Trump was giving an interview about election fraud in California to a bizarre, very unhinged woman journalist. She kept repeating that she had traveled to Wisconsin for the interview, like she had gone all the way to the Democratic Republic of Congo and expected some sort of an award for bravery. Her face was contorted by rage and disgust throughout the interview. In short, an unprofessional, horrible hag who is paid insane amounts of money to throw fits on TV.

Trump simply got up, took off his mic, and threw it to the ground.

I don’t know what we are going to do when Trump’s term in office ends. We have good candidates on the Republican side, but not a single one capable of getting up, throwing the mic on the floor, and walking away. Every single one of the Republican politicians will continue trying to explain, persuade, and make himself understood. They all still think that it is possible to convince if enough evidence is provided.

Latin American leftists are having a very normal one:

Heil Hitler https://t.co/IbRBgwUY3N

— Gustavo Petro (@petrogustavo) June 7, 2026

Gustavo Petro is a little Putinoid bitch, by the way. Leftism in Latin America began to collapse when USAID was cut because Putin doesn’t have enough money to keep all of it going by himself. Now leftist bastards like Petro is losing everywhere, and it’s a joy to behold.

Speaking of cats, when Misty first came to live with us, she once clambered onto my bed and I started rubbing her behind her ear. In response, she rolled the tip of her tongue out and started emitting a low guttural noise. I honestly thought I had damaged the poor animal, and she was in distress. It was explained to me that she was engaging in an activity known as purring that actually meant she was enjoying herself.

How was a person supposed to know that, though? How is one supposed not to become a total neurotic when creatures in her vicinity begin to engage in unexpected behaviors?

Americans are in awe of people who can speak more than one language. When my polyglottery comes up, everybody immediately begins to react like I walk on water. This makes me feel very shy. To me, moving between languages is normal. I’ve never lived in any other way. When others start treating me like some sort of royalty for something that I do as easily as breathing, I feel self-conscious.

Of course, it’s very endearing. Whenever somebody meets me for the first time and finds out about the languages, they start announcing me to other people like I’m the 7th wonder of the world. Like, they are so happy to have uncovered this wonderful phenomenon that they can’t wait to share with others. Embarrassing. Sweet, lovely, but embarrassing.

As for learning languages, I don’t see any differences in my American and my European students. Among colleagues, Germans speak amazing Spanish. Brits are downright terrible. I am talking about Hispanists, people whose profession is the study of Hispanic literature and culture. There are exceptions, of course. Here I’m speaking in generalities. The French are not as bad as the Brits, but pretty bad. Italians are, as a rule, very good, but not nearly as amazing at speaking Spanish as German colleagues. The German-speaking Swiss are also great. As I keep saying, there is an affinity here, the nature of which I do not fully understand.

What I said above, however, only has to do with the actual quality of speaking the language. In terms of producing interesting ideas in the field of Hispanic studies, British scholars are about a hundred light years ahead of the Germans.

Going back to what I was actually asked, I see no differences in teaching Americans or Europeans. They’re equally great.

I promise just one more, people. I won’t turn into one of those besotted cat people.

Oh, whom am I kidding?

In jail, Labayru collaborated with the authorities. With her help, two French nuns and two Plaza de Mayo mothers were kidnapped and murdered by the dictatorship. She was a very young woman who had given birth in jail, and I would never judge her for doing whatever she had to do to survive. After she was released, Labayru found herself shunned by other survivors and the families of those who died in captivity. If you did nasty things in order to survive, it’s understandable, but the reality is that you still did nasty things. Maybe a little bit of humility about that is in order. Labayru is congenitally incapable of humility, however, and has been acting in a way that has made a lot of people mad.

One example is her insistence that she was raped in jail. There was an officer among her captors who would take Labayru on dates to restaurants, hotels, and even international trips. Yes, her captivity was of the kind where she could travel to Uruguay and Brazil to have vacations with her husband. Labayru had sex with the officer who would take her to these restaurants and trips. She also had threesoms with him and his wife. The officer never physically hurt or threatened to hurt her. Moreover, Labayru enjoyed the sex. She enjoyed it so much that even today, fifty years later, she cannot stop describing how very enjoyable it was and how entitled she was to some physical enjoyment while in captivity.

One can argue that there was most definitely an element of coercion in her relationship with this officer. But the idea that this is an equivalent of forcible rape that many women actually experienced during the dictatorship does not land. Labayru managed to get the officer in question and his supervisor convicted to twenty plus years in jail for these “rapes.” She is shocked that other survivors are not flocking to her in support over this. 

This is how this cat sleeps:

Didn’t wake up even when I started taking pictures with a flash.

Isn’t this extremely funny?

When Silvia Labayru got out of jail, where she had been placed for trying to bring about a communist revolution, to celebrate her release, her father, a high-ranking military general, gave her a Rolex watch as a gift.

It’s hard to think of a pithier anecdote that would be just as symbolic of revolutionary movements everywhere.

People have criticized Leila Guerriero for being too kind and gentle in her treatment of Silvia Labayru. I find this criticism to be altogether unreasonable. To get a subject to disgorge a wealth of intimate details and confess to doing terrible things, you can’t approach them with self-righteousness and accusations. You have to establish a relationship of trust. You have to find something in them to like.

Guerriero cultivated her subject like a gardener tends to a rare and fragile flower. Throughout that time, she got to know Labayru. She met her husbands, her children, her friends. She participated in the daily life of her family. Unless you’re a total sociopath, you will feel a degree of closeness to a person you got to know so well. You will see their side of the story, and you will develop kindness and attachment towards them. All of this is clear from the structure and the tone of Guerriero’s book.

Still, as readers, we get to make up our own minds. Having read for five hours straight yesterday, I am now halfway through the book, and I have to say that my personal feelings towards Labayru are a lot less kind than those of Guerriero. The book would not be possible without Guerriero’s kind feelings towards her subject. I wouldn’t have any material to be able to make up my own mind. There is no need for me to accept the journalist’s perspective, even as I feel deep gratitude for the extraordinary amount of work she put into this project.

Silvia Labayru, the subject of Leila Guerriero’s investigative report La llamada, became a leftist domestic terrorist at the age of 18. Her organization, Montoneros, was like today’s Antifa. Hilariously, it was funded by the same people who fund Antifa today and for the same purpose.

Like most of revolutionaries everywhere, Labayru was a child of extraordinary privilege. The society she wanted to destroy was the one that gave her luxury, comfort, exotic travel, a high degree of material well-being, and amazing prospects. She told herself that she was motivated by a desire to help the underprivileged, but whenever she had to spend 15 minutes in the company of said underprivileged, she would realize that she found them disgusting, badly smelling, noisy, and very annoying.

What was it, then, that made such a young woman so angry that she would be willing to lay down her life to manifest her unhappiness? It becomes very clear what drove Labayru’s rage when you read about the family she comes from. Her father was a high-ranking officer in the military, but he and his wife were extremely liberal, even in today’s terms, in every aspect of their lives. Suffice it to say that Labayru’s mother was one of those abortion fetishists. We rarely talk about such women, but they most certainly exist. They get pregnant in order to have abortions and tell everybody about that. They derive some sort of a weird sexual enjoyment from both the abortion and from shocking others by these narratives. Since her very early childhood, Labayru was regaled with stories of her mother’s endless abortions. She started getting into the fetish herself, getting purposefully pregnant, and then aborting until her first husband put an end to the insanity and forced her to stop doing it.

La llamada (and my retelling of it for those who can’t read it) is valuable, in part, because it demonstrates to us what goes on in the wealthy families that produce domestic terrorists. And it’s truly shocking.