GIVE TIL IT HURTS!


The Daily Donnybrook

Welcome to Ye Olde Colde Furye Blogge’s shiny new open-comments thread, where y’all can have at it as you wish, on any topic you like. Do note that the official CF comments policy remains in effect here, as enumerated in the left sidebar. All new posts will appear below this one. There will be blood…

Men without chests

The tone of the headline at Liberty Daily is all wrong.

Unhinged: Radicals Claim Terrorist Attack on NC Power Grid Was Done by Right-Wingers to Stop a Drag Show

“Unhinged”? SRSLY?!? I hope to hell it WAS “done by right-wingers to stop a drag show,” myself. In ordinary times and conditions, I wouldn’t give a moist fart about “stopping a drag show,” of course, or otherwise interfering with or infringing on anybody that’s tolerant enough to return the favor.

Unfortunately, these are NOT such times; having long since declared total war against us Normals and absolutely everything we believe in, reverence, or hold dear, it’s time and past time they got themselves one, if you ask me—so vigorously and unreservedly that, when all’s said and done, the merest thought of ever messing with us again leaves them literally retching up their spleens in sheer terror.

When the theory “right-wingers” were responsible for an attack on a North Carolina county’s power grid hit my feed, I paid no attention. It’s a ludicrous thought from ludicrous people who project what THEY would do if they wanted something shut down. “Right-wingers” don’t think about attacking a power grid to protest an event. We just show up at the event.

Apparently, the theory received so much attention that law enforcement had to address it.

For the record, I’m not saying that “right-wingers” or “left-wingers” or any-wingers weren’t responsible. I’m just saying it’s really stupid to think whoever did it committed the act of terrorism for the sake of a drag show.

If the idiotic theory turns out to be true (you never know, right?), I’ll post a correction. But for now I’m sticking with the official story that there’s absolutely no evidence of “right-wingers” turning our power to thousands with a terrorist attack to stop a drag show. I’m pretty confident I won’t be issuing any retractions.

Alas, so am I. Which only means that bars will go right on being lowered, Overton windows will go on shifting ever Leftward, and the recruiting of our own children to be used as weapons against us will continue as they have been. Recoiling in horror most dainty at any suggestion of righteous retribution against our willful tormentors is nothing but a recipe for disaster and defeat.

Are we really so weak-willed, so cowardly, that we must concede everything to an Enemy that has demonstrated himself to be implacable, insatiable, and merciless? Does comity really demand that we kneel in submission to him at every single turn? I’ll let Patrick Henry—who would no doubt disdain to piss in the mouths of his cringing, puling ancestors descendants if their gums were on fire, so far have they strayed from the noble standard he and his confréres set for them—say it for me:

Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!

Precisely so. And if you can descry no meaningful connection between Henry’s deathless words and some drag show being crammed down the throats of a community that expressed, in clearest terms, their opposition to hosting it, then you’re a damnable fool. In truth, it’s no longer about drag shows per se, nor any other such footling pettifoggery, and we all ought to know it by now.

The dot-mil brass who saw fit to override the peaceably-expressed standards of said community were making a statement of their own, declaring not just an unswerving fealty to PC-Left grotesquery, but explicit contempt for the notion that ersatz “citizens” might have any right whatsoever to a say in what takes place in their small town. Ultimately, that’s the long and the short of this whole deal.

“Terrorism,” is it? Fine, then; call it whatever you like. From where I’m sitting, it looks way more like fighting back, a development that is as welcome as it is long overdue as far as I’m concerned. Aesop has the right idea.

Thoughts:

1) RTWT.

2) Military community? Near Ft. Bragg? And the brass still approved of a drag show? Gee, the targeted nature of the response suggests that someone involved, perhaps some sort of “quiet professionals”, might maybe have a wee bit of familiarity with the CARVER matrix. As YOU should.

3) Padraig’s “The South” should be understood to be pretty much any rural area “south” of Canada, anywhere from eastern Washington State, and down about as southerly as Key West.

4) The incident further suggests that if a repeat performance is attempted, the next time, the transformers that get shot won’t be the ones mounted on telephone poles.

5) But they might be the ones found hanging from telephone poles afterwards.

