From American Dream to American Nightmare

Fundamental Transformation, no kind of accident, with plenty enough blame to go around.

For most of the ninety years since James Truslow Adams coined the term American Dream, most Americans still believed the fairy tale of the American Dream, that no matter how humble your beginnings, everyone had a fair chance to become a success in America, based upon your individual talent, intelligence, work ethic and a society that rewarded those who exceled. Sadly, that dream is no longer achievable for most Americans. Our society has devolved into an oligarchy since The Epic of America was published in 1931, where a powerful few rule over a willfully ignorant many through propaganda, mistruth, fear, and an iron fist.

The real questions are why did the American dream turn into an American nightmare and is there a pathway back to the kind of country our forefathers created? There are numerous reasons why the country has fallen far from its original conception as a proud defiant Republic to its current state as a dying empire of depravity, decay, debt, and decadence. The conspiratorial creation of the Federal Reserve and implementation of a Federal income tax in 1913 marked a true destructive turning point for America.

Our world is now ruled by a tyrannical few who have used the system, created by their class, to accumulate immense wealth and power, sustained by a government they manipulate by buying politicians and having their cronies and thugs write and enforce the laws. The misinformation, propaganda, and fake news dished out by a mainstream media, owned, and controlled by the ruling oligarchy, creates a smokescreen to obscure who wields the true power in this country. The Deep State is no longer a looney conspiracy theory, but the reality of how this country is now controlled and run.

Radical Communist professors infest our universities. With 76% of K-12 teachers being female, the feminization of boys from twelve years of indoctrination has been unavoidable. They have been forced to feel and emote, rather than think, question and experience life outside prison classrooms. When boys act like boys, they are diagnosed by women as having ADHD and immediately drugged into submission. School is now a detriment to learning and irrelevant to a person attaining wisdom and understanding.

Irrelevant, hell. It’s an actual, active obstacle.

The rot within our educational system does not appear to be a mistake. It seems to be a calculated goal of those controlling the system. Our overlords want obedient, easily manipulated, non-questioning, conformist, robotic consumers of material goods who believe debt equals wealth, the family unit is irrelevant, systematic racism is real, there are 65 genders, a flu with a 99.7% survival rate is a reason to surrender their remaining freedoms and liberties, and an all-knowing benevolent government is here to help them.

The dystopian American nightmare into which we are descending is not solely the fault of the globalist cabal. Americans need to look in the mirror and honestly assess their role in this plunge into madness. The once independent, self-sufficient individualists that populated this country have become dependent, government reliant, materialistic, quivering shadows of the patriots and frontiersmen who created this country.

In the name of safety and security, the American people have allowed their government to accumulate complete control over every aspect of our lives. The American Dream has become a nightmare as we have allowed individualism, materialism, and selfish greed to override our duty to be good citizens, good fathers, good mothers, good neighbors, and going as far as our ability and hard work would take us.

Up until 1913, the American Dream, where every person had the opportunity to live a richer and fuller life, was achievable.  Up until that time, every generation born in this country had an excellent chance to live a better life than their parents. Relentless progress was the American way. Based on the actions of those controlling the direction of this country, I doubt my three sons will live a richer and fuller life than myself. The debts are too extreme, the military overreach too excessive, the looting by the financial class too great, the political corruption too extensive, suppression of truth speech too stifling, and opportunities too few.

The dream of a social order where everyone could rise to the highest level of their capabilities, regardless of their birth, has been systematically crushed by those who prefer the masses to be debt slaves doing the menial labor necessary to keep their money-making machine running. With all out assaults on the First, Second and Fourth Amendments by those who find the U.S. Constitution inconvenient to their despotic intentions, time is running out for those who still believe in and will fight for their country.

We have ignored our obligation to the past and the future. The Founding Fathers created an imperfect Republic. Ben Franklin knew its future depended upon the people administering it well. The founders did not want a national religion to be misrepresented as keeping religion out of America. The Founders were religious men. They believed religion and morality were vital to the country, being administered in a moral ethical way and guided by a code of conduct. As God, religion and morality have been disparaged by those in power we have moved further and further from the letter and spirit of the Constitution. Only a people with a strong moral backbone can be trusted to honor the Constitution.

The people have allowed the country to be corrupted by evil self-seeking men, and as a result, we are on a course towards despotism. We are descended from rebels and revolutionaries. The future of our country requires the restoration of that revolutionary spirit of dissent and opposition among a sufficient number of patriotic citizens, as there is no longer a chance to vote ourselves out of this predicament. Sadly, bloodshed will be required in any effort to regain control of our country. Time is growing short.

The author covers one hell of a lot of territory in this one, pulling together what could fairly be considered a politico-historical Theory Of Everything. It’s the deepest of deep dives, it’s lengthy, and it makes for some mighty uncomfortable reading in spots, which you should nonetheless do.

Legend you never heard of

Another day, another effing brilliant SteynMusic outing.

This weekend marks the centenary of George David Weiss, born April 9th 1921. Who was George David Weiss? Well, he’s no household name, but, to reprise my old line on obscure songwriters, you’d be hard put to find a household that doesn’t know at least one George David Weiss song.

So who was George David Weiss? Well, even George Shearing, who wrote his one and only enduring song with Weiss, had no more to say about him in his autobiography than that he was “a man by the name of George David Weiss”. The man by the name of was born under that name in April 1921 and was all set to become a lawyer or accountant when he decided to follow his heart and go to Juilliard, where he learned composing and arranging. The latter got him employment with Stan Kenton and other bands, until he met his first songwriting partner, the talented West Indian composer Bennie Benjamin. A young Sinatra picked up their “Oh, What It Seemed to Be”, and a few years later Kay Starr had a monster hit with “Wheel of Fortune”…

Starr’s chartbuster is of course a true gem, one which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed performing onstage myself who even knows how many times. Robert Gordon did a mighty fine version as well.



Weiss had one hell of a capacious catalog, and as Steyn somewhat bemusedly notes, had everybody from Sinatra to Nat Cole to Peggy Lee to Elvis to…ummm…Whitesnake(?!?) cover his stuff over the years. That’s a variety so stylistically broad that it says a lot about the enduring appeal of the man’s work all by itself. I’ll embed another of my personal all-time Weiss faves before we all move on to what I consider the really fun part of the story.



The Tokens, in an ironic twist quite commonly found in the music biz, not only had no faith in the song but actually despised the thing, even going so far as to plead with the producers and their label not to release the very song that would end up being their one and only bona fide smash. Not the first time such lightning-strikes weirdness has occurred in the biz, and you can be sure it won’t be the last.

Now we come to the part I was most amused by, a chapter of the Weiss story all a-brim with music biz irony of its own unique flavor. This will require some heavy excerpting, but I assure one and all that the payoff is well worth the arduous wade to get there.

It started with Bob Thiele, who was a successful record producer but only a very occasional songwriter. So, for a composing partner, he turned, as so many others have done, to George David Weiss. In theory the latter could have written any or all of “What a Wonderful World”, but Thiele told me that Weiss stayed mostly down the musical end.

Which I find hard to believe, because the tune is mostly “Twinkle, twinkle, little star” and, after decades in the music biz, Weiss was way beyond that.

On the other hand, Weiss told Graham Nash (of the Hollies and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young) that he wrote it with Louis Armstrong in mind – which suggests he also had a hand in the lyric.

Why Satchmo? Well, it was a ballad of hope and optimism that transcended the times. But for that very reason it also required a singer who transcended the times.

