Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

Insult etymology

Steyn puts the Boot in.

Among the admirers of M Macron was my old editor at The Wall Street Journal, Max Boot, a NeverTrumper who’s now “left the right” and, following an on-air altercation at Fox, took a swipe at Tucker Carlson for “yukking it up with Mark Steyn” over Russia. But in these fractious times we must find our yuks where we can. So last year Max Tweeted:

To defeat populism, America needs its own Macron–a charismatic leader who can make centrism cool.

Macron is cool mainly in the sense of cold and frosty and heartless – hence the 23 per cent approval rating. So much for all that charisma: that and 3.95€ will get you a café au lait. So poor old Boot’s year-old Tweet got dusted off last week and subjected to much mockery, which he used to bolster his thesis that all these French protests are the work of Russian bots. Boy, I’ll bet Louis XVI wishes he’d thought of that one.

If you’re having trouble keeping track, the French protests, Trump, Brexit, the Austrian and Italian elections, and the sudden cancellation of the “Murphy Brown” reboot are all the work of Russian bots. Whereas the Tijuana caravan, the UK grooming gangs and that rental car heading toward you on the sidewalk outside the Berlin Christmas market are the authentic vox populi.

Anyway, my main interest in Max’s defense of the inept and unfeeling Macron was this riposte from Katie Hopkins to Boot’s blaming of the bots:

The world thinks you are a cockwomble, sir. If you are looking for someone to blame – find a mirror darling.

Boot was befuddled:

I have no idea what a ‘cockwomble’ is, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“Cockwomble” was new to me, too, but the etymological analysis of Steve Sailer’s British correspondent seems persuasive – with “cock” in the sense of fool, perhaps with a whiff of the Australianism “soft cock” about it. It would also be pleasing to think it something of a portmanteau with a hint of “coxscomb” in the sense of the medieval court jester’s hat or the seventeeth-century fop.

At any rate, it’s an enviable epithet. Indeed, Max Boot appears to be the first American ever to be called a cockwomble.

Enviable indeed, although such creativity seems almost wasted on an airweight insignificance like the unworthy Boot, for whom something more simple and mundane like “pud” should surely suffice. Steyn goes on from there to wring even more mileage out of both Boot and his newly-minted descriptor, all in a most entertaining way.

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Hollywood, America…

And (((((((JEWS!!!!)))))))

If you’re still not seeing it, pay attention.

Historical note: you got Hollywood as a largely (but not then nor never entirely) Jewish invention, precisely because of the same white-hooded goose-stepping anti-Semitism in the OP and responses, except at the turn of the last century, coupled with the avarice of Thomas Edison Inc., Philadelphia lawyers, and Tamany Hall politics conniving to try to sue Jewish filmmakers out of business every time they made a movie, and the subsequent and reflexive decamping of the Thalberg/Mayer/Goldwyn/Selznick types from corrupt East coast environs, where justice was sold by the pound to the highest bidder, and getting off the train in Phoenix AZ on the one day in 365 it ever rains there. 

That wouldn’t do at all, so they all got back on the train, arrived in Los Angeles, saw they had 300+ days of sunshine/year, ocean, desert, mountain, plains, forest woodland, and city-scape all in close proximity, coupled with a thriving and booming metropolis, hard-working people absent trade unionism, and dirt-cheap real estate, with none of the East Coast kleptocracy previously noted, and the match was made that gave you the single greatest cultural achievement in America since ever: the movie business. 

They could shoot cowboy and indian flicks three miles from downtown L.A., because in 1910, everything from that point to the Pacific Ocean was bean fields, cactus patches, and rocky chapparal, and hordes of broke-dick former ranch hands became cavalry troopers and Schmoe-hawk tribe Indian stunt men.

Hollywood is not a Jooooooooooos!!! problem; those exact folks gave you The Wizard Of Oz, Gone With the Wind, Stagecoach (starring some B-list singing cowboy), Goodbye Mr. Chips, Of Mice and Men, The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes, Dodge City, Drums Along The Mohawk, Gunga Din, The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, Jesse James, Young Mr. Lincoln, and about 100 other movies, including a couple of Secret Service-entitled flicks starring some kid from Illinois, all in just that one year (1939)!

If you can’t suss that out, that year was the Yankee’s “Murderer’s Row” of movie-making, compared to ever in history, anywhere.

Now tell me the names of the producers and studio heads, just for those 12 flicks, in 1939.

Tell me about the Hollywood that produced, e.g. It’s A Wonderful Life, Sahara, Twelve O’clock High, Ben Hur, and 30K-40K other films, some 1000 of which are international treasures, and the high points of the entire quintessential American art form; then compare and contrast that with the Hollywood that makes any four examples of the current shite you’d care to name, and see if you can spot what changed between Hollywood 1915-1990ish, versus Hollywood from 1990-present.

What changed is who pays for films to be made. Around 1990, give or take.
When you lost the checkbook, you lost the industry’s attention.

This is what happens when you abdicate fighting culture wars, and think you can ignore them, which was the Right, inclusive, from 1960-five seconds ago. Not “conservatism”, not “Boomers” (aged about 0-15 when that clever plan was hatched), but rather every swinging Right-side Richard for 60+ effing years, and counting

Well-played.

Keep doing that, and call me when it succeeds spectacularly.
Not.

This is why those railing against Hollywood, particularly in the vein of “It’s all run by Joooooooooooooos!” are mouth-breathing morons with the IQ of a cup of custard, and less culture than a cup of yogurt.

Hollywood is an American invention, not a Jewish one.

Fucking BINGO. Read it all. From a comment to Aesop’s previous post, which was the springboard for this one:

Anyhow, whatever this “plan” is, the second you start putting parenthesis around names and hauling out the swastikas, yeah, you’ve lost me, and you’ve lost most of the U.S. population no matter how disgusting some people in Hollywood are behaving. Just point out their disgusting behavior – leave the B.S. Nazi crap far away.

Again: bingo. If you have a problem with liberal Jews—which, actually, I do myself—you should be able to easily recognize that it’s not because they’re Jews, it’s because they’re liberals. But if you’re one of those types who likes to rant about “nation-wreckers,” complains about the “exaggeration” of the horrors of the Holocaust, and thinks any Muslim country you can name will ever be as solid, reliable, and trustworthy a US ally as Israel is…well, this probably ain’t the blog for you, bub.

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Stabbing ever Rightward

Zman expands on a point I made the other day myself.

With news that The Weekly Standard is about to shut down due to the lack on interest, I wondered what would fill its place. The need for border security may not be a concern for the political leaders in Washington, but it is a necessity for the people in charge of the moral orthodoxy. The system requires there to be a predictable opposition that will squawk a bit, but eventually roll over for the Progressives. That means there are now job openings in the loyal cuck guard for men (and women!) willing to guard the walls against us.

If you are to become a paid chattering skull on the “right” then you better get used to writing and talking about the double-standard. A standard feature of all cuckservative bleating is pointing how there is one set of rules for Progressives and another set of rules for everyone else. Here’s a recent example in the premiere cuck site, National Review On-line. This one is about the black college professor, who was fired from his CNN job, for saying he hates Jews and wants Israel wiped from the map.

The standard cuck response to these events, is to shift the focus away from the actual issue onto the double-standard. In this case, the effete editor of NRO is begging the Left to stop giving wedgies to cucks like Charlie Cooke, when they fumble their lines. The real issue is why is criticism of Israel in violation of the morality codes, but hating white people acceptable? The cuck can’t allow that. His prime directive is to make sure whitey never thinks about this stuff, so the double-standard mew is employed to change the subject.

Another popular position in the cuck army is to be the guy who spends his days noodling over the rule book. Every time Lefty is about to pull a fast one in Washington, these guys pop up in the pages of cuck publications, talking about the finer points of the law. This post is a recent example from after the election. It is a long snoozer about the details of California election law, written from the ludicrous position that the rules matter. If only we can tweak the rules, the cheating in California will stop!

These are the two faces of the cuck army. When it is time to use the rules against the Left, they start talking about principles and morality. When it is time to talk about principles and morality, they start talking about the rules and the need to respect order. Every time the Left makes clear the rules don’t matter to them and that we live in a lawless age, the cuck army swings into action, lecturing us about the rule of law. That’s important to know. The tongue lashings and lectures are always directed our way, never toward Lefty.