I’m neither ashamed nor a-feared to just come right out and say that, as things now stand, I consider that last a consummation devoutly to be wished, and will make no apology whatsoever to anyone, aggressive Left or mewling Right, who might get his panties in a wad over the sentiment. It’s not too late for bloody calamity to be forestalled, perhaps. But it will require that THEY back off; I, for one, am all done with that bushwa.

Enough already. If it’s war we must have with the Left degenerates, destroyers, and wannabe despots who have brought one to our very doorsteps, then let that war be total—war to the knife, knife to the hilt, until the outcome is beyond all doubt or debate. Let’s have no more of pursuing a false peace with a foeman who makes no bones about his extravagant disinterest in it.

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1

And YOU are there

Weasel links to a riveting helmet-cam vid shot from the cockpit hot-seat of a bona fide classic: the legendary P47D Thunderbolt Mk II (ie, the prettier, more elegant bubble-canopy version, not the razorback). When, at around 2:50 or so, the pilot turns the engine over and that Pratt & Whitney Double Wasp finally catches and comes rumbling and grumbling to life, I confess I wet myself just a little.


That tandem takeoff roll is pretty damned schweet too, as are the simulated attack runs on some kind of boat or barge in the river. The pilot proceeds from there to really put the Jug through its paces, albeit at relatively low altitudes (many of those who flew them in both the European and Pacific theaters held that the P47 performed best above 30,000 feet, despite its great success in the ground-attack role), and it’s great fun to watch as he does it.

From the looks of the river and the nearby city skyline, I suspect this was filmed at the annual Thunder Over Louisville airshow, which I was fortunate to kinda-sorta attend several times from a hotel room when I was there for the Knob Creek Machine Gun Shoot. See, the hotel we always stayed at was on the glide path to the airport nearby, which to my boundless delight also happened to be where the various planes staged from, before heading down to the river to do their fly-by passes for the show.

Any red-blooded American male with an ounce of affection for military aviation in his soul is bound to enjoy this video as much as I did myself, I’d imagine; it’s 44 and a half minutes of pure flyboy enjoyment, shot from a perspective that leaves you veritably gasping for breath at times. Mucho, mucho thanks to Weasel for hipping us to this.

2

Pedo-chic

Okay, Groomer.

Balenciaga and the rise of paedo chic
Adults need to stop dragging kids into their sexual fantasies.

It’s hard to know what’s worse. That someone thought it would be fun to put dejected-looking kids alongside bears that look like they’ve just stumbled out of a queer kink dungeon in West Hollywood or that no one at Balenciaga thought: ‘Is this a little odd?’ Balenciaga is a fashion power-house. It is loved by the Kardashians. It’s all over red carpets. And yet its famous attention to detail appears to have escaped it when it was shown an image of a kid on a couch being gawked at by a fluffy blue bear in an outfit straight out of Cruising.

In another way, though, it makes messed-up sense that no one in this fashion chain of command stopped to wonder if this might all be a bit strange. Because the sad fact is that paedo chic is everywhere right now. In a world saturated with images of kids in adult clothing, and when children bop along to pop and rap tunes that are sexually explicit, and when it is not uncommon to see kids petting men-as-pups at Pride marches or laughing along with drag queens in skimpy outfits, why would anyone bat an eyelid at a pic of a girl on a bed with a kinky bear?

Paedo chic is one of the most worrying trends of our time. We seem to be witnessing a surge in the paedophilic sensibility. No, this is not to say that anyone at Balenciaga is a paedophile, or that a parent is a child abuser if he lets his kid hang out with braless ‘transwomen’ at those bacchanalian orgies of self-regard mixed with self-pity that Pride gatherings have become. But it does feel like the paedophilic imagination, the view of children either as sexual beings or as fit for being exposed to sexual beings, is having a resurgence. And we need to talk about that.

No, we do not. We need to END it. Period, full stop, end of story. There’s been way too damned much talk already.

Further afield, on the wackier outskirts of identity politics, sympathetic talk of ‘minor-attracted persons’ is becoming more and more widespread. Even USA Today published a report on ‘What the public keeps getting wrong about paedophilia’ – it has since updated the headline to ‘The complicated research behind paedophilia’. What if ‘minor attraction’ is just another sexual identity that people are born with, the paper pondered? It cited experts who believe we should talk about ‘destigmatising paedophilia’.