A singer like, say, Louis Armstrong…

And, if you think that seems kind of obvious now, it certainly wasn’t in 1967. If you pick up almost any jazz critic’s biography of Satchmo, they generally follow the same basic arc: Terrific trumpeter, innovative musician – and then he sold out and did commercial pap for suburban hi-fi filler. I don’t subscribe to that crude reductio myself, but it is true that, after he’d booted the Beatles off the top and taken “Hello, Dolly!” to Number One, the calculus changed somewhat for Armstrong’s management: There’s a new Broadway show opening? Take the big song and do another “Dolly” knock-off. Hence Satchmo’s “Mame” and Satchmo’s “Cabaret”, and doubtless, had he lived, Satchmo’s “Jesus Christ Superstar” and Satchmo’s “Phantom of the Opera”.

Nevertheless, the writers met with Louis to pitch the song. As Bob Thiele recalled, “We wanted this immortal musician and performer to say, as only he could, the world really is great: full of the love and sharing people make possible for themselves and each other every day.”

Instead, Satch peered at the sheet – unlike many singers, he was a musician who could read the music – and, when his eye got to the bottom of the page, he looked up and said:

What is this sh*t?

He was studying the music – no words, just a contemporary ballad tune that called not for Armstrong’s tight jazzy All-Stars but for a string section willing to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. I wouldn’t myself say the tune was exactly “sh*t”…But, as I said, Armstrong hadn’t seen the lyrics. And, when they passed him the words, he fell in love. Not so much because of the green trees, red roses, blue skies, white clouds, but because of the final eight bars, which ditch the “colors of the rainbow” theme:

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more than I’ll never know
And I think to myself
What A Wonderful World…

That quatrain reminded him of 107th Street in Queens, the tree-lined block he and his wife Lucille had lived on for a quarter-century (and whose modest red-brick home now houses the Louis Armstrong Museum):

There’s so much in ‘Wonderful World’ that brings me back to my neighborhood where I live in Corona, New York. Lucille and I, ever since we’re married, we’ve been right there in that block. And everybody keeps their little homes up like we do and it’s just like one big family. I saw three generations come up on that block. And they’re all with their children, grandchildren, they come back to see Uncle Satchmo and Aunt Lucille …and I got pictures of them when they was five, six and seven years old. So when they hand me this ‘Wonderful World,’ I didn’t look no further, that was it.

He was genuinely touched by the heartfelt optimistic simplicity of the sentiment, and its faith in the future – that a new generation would know things that he would never live to see. Like, er, Twitter. Well, let’s not get hung up on the details. He was struck by the song’s message, and so agreed to sing it.

An arrangement was made, musicians were booked, and a studio was procured – for a midnight session in Vegas, after Satch had finished up his set at the Tropicana. There was just one problem. Louis Armstrong had recently switched record labels, to ABC, and the president of the company, Larry Newton, was opposed to Satchmo doing “What a Wonderful World”. I don’t mean he was antipathetic or indifferent to it, or felt it was not a strong choice for a single but would be okay for Side 2 Track 5 of an album. I don’t even mean that he disliked it. He loathed “What a Wonderful World” with a passion: He thought he’d signed the Number One bestselling pop star of “Hello, Dolly!”, and he didn’t want his new act doing what he regarded as the polar opposite of “Dolly” – a soporific inert crawl-tempo ballad.

He’s not necessarily mistaken about that, as my kid’s class certainly demonstrated. So I’m not unsympathetic to Larry Newton’s concerns. The trouble was that on August 16th 1967 he’d flown in to Vegas for a photo shoot with his new star and that evening he showed up at United Studios determined to prevent the recording. He went so totally bananas that Ed Thiele, as producer, and Artie Butler, the arranger, and George Weiss and Frank Military, who were also present, hustled him through the door and locked him out of the studio. Which isn’t exactly conducive to Louis Armstrong recording a tender and sensitive ballad unlike anything he’d sung before…

It was a long session – either because of Newton’s antics or because they were interrupted by the toots of passing Union Pacific freight trains, or because the material was a little outside Pops’ comfort zone. They stayed there till 6am, and then they all went for breakfast. And the label only agreed to pay the orchestra for their extended shift on condition that Satchmo himself accept a mere $250 for the session. But it was worth it: Louis worked and worked on his interpretation until he and the writers were satisfied. I confess as a young child I always heard “the dark sacred night” as “the dark say goodnight”, but once I’d grasped Satch’s enunciation I appreciated what a fine pairing that makes with “the bright blessed day”: it adds a subtle touch of the holy and transcendental to the song; that the world is not merely “wonderful” in the way that a great cheeseburger and a vanilla shake can be, but truly wonderful because it’s the wonder of God’s creation. But, as I said, it’s discreetly done. And Armstrong’s reading of the middle-eight, in that unmistakeable beautiful gravelly rasp, is as sincere and true as anything he ever sang:

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands, saying ‘How do you do?’
They’re really saying, ‘I love you…’

Is that really what they’re saying? Well, Pops bought into it. In the studio that night, representing all those children who’d grow to learn more than he’d ever know, was George Weiss’ kid Peggy. “So you’re George’s daughter? Pleased to meet you!” And he shook her hand, and maybe, for a small, shrunken old man not in the best of health, it really did mean “I love you.”

And, for those wondering what the hell all this hippie-dippie peace’n’love stuff had to do with Louis Armstrong, he waited to the very end to tie it back to his entire oeuvre in what, with hindsight, was the only possible wrap-up:

Ohhhhhh, yeahhhhhh.

Larry Newton wanted another “Hello, Dolly!” Well, he got the last two words.

But he wasn’t happy, and he swore to exact his revenge – by doubling down on the petty and stupid. In order to prove he was right about the song, he released the single in late 1967, but refused to promote it. He didn’t ship it to radio stations, so no disc-jockeys played it, and nobody bought it. In those days, ABC’s UK distribution was licensed to EMI, and, in the fullness of time, “What a Wonderful World” showed up at the London office, and they released it as a normal single. Actually, not that normal, because it was, I believe, the very last single EMI released on their HMV label. But, other than that, they did all the things you’re meant to do with a new release: They sent review copies to the BBC and to trade magazines, and discovered what Larry Newton, once he’d gotten over being locked out of the studio, should have realized – that people really liked it. It entered the UK charts at the beginning of February 1968 at Number 45, cracked the Top Forty in its second week, the Top Thirty in its fourth, and then climbed through March and April up to Number One.
So, just for the record, where did it get to on the Billboard Hot 100?

Er, big hit sound Number 116.

In fact, Larry Newton’s singular talent for sabotage was so effective that he wound up with a record that was a hit everywhere except his own territory: Top Thirty in Australia, Top Twenty in New Zealand and the Netherlands, Number Seven in Switzerland, Number Six in Belgium and Germany and Norway, Number Two in Ireland, Number One in Austria… What a wonderful world (America excepted). In London, EMI decided the song was so big they needed an album built around it. At which point Larry Newton decided to triple-down on the moronic. He agreed to the LP, but only if Armstrong did it for $500. Joe Glaser, Louis’ manager, wasn’t in the mood for that, and instructed Bob Thiele:

You tell that fat bastard to go f**k himself and give us $25,000 for eight more sides.

Larry Newton responded:

Tell him to go f**k himself, and why do we give a sh*t about these European companies? Screw ’em all.

They’re really saying “I love you”.

