Eyrie up!

Monday’s Substack offering, Empire, falling, is now live and kickin’ in its stall. It’s the dreaded Independence Day musing I mentioned earlier today, including a wee mite of digression into ancient CF history which is bound to edify and delight you CF Lifers who were hanging out at this hogwallow back then. To wit:

Fact is, it really is difficult to know where we are in America today. As you CF Lifers will recall, this blog was born in the immediate wake of the 9/11/01 atrocities; the domain name was registered on 9/14, if I remember right. Being a complete newcomer to this whole “blogging” phenomenon, I had no clue about the dominant bloggerware systems back then—GreyMatter, Moveable Type, etc. No clue? Hell, I didn’t even know such things existed in those earliest days.

So I whipped up a design for this crazy new trip I was embarking on over the next two days; Adobe GoLive (version 4? Or 5, maybe?) was my WYSIWYG web-design weapon of choice in those Aulden Thymes. The very first CF posts went up on 9/16/01. I had screenshots of that first effort stored on one of my old Macs, but alas, they’re gone with the wind now.

The one thing I know for sure: the America we lived in then bore little, if any, resemblance to the one we’re living in today. It’s incredible to realize just how drastically the US has changed in such a relatively short span of time. In fact, I doubt that there’s been any other twenty year span that DID see such radical, sweeping change to both the nation and its culture in our long history, with the Civil War v1.0/Reconstruction era being a possible exception.

Amazingly, it ain’t all gloomy and doomy, even managing to conclude on an at least somewhat optimistic note. You know what you must do, Glasshoppa.


Eyrie up!

Friday’s Substack column—”You’re here, we ain’t skeered, get used to it”—is now up and running. It’s a tirade on the Transgender Jihad, and the likely result of this daylight barking madness. SPOILER: it ain’t gonna be pretty, people.

Keep fucking around and you’re gonna find out, freaks. And when you do, a whole lot of others are gonna be taken down right along with you. When the Saxon at last does get his hate on for reals, there aren’t gonna be very many of them who are all that interested in differentiating betwixt the Quick and the Dead, I’d bet.

Which, truth to tell, I can’t quite say I’m as bereft as JJ is regarding that prospect. Far as I’m concerned, while they may not themselves be hurling open threats in the teeth of parents who simply prefer that their children not be raunched up the fudge tunnel like those openly participating in the Transgender Jihad have, by their silence the less radical Left types (if any) still make themselves at best complicit in this most unwholesome of trends.

So be it, then.

As is mentioned at the close of the Eyrie post, there will be an update later so as to bring a very-much-related Brandon Smith dissertation into the mix, which I will notify y’all of as and when. Til then, hit the link and partake of it.

Update! The above-mentioned Eyrie addendum-slash-update has been all taken care of, via the judicious application of a little linky self-love.


Eyrie WAAAAY up!

The previous Eyrie hit record, set but a cpl-three weeks ago by the “Dumping Trump” installment, has been blown right up and left spinning in the dust like Wile E Coyote (Supergenius!) by this past Friday’s edition (“Secession tour de force”), driven by the selfsame force of Nature: a most gracious endorsement from our good friend Concerned American over at WRSA, which I didn’t know had even happened until just now. Dig it!


Note that, as confirmed in the above screen-cap, this was as of 7:45 on Friday evening, so the view tally is sure to have vaulted even higher since. In fact, here’s what the Eyrie overall stats look like for the month of June, with the tremendous impact of dat sweet, sweet WRSA linky-love more than evident.

Screen Shot 2023 06 25 at 9 48 46 PM

Says so much, wouldn’t you say? Once more, my sincerest and most humble thanks go to CA, as well as all you readers—for the stat-boost as well as, y’know, all the fish.


Eyrie up!

Our weekender Substack crack-dose is now live and roaring for attention. Titled “Secession tour de force,” this installment constitutes an extended run at the legendary Michael Anton’s recent Asylum piece exploring the contemporary to-and-fro’ing over what’s looking more and more like an issue Americans will be wrangling over until the heat death of the universe, if not longer. Try a little on for size:

And there you have it: the whole danged Liberty vs Tyranny issue, boiled down to its constituent parts in just three short sentences. 53-foot trailerloads of compelling if unsettling reading left yet, incredible as that may seem, touching on All The Things—from ethnic cleansing to white supremacism to Neegrow reparations (ie, Dollars for Darkies) to Climate Change (formerly Global Warming, formerly Global Cooling, formerly The Weather)™ to Stalin and Pinochet and, momentarily, Tucker Carlson, before Tom finally says fuck this shit, throws up his hands, and shags his happy ass on back to the good ol’ Republic of Texas.

