Can you blame ’em?

Can’t say as I do.

U.S. health care workers are first in line to receive the COVID-19 vaccine — but an alarming number across the country are refusing to do so.

Earlier this week, Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine disclosed that about 60 percent of the nursing home workers in his state have so far chosen not to get vaccinated.

More than half of New York City’s EMS workers have shown skepticism, The Post reported last month.

And now California and Texas are experiencing a high rate of health care worker refusals, according to reports.

An estimated 50 percent of frontline workers in Riverside County in the Golden State opted against the drug, the Los Angeles Times reported, citing public health officials.

More than half of the hospital workers at California’s St. Elizabeth Community Hospital that were eligible to receive the vaccine did not, the newspaper.

And in the Lone Star State, a doctor at Houston Memorial Medical Center told NPR earlier this month that half the nurses in the facility would not get the vaccine, citing political reasons.

Well, let’s see now. Government “health” officials have lied about the Shamdemic from the beginning, and are still lying about it. The “vaccine” itself is an entirely new mRNA type, a significant departure from vaccines as traditionally conceived and understood. Its potential harmful effects—hell, even how it works, when it does at all—are closer to guesswork and assumption than hard science. Its long-term effects are unknown, and unknowable. Unlike other vaccines, the CDC admits that “At the moment I don’t believe we have the evidence of any of the vaccines to be confident that it’s going to prevent people from actually getting the infection and therefore being able to pass it on“—which is kinda what actual vaccines are, y’know, FOR.

Apart from the rush to market of this “vaccine”; inadequate testing; the government’s established record of deceit and manipulation; and the number of people keeling over dead after being “vaccinated,” there’s also the simple fact that people under 80 who don’t suffer from a serious disease or chronic condition have a near-100% chance of surviving THE VIRUS THE VIRUS THE VIRUS!™ without any “vaccine” anyway. Far as I’m concerned, anybody intent on forcing this one on me better bring plenty of help, as well as some stout cargo straps to hold me down. Because I ain’t gonna be taking it willingly.

Annus horribilis: that was the year that was

Look back in anger.

This year has been strange in many ways, but one bit of weirdness that has gone unnoticed is the paucity of predictions for the coming year. For as long as anyone reading this has been alive, this time of year has featured both year in review content and predictions content. This year both have been limited. Maybe the awfulness of 2020 is keeping people from thinking much about it. The wild unpredictability we have seen has probably made forecasters squeamish about predicting anything.

Y’know, now that ZMan brings it up I’ve noticed the same myself, although I didn’t really think too much about it. He sizes up a few his own predictions from last year:

The Light of Lagos was pretty much a dud last year. The omens got some of the Democrat primary right, but not enough to claim a victory. Biden did struggle and Warren flamed out early. Buttigieg did better in Iowa than most expected, but Sanders was the story until the party rigged the system to install Biden. No one predicted Biden would win the nomination and no one ever imagined that buffoon as president, so the omens can be forgiven for missing that one.

The impeachment fiasco played out as predicted, but that was easy money, so no victory lap there either. The real shocker is in how the whole thing was thrown down the memory hole so quickly. No one talks about it. It’s like how someone gets crazy drunk at a party and makes a fool of himself. The next day there is some ribbing from friends, but then it is forgotten. The Democrats danced around with a lampshade on their heads and after it was over, everyone forgot about it.

Now, the big hit was the Barr stuff. It is amazing how so many people thought something would happen with that charade for so long. When Trump brought Barr in it seemed like something would happen, but it quickly became clear that it was just another coverup. Barr was brought in to make sure the truth of the FBI corruption never saw the light of day. You have to wonder if Trump was too stupid to see what was happening or that he signed off on it, despite his tweets.

Of course, the big miss was the Covid panic and how it has been used to turn much of America into a penal colony. No one predicted it, because such a thing seemed implausible just a year ago. It really is shocking to think about how much has changed in just 12 months. This time last year people were planning vacations, walking around with no curfew, having people over to their homes. If someone had predicted this, they would have been dismissed as a crazy person.

Yup. Those loony “conspiracy theories” don’t look quite so loony when they’ve become mundane reality, just how we all live now, do they? All in all, the situation brings to mind Hemingway’s famous response when asked how he went bankrupt: Gradually, then all at once.