Three years later, Louis Armstrong was dead. If you’d been listening to the radio in Britain, Europe, around the planet in 1971, they marked his passing with “What a Wonderful World”. On American stations, they played everything but.

It took two decades and Good Morning, Vietnam for a great record finally to achieve the recognition on its home turf it had known for a generation everywhere else. It doesn’t matter that Satch was born in 1901; he sounds old and elegaic on the record, and that’s the point: he’s a fellow approaching the end of his life, but he’s not bitter or even bittersweet; he’s not looking back but looking forward to when those babies will grow. It’s an old man, but it’s a young song. That’s why it’s a popular father/daughter dance at weddings: It’s the past blessing the future.

And that’s also true of any great songwriter’s catalogue – which is why we salute George David Weiss on his centennial.

As for Larry Newton, well, I wasn’t sure whether he was still with us or not, so I looked him up, and read:

Newton is probably best remembered today for trying to stop Louis Armstrong from recording ‘What A Wonderful World’.

Ohhhhhh, yeahhhhhh!

Beautiful song, beautiful story, no? Tales like this provide a small window onto why it is that people get into the music business in the first place, and why a not-negligible percentage of them are perfectly willing to break themselves—financially, spiritually, morally, even physically—to stay in, on any level they can contrive. I swear, out of all the great music posts Steyn has done, and he’s done quite a few, this one may well be the beat of ’em all.

About a guy most of us have probably never even heard of.

Plugs in

Steyn gives us one more perfect Prince Phillip quip, with a Shirley Bassey bonus thrown in.

If you’re a Royal consort, you wind up going to a lot of nights out you have not the slightest interest in, like the Royal Command Performance and the Royal Film Premiere and the like. In November 2002, arriving at the Royal Albert Hall for the world premiere of the James Bond film Die Another Day, His Royal Highness was informed by an excited person in the welcome line that Madonna would be singing the title song. He turned to the Queen, and remarked drily, “So we’ll need earplugs then.”

He was quite right. Shirley Bassey had neglected to bring hers, and so, just a few minutes later, the opening titles and the song ended, and Dame Shirl yelled from the stalls, “Rubbish!” She was quite right, too.

Hey, when you’re right, you’re right.

Enemies in common update! If they’re ag’in him, I’m for him.



I imagine Philip’s “legacy” will be just fine, thanks, whatever caviling PC nudniks may think, say, or do. In fact, I’d wager the Prince will be fondly remembered long after CNN is dead, buried, and forgotten. I’m with the WSJ’s Gerard Baker all the way:

I had the privilege some years ago to be invited to a July 4 dinner at the American ambassador’s residence in London. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip were the guests of honor, there presumably to bear witness that, after a couple of centuries, the unfortunate business over the repeated injuries and usurpations inflicted by one of her ancestors had been quietly forgotten.

The ambassador rose to give the not-so-loyal toast.

He began with the inevitable nod to the two nations’ divergent histories, noting that some time earlier, in their great wisdom, his compatriots had decided to go it alone. “Oh yes!” cried the prince from a sedentary position, fortified, no doubt, by a couple of glasses of the embassy’s very good wine. “And how’s that working out for you?” It was a good question then, and it’s more apt than ever now given America’s current predicament. The people that once boldly threw off the tyranny of a distant monarch now seem to be meekly submitting to the diktats of a regnant class and ideology that tolerate less independence of thought and action than King George III did.

As the prince did at that dinner, he had an unerring capacity to ask awkward questions, speak inconvenient truths and challenge polite orthodoxies.

When we are obligated to toe an increasingly stultifying conventional line, the queen’s consort was the human antidote to the virus of verbal oppression that has us in a death grip. You’d search a very long time to find a less woke individual than the duke of Edinburgh.

He got all the right knickers in a twist, and he’s still doing it, which makes him a-okay in my book. The unhappier shitlib types are, the better I like it. Kruiser says it well:

Three cheers to Prince Philip for being able to annoy our worthless woke morons first from beyond an ocean and now from beyond the grave.

I don’t care how rich he was, I would have bought him a drink in a heartbeat.

Rest in peace, Phil.

Amen to that.

Raise ’em Right

Another fine idea whose time has…well, not come, exactly. More like been crammed down our throats.

Whew, digging a 300 square-foot bunker suitable for young children is hard work. My back isn’t what it used to be. So far, we’re 50 feet down in the backyard and are about to pour 10-inch thick WiFi-proof concrete walls. The kids will have goldfish, coloring books, a Kindle that contains all of Western classical literature, Play-Doh, and a hose for drinking water. They’ll be lowered into the hole when they turn six, and we’ll let them climb out when they turn 18.

We plan to tell any nosy neighbors that we sent the kids away to a new progressive anti-racism academy.

Cruel, you say? Not if you’re trying to insulate your precious children from the all-powerful wokeness algorithm. In fact, it’s the only way to be sure.

Will I miss them? Sure, but I’m comforted knowing they’ll be among the few who survive the radioactive wokelear fallout released this year.

Oh, you don’t want to chain your kids up in the basement and seal all the doors? Rather not ship them to an ice floe off Greenland, or a yurt in outer Mongolia?

Then, friends, you’re going to need to become a master of anti-wokeness.

They—you know who I mean—wish to consume your children: skin, muscle, bits, and bone. You must therefore make your children taste awful, like the little orange tree frogs who coat their skin with poison so hungry toucans spit them out. Force society to spit your children out of their ravenous maws. Make your children undesirable. Make them unbearable to the predations of the Left. It’s your job to ensure that the only way to change your kid’s minds is under threat of death, which, if present conditions hold, we may be approaching before they reach adulthood.

No one is pumping the brakes, like, at all. It’s only getting faster. You’re going to have to leap off the train, and push your babies out ahead of you. Fingers crossed you land on a soft patch of hay in a quiet ravine with no Wi-Fi or public schools within 100 miles. But you’ve got no choice. You are their only hope! Do not fail them. If you do nothing else as a parent, you must do this: prevent wokeness from colonizing their developing brains.

I dunno, but I get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the author intends this piece to be taken as satire—it’s just so hard to tell nowadays. Be that as it may, the first recommendation seems practical enough.

ONE: Speak truth to gender, and never shut up.
I spent years pointing out decrepit junkies by the freeway on-ramp to my kids as a real-life anti-drug lesson. “See that sunburned hobo covered in open sores, Son? When he was a teenager he smoked pot once—once—and now look at him.”

When it comes to gender, beware! Lack of confidence and moral uncertainty in otherwise normal, educated parents have given the Pronoun People an easy port of entry into your child’s hungry cortex, and they are rushing into the breach.

Despite what the clowns running this circus want you to think, it actually IS possible to be 100% certain which gender your baby will identify with, as long as you commit as a parent to stopping entry of brain worms. Fake gender identities are a modern progressive social epidemic induced by the Internet, so it requires some avoidance techniques to prevent this infection.

First, you must shun gender neutrality. Dress your girls like ladies and your boys like off-duty firemen. If your little boy requests to wear a dress to school, tell him firmly that boys do not wear dresses, only girls do, and you refuse to allow him to entertain fantasy notions. If boys are allowed to wear dresses at your school, find a new school. If your children insist there are more than two genders, spend some time at the zoo and challenge them to identify these elusive other genders.

Oughta clear things up nicely, I believe. When it comes to dispelling the shitlib brain-fog, there’s no better fan than reality.

GLORIOUS!

How it’s fucking DONE, people.