That’s because the cucks are not really on our side, but Lefty’s.

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Bill sums up

This. This right here.

Browsing through Insty today, something slowly dawned: Most of the posts are slyly ironic, trying to point out the endless dishonesty and hypocrisy of the left.  It seems the goal is to score rhetorical points of some sort or another.

And I realized I found this sort of thing profoundly boring and, well, irrelevant.  Why?

Because we are well past that sort of thing being useful in opposing the left.  Anybody who has been paying attention knows that of course  the left lies constantly, that hypocrisy is bald-faced and ignored beyond its usefulness as a tool against non-leftists, and that irony is about as effective against them as whispering “Please, stop” to a gang of rapists.

At this point I’m uncertain when, or if, the resistant to the leftist takeover becomes more concrete, but I am quite certain that sarcasm and irony won’t be the weapons that stop them.

Nope. I’ve mentioned a time or two around this hogwallow how tiresome I’ve begun to find the popular Hitlerblog posting formula that amounts to: “IF A REPUBLICAN/CONSERVATIVE/WHATHAVEYOU DID THIS…” followed by a link to and/or excerpt from a story about some particularly rank example of liberal hypocrisy, two-facedness, or double-dealing doublespeak or other. In fact, you could take the post on Sanders below as Exhibit A of it. Yes, I knew when I posted it how useless these things are; I readily admit to being as guilty as anybody else now and then.

What we’re talking about here is simple, reflexive death throes in a war that was lost long, long ago. Nonetheless, as our blogbud Ironbear says:

It does still serve a purpose, albeit a smaller one than it used to, though: as Larry Correia says, arguing/posting on the internet is a spectator sport. And as InstaPundit is fairly mainstream as far as blogs go, and still gets a lot of traffic from people who aren’t quite Red-pilled yet, every bit of the snark that they see along with their linkfest gives them something to think about and possibly wakes them up a bit more.

So Glenn is still doing something useful toward informing the people who aren’t as aware as we are that 1) the Left always lies, 2) the Left always lies, and 3) see Rule #1.

I’m mostly agreed with you, though, that it is mostly irrelevant, because I’m leaning more and more toward the view that it’s too late for efforts to wake up the unaware to make a real difference.

Agreed. Some of us will soldier on, hopelessness be damned, no matter what. It’s what we are, it’s what we do; we can’t NOT do it—just for spite’s sake, if nothing else.

No, sarcasm and irony won’t be the weapons that stop the Left; Bill is perfectly right about that. The only weapons that could possibly do it now are the ones that draw blood, break bones, and rip guts asunder, and we may very well be past the point where even those will avail us much. But there will always be that handful of us ready and willing to take them up anyway, and let somebody else count coup and worry about end results. The day guys like Bill, ‘Bear, and myself—hell, Glenn too, truth be told—are willing to just meekly knuckle under and eat Proggy’s shit without demur ain’t here, and ain’t coming either.

So be it.

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As intended

Guys, we gotta stop harping on the “failure” of socialism. Truth is, it works the way it’s really supposed to every time it’s tried.

To say California is a mess is an understatement. We on the Right often assume this is due to incompetence. And while I acknowledge that possibility, I ask my readers to entertain an alternative: this is quite probably intentional.

On Drudge this morning, I found a brief snippet about Jack Ma, richest man in China, being a member of the Communist party. Does this surprise you? Communism has never been a ground-up, grassroots movement from the lower classes, despite the popular reputation as such. Rather, it is an ideology led by the second-tier wealthy scions who fancy themselves to be intellectuals. 

Marxists merely presume to use the lower classes against their enemies in the middle and upper classes. Ultimately, they don’t want to deal with the dirty, teeming masses in their living rooms, or even their zip codes. Socialists have had the run of California since the early 90s, and yet their vision has resulted in the second-highest poverty rate in the United States (adjusted for cost-of-living – something Leftists rarely bother with).

Socialism is Feudalism repackaged and rebranded as some peasant-friendly, wonderful ideology of plenty.

In reality it’s California writ large. It is haves and have-nots… with a lot more have-nots than haves. It is starvation for the masses and cake (hey, you can have it AND eat it too) for the experts. It is maximal separation between those that do and those that pretend to think. Leftists tell us that Capitalism is to blame for all this, and yet how can that be when, where they rule, there is greater separation, greater inequality?

I don’t pretend to care overmuch about relative wealth. There will always be haves and have-nots. Yet they do make mouth noises about this, then do the exact opposite. We are accustomed to calling them hypocrites, assuming that the mistake is accidental, a consequence of hubris, perhaps, or merely of ignorance. Consider the possibility that it is intentional, that this is what they wanted all along, and all the mouth-noises about the proletariat is just a cloaking device for sending us back to the age of Feudalism and rule by nobility – without even the courtesy of noblesse oblige this time around.

Y’know, I think he might be onto something here.

(Via the Woodpile Report)

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Jolly, jolly, ho ho ho!

So I was puttering around in the archives whilst mulling over whether to repost some of my classic Ghosts Of Christmas Past here and there during this holiday season, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a Christmas Eve 2010 post featuring a great Christmas ad:




“The beautiful ‘Christmas card carton'”—and damned if it ain’t, too. As I said in the post:

Full-flavored smoking enjoyment in open defiance of Nanny-state killjoys, splashy holiday graphics in bright red and green, and Ronaldus Magnus Maximus his own self. Plus, no unpleasant aftertaste! By gum, that oughta be enough peace-on-earth-goodwill-toward-men to get even Scrooge Picard a-wassailing.

I do SO love this time of year, I truly do. Oh, and over at the HQ’s Sunday Gun Thread you’ll find another heartwarming look back.

SOS update! Cue the killjoys, damn their eyes.

Lock her up.

You know who I am talking about, right? Melania Trump. She recently decorated the White House with red Christmas trees. I saw them on TV, and I will tell you I loved them: their brightness, their cheer, their impact as something artistically different while still tasteful.

But some leftists were in a huff. These critics need critics, and I volunteer, noting the obvious truth that this assault on the first lady is pathetic, still another example of petty, snobbish, misogynistic, nativist supremacy. It is more than a little interesting how our moral betters, in seeking a new America, seem to have climbed out of Hillary Clinton’s basket of deplorables. Most people on the left tell you they love immigrants, but apparently not when it comes to a charming, sincere, caring woman whose accent gives her away.

Melania Trump is not bathed in things American, and some of her choices demonstrate as much. But to make a big deal of the clothes this former model wears, for instance, is a slide down the ladder of good manners and contempt for diversity. She is not dumb, you know. She speaks five languages. How many do you speak?

Barely any, for most of the suppurating polyps of the Left—not coherently, anyway. Complaints about “blood-red Christmas trees” straight out of the Handmaid’s Tale from people who hate not only Trump but Christmas itself with a burning, bug-eyed passion are kinda hard to take seriously in the first place.

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New book

Our old friend Francis would like y’all to know:

The long awaited sequel to Innocents:

A neurophysiologist develops a technique for altering human desires…

A college strictly for futanari finds its protective obscurity threatened…

A romance novelist becomes the emotional target of a young transwoman…

A young American genius unknowingly courts a futanari from distant China…

A Japanese sex slaver whose business was destroyed by an American security company seeks vengeance…

Once again, Father Raymond Altomare, pastor of Onteora County, has his hands full.

Experiences is currently $3.99 in digital form.

UPDATE: The paperback edition is now available, priced at $9.99.

Also, I’ve released an omnibus edition of the three Athene Academy novelettes, priced at $1.99.

As Fran told me back when he first hipped me to Innocents, this series is quite a departure from…well, from most anything, really. But it’s good, gripping stuff nonetheless; I really can’t recommend anything he writes highly enough, and these would be no exception.

I’ve read a fair bit of Francis’s output by now, and I’ve hugely enjoyed all of it. Entertaining, thought-provoking writing at bargain-basement prices—I just ain’t seeing a downside here, people.

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Lone (Star) bright spot

Former SEAL and incoming Texas Rep Dan Cranshaw lets ’em have both barrels.