That’s the way these things usually go, although it may feel otherwise sometimes. The subtext here, like it or not, is our slow national devolution into tyranny. As with Carl Sandburg’s fog, tyranny creeps in on little cat feet, quiet and little-noticed. At the end-stage of its establishment, its confusticated victims are left wondering what the hell hit ’em. The difference is that tyranny never just “sits…on silent haunches, and then moves on.” It lingers, constantly expanding: strangling, draining, devouring all within its grasp.

The only rights tyranny acknowledges are exclusively its own, and without limit. All claims made by its subjects asserting rights of their own are of no interest or import, spurious impositions unworthy of serious discussion. Tyranny will be moved not a whit by appeals to reason, justice, or mercy. It doesn’t repent, relent, reconsider, or admit error. Nor does it ever just go away on its own, peaceably, which would amount to a tacit admission of error. To be rid of it, tyranny must be driven off by force, which takes quite a bit of doing. It’s an arduous process, by no means quick, convenient, or painless. But it’s the only option.

Should the effort to overthrow tyranny and restore liberty prove successful, it will by no means be irreversible; the very idea that victory even could be permanent must be vigorously shunned. Such complacency is extremely dangerous, and is the surest way to hasten tyranny’s return. Against tyranny, vigilance must be rigorously maintained; disregard is precursor to defeat.

When she’s right…

…the girl is RIGHT.



Gorillapundit helpfully converted a few of her followup Tweets to plain text:

TITANIA’S PREDICTIONS

On 22 December 2018, I called for biological sex to be removed from birth certificates.
On 17 December 2020, the New England Journal of Medicine concurred.

On 1 October 2019, I suggested that young women should be encouraged to travel alone in rural Pakistan.
On 12 October 2019, Forbes Magazine concurred.

On 19 September 2018, I criticised Julie Andrews (aka Mary Poppins) for chimney soot blackface.
On 28 January 2019, the New York Times concurred.

And so they all did. A couple more:

On 6 June 2019, I demanded an option to mute white males.
On 14 July 2020, Instagram concurred.

On 21 December 2018, I wrote an article to endorse fighting with relatives during the holiday season.
On 28 November 2019, the Nation concurred.

Titiana must have some sort of weird magical prognosticative power or something, bless her heart. For his own part, GP continues with a “Woke Or Joke?” meme compendium that’s sure to leave almost anyone totally stumped.

Sign o’ the times

See if you notice anything, ummm, odd in this article about thankfully-now-banned Murder Toys. I’ll boldface certain passages to help out.

7 Absurdly Dangerous Toys That Your Parents And Grandparents Probably Got For Christmas
From a science kit that contained uranium to a toy gun that generated fireballs, these dangerous toys would launch a thousand lawsuits if they were released today.

Every generation looks back on its childhood toys with nostalgia. But the consumer products of yesteryear weren’t always up to today’s safety standards. On the contrary, the seven dangerous toys listed here show just how much times have changed.

Well, that last part’s true, at least. But maybe not in quite the way the author seems to think.

From 12-inch lawn darts that pierced the skulls of at least a dozen kids to “toy” guns now considered actual firearms in several American states, these toys from the past doubled as deadly weapons.

Older generations may bemoan increasing safety measures. But the waning popularity (or outright banning) of the seven toys listed below have undeniably saved countless lives.

Believe it or not, your parents played with these toys — and somehow survived to chuckle about it.

Okay, pal, which is it: “dozens,” or “countless”? Because one of those things is NOT like the other.

He goes on to wring his delicate hands over the “More than a dozen” kids who strangled to death after getting themselves tangled up in some poorly-designed mini-hammocks. That uranium-enriched science kit apparently had no deaths at all to raise its body count, and there are no hard numbers cited for any of the rest of the 7 Deadly Threats either. Which leaves the author’s ban-happy conclusion regarding these “vintage throwback to a less responsible time” open to debate, shall we say.

As for the other banned toys on this list, it’s certainly for the best that they’re no longer for sale.

Don’t get me wrong: a child’s life lost due to a damned toy—regardless of whether the thing was poorly thought-out, defective, or incorrectly used—is certainly a wrenching, soul-scarring thing, a tragedy I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Every parent whose child’s life ends too soon, from ANY cause, deserves our sympathy.

But government bans using such a small percentage of fatalities or injuries as justification should raise some serious questions in the minds of every one of us. There are larger issues at stake, involving who we are and what kind of country we wish to live in, and those questions merit careful consideration in their own right. Smugly dismissing the never-ending debate over freedom, self-determination, and government overreach as no more than a quaint artifact from “a less responsible time” just ain’t gonna cut it.