And bang, zoom, there it is: the REAL agenda, the agenda they don’t quite dare even yet to talk openly about or admit to. The thing to remember, though, is that even as bad as this is, legitimizing and normalizing pedophilia isn’t the end game. Because, as we have seen time and again with the Left, there IS NO end game. No matter how far we allow ourselves to be dragged into ever-more-monstrous iniquity, no matter what we yield up to them, they will always and forever come back for yet another bite at the rotten apple. It’s simply who they are, it’s what they do.

3

Problem: HANDLED

In some situations, there just ain’t no substitute for direct action.


That right there is how it is fucking DONE, people. Two things about this vid that I just can’t help but love: 1) The way the big dude so casually swipes the douchenozzle’s legs out of the way at :015 in with his foot, and 2) the fact that the fucking retards all so conscientiously donned their orange, reflective-taped vests—for SAFETY, one assumes—before going out to lie down in the street in front of a whacking great mass of oncoming traffic.

Idiots.

4

Cruisin’ for a bruisin’

Achin’ for a breakin’.

Activists Empty Tires on Dozens of SUVs in NYC

My grandmother used to tell me, “you can say almost anything you want as long as you say it respectfully.” That’s not entirely true for a bunch of reasons, but it can apply to specific situations. For instance, this group of climate “activists” deflating tires on SUVs in Brooklyn may have the right message, but delivering it through hundreds of flat tires is more likely to end in violence than any meaningful change.

It damned well ought to,  far as I’m concerned. In fact, it must—because unless and until such blatant, brazen criminality DOES spark violent retribution against these supremely self-righteous, out-of-control brats, it will continue indefinitely.

It’s important to note that while its actions could be perceived as vandalism by more persnickety SUV owners, it’s not calling for members to slash tires.

Pure bollocks, every single syllable of it. I assure you, it is NOT important to note any such thing. Well, unless you’re the kind of cowed, docile queef who doesn’t mind having to shell out for a tow-truck to haul your humble-victim ass to someplace with compressed air to reinflate your tires, that is.

The site details how to empty a tire using a small lentil or bean screwed under the valve stem cap and does not outline or encourage permanently damaging the tire. It’s possible – likely, even – that the SUV’s wheel or other components become damaged in the process, but the group is at least not openly calling for damage.

Don’t give a fat rat’s ass. By imposing real costs in time, hassle, effort, and cold hard cash, they’re DOING damage; whether they’re “calling for it” matters not one iota. Hopefully, one of the little twerps will soon find himself lying on the sidewalk slowly bleeding out after having been on the receiving end of a solid dose of some righteous hot-lead therapy, administered by a thoroughly pissed-off workaday schlub who’s finally had enough of this shit being imposed on him unasked-for.

I keep on saying it, and it keeps on being true: the sole reason garbage like this is occurring nowadays is because the perps have been allowed to get away scot-free with it for too long. Put an end to that, and you’ll solve the problem immediately. Not before.

4

What we’ve lost

Or, more precisely, was taken from us without our consent.

During the hurricane that was the Brett Kavanaugh hearings, it wasn’t just my high school friends and I who were on trial—it was an entire decade. That decade was the 1980s.

To understand the ’80s, and how our generation, Generation X, was formed, it helps to start with the 1970s. Specifically, with the movie “The Bad News Bears.” “The Bad News Bears” is one of the most hilarious and politically incorrect films ever made. It came out in 1976—when America was a more freewheeling place, for better and worse—and was a huge hit. It portrayed kids realistically. The Little League “Bears” cussed, used stereotypes, thought their alcoholic manager Morris Buttermaker (Walter Matthau) was useless, and got into fights. They were real kids. That includes the girl pitcher Amanda Whurlitzer, brilliantly played by Tatum O’Neal. Amanda fired right back when the boys razzed her, and mowed them down with her fastball. She was tough, smart, and independent.