Like I said, it’s a long ‘un, but seeing as how this is, or soon will become, one of the most urgent, impactful debates of our time, its pivotal nature nicely balances out any objection to the length of the piece. With this magisterial, thorough, and timely work, presented in a conversational rather than a professorial tone, what Mike Anton has done is provide us with a quite useful, readily comprehensible study guide which adroitly explicates every angle, every historical predicate, every position, and every possible motivation and/or rationalization driving said debate, on both sides.

Like Anton’s, my own stab at this beast is long, but I think you’ll find it well worth your time and attention, as is Anton’s. As I’m so fond of saying, go ye and read of both of them, for They. Are. Good.

Eyrie up!

The Monday Substack, “Reinventing the Republic,” has now been posted. This installment discusses the Five Ws as related not to a principle of journalism, but to the hijacking of a once-free nation by Progressivists, and to the Constitution they’ve defiled and discarded. To wit:

The Constitution is no more than a document—mere words on paper, expressing certain ideals that, until relatively recently, most Americans claimed to revere. It has no power of its own, no practical or corporeal means of enforcing the ideals it proposes. Reasonable, aware Americans ought not to expect it to; they are the ones charged with the duty of protecting and enforcing it, not vice the versa. It cannot defend itself, it must be defended.

This is tacitly confirmed by the simple fact that many, many of us have sworn an oath to do precisely that: upon enlisting in the military, joining the police force, or accepting elected office as what used to be called a “public servant.” Every last one of them swore that oath completely aware of what it meant, as should those of us who did NOT swear any oath. OUR duty is to see to it that those who did, most especially the elected officials, are held rigorously to account for fulfilling it. Ignoring, shirking, or otherwise failing to uphold this solemn and sacred responsibility, then, cannot fairly be taken as an indication that the Constitution has failed us, but rather that we have failed the Constitution.

Until that solemn and sacred duty is reaffirmed, taken seriously, and fully and firmly upheld, all efforts undertaken by freedom-oriented Americans who prefer properly limited government—“election” campaigns, peaceful protest, indignant op-eds, lawfare—will continue to be frustrated. Said Americans will have no hope whatever of prevailing in the gloomy twilight of the eternal struggle against tyranny and despotism.

I’m right, and you know I am. Go ye and read all of it—no subscription necessary to read, paid sub required to comment, y’all know the drill.


Eyrie up!

Today’s Eyrie screed, “A crisis of conscience,” is now available for your perusal, consideration, commentary, and…ummm, convenience. Read the thing to learn why I just stuck that “convenience” sub-clause in; it may seem like something of a non sequitur, but it ain’t, there’s a reason for it. A taste:

Like it or not, the underlying issue always comes back to the same thing, in my view: to defeat them, we must become more like them. No, by that I assuredly do NOT mean adopting their beliefs, their views, their abominable totalitarian political agenda, Heaven forbid. What I DO mean is adopting their will to win; their tactics; their readily-discernible eagerness to get down in the gutter and fight dirty—most of all, perhaps, their absolute willingness to identify us not as their countrymen with whom they have minor differences of opinion, but as blood enemies. As in fact not merely mistaken but actively, willfully evil.

Thus it is, then, that we arrive in the exact same place as did the Founders in their own day: forced all unwilling to grapple with a most unpleasant choice, one which no sane person ever wants to have to make. No more than a slogan in the beginning, thought to have its origins with the minuscule and entirely irrelevant American White Supremacist cohort, the following phrase eventually hardened into a truism which cannot long be sidestepped: there is no political solution to the problems caused by politics.

Go ye and read of it, as per usual. I gotta say, I’m rather proud of my closing ‘graph, which I think elegantly poses the ultimate question of not just this, but every age since American’s Founding in which men have yearned to live free and unfettered by the chains of government tyranny.

Update! Just received email notification that TL issued the post a “Like,” because of course he did. Thanks, old friend; I might have come off all flippant about it just then, but it really does mean a lot to me, all my kidding around aside.