Incoming members of Congress Dan Crenshaw (R-TX), Joe Neguse (D-CO), Chrissy Houlahan (D-PA), and Deb Haaland (D-NM) appeared on CBS’s Face the Nation with moderator Margaret Brennan on Sunday. When the roundtable discussion veered into a gripe session about how dastardly President Trump was “undermining our democracy,” particularly the freedom of the press, Crenshaw — outnumbered four to one — nimbly embarrassed the liberal panelists.

At the beginning of the clip, Neguse, speaking the language of “the Resistance,” declared: “I think some of our freedoms and the principles that we live by have been under attack for the better part of the last two years.”

Asked to respond to Neguse, Crenshaw wanted specifics. “I always ask the question — ‘like what?’ What is he undermining exactly? What democratic freedoms have been undermined? We just had an election where we switched power in the House. Democracy is at work. People are voting in record numbers.”

It’s of a piece with the “Trump is racist” reflex, always taken as a given with no evidence of his having either made a racist statement or committed a racist act ever.

The liberal members of the panel began talking at once, all of them indicating that the president was undermining the free press, among other things.

Crenshaw was ready for that discussion. “Obama indicted — had many press members under investigation,” he pointed out. “Trump has not. So what is the difference here?”

Neguse replied: “Just last week, one of the largest media publications in the United States had to go to a federal court in order to essentially regain access to the press room.”

Crenshaw corrected the Democrat. “That was one reporter — not the whole organization.”

Host Margaret Brennan pointed out that other media organizations had filed amicus briefs in support of CNN.

“That’s right.” Crenshaw agreed. “Because he was disruptive.”

Believe it or not, that isn’t even the best part. See? Even rearguard actions and fighting retreats can have their shining moments. Sure, in the long run these small victories may not change much. But bloodying the bastard Left’s nose is NEVER a waste of time; sometimes, sheer spite is its own reward, and needs no more justification than that.

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An old, sad story

Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, heroes, and villains.

And so Stan Lee’s stable of mid-twentieth-century superheroes became the multi-billion-dollar franchises of the twenty-first century, making a fortune for Lee and his new Hollywood associates and rather less for the talented fellows who’d cranked them out every month way back when. With the exception of Spider-Man, almost all of Lee’s household-name heroes were drawn by a fellow called Jack Kirby, who never enjoyed the star cameos Stan did in the Marvel movies. Kirby lived modestly in Irvine, California, and spent his days sat on “an old, straightback kitchen chair parked in front of the crummiest old drawing table you ever saw”. He ought to have died the wealthiest guy in Irvine. Instead, his widow had to beseech Marvel for a modest pension sufficient to cover her mortgage, groceries and medical bills.

That’s just the way it was in the comic business. The superheroes had superpowers, super costumes, super cars, super spaceships, super secret headquarters, super biceps, super chest muscles, super thighs and super calves, but they were created by guys on highly non-super pay scales – and that was true even for the fellow who was the signature look of the entire form. Until the movies CGI-ed these guys, when you pictured Captain America pounding through the streets in red-white-and-blue long underwear, or Ice Man riding a roller coaster of ice through the skies, or the guy in the pork-pie hat pointing upwards at the unseen monster about to start rampaging down Main Street, or the coed in the romance comic sitting alone in the booth when the big man on campus wanders in with the new blonde, or the Two-Gun Kid or Sgt Fury and his Howlin’ Commandos, when you pictured superheroes or sci-fi, creatures or cuties, war or westerns in comic-book form, you were picturing Jack Kirby. He’s the look of an entire industry. At Marvel Comics in the sixties, they gave Spider-Man to Steve Ditko, who, in contrast to Kirby’s bodice-busting heroes, drew Peter Parker as an undernourished nebbish and gave the series its distinctive character. But the house rule was simple: Stan Lee wanted Kirby to draw like Kirby, Ditko to draw like Ditko, and everybody else to draw like Kirby. For a good couple of decades, everybody else did. He’s what Roy Liechtenstein was appropriating when he took Kirby’s style and turned it into “pop art,” though Liechtenstein made more dough out of “WHAAM!” (now on display at the Tate in London) than Kirby ever made out of “WOW!” (now in a crate of junk under an antimacassar in your mom’s attic).

For every superhero, there’s a supervillain, and the best ones are usually the loyal ally who turns out to be playing a double-game. To Kirby’s fans, the bad guy is a kid who showed up in the office of Timely Comics in the late thirties, the nephew of the company’s business manager. He was a gofer and they let him do some copywriting, and, if Kirby was Captain America, the kid was kind of a Bucky, the boy sidekick. By the time Kirby returned to the company in the fifties, the kid was editor-in-chief: Stan Lee. They were a team: as the Marvel credits put it, “Smilin’ Stan Lee and Jolly Jack Kirby.” But Jack wasn’t that jolly by the late sixties, and Stan was smilin’ to the end, on all those gazillion-dollar-a-year retainers for “consulting” and cameos. As Kirby’s wife Roz put it, “Tell Jack that after he finishes saving the universe again, he has to take out the trash in the kitchen.”

If I remember right, the guys who created Superman got royally screwed by DC Comics and died broke too.

It’s an all-too-common story in the music biz too, of course. In fact, I remember years and years ago seeing a documentary on Willie Dixon, I believe it was, wherein he told all about how he would walk into one Tin Pan Alley publishing house, sell ’em the sheet music for a song, and collect his money. Then he’d go back down to the street, sit on a bench, and quickly rewrite some of the lyrics, give the same song a different title, and go on to the next publishing house to sell the slightly-rejiggered song to them.

As I recall, he laughed heartily while describing his complete lack of concern or worry over the lawyerly maelstrom that ensued; as far as Willie was concerned, he knew going in that he was going to get shafted one way or another on the royalties he would earn, so to hell with the suits in the big fancy offices. He got his little bit up front; let them sort out the backend, and best of luck to the thieving bastards. There was sorting out aplenty to be done too, since Willie wove a tangled web indeed by writing damned near every blues song you ever heard of and having his stuff covered by everybody and his sister’s cat’s grandmother.

So. Onwards.

As I mentioned on Rush yesterday, when the superheroes got super-budgets something got lost. I think the last summer blockbuster my kids dragged me to was Avengers 7 or possibly X-Men 12. Anyway, it felt kind of weird to be watching a movie where the good guys have to figure out how to save America from the most advanced, evolved, giant-sized, invincible supervillains ever devised, and then leave the theater and return to a world where, in Afghanistan, the good guys are losing to the least super villains ever concocted – goatherds with fertilizer.

Can it be any wonder that comic-book fantasy and escapism are so highly prized nowadays, with current American reality being as dismal as it is?

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Remembrance

The best Veterans’ Day post I’ve seen has gotta be Gerard’s.

In time, I left home for the University and, in the manner of young men in the 1960s and since, I came upon a lot of new and, to my young mind, excellent ideas. A minor one of these was that it was time to stop being a ‘Jerry’ — a name I associated for some reason with young men with red hair, freckles and a gawky resemblance to Howdy Doody. I decided that I would reject my family’s preferences and call myself by my given name, ‘Gerard.’ In fact, in the callous manner of heedless boys on the verge of adulthood, I would insist upon it. I duly informed my parents and would correct them when they lapsed back to ‘Jerry.’

This attitude served me well enough and soon it seemed I had trained my bothers and my parents in my new name. Of course, I’d taken this name not because of who my uncle had been or because of the cause for which he gave his life, but for the selfish reason that it simply sounded more “dignified” to my ears.

I was a student at the University of California at Berkeley and it was 1965 and we had no truck with the US military that was “brutally repressing” the people of Vietnam. We were stupid and young and nothing that has happened at Berkeley since then has changed the youth and stupidity of its students. If anything, my era at the University just made it somehow possible for Berkeley students to think that their attitudes were as noble and as pure in their minds as they were stupid and selfish in reality. I was no longer a “Jerry” but a “Gerard” and I was going to make the world safe from America.

My name change plan went well as long as I confined it to my immediate family and my friends at the University. It went so well that it made me even stupid enough to try to extend it to my grandparents during a Thanksgiving at their home.