Those real 1970s kids became the teenagers of the 1980s. They—we—often continued to be rowdy, independent, and rambunctious. I was born in 1964, which means I was 12 when “Bears” came out and then a teenager in the early 1980s when I was a student at Georgetown Prep. Things were a lot looser back then. You learned to fend for yourself (not everyone got a trophy), even as you tried to navigate the total wave of drugs and alcohol that were available. The hippie culture ruined a lot of lives.

Before political correctness and the #MeToo movement, before iPhones and the internet and Twitter and outrage culture, there was an understanding that beneath the veneer of civilization was something wild, dangerous, and joyful—a soul electric with sex and slapstick.

Compared to previous generations, kids today are less likely to have sex, drive, work, drink alcohol, date, or go out without their parents. A lot of this has to do with the advent of smartphones and social media. Kids these days are terrified that if they do something bold—or stupid—it will wind up on Facebook, YouTube, or Snapchat. In 2015, pop singer Ariana Grande, then 22, licked a doughnut—and it wound up on “The Today Show.”

In the 1980s, we didn’t live in fear of our every action being caught on a cell phone or security camera and then posted on social media. You could go out on a Saturday night, drink beer, see a band, take a long walk by yourself, hit on a girl, toilet-paper a neighbor’s house, and speed on the way home. You could do all these things while remaining almost completely anonymous. By 2002 that became more difficult, and, by 2012, it was damn near impossible.

Today’s porn- and outrage-saturated media, and our inability as a culture to deal with the ambiguities of male sexuality, lay at the heart of the Kavanaugh imbroglio. My videos and writings were interpreted to indicate hostility toward women when they, in fact, express love, healthy masculine desire, and a deep appreciation for their mystery, power, and beauty. You’re not really allowed to be in awe of women anymore. It’s all interpreted as hate.

But it wasn’t just Brett and me who were on trial. It was the entire era in which we grew up. An era of robust cultural confidence when men and women were equally celebrated, the 1980s have now, in the rearview mirror, become fodder for our modern media scolds.

For instance, several journalists noted during the hearings that I had written in praise of Hugh Hefner, who is now considered a symbol of toxic masculinity. This was taken as evidence of my retrograde sexual attitudes and projected onto Brett as proof of his being unfit for a seat on the nation’s highest court. What a crock of bullshit. The farther away I get from it, the angrier I feel.

As well you should—as well we ALL should, actually. The roots of America’s decline into a sickly, emasculated, terrorized, and psychically-impoverished culture aren’t at all difficult to discern; one doesn’t have to look very hard or very far to find them, they’re all around every one of us, every minute of every day.

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1

Broken

Methinks Tablet editor in chief Alana Newhouse and her correspondent Ryan are definitely onto something with this idea.

At one point last year, Ryan said something that struck a nerve. “I don’t know what I identify as these days, because everything has gotten so scrambled,” he noted. “I’m not a Democrat or a Republican, I don’t even think I could define myself narrowly as either a liberal or a conservative anymore. The one thing I know that I fundamentally do believe is the premise of your piece, that the dominant institutions of American life—in education, in the arts, in politics—are either totally broken or so weak or corrupt that they’re becoming irrelevant. In a way, the only thing I know that I believe in is…brokenness.”

Ryan went on to explain that, when he gets into political debates with friends and acquaintances these days, those on the “other side” aren’t all liberals or all conservatives or in fact all from any other previously recognizable camp. Instead, they are the people in his life who, regardless of how they vote or otherwise affiliate, remain invested in the institutions and political ideologies that now leave Ryan cold. Many of them acknowledge that there are problems, even serious ones, with universities, newspapers, nonprofits, both political parties, what have you, but they see these as normal, fixable challenges, not signs of fundamental brokenness. To them, the impulse to consign weighty institutions to the dustbin of history feels impulsive and irresponsible—like arson. To Ryan, staying committed to decrepit structures, and insisting to others that they are fundamentally safe when they’re clearly not, is what feels reckless.

Most Americans don’t fall squarely into one of these two camps. Around 40% don’t even vote. But among the people who do engage in debates about this country’s future, the ones doing it most compellingly are not those still stuck in the battle between “Democrats” and “Republicans,” or “liberalism” and “conservatism.” The most vital debate in America today is between those who believe there is something fundamentally broken in America, and that it’s an emergency, and those who do not.

