Although highlighting Erin Strout's unlikely cascade of self-administered boob-punches is instructive and comical, her ilk should be denied the illusion of their own competence

The NYRR and other demoralized but power-wielding entities will continue rewarding water-carriers for Wokism, but everyday runners are free to stop cheering destructive figures and their "reporting"

In the online environment that existed from the infancy of the Web until around five years ago, endless one-way “fights” like that between myself and Erin Strout would never have taken root; Strout and I would have hashed out our philosophical disagreements either in a public online spat or by other direct means, then moved on, perhaps bearing one or two lasting grudges but probably not. In the reality-deficient discursive environment of today, however, Strout has felt free to respond to my relentless challenges to her statements using cowardly, hypocritical tactics that once would have seen her and her sobbing laughed to the sidelines of any conversation.

First, she got my writing privileges from a (now-deceased) online publication revoked in November 2020 by complaining to that publication’s cuckified editor about my overly raucous (i.e., counter-narrative) blogging. Since then, although I am rarely active on social media, Strout has been sure to block me within minutes whenever my comments have appeared on one of her accounts. This has compelled me in turn to simply persist on my own website as if Strout desperately wants to contact me and do a deep, evidence-based dive into some of the things we disagree on, but for some reason is being restrained and therefore needs me to keep the line of communication open and busy at my end.

The reason both Strout’s awful reporting and her associated assholisms have remained uncontroversial for years is that the entire corporate media, regardless of ideological orientation or topical sub-genre, has selected specifically for liars and stenographers for Wokish idiocies such as promulgating anti-white racism, infusing female sports with male interlopers, and derogating or canceling people for refusing to buy a ticket to the whole cultural-commercial clown-cruise. Because these people are spreading disinformation and determined to legitimize it no matter how patently insane and unpopular the core claims, they are craven e-mail dodgers and social-media blockers by broken-career obligation. It’s not possible, after all, to lie nonstop, then wade into earnest discussions with your intellectual, rhetorical, and moral superiors and continue afterward as if nothing had happened.

And at the center of this throbbing sore of misguided activity is the kind of persistent self-loathing that requires both the deflection of self-acceptance and introspection and the forceful externalization of blame for any sense of emotional discomfort. This kind of dank psychopathology is what lures susceptible liberals into the foulness of Wokism in the first place, and thanks to people like Bill Gates, there is no shortage of funding for these people and their demented, norms-crushing, bombastically divisive suite of one-the-ground and Internet behaviors.

Strout will probably again limit the viewability of her X posts shortly. But because she left it exposed to brag about being part of the official media crew at Saturday’s 2024 U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials in Orlando, Florida, I discovered another example of Strout managing to complain bitterly about a problem without realizing she was staring directly into a funhouse mirror.

Strout recently found herself commiserating with the editor of a Daily Beast vertical about the fall of the journalism profession (I assume there was supposed to be an “is” somewhere in Mr. Fallon’s opening clause).

Speaking of Bill Gates, even those of us whose lack of journalism training, writing ability, and manners is exacerbated by overly white, male skin were able to identify him years ago as one of the many billionaires who has oily tentacles buried deep into the corporate media—in particular the very outlets shitlibs like Strout subsist on.

Despite Strout being an immediate blocker of anyone who offers any opinion or fact she finds nettlesome, she evidently doesn’t vet her sources if their bios and whatever they post seem ideologically on point.

I don’t use Wikipedia, now another laughably curated and censored tool of the neoliberal establishment, for anything remotely controversial. But because Wikipedia offers shitlibs what they like to see, I’m betting Strout uses it all the time.

Just not often enough.

Now, were someone scanning this post somehow able to make it easier for Strout to access the above information—her pinned X post reads, in part, “I'm now more active over on Threads and Instagram. I hope to see you there!”—there is no guarantee it would change her mind about a single thing. This is because shitlibs are so convinced of their absolute and comprehensive rectitude that their own shining hypocrisies don’t even pollute their thinking, let alone cause the remnants of their consciences to itch. Strout types want billionaires to fund the liberal media, since it takes a few brave liberal billionaire political influencers nobly committed to the truth to offset the bent, billionaire dirtbags funding conservative outlets.

As far as Noah Schachtman’s journalistic reliability at The Daily Beast and Rolling Stone,

Again, though, none of these news headlines would make a Fauci-fellating nanny-stater like Strout flinch. She’d eagerly play along with the whole lockdown-masking-shots charade again, because she spends most of her life inside anyway. And she just may get her chance.

Despite the patent absurdity of Strout considering herself not merely a good journalist but one who is above facing criticism altogether, there’s a good chance she honestly believes that she is a skilled “storyteller” and on the right side of history. Some of these libtard “journalists” have at least an inkling, surely unpleasant, that the sole reason that they have any work at all is their commitment to dishonesty. This crew has swallowed and spread falsehoods about everything of shared importance for years while participating in needless hatemongering, and it has gotten them enough grim visibility and dirty money to allow them to sublimate their latent distaste for their own sellout status.

But Strout? Girl legitimately thinks she’s a brave, righteous, intrepid, Pulitzer Prize-bound journalist instead of a jogger with incidentally perfect timing and the right mixture of resentments and personality disorders to serve a trivial role in the empire’s energetic propagation of giddy social morbidities and security-state propaganda. And the way things are still headed, although Strout will always remain every bit the shrill and self-deluded goonlet she is and always been, she just might have that Pulitzer in hand soon enough.