It gets worse for Nashville Democrat who ‘hates’ her own city: ‘Burning down a police station is justified’
Democratic congressional candidate Aftyn Behn’s political past has once again come back to haunt her.
Behn, who currently serves in the Tennessee state legislature, has failed to navigate her on-the-record remarks ahead of the December 2 special election to replace former Republican Rep. Mark Green. Despite running to represent Tennessee’s 7th congressional district, Behn has expressed disdain for the district and critical resources that assist constituents.
‘I don’t remember these tweets.’
Behn was confronted on MS NOW about a series of now-deleted tweets where she apparently advocated to dissolve the police department in 2020, the same summer as the George Floyd riots.
One of these tweets read, “Good morning, especially to the 54% of Americans that believe burning down a police station is justified.”
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Photo by SAMUEL CORUM/AFP via Getty Images
“Yeah, I’m not going to engage in cable news talking points,” Behn said. “But what I will say is that, you know, our communities need solutions. We need local people deciding … solving local problems with local solutions … and that’s not the overreach of a federal government or a state government of which we are dealing with in Nashville and our cities across the state.”
The MS NOW anchor pressed Behn to clarify her comments repeatedly, but she failed to do so.
“Once again, I don’t remember these tweets,” Behn said.
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This is not the first time Behn’s past remarks have landed the Democrat in an uncomfortable situation. She previously expressed severe disdain for Nashville, the very city she is running to represent.
“I hate the city, I hate the bachelorettes, I hate the pedal taverns, I hate country music, I hate all of the things that make Nashville, apparently,” Behn said.
“I hate it.”
In a video posted to X on Thursday, Behn seemed to deny that she hates Nashville, admitting that she takes issue with “the bachelorettes” and “pedal taverns” but ultimately blames Republicans for her comments.
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Young GOP outsider takes aim at Trump-endorsed candidate in campaign launch to replace Gov. DeSantis in Florida
Florida Republican Rep. Byron Donalds’ bid to succeed Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) just received another challenge from a fellow Republican.
On Monday morning, James Fishback, founder and CEO of investment firm Azoria, officially launched his bid for the governor’s seat in 2026.
‘Congressman Byron Donalds can’t be our next governor because he won’t fight for Florida like Ron DeSantis has.’
In a campaign launch video posted on X, Fishback, 30, says he will “stop the H-1B scam, tell Blackstone they can’t buy our homes, cancel AI Data Centers, and abolish property taxes.”
“Nowadays, not all Republicans are the same. If a Republican politician supports the H-1B scam that fires our workers, he can’t be our next governor,” he said in the video.
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Al Diaz/Miami Herald/Tribune News Service via Getty Images
“Congressman Byron Donalds can’t be our next governor because he won’t fight for Florida like Ron DeSantis has.”
Fishback emphasized his outsider status in the campaign video: “I’m not a politician. I’m an investor and a businessman.”
Fishback promised to visit all 67 counties in Florida in the coming months because “Florida’s next governor has to be someone you can see, talk to, and even debate with.”
“Florida is our home; America is our birthright; and we will never let them steal it from us,” Fishback’s website reads.
Fishback’s X profile emphasizes making Florida affordable for families.
Fishback is also the founder of the Incubate Debate, an organization that encourages middle and high school students to debate and equips teachers with a no-cost “Teacher Toolkit.”
Donalds, who currently represents Florida’s 19th district in the U.S. House and has received Trump’s endorsement in the Florida gubernatorial race, has consistently led Democrat David Jolly, a former Republican, in early polling.
Fishback joins a very crowded gubernatorial race, with over 30 candidates having already filed.
Blaze News reached out to Fishback’s campaign but did not immediately receive a response.
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Louis CK’s ‘Ingram’: Skilled comic spews self-indulgent self-abuse
For more than two centuries, the great American novel has tempted writers who dreamed of capturing the country’s soul between two covers.
From Melville’s “Moby-Dick” to Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby,” from Faulkner’s haunted South to Steinbeck’s dust-caked plains, these novels shaped the way Americans saw themselves. Even in decline, the form still attracted giants. Updike, Roth, Morrison — writers who made words shine and sentences sing. Each tried to show what it means to be American: to dream, to stumble, and to start again.