…Many people understandably see our current moment as a wave of change that can be ridden successfully—without overblown diagnoses or radical solutions. These are status-quoists, people who are invested in the established institutions of American life, even as they acknowledge that this or that problem around the margins should of course be tackled. Status-quoists believe that any decline in quality one might observe at Yale or The Washington Post or the Food and Drug Administration or the American Federation of Teachers are simply problems of personnel, circumstance, incompetence, or lack of information. Times change, people come and go, status-quoists believe—this outfit screwed up COVID policy, yes, and that place has an antisemitism problem, agreed. But they will learn, reform, and recover, and they need our help to do so. What isn’t needed, and is in fact anathema, is any effort to inject more perceived radicalism into an already toxic and polarized American society. The people, ideas, and institutions that led America after the end of the Cold War must continue to guide us through the turbulence ahead. What can broadly be called the “establishment” is not only familiar, status-quoists believe; it is safe, stable, and ultimately enduring.

On the other side are brokenists, people who believe that our current institutions, elites, intellectual and cultural life, and the quality of services that many of us depend on have been hollowed out. To them, the American establishment, rather than being a force of stability, is an obese and corrupted tangle of federal and corporate power threatening to suffocate the entire country. Proof of this decay, they argue, can be seen in the unconventional moves that many people, regardless of how they would describe themselves politically, are making: home-schooling their children to avoid the failures and politicization of many public and private schools; consuming more information from YouTube, Twitter, Substack, and podcasts than from legacy media outlets; and abandoning the restrictions, high costs, and pathologies of the coasts for freer and more affordable pastures in the Southeast and Southwest.

Brokenists come from all points on the political spectrum. They disagree with each other about what kinds of programs, institutions, and culture they want to see prevail in America. What they agree on—what is in fact a more important point of agreement than anything else—is that what used to work is not working for enough people anymore.

Worse, the people for whom it IS still working are the selfsame nefarious wreckers who broke the whole damned system in the first place, intentionally and with malice aforethought.

(Via WeirdDave)

4

Facts: FACED

On Gab, Fran just comes right out and says it.

We must accept…
That the Constitution is a dead letter.
That the last two elections were fraudulent.
That the edifice in Washington is hostile to us.
That we cannot trust anyone who holds public office.
That “movements,” so called, are mostly a trap for enthusiasts.
That no explicitly political undertaking will restore our rights or our nation.

These are not happy pronouncements. I’m distressed by the need to make them. But reality is not a matter of opinion. Today we have a government of Usurpers who mean to rule by force, and with no particular regard for our rights. They will not yield to anything but massively superior force.

So what then?

I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. I’m an old man who’s seen too much and has no stomach for yet another fight. But what is must be frankly faced. America is now a nation ruled by an unelected oligarchy that selects its own successors, much as the Kremlin did. And as bad as its oppressions and exactions are today, present trends continuing, they’ll get worse.

How do we prevent “present trends” from “continuing?” And please, nobody say “Vote harder!”

I could never possibly say “ditto!” enough times to do the above justice, not in a million bazillion years.

5

Happy birthday

To one of the greats, a true American original.

Berry Gordy: The Visionary Who Made Motown

A company that was started with a loan of $800 went on to help shape the sound of the 20th century. We could only be talking about Motown Records, founded on January 12, 1959 by Berry Gordy Jr, who was born in the city he helped make synonymous with soulfulness, Detroit, on November 28, 1929. Unfailingly spritely, just ahead of his 90th birthday, Gordy announced his retirement at the Hitsville Honours ceremony, safe in the knowledge that his achievements will last forever.

Gordy built his empire on his early success as a songwriter, notably of “Reet Petite,” “Lonely Teardrops” and others for perhaps the pre-eminent black music entertainer of the late 1950s, Jackie Wilson.

“Of the late 1950s”? RUFKM? Try: of all time, it’s a much better fit. Don’t believe me?