So wonderful to know that, despite everything, there are at least some places where the good old American spirit of rebellion, resistance, and defiance endures, ain’t it? Try though the rotten bastards have to extinguish it, liberty’s flame yet burns in American hearts.

(Via Ace)

SCIENCE!!!

COME ON, MAN.

Biden Claims Commercial Planes May Soon Go 21,000 MPH — Meaning a New York to LA Trip Would Take 7 Minutes

Uhhhh HUH. God, but I love this soooo much, I really do. Rave on, Gramps.

President Joe Biden claimed Wednesday that commercial aircraft would soon be able to travel at speeds of up to 21,000 miles per hour.

“I tell the kids, the young people that work for me — I told my kids, when I go on college campuses, they’re going to see more change in the next 10 years than we’ve seen in the last 50 years,” Biden said during an address about his proposed infrastructure legislation. “We’re going to talk about commercial aircraft flying at subsonic speeds, supersonic speeds, be able to figuratively, if you may, if we decide to do it, be able to traverse the world in an hour, travel at 21,000 miles an hour.”

Which, in case you didn’t know, is actually quite a bit faster than the ISS, which plods along at a bit under 18,000 mph or thereabouts. Never you mind, Gramps, you go ‘head on.

It was not clear what Biden meant by “figuratively.” The speed he suggested is roughly equivalent to Mach 28, which would make airlines capable of traversing the 2,400 miles between New York and Los Angeles in roughly seven minutes. The fastest commercial airliners presently travel at speeds of about 600 miles per hour, a little less than Mach 1.

Several companies do have plans in the works to increase top speeds to nearly 4,000 miles per hour, or Mach 5. Boeing announced plans to that effect in 2018. Florida-based Aerion announced similar plans last month for a Mach 4+ commercial airliner, which it said would be ready “before the end of the decade.”

Shyeeeaaah, like that’s ever gonna happen. I mean, I’m sure they can build ’em, but everyone who thinks the Safety Nazis will permit any such super-speedster aircraft to fly here without protest please raise your hand. Not to even mention that the sleek, beautiful, now sadly-defunct Concorde, a real pokealong at just over Mach 2, got itself banned from overland flight in the US and several other countries due to complaints about the noise from sonic booms.

It’s a beautiful, beautiful dream you have there, Gropey, it truly is. But if it ever comes true the FUSA won’t have had any part in it, it won’t be because of anything you did, and you won’t deserve an ounce of credit for it.

Not that any of that will stop him from trying to glom it for himself anyway, natch.

Doin’ the dirty boogie

WARNING: Some of you more genteel types will definitely want to avert your eyes from what follows, which I’ll tuck below the fold just as a courtesy. The embedded and/or linked material is, by all civilized standards, not safe for work—or for polite company in places outside the office, probably. Vulgar old bastid that I am, I think it’s just hilarious. Continue reading “Doin’ the dirty boogie”

Backscat

Related to the previous post, yes, but I had someplace else I wanted to go with this theme and decided to give it its own place in the sun.

All-Star Game Moved From Atlanta To Uyghur Prison Camp Yard
ATLANTA, GA—Spokespeople for Major League Baseball announced today that the All-Star Game this summer will be moved from Atlanta, due to its egregious voting laws, to a Uyghur prison camp yard, where there aren’t any bad voting laws at all.

The game will be held in the spacious prison yard, which features a tall barbed-wire fence and a modest outfield. The venue features lots of free labor, so every role from the ball boys to the concession vendors won’t cost the league a dime. In fact, the workers are already happily chalking the baselines and tending the grass, since if they don’t, they will be murdered.

“We must move the All-Star game to a place that shares our values,” said MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred. “This prison yard is absolutely perfect, and they’re giving it to us absolutely free. What a friend we have in Communist China!”

“Most importantly, the prison camp has no ban on early voting, since there is no voting, and no law against giving voters water, since there are no voters. Or water.”

In case you didn’t know already, the Bee is referencing Coca Cola’s ongoing more-than-cozy relationship with some truly rancid Commie dictatorships, China included. Anyways, know how I’m always going on about how working at the Bee has to be one of the toughest jobs in the world, given the near-impossibility of satirizing the overall state of affairs these days?

Well. About all that.

MLB Moves All-Star Game to Blue State with Stronger Election Laws Than Georgia

After pulling the All-Star Game from Atlanta over a Georgia election integrity law in line with the majority of U.S. states and most nations around the world, MLB is awarding the game to…drum roll please…the blue state of Colorado.

Here is the clincher though: Colorado has voter ID to vote in person, requires signature verification for mail-in ballots (unlike Georgia, which requires last four of Social Security number or driver’s license number), and a similar ban on food and water being given away by electioneers that Georgia has.

The All-Star Game being pulled from the Braves will cost Cobb County, where the stadium is hosted, and the surrounding areas an estimated $100 million in tourist revenue.

Awww, what a shame. I can’t even remember the last time ATL (where I lived for two years myself back in the late 90s) had a Republican mayor, so it is only meet and just that Duh Peepul get what they voted for—good and hard.

Church militant

I like the cut of this preacher’s jib.

Popular internet pastor tells his Church to “take them stupid masks off’ during Easter service
A popular pastor from Tennessee has stirred some controversy after telling some members of his congregation to “take off their stupid masks” during a service this past Sunday during Easter.

The move came despite federal guidance urging the wearing of masks to control the spread of COVID-19. Locke, who leads the Global Vision Bible Church in Tennessee, reportedly mocked some of his congregants for following that advice “like sheep”.  “Unless you’re under a doctor’s orders — and a few of you are — take them stupid masks off when you come to Global Vision! There, I said it on Easter.”

“Take them stupid masks off,” Locke declared during his Holy Week sermon. “Call me crazy? You come, pull up in the parking lot wearing two masks in a car by yourself. Call me crazy? That’s crack-smoking crazy is what that is.“ Locke, made the statement after reportedly referencing Isaiah 53:6, which says:

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way;  and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” “It’s interesting God calls us that [sheep]. Not much has changed, has it? You remember this time last year? This time last year, they were like, ‘Oh my goodness! You cannot have resurrection service; you will kill everybody.’

‘You are gonna kill everybody within 250 miles.’ We ain’t killed nobody yet, by the way,” the pastor said. “And so the media started infusing us with fear tactics. You see, they know this verse, apparently. They know that people that are ignorant of Scripture willfully will obey any ridiculous mandate that the media gives them because it makes them feel better about themselves.”

Locke then praised Churches like this that stayed open for Easter stating:  “Since we’re a year in, I just want to verifiably say, thanks be to God for other churches that opened, that reopened, and thank God for churches that decided that they weren’t gon’ close at all. They saw through it. We’ve never closed yet.

We’ve never closed one single time during all this COVID debacle,” He goes on to say that it would have taken the entire US military to shut down his Church.  “They will roll up in tanks. They will drop down from helicopters. And I promise you, it won’t be a dozen police out there from Wilson County and from Mt. Juliet,” he declared.

“It’s going to take the entire United States military to roll up into this parking lot and tell us, ‘Hey, we can’t worship Jesus, and that we got to shut our church down, and that we can’t preach, and we can’t pray …’ You have lost your mind if you think I’ve given in to that! You have lost your mind if you think I’m giving into that mess! We are staying open forever! Forever!”

PREACH it, Rev.

May Day Mask-off

Goalposts on wheels? Chock ’em.

