Trucker Protest in Canada

[Doctor CamNC4Me]

Right, that's where I was going with it. Unquestionably, the mods are working hard to keep up with binger, but there are only so many hours in the day. A small percentage of his posts slip through the cracks and lo, he's left everyone else in the dust in terms of getting away bad behavior. That's why I say, ban binger for good.

He could just cut the violent personal attacks and obscenities, but that will never happen. Allow me to explain. Aside from the whole lack of self-control thing and need for attention, staying under constant pressure from mods hedges his position with the possibility of bias. Sure, he's aware he's crossed the line, but "others are just as bad" and get away with it, therefore, maybe the real reason he's punished is that the board can't handle his intense ideas? Punishing him for his language is merely a pretense to silence his penetrating thought. Yes, he knows he's trolling and mostly looking to disrupt, but he also believes he has the pulse on old-fashioned commonsense the way nobody else does and that even his most flippant quips have a deeper wisdom for those with ears to hear. After all, we did have one good-hearted poster who announced "truth" every time binger sprung a leak and insulted everybody. So, you know, we're all aware he's got us in his crosshairs, and our only way to avoid the truth is to find technicalities as pretense for censuring him. No insults and bad language (or starting countless superfluous threads), then no mod pressure or complaints, and then how to explain the fact that he's free to say whatever he wants, even though he's primarily ignored or brushed off?

Well that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. That's a solid insight into the mind of our resident troll, but dear god, it's creepy as hell. What a horrible way to have to live.

“damned Liberals.”

The man drags intently on his cigarette. He's 54. He’s seen a lot.

Raised in an uninteresting town, in that liminal space between slightly rural, but slightly suburban as well. Not farm boy enough to be rough, but not suburban enough to be properly educated. Born of neighborhoods that over time reflected the slow creep from farmhouses to split-levels, both mixing like a cultural decay reflecting the disinterest of American planning departments. He got in trouble by tossing M80s into the windows of an abandoned factory as a boy. He's one of three, and not even the best kid of three, even though he knows, deep down, he’s the brightest. Just ask him. Never quite got the preferred treatment he felt due to him, but since his 30s, he’s been *assuming* the family leadership role nobody else in his family respects. Constantly has to remind his own parents they should mind his opinions. Oh, just because his sister married a hot shot libtard now, SHE'S something else. What a twat she is. Has three snotty kids, he forgets their names. Sees them on Cuckbook on his phone in a big house he knows they can’t afford. Owns a damned boat.

He takes another drag on his cigarette. It's his fourth break this morning, but he's been constipated for a week, and the coffee and smokes are the only thing left moving the bulk of meat and cheese through his overtaxed intestines. He hasn't seen a doctor in years, not since work forced him to get a sobriety test.

He works in a warehouse, keeps various mechanical equipment. Or whatever. It’s not important and he doesn’t care. He's had a few jobs, can't remember any of them but his current one. Wanted to join the Army, but his dad was in Vietnam and it messed with him. He thought about playing football in HS.

“Shoulda done that.”, he thinks. “Probably could’ve played quarterback.”

Every goddamn time he turns on the TV, it's the same shitshow. He's been watching FOXNews, assured he's a member of the special men who know the secret handshakes, the subtle messaging, the winks and nods broadcast by well-coifed men and hot women. “Fuckin’ love Conservative women.”

He's a goddamn warrior, is what he is. A soldier in the war he never had. He's already a veteran of his lack of specialness, a survivor of mediocrity, and he can feel his heart thump within his plaid flannel when he wheezes out in the cold air.

"I drive better drunk," is something he's said more than a few times.

There are red blotches of veins in his face, his nose is making its inevitable turn into a golf ball, and that cough ain't getting any better. Why do his jackets keep shrinking? The special ones he keep hanging in his closets, back when a "size large" was what he got.

"Come on, I never get to go out," his last wife of 20 years complains. He has two kids, both grown, one from a former marriage he doesn't talk to and never will again. The other was why he got married to number three in the first place. Number three won't leave him because she can't afford to. She needs his insurance.

He throws his butt on the ground, a small act of defiance against government overreach. “damned EPA.”