Eyrie up!

Monday’s Eyrie effort is now online and in full effect, in which we cover EV mandates, whether or not they’re actually necessary, and what might explain the frenetic push for their adoption, as well as a certain 800-pound gorilla in the room that no one wants to talk about. As is always the case, it assuredly is NOT what they tell us it is. A wee dram of a taste:

EVs: who needs ‘em?
Nobody, really. But then, you have to understand what the undisclosed function of the useless toys is: bolstering the smarmy self-righteousness of urban “liberals,” granting them permission to endlessly congratulate themselves for how deeply, deeply concerned they are about “saving the environment.”

Read, subscribe, comment, etc. Y’all know wassup by now.

Eyrie up!

What a ride! This past Monday’s “Dumping Trump” post set an all-time record for views, thanks mainly to our good friend and like-minded colleague CA over at WRSA having thrown it some linky-love over at his joint. Usually, the hits/views/whatevs remain firmly in the 120-200 range, which was dwarfed by Monday’s stats:


Wow! Not half bad if you ask me; my most sincere and humble thanks to CA for the boost. Tonight’s Substackery—Costs, benefits, and punishment—features Eric Peters’ musings on the hidden cost of those ever-more-unrealistic and -unreasonable CAFE fuel-mileage mandates, which is quite a bit higher than most of us may realize. Sample ‘graphs:

In a dictatorship such as this one, what The People want is entirely irrelevant, not worthy of consideration—you stupid children don’t have the vaguest clue what’s best for you, see. Which is why this, and every, decision must be left up to your “betters” in the “elite” and “expert” classes. That’s just part and parcel of being “elite” in the first place—although you better not ever let them hear you muttering anything about the “Divine right to rule,” or Kipling’s “White Man’s Burden” concept of “noblesse oblige.” Do that, and you’re REALLY gonna have a problem on your hands, bub.

Better just shut your hole and know your role from here on out then, Prole scum. Y’know, or else—always and forever the implied threat, just the same as with every other dimestore dictator throughout human history, no matter where he may hail from. Nice to know, I suppose, that we feeble, fallible, fragile hoomon-bean types still do have at least some traits in common, right? For certain values of the word “human,” that is.

As alluded to above, the incomparable Rudyard Kipling also puts in an appearance, so go ye and read of it, for It. Is. Good. Paid sub required to comment, as ever.

Oh, and a side note: I’m considering changing the subscription rates from the defaults I left in place when I started this thing; not tonight, and probably not tomorrow, but whenever I get the opratoonitty. Rates for those already signed up won’t change, unless maybe the tariff drops a bit. I’ll let y’all know on that.

Update! Okay, I know I said it wasn’t gonna be tonight, but I went ahead and did the rate-structure changes anyhoo. As of now, an Eyrie sub will set ya back a paltry 10 simoleons per month, and 80 per year. There’s also a Founding Member rate of 150/mo, a default setting which I just left alone for now, seeing as how I have no idea what that even means. I see a “Special offers” tab as well, which is another thing I haven’t dicked around with yet. Lots more Dashboard settings I haven’t looked into at all still, and ain’t gonna bother with right now.

As an income-generating proposition, I have to say that Substack is by no means the cash machine it was sold to me as when the lady emailed me a while back trying to recruit me into it (I got back to her right away, but never heard from her again after that first contact—not exactly a confidence-builder, I must say). But no matter; it’s another outlet for my writing, which gives me something to do and keeps me from running wild in the streets late at night.

Updated update! Those of you who are already paid subscribers, please let me know if the rate changes affect you or not, or whether everything just stays the same for ya. I don’t want any of you to end up having to pay more than you were; if that happens, I’ll need to find a workaround to fix it.


Eyrie up!

Monday’s Substack offering, Dumping Trump, is now available for perusal, gimlet-eyed scrutiny, and rancorous, hateful debate. It’s a look at the metastasizing phenomenon of former Trump supporters who have succumbed to Trump Fatigue and have kicked the Trump habit for good. A sample:

I’m not even remotely likely to vote in any more presidential “elections” unless and until real, sweeping “election” reform is enacted, which is clearly not on the Uniparty menu. So I can’t fairly say I have a dog in the Trump vs DeSantis vs Pence *gag* vs whothehellever fight, really. Be that as it may, I’m not immune to a twinge of Trump Fatigue myself with each new boast, each new declaration of what-all he’s by God gonna do “when” he retakes the White House in 2024, after doing none of those things back in 2016-2020 when he had the chance. Nowadays, I find myself about as likely to groan in exhausted ennui as I am to laugh along with him as I was still doing only a year or so ago. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice? Not happening, sorry.