On May 1, Let’s All Tear Off Our Masks

Oh. HELL. Yeah. I keep telling y’all: if we ever hope to end this charade, we must end it ourselves.

One hundred days.

That’s what President Biden asked for before he was inaugurated – 100 days of masking. That was the linchpin of his plan to end the coronavirus pandemic. It was in his executive order requiring people to wear masks when they are on U.S. Government property, including national parks and forests, even when there are no other people around for miles. Just give him that 100 days and everything will be fine.

Well, April 30 is the 100th day. On May 1, we can take off our masks for good.

Well, maybe. But probably not. In fact, Biden has said as much.

By now we should know that the goalposts won’t be where they were when we began this latest touchdown drive. They never are. It seems to be an inviolable law of nature that when the government imposes restrictions to deal with a temporary crisis, those restrictions hang around long after the crisis has passed.

Some of you older folks may remember the national 55 miles per hour speed limit on the interstate highways. President Nixon signed it into law in January 1974 to reduce fuel consumption during the Arab oil embargo of October 1973. The embargo ended in March 1974, but the law hung around for another generation, only the excuse became “highway safety” – which as studies found, the law did nothing to improve.

Or more recently, remember “two weeks to flatten the curve”? Two weeks in national lockdown to avoid overwhelming the hospitals with Covid-19 cases. Two weeks that turned into a month, then two, three, four months, and more. The hospitals were never overwhelmed – in fact, they were laying off healthcare workers – but state governors continued the lockdowns, only now the excuse was to “slow the spread.” Except that in states that didn’t lock down, coronavirus didn’t spread any faster than in states that did.

What our mask masters don’t seem to get is that our bodies need oxygen, and to get the required number of free oxygen molecules into our bloodstreams, we must inhale a certain volume of air. This means we also must exhale about the same volume (although about 20 percent of the free oxygen we inhaled has been exchanged for carbon dioxide). The only sure-fire way to keep from getting or spreading Covid-19 is to put a tight-fitting plastic bag over your head. After that, you will have no more worries about Covid-19 – or about anything else.

Hey, I could get behind that idea too. After all, I never did don the Mask of Submission, so this new plastic over-the-head variety wouldn’t affect me any more than the first one has. A vigorous campaign promoting the Bag On America!™ movement might go quite a way towards closing the yawning Darwin’s Law loophole we’ve been increasingly plagued by in recent years.

Here’s a clue: the mandates have nothing to do with the pandemic. There is no valid medical reason for healthy people to keep wearing masks, especially if they’ve been vaccinated. No, the reason is political, not medical. Like the tricolor cockade worn during the French Revolution, a mask demonstrates your submission to your rulers.

There is only one way to end the endless mask mandates, and that is to just stop wearing them. President Biden asked for 100 days of masking. All right, As of May 1, he’ll have had his 100 days. On that day I propose that we all remove our masks and keep them off. It is time the American people let their rulers know they will no longer tolerate arbitrary and useless mandates that seem to be more about controlling them with fear than protecting them from disease. The goalposts have been moved for the last time.

And May 1 is an especially appropriate date for the great unmasking. May Day is the traditional international socialist holiday, and the pandemic has been used as an excuse to deprive us of our freedoms and advance the socialist agenda (e.g., see the recently-passed $1.9 trillion “covid relief” package). What better day to stand up to these would-be Stalins?

A May Day Mask-off is a swell idea; don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it. But history teaches that there IS a better way to stand up to our Stalin wannabes—actually, that there’s really only ONE sure-fire way of getting the job done—and that eventually, any society that wishes to be rid of them must resort to it.

Gun Club Galz redux

Now THAT’S what I’m talking, brah. Courtesy of commenter Redhawk, who so thoughtfully provided the link for us, bless his generous heart. Muchas gracias, señor Red.

GunClubGalz-2.jpg

I love my wife, but OH! You kid! Or, as the immortal Jimmy Durante would opine: Hotchachacha!! And while we’re on the subject of luscious babes-in-arms, feast your eyes on this more contemporary example:

GunClubGalz-3.jpg

Alas, this one’s backstory will make your pulse pound in a far less agreeable way.

Instagram has removed conservative political commentator Kaitlin Bennett’s iconic graduation photo from three years ago for “violence and incitement.”

Meanwhile, the platform has allowed an endless stream of threats against the right-wing firebrand to continue for years.

Apparently, Instagram believes that photos of you peacefully exercising your Second Amendment right are a crime. In their notification to Bennett, they said “we don’t allow content that may lead to a genuine risk to physical harm or direct threat to public safety.”

Instagram has removed conservative political commentator Kaitlin Bennett’s iconic graduation photo from three years ago for “violence and incitement.”

Meanwhile, the platform has allowed an endless stream of threats against the right-wing firebrand to continue for years.

Apparently, Instagram believes that photos of you peacefully exercising your Second Amendment right are a crime. In their notification to Bennett, they said “we don’t allow content that may lead to a genuine risk to physical harm or direct threat to public safety.”

Right on, babe—”come and take it” indeed. Read the rest for a sampling of the ugly Instagram-approved threats of bodily harm hurled from behind a keyboard in Mommy’s dimly-lit basement at the lovely Miss Bennett for committing the hate-crime of aggregated exercise of her Constitutional rights, along with several counts of embracing said rights as if they were a matter of pride rather than proper shame. Kudos to ya, Kaitlin, and forever may you wave. A single one of you will always be worth more than several legions of your sniveling detractors.

Precocious pup

Another one I’ve had sitting in an open tab for quite a while. Trust me, it was worth the wait.

For the last five years or so, the campus of Colombia’s Diversified Technical Education Institute of Monterrey Casanare has been home to a sweet black dog named Negro. There, he serves as a guardian of sorts, keeping watch over things as students go about their studies.

In return, Negro is cared for by the school’s faculty, who provide him with food, water, attention and a safe place with them to pass the night.

But the dog has apparently decided that anything beyond that is up to him.

Early on in Negro’s tenure at the school, he came to be aware of the little store on campus where students gather to buy things on their breaks; sometimes they’d buy him cookies sold there.

This, evidently, is where the dog first learned about commerce — and decided to try it out himself.

“He would go to the store and watch the children give money and receive something in exchange,” teacher Angela Garcia Bernal told The Dodo. “Then one day, spontaneous, he appeared with a leaf in his mouth, wagging his tail and letting it be known that he wanted a cookie.”

As you might expect, after the dog realized his money literally grows on trees, it’s been a regular thing.

“He comes for cookies every day,” Gladys Barreto, a longtime store attendant, told The Dodo. “He always pays with a leaf. It is his daily purchase.”

From what I read elsewhere, apparently this canine supergenius scores his folding money from the same tree every time, the leaves of which more closely approximate Colombian currency in both color and size than those of other foliage types available to him.

Yes, there are pictures. Heck, there’s even video, and it’s awesome. Just stop calling ’em dumb animals, ‘kay? After all, Negro shows much more capacity for higher cognition and reason than “president” Fingerbang, or almost any other shitlib you could name.

Red Air rising

This is one is as fascinating as it is…well, unusual. WELL off the beaten track, let’s say.

As a young Green Beret, I learned to watch the moon. The Apaches and Comanches and the other able fighters always knew the moon. As do the Taliban. I reckon Pashtun fighters are like modern Apaches but with AK-47s.

There is much to learn from Afghan fighters. Old school. Adhering to principles. Such as patience.

They wait for the right conditions. Including the moon. Six months, a year, or more.