They Live Lie

John updates Plato’s Allegory Of The Cave for the modern era, putting the cherry on top with some truly painful puns and a canny reference to John Carpenter’s classic film They Live.

The bad news is, to one extent or another, we’re all prisoners of the cave.  We see misperceptions in our daily life, either of our own construct or as constructed for us.

Who would construct misperceptions for us?

Lots of people.  Here are a few examples:

  • Harry Truman, on August 6, 1945, said: “Sixteen hours ago an American airplane dropped one bomb on Hiroshima, an important Japanese Army base.”  Well, sure.  It was a militarily important city.  And farms were militarily important because they made food that people might eat.  And schools were militarily important because they educated children that could fight us.  But that would be like saying, “San Francisco, an important American Army base.”  (Note:  I’m not saying I disagree with the decision, just that Truman’s statement was shady as a Netflix® show about dancing children.)
  • Operation Northwoods: Essentially a plan from the Pentagon for our military to stage terrorist attacks in the United States while pretending to be Cubans as a justification to attack Cuba. Really. Here’s the Wikipedia® on that (LINK). Not Alex Jones.  Wikipedia™.
  • The CIA performed illegal mind control experiments on American and Canadian civilians. Here’s the Wikipedia (LINK). Most of the documents were burned, so there’s no telling how many people were impacted. When I first heard of this, my response was that it was impossible. Nope. They did it.
  • Let’s pull the media in, too. The New York Times® “reporter” Walter Duranty wrote stories that there was no mass starvation in the Soviet Union in the early 1930s, despite knowing that millions were being starved to death on purpose. Duranty got a Pulitzer Prize™ for his lies – a prize that has never been rescinded. I wrote about that starvation here (In The World Murder Olympics, Communists Take Gold And Silver Medals).

I could do dozens more where the government, academia, industry, or unions lied and most people believed them. I’ve written about those again and again – the 1960’s Harvard Sugar Study, anyone (High Carbs, Harvard, Insurance, And Avoiding Doctors)? If it was just statements from politicians that were lies that most of us believed? I don’t have enough electrons on my computer to store all of those.

Essentially, unless I get up and go outside of the cave I’m in, I’m sitting and watching those shadows on the wall. But when I do get up and go outside of that cave, I learn amazing things – all those things that are glossed over in history classes, and generally not easy to find, though they’re (for today) clearly documented on even Left-leaning sites like Wikipedia®.

Fifteen year old me wanted to believe in the government, wanted to believe that the press wasn’t hopelessly corrupt. Me in 2020 has seen too much.

If you haven’t seen the movie They Live, there is a scene where the protagonist tries to help his friend stop staring at the shadows on the wall of the cave. In the movie, there are sunglasses you can wear to see a different reality. The clip below from the movie, with Rowdy Roddy Piper playing the protagonist, and Keith David playing his reluctant friend who really, really doesn’t want to put on the glasses (some NSFW dialog):

Since I always just loved the flick—and Rowdy Roddy, and what the heck, Keith David too—I’m more than happy to endorse Wilder’s example by using the sincerest form of flattery.




Possibly the longest fistfight sequence in all of moviedom, but for me it never gets old. Back to John for the payoff.

Leaving the cave is scary, and it’s difficult. And I absolutely don’t promise that understanding reality a little bit better will make you happy – it’s very likely to have the opposite effect. But it will bring you one step closer to the truth.

Maybe you and I can finally figure out what those shadows really are.

Let’s go see what’s outside.

By all means, let’s. Admittedly, there’s plenty of the real, the bad, and the scary out there, sort of offsetting the beauty and grace. But in the end, the truth is the only thing that can set us free. And by now we all ought to have learned that the chances of ever getting even the smallest morsel of truth from Ruling Class reprobates who have for so long fed us nothing but falsehood hovers somewhere betwixt None whatsoever and You can’t be serious.

The Daily Donnybrook

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

The power of Christmas

You might be surprised when you learn where the following comes from.

Christmas is such a unique idea that most non-Christians accept it, and I think sometimes envy it. If Christmas is the anniversary of the appearance of the Lord of the Universe in the form of a helpless baby, it’s quite a day. It’s a startling idea, and the theologians, who sometimes love logic more than they love God, find it uncomfortable. But if God did do it, He had a tremendous insight.