In Trump’s defense, it’s as I’ve said so many times, dating all the way back to the 2015 announcement of his candidacy: the dumpster fire in Mordor On The Potomac was not set alight by one president in one term; it took many decades of assiduous stoking, spanning many presidential administrations both Demican and Republicrat, to get the conflagration really roaring. That being so, it is wholly unreasonable to expect that one president might be able to put it out, particularly with the entirety of the Deep State apparatus and every critter in the Swamp sneakily turning off the hydrant and poking holes in the hose. Trump managed to dig out a decent firebreak to slow it down, but that was the extent of it. And even then, the fire jumped the line and continued on as before, the very day he left office.

Go ye and read of it, for it…will probably piss you right the hell off, actually. But hey, that’s all part of the fun.

Eyrie up!

My Friday Substack post—Invade the world, invite the world— is officially up and running. It’s a look at what inevitably happens when you bring the Third World home to Our House, as we’ve so foolishly done in Muzz-rat hellholes like Dearborn, Mi, Mogadishapolis, Mn, and Buffalo, NY, among other sadly-benighted formerly American localities. A wee dram:

It still blows my everlovin’ mind that an America-hating Muzz-rat cretin like the congenitally-dishonest Ilhan Omar Elmi, who gained entry to the country under dubious pretenses herself, then undertook a totally-illegal sham marriage to her own brother to bring him here for purposes of obtaining a green card for him, is somehow actually a sitting US Congresscritter. Although when you get right down to it, that shouldn’t really come as any big surprise either—just further confirmation, as if any were needed by now, of the systemic corruption rife at the FederalGovCo level. Ahh, but what did Mogadishapolis stand to gain from this deal with the Mooselimb Devil? Oh, so very, very much.

Ge ye and read of it, I implore one and all. Subs are free, paid subscribers can comment, etc etc.

Eyrie up!

The Monday Substack post—Talk is cheap, action dear—an analysis of Roger Kimball’s close-but-not-quite analysis of the Durham report—is now live. Roger argues that, in the not-even-remotely-likely event that Trump is reelected (again) next year, he should implement “metaphorical dawn-raids on their people and institutions just as they weaponized the Justice Department against you and your supporters,” a self-defeating, totally useless idea which I have a real problem with. To wit:

See that? “Metaphorical,” the man says. For Christ’s sweet sake, WHY?!? Were those (ongoing) “Justice” Department raids you just mentioned in any sense metaphorical, prithee tell? Are the J6 dissidents in the Amerikan Gulag locked up behind metaphorical bars? Was Trump’s spite-fueled, politically motivated recent conviction on transparently spurious charges of sexual battery and “defamation” metaphorical? The bullets that robbed Ashli Babbit of her life, the Capitol Po-(head)lice truncheons and jackboots that clubbed and/or stomped poor Rosanne Boyland right into an early grave, all “metaphorical”?

When we preemptively commit ourselves to tying one hand behind our backs by docilely remaining in the realm of the strictly “metaphorical,” is not the struggle against tyrannical oppression and rampant FederalGovCo injustice and abuse by definition “half-hearted”?

As somebody or other once said, is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of (decidedly NON-metaphorical) chains and slavery?

Kimball goes on from there to say that “the focus should be on eclipsing Washington, D.C. as the seat of government,” a proposal I wholeheartedly endorse. Think the inevitable Swamp response to any such worthy endeavor will be limited to metaphorical means alone, though?

Read, subscribe, comment (requires a paid sub, remember), all that jazz.

Eyrie up!