At some point during the meal, my grandmother said something like, “Would you like some more creamed onions, Jerry?”

And because I was a very selfish and stupid young man, I looked at her and said, “Grandma, everyone here knows that I’m not Jerry any longer. I’m Gerard and you’ve just got to get used to calling me that.”

Immediately, the silence came into the room. It rose out of the center of the table and expanded until it reached the walls and then just dropped down over the room like a large, dark shroud.

Nobody moved. Very slowly every set of eyes of my family came around and looked at me. Not angry, but just looking. At me. The silence went on. Then my grandmother, whose eyes were wet, rose from the table and said, “No. I can’t do that. I just can’t.” She left the table and walked down the hallway to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

The silence compounded itself until my grandfather rose from his chair and walked to the middle of the hallway. He took a framed photograph off the wall where hung next to a framed gold star. It had been in that place so long that I’d stopped seeing it.

My grandfather walked back to the table and very gently handed me the photograph. It showed a smooth-faced handsome young flyer with an open smile. He was dressed in fleece-lined leather flying jacket and leaning casually against the fuselage of a bomber. You could see the clear plastic in the nose of the plane just above his head to his right. On the picture, was the inscription: “Folks, Here’s my new office! Love, Gerard.”

My grandfather stood behind me as I looked at the picture. “You are not Gerard. You just have his name, but you are not him. That is my son. He is Gerard. If you don’t mind, we will continue to call you Jerry in this house. If you do mind, you do not have to come here any more.”

Then he took the picture away and put it back in its place on the wall. He knocked on the bedroom door, went in, and in a few minutes he and my grandmother came back to the table. Nobody else had said a word. We’d just sat there. I was wishing to be just about anyplace else in the world than where I was.

They sat down and my grandmother said, “So, Jerry, would you like some more creamed onions?”

I nodded, they were passed and the meal went on. My parents never said a word. Not then and not after. And, to their credit, they continued to call me Gerard. But not at my grandparents’ house.

An incredibly moving story, and an incredible piece of writing, of which you want to read every word. And again, here’s the link to donate to Gerard, who in case you missed it was burned out in the Cali wildfires and lost everything. Help the man out if you can.

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Veterans Day

Fascinating piece on French painter Henri Farré, documentarian of the birth of military aviation.

When World War I broke out, Farré decided to return home to France and do his part. Because of his artistic skills, he was given a rather interesting military commission to depict the war on canvas. While other artists, such as John Singer Sargent, also saw duty recording events like battles and troop movements during World War I, Farré was asked to record the brand new combat sector of military aviation for posterity. It would prove to be what set him apart from all other artists working at the time.

Between 1914 and 1917, Farré traveled to battlefronts and training grounds around France, painting images of aircraft and the men who flew and maintained them. These artistic duties often brought him into great personal peril, such as serving as a gunner at the back of a two-seater airplane, trying to machine-gun a German plane while trying to keep his sketchbook clamped between his knees.

What he saw up in the clouds, as he and his pilot stared at death head-on, often affected him so powerfully that sometimes he would start painting as soon as possible after getting back on the ground, while the colors and light effects he had seen were still fresh in his mind’s eye.

The paintings Farré produced were quite varied, and don’t fit neatly into a single category. Some of the images would not look at all out of place hanging next to a piece by Childe Hassam or Camille Pissarro––all sparkling tones and azure skies. Others are strikingly, violently different, featuring deep blacks and intense flashes of red, green, and yellow, symbolizing things like incendiary bombs or tracer fire. These works exhibit the kind of quick, punctuated, but deliberate brushwork that one sees from Henri Matisse or André Derain.

In 1919, Farré published his memoir of the war, titled after the exhibition and illustrated with a number of his works. He recounted his efforts to get to know (and capture in his art) the men with whom he served, and what aerial combat was really like. It’s an absolute howl of a book, despite its very serious subject matter, because these early flyboys were a riot: tough, smart, and daring, yet sophisticated and nonchalant. Farré was a generation older than they, yet they accepted him as one of their own, because he jumped right into the gung-ho spirit of things with them.

In the book, Farré shares stories of some truly harrowing combat adventures, all the more terrifying when one realizes that there is no cover over the cockpit, no parachute, and no way to survive coming down if you get hit.

No protection from the elements either; I have an old dead-tree biography of Richtofen somewhere around here which has a picture of him suited up beside his famous blood-red DR1 just before a wintertime flight, wearing great bulky furs and cumbersome, elbow-length gloves. I bet he was still damned cold up there even with all that gear on, too. Elsewhere, Aesop wishes his beloved Corps a happy birthday with a picture of the recent MOH ceremony honoring Marine Sgt. Maj. John Canley:

When you look for another service where an 80-year old who retired 30 years ago gets his Medal of Honor, still fits his dress blues, and looks like he could still be on active duty, but don’t find one anywhere else, you’ll know what they mean about “Once A Marine, Always A Marine.”

Heh. S’truth. I’ve known a bunch of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children over the years, and you could say the same about most of ’em. They may leave the Corps, but the Corps never leaves them.

Oh, and for slope-shouldered pussyboy dumbass Barrack Obama: that’s pronounced “core,” not “corpse,” punk.

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Breaking bad

Claremont’s The American Mind is thinking about Trump.

After almost three years, American progressives and the conservative Never Trumpers are no closer to understanding the man and the political situation he’s helped to create than they ever were. If we wish to make some progress in understanding him and the state of the country, we need to start from a different point of view.

Good character remains more desirable and honorable than bad character—even if bad character does not necessarily make for a bad president, nor good character for a good president. Based on his critics’ account of him, the question about Trump would seem to be, at least from the conservative point of view: how comes such a bad man to do so much good? That is, is it really the case, as the Never Trumpers’ minor premise asserts, that Trump is such a bad man? So bad that it was morally imperative to usher Hillary Clinton to the White House in his stead?

I’m reminded of Winston Churchill’s line about the socialist Stafford Cripps: “He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.” The Never Trumpers see no virtues in Trump, and admire none of his vices. The resulting portrait is a caricature, a rough, unrevealing one. No one would ever call him a moral paragon—not even the president himself. But the Trump universe theorized by the Never Trumpers is all dark matter; it doesn’t acknowledge the traits we see with our own eyes, including some admirable vices, but also his distinctive virtues, whether we choose to dislike them or not. The critics seem to prefer an explanation of Trump that is, as the cosmologists say, non-luminous.

Michael Barone’s Hard America, Soft America: Competition vs. Coddling and the Battle for the Nation’s Future (2004) is a short book with a useful distinction that begins to illuminate the phenomenon of Trump. It describes two countries, as it were. “Hard America” is shaped by the marketplace forces of competition and accountability. “Soft America” is the realm of public schools, self-esteem, and government social programs. The latter, according to Barone, produces incompetent and unambitious 18-year-olds, the former hard-charging and adaptable 30-year-olds. Somehow, uneasily, modern America includes both.

Donald Trump considers himself a kind of ambassador from hard America to soft America. Many (not all) of the asperities of his character are related to his career path. He calls himself “a builder,” and America “a nation of builders.” He knows his way around a construction site, and his virtues and vices skew to that hard, brazen, masculine world of getting things built quickly, durably, beautifully if possible, and in any case profitably. He wants to revive hard America’s mines, factories, and building sites, in the face of what he knows is the growing power of its despisers in soft America.

Trump also knows his way around a television studio. The hard reality of being a builder and landlord is combined, in his case, with being a longstanding reality-TV star. If the preceding president cast himself in the role of “no-drama” Obama, the current one plays all-drama-all-the-time Trump. From the beginning his kind of real estate verged on show business. Branding and selling his name, which have constituted the largest part of his business for a while, represented for him another step in the direction of show business. Show business is a business, however, and Trump likes to interpret what might be considered the softer side of his career in the hardest possible terms. He emphasizes numbers—the ratings, the advertising dollars, the size of his crowds. He has survived in several cutthroat industries, and intends to add politics to the list.