Both of them drive in silence, in their maroon 2011 Mercury Mariner. 145,000 miles. He inherited it when his MIL died. Stickers adorn the windows broadcasting how awake he is in a sea of sleeping sheeple. A territorial pissing of his angst and sense of being a victim, like a dog barking out a car window as it speeds past another car with a dog. He’s on his way to see his idiot sister and her three crotch fruit.

"Her kids “identifies” as gay! That's what college does to kids!" He shouted for the nth time to his wife browsing on her phone. "damned LIBERALS!" AM radio crackling over the speakers.

They stop for gas. The air is cold. It's been windy for the last two days, and his plaid shirt-jacket won't zipper anymore. As his bloodshot hands crack and chap in the dry, cold wind, a Prius parks behind him. A motherfucking, douche canoe PRIUS! "I thought you didn't need GAS! Goddamn, HIPPIE!" he shouts. But the person ignores him. As he turns his back to pay, a woman snaps a picture of his back window. He can’t believe how much Biden has driven up gas prices. “damned wake UP, sheeple.”

He gets in his car and keeps driving. It's got a bad steering torque sensor, and the "check engine light" has been on since 2019. It's got crappy mileage, since the Fuel Delivery Module (whatever the “F” that is) cracked, causing a small fuel leak. The inside of the cab always smells like gas, cigarettes, and fast food.

Two days later, while sitting in his worn and faded lounger, he suffers what doctors call "an myocardial infarction." Guess all that booze and Xanax finally stressed his system too much. His wife collects the life insurance, and gets bariatric surgery, instead of fixing up the house until one day, the roof collapses in the more and more frequent hail storms that come every year.

damned Liberals.

- Doc

[Binger]

Well that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. That's a solid insight into the mind of our resident troll, but dear god, it's creepy as hell. What a horrible way to have to live.

“damned Liberals.”

The man drags intently on his cigarette. He's 54. He’s seen a lot.

Raised in an uninteresting town, in that liminal space between slightly rural, but slightly suburban as well. Not farm boy enough to be rough, but not suburban enough to be properly educated. Born of neighborhoods that over time reflected the slow creep from farmhouses to split-levels, both mixing like a cultural decay reflecting the disinterest of American planning departments. He got in trouble by tossing M80s into the windows of an abandoned factory as a boy. He's one of three, and not even the best kid of three, even though he knows, deep down, he’s the brightest. Just ask him. Never quite got the preferred treatment he felt due to him, but since his 30s, he’s been *assuming* the family leadership role nobody else in his family respects. Constantly has to remind his own parents they should mind his opinions. Oh, just because his sister married a hot shot libtard now, SHE'S something else. What a twat she is. Has three snotty kids, he forgets their names. Sees them on Cuckbook on his phone in a big house he knows they can’t afford. Owns a damned boat.

He takes another drag on his cigarette. It's his fourth break this morning, but he's been constipated for a week, and the coffee and smokes are the only thing left moving the bulk of meat and cheese through his overtaxed intestines. He hasn't seen a doctor in years, not since work forced him to get a sobriety test.

He works in a warehouse, keeps various mechanical equipment. Or whatever. It’s not important and he doesn’t care. He's had a few jobs, can't remember any of them but his current one. Wanted to join the Army, but his dad was in Vietnam and it messed with him. He thought about playing football in HS.

“Shoulda done that.”, he thinks. “Probably could’ve played quarterback.”

Every goddamn time he turns on the TV, it's the same shitshow. He's been watching FOXNews, assured he's a member of the special men who know the secret handshakes, the subtle messaging, the winks and nods broadcast by well-coifed men and hot women. “Fuckin’ love Conservative women.”

He's a goddamn warrior, is what he is. A soldier in the war he never had. He's already a veteran of his lack of specialness, a survivor of mediocrity, and he can feel his heart thump within his plaid flannel when he wheezes out in the cold air.

"I drive better drunk," is something he's said more than a few times.

There are red blotches of veins in his face, his nose is making its inevitable turn into a golf ball, and that cough ain't getting any better. Why do his jackets keep shrinking? The special ones he keep hanging in his closets, back when a "size large" was what he got.

"Come on, I never get to go out," his last wife of 20 years complains. He has two kids, both grown, one from a former marriage he doesn't talk to and never will again. The other was why he got married to number three in the first place. Number three won't leave him because she can't afford to. She needs his insurance.