Tracking, being tracked. Shadows confer much advantage in tracking. Fighting from the shadows. Avoiding the tremendous winds and sun of daylight fighting that favor those with longer rifles.

Often they attack in broad daylight but they usually consider the continuum of the light-dark cycle. Pashtun may attack by night and literally go straight to field to harvest without so much as going home to change shoes.

When eclipse of Moon or Sun, Afghans will rush outside to fire rifles into the sky to save the Sun or Moon from Satan. This idea is common the world ‘round. Europeans of past did similar. Ringing church bells, clanging pots and pans, blasting fireworks.

When Taliban attacked our massive base, Camp Bastion, destroying Harrier jets and killing our Marine Commander on the ground, I was away from Afghanistan. But I knew immediately there was no Moon. Taliban make such attacks under what we call “Red Air.”

As for Afghanistan, the Moonless attack on Camp Bastion that destroyed our jets on the ground was an epic study in the incompetence of leadership tasked to guard the base.

If they had studied basic tactics, and our incredibly able if illiterate Taliban enemies — American and British Commanders would have realized they were fighting the equivalent of Apaches or Comanches. Those guys kick ass. They may be the enemy, but we must respect or they will destroy our jets on the ground and shoot the Commander dead. And they did.

A Marine intelligence officer on the base contacted me saying my dispatch was amazingly accurate other than a couple small points, which he did not clarify. Given I did that assessment off the cuff — I figured something had to be wrong — but I know how Taliban operate and knew basically how they pulled it off. I had warned many times about such Taliban tactics.

And tonight I see the moon high over Panama. I am in Panama City. The phase is Waxing Gibbous with 98% illumination. Weather tonight over the Southern border of United States is perfect. I checked for El Paso: A cool 62 Fahrenheit, and clear.

The migrants will be storming the border in high numbers during this moon.

Tomorrow the Moon will be full. If no clouds, your body will cast a shadow on the desert. Go there tomorrow, to the border by Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California — and watch during the full Moon as huge numbers of people cross into America.

Strange stuff in a lot of ways, but read it all anyway. It’s Michael Yon, who is definitely someone I’d be most hesitant to gainsay.

American exodus

Just the usual insightful deep dive from Codevilla.

By this century’s second decade, the oligarchs who occupy the commanding heights of American life had ceased trying to persuade. Self-government has declined as corporations have wielded public powers with private discretion. America’s ruling class—bipartisan, public and private—grew to disdain the rest of America’s religiosity, patriotism, and tastes. But until our own time, most Americans either had not noticed their loss of status as citizens or assumed that they could vote to regain it. But the rulers inspired no confidence and ruled by pulling rank.

In 2014, Pat Caddell’s study of public opinion, which he titled “We Need Smith,” found that:

Eighty-six percent of all voters believe political leaders are more interested in protecting their power than in doing what’s right for the American people. Eighty-three percent believe the country is run by an alliance of incumbent politicians, media pundits, lobbyists, and other interests for their own gain. Further, 79% believe that powerful interests from Wall Street banks to corporations, unions, and PACs use campaign and lobbying money to rig the system to serve themselves and that they loot the national treasury at the expense of every American. … Ninety-two percent say we must recruit and support for public office more ordinary citizens and fewer professional politicians. Not surprising when you consider that 81% believe both political parties do what’s in it for them rather than fix our nation’s problems.

Such figures bespeak neither conservatism nor liberalism, but widespread alienation and disdain among people who understand themselves to be subjects of a selfish power to which they have no personal connection and that exists beyond their collective control. Hence, in the runup to the 2016 election, the bipartisan ruling class entirely lost control of right-leaning voters and failed to hold on to nearly half of left-leaning ones. Opposed by both parties’ hierarchies, Donald Trump won the presidency more as a social rebel than as any kind of recognizable economic or political conservative, by appealing to people whose personal style and opinions on any number of subjects deviated from what was being presented as “mainstream”—including any number of people who had previously voted for Barack Obama and for Bernie Sanders.

Trump won in 2016 as the candidate who would lead the country class out of the clutches of the ruling class—as a caricature of Caddell’s Mr. Smith. The ruling class—Wall Street, K Street, Washington grifters, the educational establishment, the media, and the corporations—saw the alienation that Trump embodied as the mortal threat that it is to their own power and positions. Unable and unwilling to change their way of governing, or the system of heavily bureaucratized crony capitalism from which they so massively benefit, these people resolved to secure the votes of Blacks, Hispanics, women, and the young by encouraging them to make war on whites, men, and conservatives. “Hate thy neighbor and stick with us!” was their program. Hence the four-year campaign leading up to the 2020 election was all about hating Trump and beating down his voters on the basis of race, sex, the Russians—anything to divert from what the rampant oligarchy was doing to the rest of the country.

Ruling people by insulting and harming them is problematic, and not reversible. The use that the oligarchy made of the COVID epidemic added to insult and injury, as well as to its power, in a manner previously unimaginable. Boldly dismissing without argument the fact that viral infections cannot be stopped from running their course once they have taken root in a population, they asserted that acquiescing to indefinite cessation of social and economic activities they deemed to be nonessential would stop the disease’s progression. The ensuing lockdowns, mask mandates, and other measures made life for most Americans worse in every way. But these strictures also crippled the sectors of American society independent of and resistant to the oligarchy—religious institutions and small businesses. They isolated people and limited what they could hear from and say to each other, leaving them prey to one-way propaganda narratives backed by nightly threats of mob violence.

In the first few months of 2021, it is clear that widespread compliance with institutions and leading personages on which the American system of government has long rested is no longer possible. The oligarchy exercises all earthly powers. Its theophobia dismisses heaven’s. It substitutes “narratives” for truth. Because its members internalized the assumption that reason is simply what Hobbes called a scout for the passions, what Marx said is superstructural to material reality, and what the woke call “logism,” it has placed itself beyond the reach of argument. It can neither admit those it deems deplorable to real citizenship— never mind to society’s commanding heights—nor can it set bounds to the next round of exactions and humiliations that, having ditched persuasion, it must visit upon them.

The deplorables plainly stand no chance of dismantling the new American system. Corporate executives, not legislatures, governors, or presidents are the ones who decide what happens to the trillions of dollars created jointly by the Federal Reserve and Wall Street. They are the ones who regulate speech and attitudes, who for the most part decide who rises and who does not. And they are the part of the oligarchy most insulated from republican institutions.

New laws may be most useful for reviving old ones, such as the 1890 Sherman Antitrust Act. But the problem lies in a century’s accretion of administrative arrangements, court rulings, and above all, of self-serving practices. Nor would it be possible for these elected officials to restore the republic that was founded in 1776-79, even if an economic recession or act of Providence were to deliver solid electoral victories in the Senate, House, and presidency to a party of the country class (were one to come into being). That is because the republic’s substance withered over a century, and its husk collapsed over the past five years.

In our time, millions of people have grown up or been educated no longer to want or be able to live as citizens of what had been the American republic. Partisans in mind, heart, and habit, their support of the oligarchy’s partisan rule has left the United States with two peoples of opposing character, aspirations, and tastes within its national borders. The government bureaucracies are led by persons selected and habituated against the deplorables. The same can be said of the educational establishment and corporate boardrooms. What sort of dictatorial power would it take to purge them? Were the deplorables to struggle for the partisan power to oppress the others, they would guarantee dysfunction at best, war at worst. That is why it makes most sense for them to assert their own freedom.