Jackie was so incredibly, unbelievably good that a young Elvis Presley, on his first time seeing him perform in Vegas, was so blown away by the show he asked to come backstage to visit with “Mr Excitement” in the green room, to which request Wilson graciously acceded. Elvis made his obeisances to a man he recognized as one of the most awe-inspiring vocalists the world has ever seen or ever will see before solemnly swearing that he would never, not EVER, willingly follow Jackie onstage.

Smart fella, that Elvis.

The two nascent legends shared a few laughs and hung out awhile just shooting the familiar old road-dog breeze, then Wilson explained one of his own stage tricks to Elvis: gulp down a bunch of salt tablets and drink a gallon or two of water before going out onstage, so as to make oneself sweat profusely during the show, something any audience just loves to see from a singer; as Wilson told E at the time, “the chicks love it.”

Elvis used the trick forever after, there being but one minor little problem with the technique—it’s just liable to kill ya from a heart attack or stroke eventually. In fact, it was almost certainly a contributing factor in Jackie Wilson’s own debilitating heart attack a few years on down the road, a setback from which he never really recovered.

On September 29, 1975, Wilson was one of the featured acts in Dick Clark‘s Good Ol’ Rock and Roll Revue, hosted by the Latin Casino in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. He was in the middle of singing “Lonely Teardrops” when he suffered a massive heart attack. On the words “My heart is crying” he collapsed on stage; audience members applauded as they initially thought it was part of the act. Clark sensed something was wrong, then ordered the musicians to stop the music. Cornell Gunter of the Coasters, who was backstage, noticed Wilson was not breathing. Gunter was able to resuscitate him and Wilson was then rushed to a nearby hospital.

Medical personnel worked to stabilize Wilson’s vital signs, but the lack of oxygen to his brain caused him to slip into a coma. He briefly recovered in early 1976, and was even able to take a few wobbly steps, but slipped back into a semi-comatose state.

Wilson’s friend, fellow singer Bobby Womack, planned a benefit at the Hollywood Palladium to raise funds for Wilson on March 4. Wilson was deemed conscious but incapacitated in early June 1976, unable to speak but aware of his surroundings. He was a resident of the Medford Leas Retirement Center in Medford, New Jersey, when he was admitted into Memorial Hospital of Burlington County in Mount Holly, New Jersey, due to having trouble taking nourishment, according to his attorney John Mulkerin. Elvis Presley covered a large portion of Wilson’s medical bills. Wilson’s friend Joyce McRae tried to become his caregiver while he was in a nursing home, but he was placed in the guardianship of his estranged wife Harlean Harris and her lawyer John Mulkerin in 1978.

Wilson died on January 21, 1984, at the age of 49 from complications of pneumonia. He was initially buried in an unmarked grave at Westlawn Cemetery near Detroit.

So sad. But all this got me to revisiting a few of my personal all-time Motown faves on YewToob, a list which would necessarily have to include this slice of pure musical genius on it.



Pay especial attention to what the aptly-named Miracles are doing behind Smokey here; it pulls the entire song together in a way most non-professionals will never even notice at all—a thing often striven for by tunesmiths, but seldom achieved except in the verymost brilliant compositions.

And yes, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles were also on Motown, of course. Actually, Robinson himself was the label’s VP from 1972 until 1990, two years after the company had been sold.

So yeah, happy 93rd birthday to the great Berry Gordy, who brought us so very much wonderful, wonderful music on the Motown label. Thanks for that, sir, and God bless you.

8

SHOCKER!!!

Imagine my surprise.

There’s a remarkable concession appearing in The Washington Post today:

“a majority of Americans dying from the coronavirus received at least the primary series of the vaccine.”

The latest data shows that 58% of COVID-19 deaths in August 2022 were from people who were vaccinated or boosted. Based on past figures and the current trends, we can reasonably estimate that the number of vaccinated/boosted COVID-19 deaths will only rise. (In September 2021, the vaccinated accounted for 23% of COVID-19 deaths; in January/February 2022, the vaccinated were 42%.)

This is what happens when you rush ineffective and dangerous vaccines.

It’s also what happens when you blindly put your trust in institutions wholly, demonstrably undeserving of it.

10

A small victory…?

Not yet, but perhaps the first stirrings of what may someday become one.