People are afraid of God and standing in His very bright light. But everyone has seen babies and almost everyone likes them. So, if God wanted to be loved as well as feared, He moved correctly here. And if He wanted to know people, as well as rule them, He moved correctly, because a baby growing up learns all there is to know about people.

If God wanted to be intimately a part of Man, He moved correctly. For the experience of birth and familyhood is our most intimate and precious experience.

So, it comes beyond logic. It’s what a bishop I used to know called a kind of divine insanity. It is either all falsehood or it is the truest thing in the world. It is the story of the great innocence of God the baby. God in the power of Man. And it is such a dramatic shot toward the heart, that if it is not true, for Christians, nothing is true.

So even if you did not get your shopping all done, and you were swamped with the commercialism and frenzy, be at peace. And even if you are the deacon having to arrange the extra seating for all the Christmas Christians that you won’t see until Easter, be at peace. The story stands.

It’s all right that so many Christians are touched only once a year by this incomparable story. Because some final quiet Christmas morning, the touch will take.

Lovely sentiments, from a unique angle. Ready for the Big Reveal, then? Here it comes.

Of all the great and small events of 1991, the death of CBS News’ “60 Minutes” co-host Harry Reasoner probably rates near the bottom in the amount of attention afforded it by the public.

When Harry died, I recalled a commentary he did when he worked for ABC News in the early 1970s. The commentary was an unlikely one for a man of his position. Most people believe that news people, particularly those at the network level, rarely think of much beyond current events and their own careers. But Harry was different, and his easy-going manner allowed him to address subjects others might approach with more difficulty.

On Christmas Eve, 1973, in the midst of growing turmoil over the Watergate scandal, a troubled economy, wars and rumors of wars in the Middle East and uncertainty over the future of U.S.-Soviet relations, Harry delivered the following commentary…

Not only a journo, a 60 MINUTES journo at that. Go ahead, pick your chin up off your chest as Cal Thomas takes us on home.

Christmas has a power over those who observe it, and those who do not, that is unlike any other holiday or event. The other 364 days of the year we can be caught up in affairs of world-shaking significance, but on Christmas it is as if all systems shut down and we are given a chance to focus on something of greater significance than the headlines or the vacuous babble of television. Perhaps for some this Christmas, the touch will take.

I imagine so. I’ll take it as my cue to excerpt one of my own Christmas posts of yore.

Most of my pleasures in life somehow seem to involve loud noises. The sound of a full-auto .45 caliber Thompson submachine gun rapidly slinging a ton of lead, the “tink” of the shattered shards bouncing off steel targets: ecstasy. The full-throated roar of a finely-tuned, straight-piped, and hot-rodded Harley as you wind it up way too high in second gear and blast like a bullet down a city street or country lane: instant penile tumescence. The sound of a viciously-attacked electric guitar settling deeply into an open A-chord coming through a cranked-up old Fender or Marshall Plexi amp, razoring through your skull as the amp’s tubes simply scream for mercy and the bass and drums thump you in the chest actually disrupting your heart rhythm, and pink-haired nose-pierced vixens and tattooed greasy-haired half-thugs bump into you on the way to the front row: nothin’ more fun than that. The halfwit roar of a house party reaching its peak, with shouted conversations and loud music and shattering glass forming a near-symphonic crescendo: nothing like it but more of it; bring it on. These are a few of my favorite things. After all these years of hard living, I seem to have turned into a lumpen sort of Mr Rogers Antichrist, the direct opposite of the calm demeanor and dulcet soothing pablum presented by ol’ Fred. Eardrum damage, permanent hearing loss, and general angst, with a thrumming undertone of perpetually-imminent knucklehead violence, seem to go with the territory in the seedy environs of Mr Hendrix’s Neighborhood. Even the cockroaches make an unusually loud crunch when you crush ’em.

But Christmas is different. When I was in New York, I thought Christmas was just the greatest. At Christmas I just feel, I dunno, lighter somehow.

And now I’m back again in the most citified part of a generally-countrified region, and I can drive past farms all lit up at night with decorations and candles and such, or I can cruise around my neighborhood with the heat turned up and the radio turned down and poke gentle fun at the gaudiness and tackiness of the electric Santas and neon reindeer perched on the roofs or mock-grazing in the yards. And I love every bit of it. I do, so help me.

