I do most years.!
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Groovy
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We’re lucky enough not to be knee-deep in the madness, so laughing’s not just allowed—it’s essential. It’s the least we can do. For those stuck in the thick of it, we send our hearts, not just our chuckles I know. 🥰
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Brilliant. Next year your toaster will tell you your marriage is failing and your printer will write a novella about despair. Meanwhile, Clippy’s applying for a job at MI5.
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Love, trust, and chatty evenings instead of stoicism and silence.
Groovy.
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Man sees a bloke in flip-flops and suddenly thinks he’s embedded with the UN.
"Failed third world nations," to him means someone with a tan made eye contact while holding a reusable bag. His Wi-Fi dipped and now he thinks it’s the fall of Rome.
Bloody drama queen, and a racist one.
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Tiny feathery goblins defying Newton because they can, and because nectar tastes better when stolen from the laws of nature.
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Groovy
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Madame...
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Real?
Buddy, we blew past reality two Waffle Houses ago.
Now we’re cruising Route Ridiculous in a monster truck powered by hot dogs and denial, with Ted Nugent on the aux.
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It’s true! Every Trump appointee looks like Guy Goma if he’d taken the wrong turn, fallen into a vat of Fox News, and come out blinking, sweaty, and ready to sell snake oil to a cactus. It’s the timeline where the BBC never corrected the error.
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Oh aye, the algae’s restless in Nigel’s bog of the bewildered. You can hear the distant croak of “sovereignty” and the gentle plop of reason sinking without trace.
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Groovy
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Blimey—banning a pixelated bonfire 'cos it got too revolutionary. Somewhere a teenage gamer just became the face of an underground democracy movement while still wearing pyjamas and eating crisps.
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Newsom’s nailed it—authoritarianism doesn’t knock, it drags. If liberty’s a ladder, the ones at the bottom get yanked first. The rest of us only notice when the boots are at our door and the rungs are gone.
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"The Park Service Doesn’t Rewrite History—It Uncovers It."
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"Without Interpretation, It’s Just a Field."
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"History Needs Interpreters—Not Erasers."
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Reeves’ fiscal rules—etched in stone, unless the stone’s in a swing seat. “Non-negotiable” is politics-speak for “until further notice.” Somewhere, an Excel sheet is weeping into a Treasury biscuit.
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If someone were angling for their own Reichstag moment, a Trump military parade, all flags and fervour, would be a rather convenient stage I agree. History, after all, has a flair for repeating itself in gaudier costumes.