Friday’s Substackery—Can they read my mind yet?—is now up and running. A discussion of the newer automobiles which neither seek nor are at all respectful of any input whatsoever from their lowly drivers, it uses the esteemed Eric Peters’ perambulations on said topic as the springboard for my own musings on same. Teaser:

In fact, only a cpl-three years back, my beloved mother in law up in NYC returned the brand-new Mercedes SUV she had just bought to the dealership and demanded her trade-in vehicle back—a low-mileage Benz SUV no more than three years old itself—after her new one automagickally shut itself off whilst sitting becalmed in Manhattan rush-hour traffic. Doing so once was one thing, mind; however, after it happened four more times in rapid succession, no contradictory input either sought or heeded by the car, my MiL had seen enough. She hie’d herself back to the dealer and got her old ride back, which she still tootles happily around in without complaint to this very day.

And why on earth wouldn’t she have done that, prithee tell? A car whose CPU shuts the engine off in snarled traffic is NOT any vehicle you want to be trying to drive in NYC, at any time of the day or night, snarled traffic being more the rule than the exception there. In fact, a car like that constitutes a very real hazard to life and limb, given the various and sundry obstacles to the consistent flow of traffic scattered like land mines throughout all of the Five Boroughs: road construction, stoplights, insane cabbies, and the aforementioned Critical Traffic, to mention but a few.

In crowded American cities like NYC, a car that shuts itself off in traffic for “safety” purposes is actually the very antithesis of what most people understand the word “safety” to mean.

Go ye and read of it, for It. Is. Good.

Eyrie up!

Monday’s Substackery—The power of narrative—is now live. It covers one of the most remarkable pieces I’ve ever had the distinct pleasure of reading, truly, which presents a quite astute theory on why we are where we now are, and how we got here. A damned tough one to excerpt, it really is that good. There’s also some extry commentary from li’l ol’ moi included therein, of which I’ll provide a smidge for general edification and amusement purposes:

This is one hell of a fascinating piece, presenting an argument that never once occurred to me before. The author goes on from there to provide even more support for it, all of which is quite convincing. If he’s right on this, and I for one think he is, it explains…well, damned near everything. The only real flaw I can see is that it suggests an intelligence and a patient, sure-handed competence on the part of the Left that is absolutely nowhere else in evidence, undermining certain assumptions about them we’ve all been making for years.

On the other hand, though, they have managed to take over America That Was entire—gradually, bit by bit, piece by piece—without ever a shot needing to be fired, or not very many of them, and those few only in recent years. Which is a genuinely alarming prospect in and of itself: if they really ARE this smart, then we’re probably all doomed and should give up and sue for mercy, before it’s too late.

If there ever was a case where I mean every word of it when I say you really MUST read all of it, it would have to be this one. Happily enough, the piece is a long ‘un, so there’s plenty more left from there; actually, I haven’t quite finished it yet myself, but was moved enough when I got around two-thirds in to take time out and write this post. It’s wide-ranging—up to and including a Biblical reference in support of the central thesis, with direct textual quotes—well-written and -reasoned, compelling, and legitimately brilliant throughout. So don’t make me say it again, people. Believe me, you won’t be sorry.

And I promise you, you won’t. Hie thee thither; free to read and subscribe, pay to comment, the usual deal.

Eyrie up!

Despite having promised to get Friday’s Substack post up yesterday, I was too overcome by general ennui and despair to even bother reading any of my daily blog-stops, let alone futz about with my own. So I took a nice, relaxing day off yesterday instead. Turned out, yesterday was a perfect day for it: grey, overcast, with thunderstorms, it was a day tailor-made for lazing about in bed, reading some excellent WW2 fiction and listening to the classical-music station on the raygeeo.

So that’s just what I did; I accomplished not one worthwhile thing all day long, excepting the big ol’ pot of my patented-recipe chili I whipped up mid-afternoon. The secret ingredient, the unheralded key to making good chili, might come as a surprise to some of you: a cup of strong, black coffee poured into the bouillabaisse early in the process. That’s a trick I picked up from a girfriend who was an actual by-God chef, who back in the 80s taught me all about how to properly cook, for reals. Works great too, even though I know it sounds sorta odd.