Whether in business or in politics, Trump disliked the airs and claims of “experts,” detached from and above the subjects of their experiments. He distrusted their glibness, too. He identified with working men and women, and promised (at least) to add jobs, to boost economic growth, to “win” for pipe-fitters and waitresses, too. He defended their Social Security but blasted the fraud of Obamacare, whereas Romney had scorned the 47%’s “entitlements” but gave Obamacare (based, you may recall, on Romneycare) a pass. Romney lacked perhaps what Kanye West would call “dragon energy.” When in a primary election he had done well among voters without a high school degree, Trump memorably declared, “I love the poorly educated.” You’d never hear Romney, nor any other mainstream Republican, say that!

These are but a few of the character traits that add up to make Trump, love him or hate him, one of our greatest and most accomplished Presidents—after not even two years in office. This is a long but REALLY good article, which serves as a springboard for several AmMind articles also taking a deeper look at Trump—including this one:

It is a testimony to the sanctimonious humorlessness of our elites that they still don’t find Trump funny. He has an undeniable knack for coming up with catchy, biting nicknames. No amount of Red Bull will ever help poor Jeb shed his “Low Energy” moniker. And who can hear Elizabeth Warren’s name and not think of Pocahontas? (Trump didn’t coin that one, but he definitely made it stick).

Though the political value of a sense of humor is considerably underappreciated, it is not, at the end of day, a great virtue. Courage is though. And here Kesler does not fully give Trump his due. He only ascribes to him “a kind of courage in defense of one’s own.” Trump, in fact, is manly. And it is his manliness, more so than his other qualities, his fame or his views that accounts for his popularity and his success — and makes up for his shortcomings and missteps.

Trump’s manliness is not that of a soldier who risks his life in combat or of a general who leads men into battle. In this regard, he is not as manly as his Secretary of Defense General Jim Mattis. Trump’s manliness is that of a man who is not afraid to say out loud what others only whisper and to incur the wrath of the ruling class for doing so. Trump is more manly than Mattis in this regard (and to almost any politician in recent memory, for that matter: if Mitt Romney had displayed half of Trump’s courage in 2012, he probably would have been President).

I don’t think it much matters to anybody whether Trump is “more manly” than Mattis—least of all, probably, to the two of them. In fact, the combination of attributes we used to call “manliness” shouldn’t be placed in some hierarchy according to which is the greater; one is either manly or, increasingly these days, one is not. No, courage on the battlefield isn’t quite the same as the courage required to stare down a powerful opponent across a boardroom table before cutting him to pieces in a hardnosed, high-stakes business negotation. But courage they both certainly are, I’d say, with their own distinct virtues and prospective pitfalls. And both are extremely valuable, and ought to be encouraged rather than denigrated.

We all know what we are not allowed to say in America. Every week brings a reminder of what happens to those who deviate from the accepted script when speaking of any of the Left’s protected identity groups. The state, it is true, does not criminalize hate speech, but public opinion does censor it. Heretics are not imprisoned — they are fired, disgraced and declared untouchable.

Not surprisingly, immigration has been Trump’s signature issue. He not only says what he isn’t supposed to say — “When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best” — he doesn’t back down when the elites unleash their fury against him for saying it. In fact, he usually doubles down — “Mexico is forcing people in that they don’t want, and they want us to take care of those people.”

By challenging the reigning consensus on immigration and not bowing to the pressure to recant, Trump teaches his countrymen a lesson in courage. Americans see in Trump a man willing to take on the elites who scorn them and to not only withstand their attacks but to fight back — often successfully. Trump doesn’t just punch — as he likes to say, he counterpunches.

Okay, enough of the excerpting, although I could easily go on and on with this one too. Just read all of the both of ’em.

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Uncle Tom’s gotta Uncle Tom, right, shitlibs?

Uncle Tom’s gotta Uncle Tom, right, libtards?

Kanye West Designs “Blexit” Apparel Urging Black People To Leave Democratic Party

OH, how I love it.

Unveiled Saturday at Turning Point USA’s Young Black Leadership Summit in Washington by TPUSA’s Communications Director Candace Owens, “Blexit” is designed to “open a conversation we have needed to have.”

“Blexit is a renaissance and I am blessed to say that this logo, these colors, were created by my dear friend and fellow superhero Kanye West,” said the 29-year-old Owens.

A superhero for sure; I love that, too. A “renaissance” for sure, one that’s long overdue. The Democrat Socialists have exploited black Americans for generations—taking their votes for granted by virtue of having bought them fair and square with a mess of pottage; fostering dependency and destroying the black family and the black middle class along the way.

They’ll have plenty to say about Kanye and Owens both over this, all of it demeaning and insulting. But it can all be translated thus: back on the Democratic-Socialist plantation, boy, you’re getting entirely too uppity heah! The bottom-line truth is as Hinderaker says:

What is Blexit?

BLEXIT is a frequency for those who have released themselves from the political orthodoxy. It is a rebellion led by Americans wishing to disrupt the simulation of fear.

BLEXIT is a renaissance. It is our formal declaration of independence.

You can read about it here. Candace and the rest of the crew are planning to criss-cross the United States, holding Blexit rallies in all major cities.

This is, of course, the Left’s nightmare: African-Americans declaring independence from liberalism, the welfare state and the Democratic Party. And the current generation of fiery, smart young black leaders can, I think, make it happen in sufficient numbers to be a political earthquake.

Let’s not discount Trump’s highly salutary influence on this most welcome trend, either.

Welcome, Kanye, Candance, and all other truly free-thinking, independent-minded black Americans, welcome and well-met. The rest of us are pleased and proud to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you in the ongoing struggle for liberation from tyranny and despotism.

(Via Ed)

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“Can’t you see that this is something that is not really up for debate?”

This guy says he’s a “progressive,” but I have to say I have my doubts.

Recently, I arrived at a moment of introspection about a curious aspect of my own behavior. When I disagree with a conservative friend or colleague on some political issue, I have no fear of speaking my mind. I talk, they listen, they respond, I talk some more, and at the end of it we get along just as we always have. But I’ve discovered that when a progressive friend says something with which I disagree or that I know to be incorrect, I’m hesitant to point it out. This hesitancy is a consequence of the different treatment one tends to receive from those on the Right and Left when expressing a difference of opinion. I am not, as it turns out, the only one who has noticed this.

“That’s a stupid fucking question,” answered a Socialist Alliance activist when I asked sincerely where they were getting what sounded like inflated poverty statistics. “If you don’t believe in gay marriage or gun control, unfriend me,” demand multiple Facebook statuses from those I know. “That’s gross and racist!” spluttered a red-faced Ben Affleck when the atheist and neuroscientist Sam Harris criticized Islamic doctrines on Bill Maher’s Real Time. Nobody blinks an eye when Harris criticizes Christianity, least of all Affleck, who starred in Kevin Smith’s irreverent religious satire Dogma. But Christians are not held to be a sacrosanct and protected minority on the political Left.

So how and why have these activists become so intolerant and horrible to deal with? Part of this hostility can be explained by a wilful ignorance and incuriosity about ideas with which they disagree. Every so often, a progressive friend will peruse my bookshelf in a thought-police sort of fashion. What happens next is fairly predictable. Once they realize that Malinowski’s Melanesian epic The Sexual Life of Savages doesn’t include any erotic pictures, they will turn their attention to the Ayn Rand collection. “Why do you have these?” they ask with an air of indignation, holding up a copy of Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal. “Have you ever read her?” I will ask. “No,” they reliably respond.

Hm. Doesn’t believe in gay marriage or gun control. Reads Ayn Rand. Would seem to have at least some sympathy for the Christians relentlessly persecuted by the Left. Looking back over the piece again, I realize that he never actually says he’s a liberal or “progressive” at all, contrary to my opening assertion; it’s just an impression I somehow came up with on my own, and I would seem to have been in error. Oh well. If I inadvertently slandered the guy unjustly, I hereby offer my humble apologies. No one who isn’t one would want to be called a Progressivist, that’s for sure.

Be all that as it may, he makes a whole slew of most excellent points throughout—such as this one:

According to these academics and others like them, not only should people be punished for not conforming to the new politically correct consensus, but conservative opinions opposing punishment for non-conformity should also be punished. A 2012 study, conducted by Yoel Inbar and Joris Lammers and published in Perspectives on Psychological Science, found that progressive faculty openly admit to discriminating against the conservative minority when it comes to job promotions and grant applications.