That’s a pretty hefty excerpt, but even so we still only get around to the piece’s central theme with that very last sentence. There’s plenty more yet, so you know what you must do, Glasshoppa.

Vote Big Dan!

Make America Texas again? Sounds like a plan to me.

Dan Rodimer is a former WWE wrestler who is running for Congress in Texas.

In one of his new ads, he takes aim at Nancy Pelosi and Democrats in Washington, DC and refers to them as ‘commies’ who are ruining America.

If he keeps this up, his chances should be pretty good.

Take my word for it, folks: you do NOT want to miss the campaign video. It’s a real humdinger, that’s what.


The DC article GP links to on the guy is all abrim with rich, buttery Rodimer goodness:

“The commies in D.C. are ruining America,” Rodimer continues. “We have a big problem … I know how to handle Nancy Pelosi and stop her bullsh*t.”

As he steps in a pile of manure, Rodimer says that he will “put a boot right in her socialist platform.”

The congressional candidate slams Democrats for “men in women’s bathrooms, boys in girls’ sports, higher taxes,” and “higher gas prices.”

“They’re building a wall around D.C., but they’re not protecting our borders,” Rodimer adds. “They’re laughing at us.”

Rodimer says that he moved his wife and six children to Texas because he wants to raise his kids in a state that is friendly to the Constitution.

“The communists in D.C. want to shut down our churches, close our businesses, indoctrinate our children, communism in our classrooms, make our daughters unsafe in sports and school, destroy American borders and our American history,” Rodimer continues. “We must stop them.”

Indeed we must, while we still can. Personally, I can’t find anything at all objectionable in any of that, taking it for the both-barrels blast of righteous, double-aught Truth right in the face that it is. Nevertheless, there IS a dark side here, one for which Rodimer can in no way be blamed.

Click on the link embedded in the above Tweet and peruse the responses and you’ll quickly feel the smothering miasma of despair settling over you like fog, as it hits you just how very many shitlibs have already descended on the great Republic of Texas like some Biblical plague, with more almost certain to come. Their peurile, doot-brained attacks on Big Dan are straight out of the Shitlib 101 handbook, quite easily dismissible if one is so inclined to waste time and energy on that futile endeavor, which I ain’t. What’s troubling about it is not that the “arguments” are tough to counter—because actually, they aren’t. It’s that they’re there in the first place, evidence of the dangerous infestation of the very heart of one of freedom’s last, best hopes. If these locusts are allowed to swarm Texas and overcome it, there’ll no longer be any refuge left where Real Americans might escape them.

Ironic as it surely is to note that one of the primary weapons the Twatter Libtards try to wield against Big Dan is the “carpetbagger” canard—which bothered them not in the slightest when HILLARY!™ glommed a NY address solely to enable the drunken megalomaniac to slither her way into the legislature—true-blue Texans shouldn’t let any of it dissuade them from supporting Dan Rodimer without reservation come election day. Not only is the future of the Republic at stake, it would also amount to a bodacious middle-finger salute directed at a whole passel of wretched, snotnosed twerps who have most certainly earned one—that, and a whole lot more besides.

Raycissts and homophobes and hate, oh my!

Sooner or later, they’ll get around to something you DO care about.

It’s time to cancel the Village People

Meh—as a diehard disco-hatin’ rock and roller all my life, I thought so a long time ago. But maybe that’s just me.

Discerning cancellation connoisseurs so far have overlooked one of the most problematic boy bands of the 20th century — and it’s time to change that. The American disco group the Village People features a cast of empenised individuals donning costumes that glorify toxically masculine tropes of the time: a police officer, a cowboy, a construction worker, a sailor, a biker and, bizarrely, a Native American (more on that later).

This mono-gendered depiction of the local proletariat is laughably outdated. While some might say the only thing lesbians are actually good at is running nonprofits, today we know that Sappho’s daughters are just as good as men, probably better, at chasing down perps, roping steer and erecting skyscrapers. But let’s look at the music. Have you ever actually listened to the group’s 1979 hit ‘In the Navy’? On that track, it’s one of the band’s black members who shouts repeatedly, ‘I’m afraid of water!’

That raised my eyebrows. A constantly repeated racist stereotype is that black people can’t swim. The slur conjures up painful memories of the racial history of American swimming pools and that heated debate among the wokerati as to whether water itself is, in fact, racist.

Forget the fact that the music video was made with the help of the US Navy. The Village People, despite cashing in on military trappings, have remained silent on the struggle for trans people to serve openly in the military.

Silence is violence. And the name of the group itself is violence against trans womxn of color. Manhattan’s Greenwich Village today is emblematic of cis-het gentrification and a painful reminder of white real-estate terrorism. Take a stroll down Christopher Street on any given Friday night and see for yourself: trans womxn of color banished to basement stairwells and parked cars to perform sex acts for money in the shadows rather than high on a pedestal wearing golden knee pads.

Moreover, what does the ‘C’ stand for in the Village People’s number one hit song ‘Y.M.C.A.’? That’s right, Christian.

Today’s Alphabeteer is blessed with more enlightened sheroes and none involves cisgender men sporting getups that look like something from a plastic bag in the Halloween aisle at Ricky’s. While today’s paragons of LGBTQQAI2S++ liberation still play dress up, it’s usually as large, hairy women and we broadcast them in benevolently corporate media and in ads for Uber Eats.

The uniforms of true LGBTQQAI2S++ warriors aren’t fitted and pressed but more neon and bedraggled, like some highly poisonous, jungle-dwelling amphibian broadcasting to any creature in sight, touch me and die! The struggle for rights has moved well beyond an insular celebration of one’s own community to shock, revolt and intimidate all the others.

If the Village People wish to make a comeback in the age of woke, and pay penance to all the gender non-conforming children they’ve irreparably damaged, they’ll need a radical overhaul. Let’s rename them while we’re at it: the Global Village People. First to go are those caricatures of working class, Trumpian barbarism, to be replaced with more revolutionary-minded archetypes. Imagine the curtain rising on a packed Las Vegas stadium to reveal a college professor, a clipboard-toting community organizer, an app developer, the world’s fattest man, a Syrian war refugee, and Greta Thunberg — belting their new hit songs, ‘Trans in the Navy,’ ‘Go East,’ and everyone’s favorite open-borders ballad, ‘D.A.C.A.’

If that doesn’t sweep the Grammy’s, you’re all a bunch of bigots.

Well, of COURSE we are. The trick is to embrace their every insult and epithet, wear it with utmost pride, and then dare the shitlibs to do something about that. The moment you show even the slightest sign that you might possibly care even a little bit what they think about anything, you lose.

They just don’t make ’em like this anymore

Another comment-inspired post, this latest one brought on by Ironbear’s use of one of true American hero Chesty Puller’s most well-known quips: They have us surrounded. There’s no way they can escape from us now. That got me to digging around for more Puller quotes to respond with, plenty of which are easy to find on the Intarwebs. A sampling—all of them good, all candid and plain-spoken, some alarmingly prescient.

“Our country won’t go on forever, if we stay soft as we are now. There won’t be any America—because some foreign soldiery will invade us and take our women and breed a hardier race.”

“They are in front of us, behind us, and we are flanked on both sides by an enemy that outnumbers us 29:1. They can’t get away from us now!”

“Great. Now we can shoot at them from every direction.”

“We’re surrounded. That simplifies our problem of getting to these people and killing them.” – November 1950, during Chosin Reservoir campaign

“Remember, you are the 1st Marines! Not all the Communists in Hell can overrun you!” (at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir)

“Take me to the Brig. I want to see the real Marines.”