To compound matters, ‘Ingram’ isn’t just a story of exploration, but also one of self-exploration, in the most literal and least appealing sense.
Now comes comedian, filmmaker, and repentant sex pest Louis C.K. to try his hand at what turns out to be … a not-great American novel. In truth, it’s awful.
Road to nowhere
“Ingram” reads like a road map to nowhere — meandering, bloated, and grammatically reckless. The prose wanders as if written under anesthesia. Sentences stretch, then sag. The paragraphs arrive in puddles, not lines. There’s an energy in C.K.’s comedy — a kind of desperate honesty — that, on stage, electrifies. But on the page, that same honesty slips into self-indulgence. The book is less “On the Road” and more off the rails.
To be clear, I love his comedy. I’ve seen him live and will see him again in the new year. He remains one of the most gifted observers of human absurdity alive — a man who can mine a half-eaten slice of pizza for existential truth. But this is not about comedy. This is about writing. And C.K. cannot write. The pacing, the architecture, the restraint — none of it is there.
Rough draft
The story unfolds in a version of rural Texas that seems to exist only in C.K.’s imagination, a land of dull prospects and even duller minds. At its center is Ingram, a poor, half-feral boy raised in poverty and pushed out into the world by a mother who tells him she has nothing left to offer. His education consists of hardship and hearsay. He treats running water like sorcery and basic plumbing like black magic. C.K. calls it “a young drifter’s coming of age in an indifferent world,” but it reads more like rough stand-up notes bound by mistake.
The writing is atrocious. Vast portions of the book read like this:
I couldn’t see my eyes, but I knew what was on my throat was a hand by the way it was warm and tightening and quivering like you could feel the thinking inside each finger, which were so long and thick that one of them pressed hard against the whole side of my face.
Or this:
I sat up, rubbing my aching neck til my breath came back regular, and I crawled out the tent flap myself, finding the world around me lit by the sun, which, just rising, was still low enough in the sky to throw its light down there under the great road, which was once again roaring and shaking above me.
Sentences stretch on like prison terms, suffocated by their own syntax, gasping for punctuation. The dialogue is somehow worse. Ingram’s conversations with the drifters and degenerates he meets on his journey stumble from cliché to confusion, the rhythm of speech giving way to nonsensical babble.
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Photo by Ronald Martinez/Getty Images
A gripping tale
To compound matters, “Ingram,” isn’t just a story of exploration, but also one of self-exploration, in the most literal and least appealing sense. There’s a staggering amount of masturbation. C.K. doesn’t so much write about shame as relive it, page after sticky page. His public fall from grace plays out again and again, only now under the pretense of art. It’s less confession than repetition — self-absolution by way of self-abuse, and somehow still not funny.
Any comparisons to writers like Bukowski or Barry Hannah are little more than wishful thinking. Bukowski was grimy, but in a graceful way. He wrote filth with style, turning hangovers into hymns.
Hannah’s madness had a tune to it, strange but unmistakably his own. Even Hunter S. Thompson, at his most incoherent, had velocity. His sentences tore through the page, drug-fueled but deliberate.
C.K.’s writing has none of that. He tries to channel Americana — the heat, the highways, the hard men who dream of escape — but his clumsy prose ensures the only thing channeled is confusion. As C.K. recently told Bill Maher, he did no research for the book, and that much is evident from the first page. His characters talk like they were written by a man who’s only seen Texas through “No Country for Old Men.”
Don’t quit your day job
In the history of American letters, many great writers have fallen. Hemingway drank himself into oblivion; Mailer stabbed his wife; Capote drowned in his own decadence. But their sentences still stood. Their craft was the redemption. With “Ingram,” C.K. has no such refuge. The book exposes the limits of confession as art — that point where self-exposure turns into self-immolation. It could have been great; instead, it’s the very opposite. The only thing it proves is that writing and performing are different callings. Comedy forgives indiscipline. Literature doesn’t.
The great American novel has survived worse assaults — from bored professors, from self-serious minimalists, from MFA factories that mistake verbosity for vision. But rarely has it been dragged so low by someone so convinced of his brilliance. There’s perverse poetry in it, though. A man who was caught with his pants down now delivers a novel that never pulls them back up.
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