Given the current environment, conservatives would be advised to simply abandon academia if they know what’s good for them. On the other hand, it is a problem when a student goes through university where each and every course is taught by a left-leaning professor. For conservative students, the toxic and hostile university environment needn’t cripple their intellectual development. These students arrive at university with conservative ideas and will naturally seek out and read conservative authors in their own time to balance out the latest application of progressive doctrine to which they are subjected in class. The most ambitious will be familiar with both Rand and Marx, Keynes and Hayek, Galbraith and Friedman, Krugman and Sowell, Picketty and Peterson. But we ought to worry about the progressive student who arrives with progressive ideas, and is then showered in class with more of the same and reinforces them in their own time. Such students live in a much smaller cultural universe than the cosmopolitan intellectual world through which the conservative will be made to travel. This isn’t to deny that bigoted reactionaries on the opposite side of the spectrum also inhabit a tiny intellectual space. But that does not excuse the closing of the mind at a university.

Nothing can; intellectual curiosity and flexibility are the very heart and soul of a properly-functioning institution of higher learning. Unfortunately, that isn’t what our universities now are, and that isn’t by accident, either.

This article, of which you will want to read the all, is a deep and thoughtful one and covers a lot of ground. For me the big takeaway is probably this, most especially the part I put in boldface:

In his remarkable book The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion, Haidt recalls a telling experiment. He and his colleagues Brian Nosek and Jesse Graham sought to discover how well conservative and what Haidt terms ‘liberal’ (ie: progressive) students understood one another by having them answer moral questions as they thought their political opponents would answer them. “The results were clear and consistent,” remarks Haidt. “In all analyses, conservatives were more accurate than liberals.” Asked to think the way a liberal thinks, conservatives answered moral questions just as the liberal would answer them, but liberal students were unable to do the reverse. Rather, they seemed to put moral ideas into the mouths of conservatives that they don’t hold. To put it bluntly, Haidt and his colleagues found that progressives don’t understand conservatives the way conservatives understand progressives. This he calls the ‘conservative advantage,’ and it goes a long way in explaining the different ways each side deals with opinions unlike their own. People get angry at what they don’t understand, and an all-progressive education ensures that they don’t understand.

Indeed they don’t; they don’t understand much of anything, nor do they wish to, nor can they even conceive of any necessity for it. Neither do they consider such blockheaded, smug arrogance any kind of failing or flaw—something not to be proud of, but corrected. There’s no longer any reasoning, discussion, or honest debate to be had with them; the intellectual wall is complete, and cannot be breached or scaled.

They must be crushed. It’s almost certainly going to be bloody. And that’s all on them.

(Via Insty)

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Prior constraint

And power, and control.

I’m sure that somewhere there are reams of paper written on this topic. But, while discussing abortion with a rather liberal coworker of mine I was struck by an observation. The leftist mindset is firmly rooted in the idea of prior constraint. There are of course other driving ideals among leftists, but this is the one that really struck me as I hadn’t really considered how much it colors the worldview of people like my intellectually benighted coworker. As we were getting to the heated part of the discussion, he went for the ad absurdum argument of “You want women strapped to a table and forced to take their pregnancy to term”. Notice his careful wording that carefully avoided the phrasing carrying her Baby or Child to term. Intellectual mendacity is another hallmark of leftism, but I digress.

In choosing this particular argument he explicitly shows his own preference for governance. Rather than making something illegal and allowing someone to make their own choices as to whether or not to follow the law, and accept the punishment for breaking it, he would simply make everyone do what the government wants. Even to the absurd length of strapping a woman to a table and forcing her to take her pregnancy to term. Now this could charitably be considered taking the point to its logical extreme, or it could give a more complete view into the inner workings of the left’s mindset. By choosing the “logical” extreme that involves strapping someone to a table we see a difference in first principles. Preventing any sort of bad choice vs living with the consequences of a bad choice. This is the essence of prior constraint writ large.

If we examine this more closely we can see it playing out in other areas of the leftist playbook. The two most obvious examples are Guns and Free Speech. To prevent undesirable outcomes they want to simply ban all guns. The range of undesirable outcomes in their minds can vary from keeping those scary brown people from robbing me to the horrifying thought of a Deplorable getting uppity and thinking they have the right of self-determination. Both are equally loathsome to the agenda of leftists. This could be argued to be simply a childish case of Hoplophobia, or a well-meaning wish to keep crime in check. But I would argue that it is something deeper. It is my contention that it is that leftists believe in the perfectibility of man. If only they can control all of the variables, limit enough of his choices, protect him from his own worst nature, they will create a perfect man, and by extension, the perfect society. To bastardize a horribly overused saying “You can’t have your Utopian omelet without breaking a few individualist eggs”.

Free Speech is much the same. Rather than risk people making bad choices, and by bad I mean any that the leftists don’t approve of, they simply limit the debate to the leftist’s approved ideas. Any ideas outside of the approved orthodoxy must be shouted down. The offending ideas must be stopped before they can take root in the Prole’s mass consciousness. This has played over and over in the last few years as conservative speakers in universities have been subject to the Heckler’s Veto. Time and again speakers have been shouted down, attacked by mobs, or cancelled at the last minute by leftist fellow traveler administrators. This constraint of the free exchange of ideas is anathema to the purpose of a university, truly to any institute of learning. Any strain of thought that must be protected from heterodox ideas injected from the deplorable masses must invariably lead to a great degree of intellectual flaccidity. This flaccidity has created an entire generation of people that, left to their own devices, can do little to the people that they disagree with but resort to name calling. I guess that creating the sort of people to populate Utopia requires that no one be able to muster the intellectual firepower to question the Philosopher Kings running it. Prior Constraint must be considered the preferred tool to keep impurities from taking root in the perfectible man. This pure vessel must be protected at all costs. Stop any act and crush any idea that may take hold in this person. Utopia must be protected at any cost.

Our old buddy and CF lifer Sam sends that, and he’s onto something big there regarding what really makes Lefty tick. I hope to expound on the theme a bit myself soonest; there’s just so much out there of late to post about, and so little time in which to do it.

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Stinkin’ Blue Wave

Don’t let any splash on ya, that’s my advice.



Via Hoft and PB.

Defeat is an orphan update! Okay, I have to admit that, as confident as I’ve been about the Blue Wave being a washout, I did NOT see this coming.

Democratic National Committee Chairman Tom Perez said Monday that he has always thought this year’s elections would be close and that he doesn’t use the term “blue wave” to describe a possible big win for his party.

“We always knew that this election was going to be close — I don’t use the term ‘blue wave,’ I always talk about the need for the blocking and tackling,” Perez said in comments on CNN’s “New Day.”

“I always talk about the need for organizing, to make sure you’re leading with your values, and that’s how we’ve been winning throughout this year and throughout 2017.”

More:

Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) thinks there is reason to doubt the predicted “blue wave” in next month’s midterm elections, saying control of Congress will be decided by a few tight races.

“I know a lot of people talk about this blue wave and all that stuff, but I don’t believe it,” Sanders told Hill.TV’s “Rising” co-host Krystal Ball during an interview that aired on Monday.

Yet more:

Is the “blue wave” turning purple?

Republican-affiliated voters have outpaced Democratic-affiliated voters in early voting in seven closely watched states, according to data provided by TargetSmart and independently analyzed by the NBC News Data Analytics Lab.

GOP-affiliated voters have surpassed Democratic-affiliated ones in early voting in Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Montana, Tennessee and Texas, the data showed.

Only in Nevada have Democratic-affiliated voters exceeded Republican-affiliated voters so far in early voting, according to the data.

Another tell:

One of the emerging lessons of the midterms is that if you’re a Democrat running statewide in Trump country, you have to run as a Trump Republican to have a shot at victory. Consider the handful of statewide elections currently considered toss-ups. Most of them feature Democrats trying to persuade swingable voters that not only are they not part of the Resistance, they actually agree with Trump on certain issues.