I’m Thankful This Year For Everyone Fighting Against Transing The Kids

A gender “non-binary” lunatic shot up a gay safe space (otherwise known as a nightclub) so apparently anyone who ever thought it inappropriate for children to attend sexed-up drag shows is supposed to repent.

How about: No.

The success of the year has been making the weird and kinky things that liberals are doing with the nation’s children a fundamental political issue across the country. When moms and dads found out their kids were being trained in public school on how to hate white people and the ins and outs of transgenderism, they rose up to tell the taxpayer-funded public schools in unison: Knock it off, right now.

Elected leaders such as Govs. Ron DeSantis and Glenn Youngkin became heroes in no small part because they confronted the crisis by enacting policies explicitly banning the sick indoctrination of children. But they couldn’t have done it without influential voices on the right such as Tucker Carlson, the Libs of TikTok angel, and activist Christopher Rufo.

The saddest thing of all to contemplate is that we allowed them to drag us so very deeply into a sick mire of perversion, depravity, and amoral manipulation before offering a single word of condemnation over it.

7

The lesson of Thanksgiving

Very simple, very easy: eschew socialism.

Turns out, you can’t just ignore economics and human nature.

Socialism really does sound good on paper though, right? We’re all going to own everything together and take care of each other. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.

It sounds so nice. And we all want to be nice, right? People are emotionally drawn to socialism because it sounds so good. It sounds fair. It sounds — nice.

But do you know what’s not nice?

Corpses.

That’s exactly what happened the Pilgrims got when they took a stab at socialism.

Most Americans don’t know that the Plymouth colony was originally an experiment in socialist utopianism and were it not for a complete 180 a couple of years in, we probably wouldn’t have enjoyed the bountiful feasts most of us will indulge in today. There would have been no Thanksgiving because there would have been nobody left to give thanks.

It just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without including Rush Limbaugh’s classic recounting and analysis of the true meaning of the day.

“On August 1, 1620, the Mayflower set sail. It carried a total of 102 passengers, including forty Pilgrims,” now known as Pilgrims, “led by William Bradford. On the journey, Bradford set up an agreement, a contract, that established” how they would live once they got there. The contract set forth “just and equal laws for all members of the new community, irrespective of their religious beliefs,” or political beliefs. “Where did the revolutionary ideas expressed in the Mayflower Compact come from? From the Bible.

The Pilgrims were a “devoutly religious people completely steeped in the lessons of the Old and New Testaments. They looked to the ancient Israelites for their example. And, because of the biblical precedents set forth in Scripture, they never doubted that their experiment would work.” They believed in God. They believed they were in the hands of God. As you know, “this was no pleasure cruise, friends. The journey” to the New World on the tiny, by today’s standards, sailing ship. It was long, it was arduous.

There was sickness, there was seasickness, it was wet. It was the opposite of anything you think of today as a cruise today on the open ocean. When they “landed in New England in November, they found, according to Bradford’s detailed journal, a cold, barren, desolate wilderness. There were no friends to greet them, he wrote. There were no houses to shelter them. There were no inns where they could refresh themselves.” There was nothing.

“[T]he sacrifice they had made for freedom was just beginning. During the first winter, half the Pilgrims — including Bradford’s own wife — died of either starvation, sickness or exposure.” They endured that first winter. “When spring finally came,” they had, by that time, met the indigenous people, the Indians, and indeed the “Indians taught the settlers how to plant corn, fish for cod and skin beavers” and other animals “for coats.” But there wasn’t any prosperity. “[T]hey did not yet prosper!” They were still dependent. They were still confused. They were still in a new place, essentially alone among likeminded people.

“This is important to understand because this is where modern American history lessons often end. Thanksgiving is actually explained in some textbooks as a holiday for which the Pilgrims gave thanks to the Indians for saving their lives, rather than what it really was. That happened, don’t misunderstand. That all happened, but that’s not — according to William Bradford’s journal — what they ultimately gave thanks for. “Here is the part that has been omitted: The original contract” that they made on the Mayflower as they were traveling to the New World…

They actually had to enter into that contract “with their merchant-sponsors in London,” because they had no money on their own. The needed sponsor. They found merchants in London to sponsor them. The merchants in London were making an investment, and as such, the Pilgrims agreed that “everything they produced to go into a common store,” or bank, common account, “and each member of the community was entitled to one common share” in this bank. Out of this, the merchants would be repaid until they were paid off.

