The Week That Perished: Blacks, Beans, and Time Machines

Plus a new Dave Rant, if you're interested

In this week’s Week:

Mexican party-gunmen toast a Paloma,

“Black scholars” get bullets in their diploma.

Palestinian terrorists go back in time,

CNN’s Gabe Cohen’s trail of slime,

And journalism THIS bad should be a crime!

The Week That Perished

As always, if you get a laugh, please BUY ME A BEER!

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And now, as I’ve been gone from Substack for almost two weeks, here’s a long-overdue Dave Rant. And a novel idea: If you don’t want to read it, just don’t! Don’t unsubscribe in a huff like a retard with the vapors.

Happy Halloween! Sorry for my recent absence. As some of you guessed, my return to the bottle was less than spectacular. It’s very upsetting; two months dry earned me ten days drunk before the deathly ill took over. That said, there are always other reasons to NOT post on Substack. When I don’t post, I accumulate new subscribers like a sumbitch and when I post, I lose ‘em like a mutherfucker (sumbitches always have better luck than mutherfuckers, who are oft repaid for their incestuous misdeeds in poor karma).

So by not posting, I get subs, and by posting I lose them.

Sometimes I hate you people.

I’d like to point out that when I write posts like this one, which some may see as self-indulgent (talking about my health, my drinking, etc.), what I’m doing is chronicling the late-stages of a man in a very unique situation.

The world is full of bozos who are talked about and given platforms. A bimbo need only say “hawk tuah” and she’s welcomed on every talk-show on earth. A moron need only say “the Holocaust didn’t happen” and the richest man in the world retweets him.

Conversely, the world is full of nobodies who are never talked about and receive no platform. Couch-dwellers of zero accomplishment whose name will die with them, whose very existence will never be known beyond the five or six people in their immediate life.

Those are the extremes; the two poles.

But me? I’m a guy talked about daily but denied a platform. At least 20 people a day, many with massive followings (thanks to Elon), cite me on X. Daily. Major news sites invoke me. My name’s been used to bring down congressmen and vilify celebrities. But I’m allowed no platform. No publisher will touch me, even with my record of having had an Amazon-bestselling book. Banned from YouTube, banned from Amazon, banned from Twitter, I exist here and at Takimag, and the latter purely by the grace of God. Without that job, I’d be in a truly hopeless situation.

I don’t conform to either pole (talked about and given a platform, not talked about and given no platform). I’m my own unique beast - talked about but allowed no platform.

Another unique crevice of hell is that I’m seen as “too toxic” by those who might be able to help my situation. When I approached a few UK barristers regarding a defamation case against Palgrave Macmillan for what was published about me in a recent book, you’d think I was Hitler asking Montgomery for a fag, even though people far worse than I — akshual Nazis, akshual deniers — get legal help all the time.

“Hooray for me, I’m the lawyer for the damned!”

What about helping Cole then?

“NO! NO! He’s TOO damned!”

My present situation is sui generis. Widely talked about, but denied a voice. I’d much prefer either of the aforementioned extremes. Indeed, I’d greatly prefer being completely unknown to being known but shut out of the discussion about me, especially as so much of that discussion is maddeningly inaccurate, even as dozens of influential people are in touch with me privately about how much they secretly admire my work.

Future generations, or perhaps just one bored inquisitive grad student, might find the musings of a person in my unique predicament of interest. Neither once-big now-forgotten, nor currently-big and platformed, nor never-big and never-platformed, but a guy who’s the topic of a daily dialogue everyone gets to partake in but him.

How does that affect my psyche? Well, I drink. And I’m cool with that, because I like drinking. But drinking no longer likes me. After 21 years of heavy drinking, I seem to have hit a wall. And it’s tragic, because I engineered my life for drinking. By choice, no kids, no wife (remember, I faked my own death to get out of a marriage…that’s commitment to a bit when it comes to NOT wanting to be married). My drinking hurts nobody. It doesn’t even hurt my work; I write GREAT while drunk. My entire book and most of my columns were written drunk.

I enjoy my own company; I prefer other people in small doses. It’s a mystery how I found myself living with five different women over the course of my life. Don’t get me wrong - I love women. But I like to sleep alone. And now I finally get my wish — old, distended, gray, haggard, no woman would ever glance my way, which is fine. Half my friends are dead or moved away, and all my family’s dead.

But the bright side is, I can finally be alone!

And drink.

With a well-paying job I can do from home.

But now my tolerance for booze has vanished.

It’s one of those Rod Serling ironies. Burgess Meredith except it’s not reading glasses but shot glasses.

So I’m gonna stay sober ‘til around Thanksgiving, but then I’ve cooked up a plan. I always start my drinking binges on wine and sake, then I segue to my beloved paint thinner (CVS rum). These days, that’s when I start feeling ill. Rum has a higher alcohol content so I prefer it because I drink less of it, which saves money and cuts down on nighttime peeing.

In my next go-round I’ll try sticking with wine and sake (don’t give me your bullshit that sake IS wine; I know that, Einstein. But it still deserves separate mention). I did some maths regarding cost (750ml wine bottles vs. 1.75 liter rum, 13% by volume vs. 40% by volume), and I might be able to pull it off without spending too much more per week.

But if that doesn’t work, I’m done. I’ll have to spend 2025 as a coffee guy. I like coffee, but it makes me piss like a bastard (bastards falling somewhere in-between sumbitches and mutherfuckers on the karmic retribution scale).

Pray for me.

And I promise there’ll be a Christmas video, as that’s been a tradition for too long to break. No Halloween video, though, because sober I’m just not into it. And BTW, nothing makes sober Dave happier than when his friends buy him a beer (as always, your donations go not for beer but food & upkeep of Casa Cole).

See you again soon.

BTW, the “Frankenstein yourself” app I used for the above photo really came out disturbing! I thought it would be the corny Karloff Frankenstein, but it’s actually very cool how unpleasant it looks. Back when that whole “[whatever] yourself” app craze first started, I’d come up with my own to annoy the abysmal Rosie. This was at the stage where we hated each other but still saw each other daily, so I’d take pleasure in messing with her vanity. One “app” I created was e-MASKulate: “Facebook has teamed up with Universal to promote the Blu-ray reissue of the movie ‘Mask.’ Now you can turn anyone into the deformed kid from the film.”

Rosie HATED that! And it still makes me laugh. Because the kid’s hair color is the same as hers.

She also never wanted her “artistic nudes” put online. And FB had at the time (still does?) a “no nudes” policy. So to annoy Rosie without running afoul of the rules, I’d post her nudes but censored using the faces of ugly actors, to kill the masturbatory buzz of her fans:

You try whacking off with Ernest Borgnine smiling at you!

I’d also mock her about Hugo Drax. He’s the Bond villain from Moonraker whose plan was to build a space station using his fleet of shuttles, populate the station with supermodels, fire poison gas at the earth to kill all humans (but not animals or plants), then return to earth with his harem to live a life free of ugly people.

You get the feeling Musk would be really open to that idea.

So I’d tease Rosie that she’s so hateful, so full of contempt for humanity, that she’d be the first to volunteer for the trip. And I’d force her to deny it.

I had a lot of fun with that one.

Five years…and boy did we hate each other by the end. But see? We weren’t married, so even though she kinda destroyed my life, at least I’m not paying alimony. I win. Nyaaaah.