In Indiana, which Trump won by 19 points, incumbent Democratic Sen. Joe Donnelly is running an ad campaign attacking “the radical left,” touting Trump’s border wall, and boasting about how often he splits from his own party. In South Dakota, which Trump won by nearly 30 points, Democratic gubernatorial candidate Billie Sutton, who is pro-life and pro-gun, is running on an anti-corruption platform with a former Republican as his running mate.

In Montana, which Trump won by 20 points, incumbent Democratic Sen. Jon Tester ran a full-page ad in 14 state newspapers ahead of a Trump’s visit in July, thanking the president for signing bills that Tester had pushed. (Despite the thank-you, Trump has been attacking Tester for allegations he made against Trump’s one-time secretary of Veterans’ Affairs nominee, Adm. Ronny Jackson.)

In each of these races, recent polls show the Democratic candidate with a slight lead. That stands in sharp contrast to Democratic candidates who are making no effort to embrace Trump voters in states he won. They aren’t faring nearly as well.

So, as always, they have to lie through their teeth and conceal what they really are, then. Nothing new about that.

After their enormous Kavanaugh blunder and last week’s attempt to tamp down fever-swamp expectations for the Mueller charade, the Demonrats are backpedaling so fast they’re liable to trip over themselves. None of this sounds or feels like a party confident of any impending “blue wave” to me. In the end, it all comes down to this:

“How many people do you know who voted for Trump (are) claiming that the Democrats need to win now because Trump has to be stopped and all this tweeting has to be stopped and all these bad manners have to be?”

“Uh, nobody.”

“So why do you think the blue wave?”

“I saw it in the media. I saw it on TV. I see the polls.”

“Why do you believe it? Where is the trend that Democrats are winning elections?”

Seventy-seven thousand people have signed up to get into the Trump rally in Texas for Cruz that holds 17,000 people. Where do you get this idea Democrats are popular?

Meanwhile, in another huge tell, even their once-mighty Lord and Savior, His Most Puissant Highness Barrack, can’t draw flies. In light of all this, I’m thinking Bill and Her Herness might want to rethink that stadium tour of theirs, unless they’re willing to pay people to attend.

The Democrat Socialist jalopy is running on fumes, sputtering and farting and belching smoke; they’re praying for a miracle to help nurse the faltering old rattletrap back home before it falls completely apart and leaves them stranded in Nowheresville. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of assholes, if you ask me.

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An idea whose time has probably not come

Tried posting this on FreeZoxee, but it didn’t work out for some reason. So what the heck, you guys get to suffer instead.

The New York City subway is a miracle, especially at 3 a.m. on a Friday night. But the system is also falling apart, and it’s going to cost billions to keep the old trains running: $19 billion, at least according to one estimate from city planners. The time has come to give up on the 19th-century idea of public transportation, and leap for the autonomous future.

Right now, fully autonomous cars are rolling around Pittsburgh, the San Francisco Bay area, and parts of Michigan, shuttling people from here to there with minimal manual intervention. Instead of fixing the old trains, let’s rip out the tracks and fill the tunnels with fleets of autonomous vehicles running on pavement. The result would be radical improvements in throughput while saving money and increasing the ability of the system to survive a fire, flood, or terrorist attack.

These subterranean highways would be dramatically simpler than public roadways for an autonomous artificially intelligent system because the tunnels could be limited to authorized vehicles only. No jaywalkers on cellphones. No babies in runaway carriages. Just a collection of competing fleets, centrally orchestrated and offering different levels of service to different groups at different prices.

Sounds great to me. Gonna need a cute, catchy, easy-to-remember name though…hmmm. Oh wait, I got it: Johnny Cab! What could possibly go wrong, right?



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Our revolution

Okay, it’s becoming clear to me that I really need to put The American Mind, the Claremont Institute’s new online publication, into the blogroll and bookmarks toot sweet—especially seeing as how they’ve added Codevilla to the stable.

The 2008 financial crisis sparked an incipient revolution. Previously, Americans dissatisfied with their Progressive rulers had imagined that voting for Republicans might counter them. But then, as three-fourths of Americans opposed bailing out big banks with nearly a trillion dollars, the Republican and Democratic presidential candidates joined; most Republican legislators joined all Democrats; The Wall Street Journal joined The New York Times, and National Review joined The Nation; in telling Americans that doing this was essential, and that their disapproval counted for nothing. And then, just as high-handedly, all these bipartisan rulers dropped that bailout scheme, and adopted another—just as unaccountably. They showed “government by the people, for the people” to be a fable.

This forced the recognition that there exists a remarkably uniform, bipartisan, Progressive ruling class; that it includes, most of the bureaucracies of federal and state governments, the judiciary, the educational establishment, the media, as well as major corporate officials; that it had separated itself socially, morally, and politically from the rest of society, whose commanding heights it monopolized; above all that it has contempt for the rest of America, and that ordinary Americans have no means of persuading this class of anything, because they don’t count.

As the majority of Americans have become conscious of the differences between this class and themselves they have sought ever more passionately to shake it off. That is the ground of our revolution.

Our time’s sharp distinction between rulers and ruled, the ever decreasing interchange and sympathy between them, is rooted in the disdain for ordinary Americans that the universities have sown since the Civil War. Ordinary Americans and their rulers are alienated now in ways unimaginable to the Northerners and Southerners who killed each other a century and a half ago, but who nodded when Abraham Lincoln noted that they “prayed to the same God.” Both revered the American founding. Both aspired to the same family life. Often, opposite sides’ generals were personal friends. And why not? The schools they attended, the books they read, did not teach them the others’ inferiority. They were one people. Now, we are no longer one people.

The anti-establishment “wave elections” of 2010 and 2014, in which the Democratic Party lost Congress and control of a majority of state legislatures, only led America’s Progressive rulers to double down on their positions of power in the judiciary, the media, corporations, etc. The Supreme Court struck down a referendum by liberal California defining marriage as the union of one man and one woman. The federal Defense of Marriage Act, which had become law by near-unanimity, was overturned bureaucratically and judicially. The Religious Freedom Restoration Act, on the books just as firmly, was undone by executive, judicial, bureaucratic, corporate, and mediatic subordination of religious freedom to anti-discrimination. By the 2016 election, America’s Progressive rulers were demonizing and punishing persons who define male and female by their birth and personal plumbing. 1984’s Big Brother had not been so imperious.

The 2016 election’s primaries were all about the American people’s search for means of de-throning increasingly insufferable rulers. Even on the Democratic side, many bridled at their self-serving unaccountability. But since the Democrats are the party of government, it was clear that protection from and vengeance against the existing power structure would have to come from the nominal opposition party. Yet the Republicans were very much part of the problem. That is why 2016’s real struggle took place within the Republican primaries, the most enduringly significant fact of which is that Jeb Bush, the candidate most closely identified with the Progressive ruling class, spent some $150 million and secured only three convention delegates. Americans in general, and Republicans in particular, were looking for the polar opposite.

Donald Trump was out of central casting—seemingly a caricature of what the ruling class said about its opponents. But the words he spoke were less significant than that he spoke with angry contempt for the ruling class. That—and the crowded field that never allowed a head-to-head choice—is what got him the chance to be the alternative to the ruling class. And that is what got him elected President of the United States.

Those who voted for Trump believing or hoping that he would do a, b, or c, were fewer than those who were sure that he offered the only possibility of ending, or at least pausing, the power of an increasingly harmful, intolerant, disdainful, socio-political identity. In 2016 one set of identities revolted against another. That was the revolution’s first turn.

The ruling class’s “resistance” to the 2016 election’s outcome was the second turn. Its vehemence, unanimity, coordination, endurance,and non-consideration of fallback options—the rapidity with which our revolution’s logic has unfolded—have surprised and dismayed even those of us who realized that America had abandoned its republican past.

The “resistance” subsequent to the election surprises, in part, because only as it has unfolded have we learned of its scope prior to the election. All too simply: the U.S government’s upper echelons merged politically with the campaign of the Democratic Party’s establishment wing, and with the media. They aimed to secure the establishment candidates’ victory and then to nullify the lost election’s results by resisting the winners’ exercise of legitimate powers, treating them as if they were illegitimate. The measure of the resistance’s proximate success or failure would come in the 2018 elections.