“All of the land they cleared and the houses they built belong to the community as well.” Everything belonged to everybody and everybody had one share in it. They were going to distribute it equally.” That was considered to be the epitome of fairness, sharing the hardship burdens and everything like that. “Nobody owned anything. It was a commune, folks. It was the forerunner to the communes we saw in the ’60s and ’70s out in California,” and other parts of the country, “and it was complete with organic vegetables, by the way.

“Bradford, who had become the new governor of the colony, recognized that” it wasn’t working. It “was as costly and destructive…” His own journals chronicle the reasons it didn’t work. “Bradford assigned a plot of land” to fix this “to each family to work and manage,” as their own. He got rid of the whole commune structure and “assigned a plot of land to each family to work and manage,” and whatever they made, however much they made, was theirs. They could sell it, they could share it, they could keep it, whatever they wanted to do.

“For young men that were most able and fit for labor and service did repine that they should spend their time and strength to work for other men’s wives and children without any recompense,’” without any payment, “‘that was thought injustice.’ Why should you work for other people when you can’t work for yourself? What’s the point?…The Pilgrims found that people could not be expected to do their best work without incentive.

“So what did Bradford’s community try next? They unharnessed the power of good old free enterprise by invoking the undergirding capitalistic principle of private property. Every family was assigned its own plot of land to work and permitted to market its own crops and products. And what was the result? ‘This had very good success,’ wrote Bradford, ‘for it made all hands [everybody] industrious, so as much more corn was planted than otherwise would have been.’…

“Is it possible that supply-side economics could have existed before the 1980s. … In no time, the Pilgrims found they had more food than they could eat themselves. Now, this is where it gets really good, folks, if you’re laboring under the misconception that I was, as I was taught in school. So they set up trading posts and exchanged goods with the Indians. The profits allowed them to pay off their debts to the merchants in London.

“And the success and prosperity of the Plymouth settlement attracted more Europeans and began what came to be known as the ‘Great Puritan Migration.’” The word of the success of the free enterprise Plymouth Colony spread like wildfire and that began the great migration. Everybody wanted a part of it. There was no mass slaughtering of the Indians. There was no wiping out of the indigenous people, and eventually — in William Bradford’s own journal — unleashing the industriousness of all hands ended up producing more than they could ever need themselves.

So trading post began selling and exchanging things with the Indians — and the Indians, by the way, were very helpful. Puritan kids had relationships with the children of the Native Americans that they found. This killing the indigenous people stuff, they’re talking about much, much, much, much later. It has nothing to do with the first thanksgiving.

The first Thanksgiving was William Bradford and Plymouth Colony thanking God for their blessings. That’s the first Thanksgiving. Nothing wrong with being grateful to the Indians; don’t misunderstand. But the true meaning of Thanksgiving — and this is what George Washington recognized in his first Thanksgiving proclamation.

No wonder shitlibs loathe and despise this quintessentially American holiday so intensely. The Thanksgiving story revolves around gratitude; humility; pluck; human fallibility. It is a glorious confirmation of human resilience and adaptability. Above all else, it stands as a resounding condemnation, in the most practical and readily comprehensible of terms, of their preferred ideology: socialism. For your typical, garden-variety shitlib, what’s to like?

12

Be it hereby resolved

Washington’s Thanksgiving proclamation.

New York, 3 October 1789

By the President of the United States of America. a Proclamation.

Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor—and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me “to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”

Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be—That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks—for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a Nation—for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his Providence which we experienced in the course and conclusion of the late war—for the great degree of tranquillity, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed—for the peaceable and rational manner, in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted—for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed; and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us.

and also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions—to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually—to render our national government a blessing to all the people, by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed—to protect and guide all Sovereigns and Nations (especially such as have shewn kindness unto us) and to bless them with good government, peace, and concord—To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the encrease of science among them and us—and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best.

Given under my hand at the City of New-York the third day of October in the year of our Lord 1789.

Go: Washington

Well said, sir. Of course, and as always.

8
1

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