He throws his butt on the ground, a small act of defiance against government overreach. “damned EPA.”

Both of them drive in silence, in their maroon 2011 Mercury Mariner. 145,000 miles. He inherited it when his MIL died. Stickers adorn the windows broadcasting how awake he is in a sea of sleeping sheeple. A territorial pissing of his angst and sense of being a victim, like a dog barking out a car window as it speeds past another car with a dog. He’s on his way to see his idiot sister and her three crotch fruit.

"Her kids “identifies” as gay! That's what college does to kids!" He shouted for the nth time to his wife browsing on her phone. "damned LIBERALS!" AM radio crackling over the speakers.

They stop for gas. The air is cold. It's been windy for the last two days, and his plaid shirt-jacket won't zipper anymore. As his bloodshot hands crack and chap in the dry, cold wind, a Prius parks behind him. A motherfucking, douche canoe PRIUS! "I thought you didn't need GAS! Goddamn, HIPPIE!" he shouts. But the person ignores him. As he turns his back to pay, a woman snaps a picture of his back window. He can’t believe how much Biden has driven up gas prices. “damned wake UP, sheeple.”

He gets in his car and keeps driving. It's got a bad steering torque sensor, and the "check engine light" has been on since 2019. It's got crappy mileage, since the Fuel Delivery Module (whatever the “F” that is) cracked, causing a small fuel leak. The inside of the cab always smells like gas, cigarettes, and fast food.

Two days later, while sitting in his worn and faded lounger, he suffers what doctors call "an myocardial infarction." Guess all that booze and Xanax finally stressed his system too much. His wife collects the life insurance, and gets bariatric surgery, instead of fixing up the house until one day, the roof collapses in the more and more frequent hail storms that come every year.

damned Liberals.

- Doc

meh. Slouchy BS. I had an MI at 32 while I was wiping my ass with your pension and shorting mortgages.

[Marcus]

tl;dr version here: Binger should be banned because when we insult him directly, he hits back directly and does not just run away or submit. When we insult him with presuppositions, he hits back directly and does not just run away or submit. When we insult large swaths of the population, he hits back directly and does not just run away or submit. So let's ban him permanently so we can feel better. Way better. Super duper better.

This is fun. : D

Based on your recently-voiced sentiments, I changed a few words.

“Canpakes should be removed because when we insult Canpakes directly, Canpakes hits back directly and does not just run away or submit. When we insult Canpakes with presuppositions, Canpakes hits back directly and does not just run away or submit. When we insult large swaths of the population, Canpakes hits back directly and does not just run away or submit. So let's remove Canpakes permanently so we can feel better. Way better. Super duper better.”

Being as that you’ll reject that retelling, you’ll never been able to stand your own behavior, regardless of whether or not you’re addressing it honestly, or dressing it up as a noble endeavor.

canpakes blue-fonting. Awesome!

[Schreech]

“damned Liberals.”

The man drags intently on his cigarette. He's 54. He’s seen a lot.

Raised in an uninteresting town, in that liminal space between slightly rural, but slightly suburban as well. Not farm boy enough to be rough, but not suburban enough to be properly educated. Born of neighborhoods that over time reflected the slow creep from farmhouses to split-levels, both mixing like a cultural decay reflecting the disinterest of American planning departments. He got in trouble by tossing M80s into the windows of an abandoned factory as a boy. He's one of three, and not even the best kid of three, even though he knows, deep down, he’s the brightest. Just ask him. Never quite got the preferred treatment he felt due to him, but since his 30s, he’s been *assuming* the family leadership role nobody else in his family respects. Constantly has to remind his own parents they should mind his opinions. Oh, just because his sister married a hot shot libtard now, SHE'S something else. What a twat she is. Has three snotty kids, he forgets their names. Sees them on Cuckbook on his phone in a big house he knows they can’t afford. Owns a damned boat.

He takes another drag on his cigarette. It's his fourth break this morning, but he's been constipated for a week, and the coffee and smokes are the only thing left moving the bulk of meat and cheese through his overtaxed intestines. He hasn't seen a doctor in years, not since work forced him to get a sobriety test.

He works in a warehouse, keeps various mechanical equipment. Or whatever. It’s not important and he doesn’t care. He's had a few jobs, can't remember any of them but his current one. Wanted to join the Army, but his dad was in Vietnam and it messed with him. He thought about playing football in HS.