Partisan “dirty tricks” are unremarkable. But when networks within government and those who occupy society’s commanding heights play them against persons trying to unseat them, they constitute cold civil war against the voters, even coups d’etat. What can possibly answer such acts? And then what?

Nobody, but nobody, is as perceptive and sees this stuff as clearly—and can enunciate it so powerfully and deftly—as Codevilla. Along with Michael Anton’s brilliant Flight 93 Election essay, Codevilla’s seminal Ruling Class/Country Class piece will endure as truly historic, a defining moment in the ongoing revolution of which he speaks here. It’s a long article, scholarly and deep, as is his wont. Trust me, you want to read all of it—probably more than once. I guarantee you’re going to see it referenced again and again, for a long, long time to come.

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Predictions

Steve Grammatico puts some meat on the bones I’ve been rattling all along, winding up with this:

Predictions (and yes, they are optimistic): Democrats lose 15 seats in the House (sparing the country of Speaker Pelosi) and the GOP gains 7 in the Senate.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

More specific than I’ve yet dared to be, but I think he’s on the beam. Steve has a whole list of reasons to back it up, all of which you’ll enjoy reading.

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Unhittable

Neo swings for the fences, jacks it out of the park.

During the primaries, Trump’s Republican opponents never quite figured out how to wrestle this particular alligator. In the time since he’s been president, some of the Republican NeverTrumpers are still going at it and failing, although most have given up the agon and praised him, albeit sometimes reluctantly. Now it’s the Democrats who are engaged in a struggle with this strange opponent, continually thinking “Gotcha!!” and continually being bested.

Which brings me to another metaphor, appropriate for this time of year: Trump as knuckleballer. The knuckleball pitcher confounds batters with the zaniness of the ball’s behavior once it leaves his hand. It doesn’t require extreme force but it’s not an easy pitch to throw and it’s a very difficult one to control. But it can make ordinarily good hitters look bad; they often just can’t figure out what’s going on, and they end up looking silly when they swing at a knuckler.

I think she’s onto something here. As the lady says, the knuckleball is very damned difficult to master, and at any given time there aren’t very many pitchers in the Bigs using it. My dad could throw one, as it happens, and I remember as a kid him trying to teach me to do it and getting absolutely nowhere with it. But the ones that CAN throw one…well, how would YOU like to try hitting this?




No wonder the Dems have gone bugfuck nuts, eh? If you were accustomed your whole career to underhand-slowpitch gravy balls, and then one day found yourself having to flail the bat around at this stuff instead, you’d flip your lid too.

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The greatest negotiator in history!

You already know who. But maybe you weren’t aware yet of why that’s so.

President Trump is the only human being on the planet to ever get a refund from a hooker.

Shitlord El Supremo, as Heartiste himself might say. Click on over for more schadenfreudtastic hilarity. Backstory here.

Make it so update! Oh pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE let it happen.

Michael Avenatti, the firebrand attorney who has risen to fame representing adult film star Stormy Daniels, is taking steps to prepare for a possible 2020 presidential run.

A new filing with the Federal Election Commission shows that Avenatti’s political action committee, “Fight PAC,” made a series of expenditures toward the end of September, to set up a more robust fundraising and social media push in the months ahead.

“This idea that this is a superficial thing is ludicrous,” Avenatti said. “It is so ridiculous. I don’t need to engage in a superficial exploration of a potential run. Why would I need to do that? I don’t need any more notoriety. Why would I be wanting to take my time and energy traveling the country to raise money for Democrats if this was superficial?”

Well, and why the hell not? Now that Sacajewliah, Heap Big Princess WeCallItMaize, has mired herself to the earlobes in buffalo dung and made herself a laughingstock for however long she may now have left in the public consciousness, who else do they have?

Oh wait, hold on:

BidenTransAm.jpg


Okay, I’m good with either one here, I think.

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How it’s done

Street justice served, fresh and piping hot.

Members of the far-right men’s group “Proud Boys” beat up at least three protesters Friday in the streets of Manhattan after an event Friday night. The members of the pro-Trump organization that the Southern Poverty Law Center identifies as a hate group had gathered at the Metropolitan Republican Club on the Upper East Side to hear a speech by the group’s founder, Gavin McInnes. Minutes after they left the event, some 30 members of the group took part in the beating, which allegedly began when three anti-fascist protesters knocked a “Make America Great Again” hat off the head of a Proud Boy member.

Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit, AntiFa fascist. But if you make a bonehead move with ill intent, prepare to tote the full-load ass-whuppin’, just like you deserve. The New Rule, a la Schichter, is: what goes around comes around. In full measure, with a quickness.

Videos posted on social media show the violence that included apparent members of Proud Boys beating protesters while shouting “faggot” and “cocksucker.” None of the Proud Boys were detained for the attacks although three anti-fascist protesters were arrested. Police accused the protesters of attacking a 30-year-old man who was leaving the rally.

Two journalists who were at the scene, Sandi Bachom and Shay Horse, talked to the HuffPost and described how the “confrontation turned into a mob assault” with Proud Boys vastly outnumbering the protesters. “They turned it into a pummeling,” Horse said. “This was three people on the ground and people just kicking the shit out of them.” After the attacks, the Proud Boys members posed for a photo while flashing “white power” hand signs, according to a photo posted on Twitter. “I haven’t seen a fight that violent in a long time,” Horse tweeted.

Good. I hope they got their sorry asses beaten half to death, and will be walking with a limp, jumping at loud noises, and peeing through a tube into a bag for life. The only unsatisfying part of this feel-good story is that there weren’t more Lefty oxygen thieves present to take their dose along with these three simps.

“The proud boys were totally ready and willing to be violent tonight. They didn’t even wear masks.” Members of the group also reportedly shouted “I like beer” repeatedly, a clear reference to what Justice Brett Kavanaugh said during his confirmation hearings.

Heh. You go, ‘Boys. If there’s gotta be blood in the street, I’d much rather it be theirs.

The Proud Boys are a sterling example to us all, clearly ready to take care of business at the slightest provocation from fascist pussyfarts and deal out the right stuff in response, rather than curling into a fetal ball and whimpering about “civility” or some such.

In their faces. Twice as hard. “You must condemn the right-wing violence,” sniffs Leftiecakes? Yeah, go fuck yourself with a splintery, rotten 2×4. Cuck nancyboys, too, can snivel and whine right alongside their libtard leash-holders about how just awfully awfully awful it all is; Proud Boys don’t give a shit what they think either. Me, I fucking love it.

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The Bonny Scot

Good stuff about one of the all-time greats.

In 1974, a drunken Scott got into an argument with members of the band he was playing with. After throwing a bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor, he took off on his motorcycle. Scott suffered a bad crash and was in a coma for several days.

By the time he recovered, he was looking for a new band. As luck would have it, a new band formed by two fellow emigrant Scotsmen, Malcolm and Angus Young, was also looking for a singer.

Bon Scott signed on to AC/DC as the frontman when their previous frontman refused to go on stage. It was through Scott’s checkered past and rebellious attitude that the band could cement itself as a raucous, crude rock group. Scott, who had been rejected from the army because he was “socially maladjusted” brought that attitude into AC/DC. And it stuck.

But the stress of constant touring and performing began to wear on Scott. Prone to alcoholism, Scott drank heavily throughout this period. Meanwhile, their album Highway to Hell broke the US Top 100 chart, making AC/DC a major act almost overnight.

For the first time, Scott knew what it was like to have some money in his pocket. But success also strained his relationship with his bandmates. Scott’s tongue-in-cheek lyrics were always a part of the band’s chemistry, but he now found himself butting heads with Malcolm and Angus over how much credit he was given for his work.

After years touring with the band, he was tired of it. And on the cusp of success, he considered leaving for good so that he could get a handle on his drinking. He would never get the chance.

Like I said, good stuff, a fair bit of which I didn’t know despite being a HUGE AC/DC fan. First time I saw ’em was on the Highway To Hell tour, back when I was a teenager; though I’ve seen them several times since, that show remains one of the most memorable of my life. Am I gonna attach a vid here, you ask? Why, of course I am.




One of my favorite tunes, from what would have to be one of Scott’s last performances.

(Via MisHum)

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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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