“Where do you put the bayonet on the damn thing?” (upon seeing a flamethrower demonstrated for the first time)

“You don’t hurt ’em if you don’t hit ’em.”

There’s something for Real Americans to learn from in every one of these, either the words themselves or the fearless, never-say-die spirit of the man who spoke them. A few more:

“The mail service has been excellent out here, and in my opinion this is all that the Air Force has accomplished during the war.”
– Chesty Puller in a letter to his wife while in Korea

When an Army captain asked him for the direction of the line of retreat, Col Puller called his Tank Commander, gave them the Army position, and ordered:

“If they start to pull back from that line, even one foot, I want you to open fire on them.”

Turning to the captain, Chesty Puller replied “Does that answer your question? We’re here to fight!” At Koto-ri in Korea

“They are a damn sight better than the U.S. Army, at least we know that they will be there in the morning.”
– Lewis B. Chesty Puller, when a journalist asked him about being surrounded by 22 enemy divisions

“There are not enough Chinamen in the world to stop a fully armed Marine regiment from going where ever they want to go”


That last one smarts a bit, seeing as how Puller’s beloved Corps has fully knuckled under and is now welcoming opportunistic cross-dressers seeking choppadicktomy surgery on the USMC’s dime, as well as boatloads of mollycoddled bimbelinas incapable of meeting minimal standards for physical fitness, into its ranks. The entire US military is now every bit the hollow, ineffectual parody of its former robust self that the country it serves has become. Which is only fitting, I guess. Really, how could it possibly be otherwise? They’ve both been drinking from the same poisoned well.

America just isn’t turning out fierce, indomitable warriors like Chesty Puller anymore, and that’s no accident; it isn’t, because it can’t. That’s no accident either, rather being just one of the Left’s strategic objectives. Thanks to “diversity,” political correctness, general pusillanimity, and overall Leftard tomfoolery, the nation has created a military wholly unable to effectively fulfill its sole purpose of defending the nation.

How powerfully ironic that the Chinese will never even need worry about stopping that “fully-armed Marine regiment” of Chesty’s in the first place. Neither will it be necessary to send a single PLA soldier here for invasion, conquest, and colonization purposes. Thanks to the FUSA’s having sat back limply as its internal enemies slit its throat, the ChiComs already own the banana republic lock, stock, and barrel anyway, without ever mussing a single dink grunt’s hair.

The intentional sapping of our national will and self-respect cost us legendary fighting men like Puller, Claire Chennault, Curtis LeMay, George Patton, Jimmy Doolittle, Pappy Boyington, Audie Murphy, Dick Winters, and too many others to list, “fundamentally transforming” them from role models into icons of American immorality and disgrace. Even worse, celebrating their selfless bravery has been disallowed; in certain despicable circles, they and their exploits are to be harshly condemned, eventually to be quietly edited out of the historical record and forgotten.

The most bitter irony of all? The Left robbed us of these exemplars of real American greatness precisely when we needed them most. Which was no accident either.

Humblest apologies

For I was wrong, so wrong. SteveF, as is his wont, makes a good point.

I’ll tell you the same thing I told Matt Bracken yesterday: I have no problem with the flag going to half mast because of a few dead hookers. The flag goes to half mast when a retired politician dies, and half a dozen hookers were worth more than almost any politician, working or retired.

Can’t argue, won’t try. What I’d really like to see, though, is for “president” Bai-Ding to bring the bodies of those dear departed Hotlanta dollies to lie in state in the Capitol Rotunda. As Steve says, hooers are just as deserving of the honor as any sleazeball politician, and more so than most of ’em.

In fact, contra my earlier gripe about our national unseriousness, perhaps a start at becoming a more serious country would be to start taking official notice of certain realities. Prostitutes provide a genuinely valuable service to people who need it—the universally-familiar witticism describing prostitution as “the world’s oldest profession” ought to be proof enough of the eternal market for that service to deflate any doubts.

Professional politicians, on the other hand, provide nothing whatsoever that anybody wants, let alone needs. They are not producers, but usurpers. They present themselves to those who create, build, manufacture, repair, &c as a blessing instead of an affliction, persuading the productive class of the essential, existential necessity for a Government Class empowered to organize, regulate, moderate, mediate, and protect all those who actually do useful things. Once they’ve conned the serfs into playing along with the swindle, the Governing Class will straightaway begin the process of gradual exsanguination of the host society, like the parasites they actually are.

Our GC boasts of the “advancement” of the very society forced to drag them along as dead weight; of “improving” the things they ruined; of “rebuilding” the things they destroyed; of implementing “solutions” for the problems they created. They puff out their chests and flatter themselves about how vital, how indispensible they are, when the truth is that we’d all be a lot better off without them. If the entire dismal lot of them were sucked bodily off into outer space tonight, society would waste barely a moment tomorrow wondering where they all might have gone.

They boost “efficiency” via imposing a smothering layer of bureacracy, red tape, and intrusion on the now-“streamlined” organization. They hinder while bragging about the many ways in which they’re helping. To hear these swine tell it, the only sensible way to increase the wealth of ordinary individuals is to confiscate at least a third of their income; sift that ill-gotten gain through the government’s waste, administration, and corruption filters; then hand the poor victims a tiny fraction of their own money back to them as “stimulus,” “reparations,” “benefits,” etc—all of which will be taxed also, of course—even as they constantly remind one and all of the selflessness of their big-hearted “benefactors” in government, without whose generosity all would surely be lost.

When the hapless suckers have gotten a bellyful of having their lifeblood sucked out of them, they may become restive. If so, the Government Class will usually begin to round up the disgruntled opposition to be put on trial (maybe, someday) for “treason,” “insurrection,” “disloyalty,” “incitement,” or “hate speech.” Some could be brought up slightly lesser charges for offenses such as “conspiracy,” “uncooperativeness,” “obstruction” or “interfering” with an arrest, investigation, surveillance, a government agent or agency, or any official procedure, function, or activity.

As the slow implosion of the whole farcical system accelerates, the grip of the Government Class will paradoxically tighten—until one fine day it too fails. At which point all hell breaks loose, and the whole circle-jerk begins anew.

So yeah, I think it’s high time we elevated our Ho’ Class and started viewing those noble, courageous heroes from a different vantage. Hey, if the choice is between them and the GC vermin, I can easily tell ya who gets my vote, six days a week and twice on Sunday. Meanwhile, in light of my aformentioned error, I’ll leave you with this.



His got up and go has got up and went

ZOMGtoofrigginFUNNY.


Sorry, Jules; I love ya and all, you know I do. Nonetheless, I must assure one and all that I do NOT “hope he’s ok.” In truth, I do not give a tinker’s damn whether he is or not. Nor do I feel the slightest twinge of pity for this shambolic morgue-escapee. His current plight, after all, was entirely self-created. His suffering—grossly exacerbated by his numerous physical and mental infirmities—is directly and solely a result of his moral and ethical ones.

Biden’s greed, self-absorption, corruption, and core dishonesty led him to where he is. So let him enjoy it, then. This latest humiliating, pathetic collapse doesn’t even amount to a down-payment on the titanic just-deserts debt Gropey owes. He can die screaming and then burn in Hell for a thousand years, as far as I’m concerned.

All of which means I find this next one even more side-splitting:


Heh. Nice shot, Mr Preznit, sir!

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