At any rate, the Friday Sunday Eyrie, Stairway to…well, it definitely ain’t Heaven, delves into how the acoustic-guitar intro to Led Zep’s “Stairway To Heaven” came to be known as “the forbidden riff” among guitarists of a certain stripe, and why. Anybody who’s endured a Saturday afternoon at any major music-store chain, with the mob of teenage wannabe-Stevie Vai’s exhibiting their ferocious chops for the only audience they’ll ever have, is sure to appreciate it, whether you’re a player yourself or not. A taste:

GOD, but it was literally painful; Sam Ash on any given Saturday was a special corner of Hell for any working guitarist, believe you me. So much so that, whenever I could manage it, I’d put off stopping in to grab another case of D’Addario Jazz Rocks and/or a gross of Dunlop Tortex picks until Monday or Tuesday. Wasn’t always possible, of course, but boy, did I ever try. I tried hard.

My lifelong friend Tim Conard, one of the finest Fender P-bassists I ever did know, actually landed a job at Ash years ago; he lasted about three months before bowing out due to the awful torture represented by those interminable Sam Ash Saturday sessions. First cpl-three times I walked in when Tim was pulling a shift, he’d breeze up to say hi with a broad smile on his mug. After those halcyon early days, though, he’d have that blank, thousand-yard-stare not unfamiliar to combat vets, staggering like one of the undead. The transformation from friendly, happy-go-lucky fella to shambolic, groaning zombie was something to see, it really was.

By the time I started frequenting Sam Ash as a serious player, The Forbidden Riff had long since faded from the hack’s lexicon, supplanted by more contemporary—and infinitely more annoyinghair-farmer metal, duuuude! My own gripe with “Stairway” was more personal, operating as it did on a slightly different plane. It was the same with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird,” actually. For one thing, I’d heard those damned chestnuts plenty enough times already on classic rock radio, til I was sick unto death of both of them, regardless of how much I always liked Zep and Skynyrd.

You probably are too by now, I’d bet.

Lots more fun schtuff at the link, of course and as usual. You know what you must do, Glasshoppa.

Unrelated addendum: Yes, I know that Billy’s “Outlaw Intrepid Reporter” blog is down. No worries though, really. It can hardly come as any kind of shock, being as OIR dwelt under the Goolag censorship umbrella; for any non-shitlib blogger resident on the loathsome Blogspot, it’s not a matter of if but when. The Man himself says:


If’n I had any luck this week…got both my bleggs blown out…’service violations’

Did I unknowingly piss on a Mummy’s Tomb or accidentally desecrate a Native American Graveyard? I swear man all I can do is laugh at this point… it’s fucking recockulas

It is indeed.

The Daily Donnybrook, and other fine things

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…

Mike @Substack

Mike’s latest Eyrie post is available here. Don’t miss it if you can! NOTE: bonus points to anybody who can tell me where that last seemingly-flubbed line comes from.

Update! What, no takers? Okay then, the “don’t miss it if you can” line comes from here: Kermit Schafer’s All Time Great Bloopers, an album of my dad’s that me and my brother both loved as kids. Nearly wore that sucker slap out, we did.

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Notable Quotes

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

Claire's Cabal—The Freedom Forums


"There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters."
Daniel Webster

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"I predict that the Bush administration will be seen by freedom-wishing Americans a generation or two hence as the hinge on the cell door locking up our freedom. When my children are my age, they will not be free in any recognizably traditional American meaning of the word. I’d tell them to emigrate, but there’s nowhere left to go. I am left with nauseating near-conviction that I am a member of the last generation in the history of the world that is minimally truly free."
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Dwight D. Eisenhower

"To put it simply, the Left is the stupid and the insane, led by the evil. You can’t persuade the stupid or the insane and you had damn well better fight the evil."

"There is no better way to stamp your power on people than through the dead hand of bureaucracy. You cannot reason with paperwork."
David Black, from Turn Left For Gibraltar

"If the laws of God and men, are therefore of no effect, when the magistracy is left at liberty to break them; and if the lusts of those who are too strong for the tribunals of justice, cannot be otherwise restrained than by sedition, tumults and war, those seditions, tumults and wars, are justified by the laws of God and man."
John Adams

"The limits of tyranny are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress."
Frederick Douglass

"Give me the media and I will make of any nation a herd of swine."
Joseph Goebbels

“I hope we once again have reminded people that man is not free unless government is limited. There’s a clear cause and effect here that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.”
Ronald Reagan

"Ain't no misunderstanding this war. They want to rule us and aim to do it. We aim not to allow it. All there is to it."
NC Reed, from Parno's Peril

"I just want a government that fits in the box it originally came in."
Bill Whittle

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