“Shoulda done that.”, he thinks. “Probably could’ve played quarterback.”

Every goddamn time he turns on the TV, it's the same shitshow. He's been watching FOXNews, assured he's a member of the special men who know the secret handshakes, the subtle messaging, the winks and nods broadcast by well-coifed men and hot women. “Fuckin’ love Conservative women.”

He's a goddamn warrior, is what he is. A soldier in the war he never had. He's already a veteran of his lack of specialness, a survivor of mediocrity, and he can feel his heart thump within his plaid flannel when he wheezes out in the cold air.

"I drive better drunk," is something he's said more than a few times.

There are red blotches of veins in his face, his nose is making its inevitable turn into a golf ball, and that cough ain't getting any better. Why do his jackets keep shrinking? The special ones he keep hanging in his closets, back when a "size large" was what he got.

"Come on, I never get to go out," his last wife of 20 years complains. He has two kids, both grown, one from a former marriage he doesn't talk to and never will again. The other was why he got married to number three in the first place. Number three won't leave him because she can't afford to. She needs his insurance.

He throws his butt on the ground, a small act of defiance against government overreach. “damned EPA.”

Both of them drive in silence, in their maroon 2011 Mercury Mariner. 145,000 miles. He inherited it when his MIL died. Stickers adorn the windows broadcasting how awake he is in a sea of sleeping sheeple. A territorial pissing of his angst and sense of being a victim, like a dog barking out a car window as it speeds past another car with a dog. He’s on his way to see his idiot sister and her three crotch fruit.

"Her kids “identifies” as gay! That's what college does to kids!" He shouted for the nth time to his wife browsing on her phone. "damned LIBERALS!" AM radio crackling over the speakers.

They stop for gas. The air is cold. It's been windy for the last two days, and his plaid shirt-jacket won't zipper anymore. As his bloodshot hands crack and chap in the dry, cold wind, a Prius parks behind him. A motherfucking, douche canoe PRIUS! "I thought you didn't need GAS! Goddamn, HIPPIE!" he shouts. But the person ignores him. As he turns his back to pay, a woman snaps a picture of his back window. He can’t believe how much Biden has driven up gas prices. “damned wake UP, sheeple.”

He gets in his car and keeps driving. It's got a bad steering torque sensor, and the "check engine light" has been on since 2019. It's got crappy mileage, since the Fuel Delivery Module (whatever the “F” that is) cracked, causing a small fuel leak. The inside of the cab always smells like gas, cigarettes, and fast food.

Two days later, while sitting in his worn and faded lounger, he suffers what doctors call "an myocardial infarction." Guess all that booze and Xanax finally stressed his system too much. His wife collects the life insurance, and gets bariatric surgery, instead of fixing up the house until one day, the roof collapses in the more and more frequent hail storms that come every year.

damned Liberals.

- Doc

[canpakes]

.
Two weeks later …

Far right organizers have announced the end of a “freedom convoy” that was headed to Washington D.C. after launching in California, saying that they didn’t have enough participants to get past the Kansas-Missouri border.

Early Saturday morning, on the Facebook page Freedom Convoy USA 2022, the group announced that it didn’t have enough members in its convoy to warrant pressing on toward the nation’s capital.

“The launch in California had a good turn out of supporters, but only 5 trucks were with us on arrival in Vegas,” the group said in its social media post.

Last week, hundreds turned out for the convoy’s kickoff event in Adelanto, California, organized to emulate a convoy of truckers that were protesting against COVID-19 regulations in Canada last month. However, many of the people who came to the event were only spectators — and most of the truckers and vehicle drivers who started out with the convoy said that they were planning to drop out after they crossed into Arizona.

Other convoys across the U.S. have had similarly unsuccessful outcomes. Last week, a Scranton, Pennsylvania-led convoy barely scrounged up a half-dozen participants and got lost on its way to D.C. A co-organizer of that event eventually admitted to reporters that the demonstration had failed.

“You are not going to see a convoy,” that person said, adding that the turnout was “disappointing.”

[Gadianton]

Looks like binger loses again. lol. At least he's still got his 40-mile long convoy. where did he go anyway? Maybe he went to Ukraine with a gas can.