Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

Know thine enemy

And use the knowledge to drive ’em batshit crazy.

We are blessed with an enemy that refuses to even try to understand us, but do we ever understand them. And that means we know their weaknesses. After all, the establishment has been in our faces all our lives. We can’t not know them because there is no way to avoid them. The media, entertainment, politics – it’s all them all the time, so we know what makes them tick, and where to plant the charges to bring down the whole stinking edifice.

It’s just a matter of pushing their buttons.

Annoying liberals and the Never Trump Gimp Gang is vitally important to our movement, and not just because it is fun, though fun is important. As Alinsky taught, the best techniques are the ones your people have fun with (Rule 6: “A good tactic is one your people enjoy.”). And there’s not much more fun to be had with your clothes on than driving pompous liberals to distraction.

But getting under our opponents’ collective collectivist skin is more than just an enjoyable way to pass the time. It performs vital functions for the movement both by exposing our enemy for what it is, and for supporting our own side’s morale.

Alinsky got it. Rule 5: “Ridicule is man’s most potent weapon.” What’s important to our Alleged Betters? Their self-image as smart, sophisticated, and capable. Look at their bizarre fixation on academic credentials. Their status is everything to them. They consider themselves deserving of power not by some divine right – only us Normals believe in that God stuff – but by right of their own secular divinity.

So we need to deny them the respect and deference they believe they earned by getting a Gender Studies bachelors at Oberlin, or by being a Deputy Assistant Undersecretary of Kissing Up to the Mullahs, or by playing a magical guy in spandex in comic book movies. Their pompous self-regard is a fat, juicy target, and we need to be on it like Ana Navarro and Michael Moore on a discount buffet.

Over the years I’ve come to vastly prefer sharp, profane mockery—spiced with humor, somewhat lighthearted and not over-serious—to plodding, molecular-level obsessing over the flaws in Section 47, Paragraph 358 of this or that piece of legislation; fusty perorations detailing the arcane maneuvering of some lobbying group, Congressional committee, or other such; or behind-the-scenes fluff-job interviews with poisonous snakes in the grass, typed up by giddy human Dictaphones who never seem to get around to asking the tough questions, or don’t follow up on them if they do*.

Maybe most of all, I’m weary of the kind of somber, supposedly even-handed articles that mince about graciously granting that the Loyal Opposition, bless them, May Just Have A Valid Point Here…when it’s obvious to anybody that what we’re really talking about (or avoiding talking about, more like) is true malefactors engaged in brazenly lying, proposing to trample the Constitution, violating the law, or otherwise playing the Sober Responsible Pundit for the easy mark he is. Sober Responsible Pundit is pulling punches when he ought to be going for the jugular, bringing a knife to a gunfight, carefully insisting on being “civil” with vicious guttersnipes. He assumes honest intentions and integrity on the part of people who don’t have any, and just never you mind all those knives in his back. These guys probably do more real harm to the cause of restoring America That Was than almost anybody.

More irritating still, SRP will also now and then post a piece yearning for the Golden Days Of Yore, when politics was the province of true gentlemen, a scholarly debate conducted by wise, judicious adults Reasoning Together quietly and respectfully instead of the appalling shitfling we’re now mired to the eyeteeth in. The Golden Days never really existed, of course. They never will. They can’t, really.

Politics is all muck and blood and low blows, necessarily so. It is crass by its very nature. It’s the Ruling Class deciding how to divvy up the ill-gotten tribute confiscated, on threat of imprisonment or worse, from the pockets of the Great Unwashed. It’s the lowest, most corrupt of blackhearted brigands among us masking the suppression and/or oppression of their subjects by pretending to care about the well-being of Duh Peepul. Above all else, it’s the greediest hogs in the national pen trying to protect their access to the trough and keep the slop coming their way.

It must be said, though, that as such sordid business goes, American politics is actually more civil and dignified than most. Sessions of the US Congress don’t regularly degenerate into actual physical brawls like plenty of others do. Our affairs of government, at least at the federal level, are conducted with way more restraint and decorum than is often the case in, say, England or Europe. Parliamentary rhetoric is dialed down to a narcolepsy-inducing degree. It seems kind of curious in a way, especially in light of our European cousins’ perception of us as wild-eyed, irrepressible yahoos for whom violence is a first resort, but it’s true.

None of which amounts to an argument against unleashing to the fullest the withering mockery Kurt recommends above, natch. WimpyCon HORROR! over such a thing notwithstanding, it’s the most moderate option available at present. Should it fail, odds are that the politesse I just mentioned will begin to fray, given the strident, obnoxious radicalism the Left has decided to resort to in their desperate quest for power. The prospect of our national fabric unraveling completely is no longer a remote or unthinkable one.

The real problem is that the American debate is no longer a process of reconciliation between people whose fiery passions are tempered by common core beliefs and humble pride in a shared national identity; it is now a life-and-death struggle between irreconcilable ideologies which simply cannot coexist for very long. No way that ends up being anything but a bare-knuckle, ear-biting, eye-gouging, hair-pulling, groin-kicking donnybrook. All the Marquess of Queensbury will ever do in a no-holds-barred fracas like that is get himself hurt.

*Case in point: an NPR interview I heard the other day with some Trump-traumatized harpy, regarding the Facebook data-mining ATROCITY. The harpy represented one of the myriad lunatic Lefty organizations out there seeking Trump’s impeachment, imprisonment, torture, and execution on any pretext they can contrive; she bitterly commanded Mueller to further flout his mandate by including the ATROCITY in his deliberations soonest, or by God else.

Astoundingly, the NPR interviewer rashly committed an act of journalism and asked a question I never would have expected: “But what actual crime do you believe was committed here? IS there one?” The flustered harpy gibbered for a goodish bit about how “the American people DEMAND ANSWERS” and other such disjointed tripe, dodging and weaving without ever even acknowledging the question, let alone answering it. It was kind of embarrassing, honestly.

And the NPR broad let the harpy’s half-assed evasion slide completely. No follow-up at all.

Now, the question was posed towards the end of the interview, so I could be generous and assume that the NPR-ette just ran out of time if I wanted to.

But I don’t want to. That’s a Sober Responsible Pundit move if ever I saw one, and I ain’t a-gonna make it. It’s every bit as likely that the interviewer asked the question as a shield against any besmirching of her Journalistic Integrity and Impartiality; her failure to even try to have the question honestly addressed allowed her to avoid sending her liberal audience scurrying away from the radio to their Safe Spaces to quiver in terror for a while, until being anesthetized by the next soothing story on the eternal promise of solar panels, chopping the dicks off of grade-school boys, or gay quadrasexual lesbians Shattering Boundaries and Challenging Bigoted Assumptions via having themselves impregnated with surgically-implanted giraffe embryos before running off to the Klondike to become well-diggers using only their fingernails and sheer RAGE for tools.

No, properly following through on such a good and relevant question would only serve to confuse and distress her audience, antagonize her interviewee, and expose an uncomfortable home truth she and her peers would much rather remain buried. Those hazards were akin to the ball-bearings in a Claymore, and I’m confident she was keenly aware of them. She didn’t want that landmine blowing up in her face, so she defused it by doing a little dodging and weaving herself, with the additional benefit of preserving her credibility with the Sober Responsible Punditry thrown in gratis.

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"America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards." – Claire Wolfe, 101 Things to Do 'Til the Revolution

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