Breathes there a man with soul so dead that he doesn’t feel at least a little thrill when George Bailey stands on that snow-swept bridge with his mouth bleeding and his hair and clothing all askew and yells “Whaddya know about that! Merry Christmas!”? Or can keep himself from choking up just a little when Harry walks in smiling and toasts “To my brother George: the richest man in town”? Come on, guys, we’re all men here (even the women, in a sense); you can admit it – there’s no shame in it as far as I’m concerned.

And then there’s Christmas Day itself. On Christmas Day I will be running around between my dear departed dad’s side of the family, my mom’s, and my girlfriend’s. Thank heaven her parents never divorced, I’ll say that. I’ll get to see relatives I don’t see all that much of anymore, some of whom I loathe but most of whom I love very much indeed. I’ll eat way too much and receive unanticipated gifts I scarcely deserve, some from people who don’t even know me all that well anymore but thought to get me something anyway. Oh, the greed. Oh, the stinking and uniquely American avarice. Bah, humbug. And at some point, usually during the drive from my dad’s people to my mom’s (which is a route that takes me through some countryside that is always beautiful no matter how badly the developers try to screw it up, and they’ve labored mightily to in the past several years, believe me), I’ll hear Perry Como or Nat King Cole or Bing Crosby or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing one of those tired old chestnuts that we all pretend to be so sick of on the car radio, and the frost on the fields and pasture-land out the window will fairly gleam in the sunlight, and the cows’ and horses’ breath will steam out from their big dumb nostrils, and this certain farmhouse on a hill that my mom always just loved will have its giant Christmas tree lit up in the huge picture window that fronts the road. And then that enveloping quietness will settle deep in my chest where what passes for my soul lives, and I’ll be completely at peace for a moment. For that I’m most profoundly grateful to all things Christmas, because without the entire sum total of the harried millions in New York rushing about like mad worker bees, and the tacky holiday displays in my neighborhood, and the endless TV commercials exhorting us to buy buy buy, and the piped-in music, and the old movies we’ve all seen a million times, and the ever-controversial Baby Jesus manger displays financed probably unconstitutionally with city-government money—without all that, this blessed spiritual convergence of peace and quiet would never happen for us.

And now, looking back over that passage in light of recent events, I don’t believe we can do without it, nor afford to ever lose it.

Turnabout is fair play

Let the remoras and leeches of government share our pain. At all levels, in every way, in full measure.

In late September, Congress passed a bill to keep the government funded at current levels through this Friday. Trump has refused to sign the comprehensive funding bill tied to providing new $600 stimulus checks to qualifying Americans. It’s clear that they don’t have much time to resolve their disagreements and pass a law President Trump will support.

Most likely, they will pass another extension, but Trump has already signaled he would rather use a pocket veto and let the next president handle the issue than sign a bill he can’t support. Such a standoff risks a government shutdown if a solution cannot be passed and signed.

President Trump has had three shutdowns in his term as president, the longest being 35 days between December 2018 and January 2019 over the issue of funding for the border wall. That shutdown forced about 800,000 federal government workers to go on furlough without pay. If an extension is not passed to avoid a shutdown, thousands of government workers considered nonessential would again be furloughed or forced to work without pay until the shutdown ends.

Government leaders love to say how they experience our pain for the lockdowns generated in many Democrat controlled states and cities during the COVID Pandemic restrictions. Many Americans have lost jobs; some have lost their businesses. Government workers can talk as though they understand, but they’ve had no cuts in salary or their retirement plans. They have been insulated from the consequences of their own actions.

When have they ever NOT been? In truth, our Masters go to extraordinary lengths to ensure they’re protected, and always will be.

It’s a wonderful…

WAR MOVIE?!?

I have watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” every Christmas I can remember, but the holiday classic film took on a whole new meaning for me this year.

I knew that the film had been released in 1946, just after both actor Jimmy Stewart and director Frank Capra had returned from war, but I only learned recently the impact that the war had on the finished product.

The movie was Capra’s idea, and he knew from the start that he wanted Stewart to play the iconic role of George Bailey. But Stewart, an Army Air Corps squadron commander who was grounded by PTSD after 20 combat missions over Europe in a B-24, wanted to do a comedy.

Stewart told reporters when he returned to Hollywood that the world had seen enough death and misery, and when Capra approached him with the story of a family man nearly driven to suicide, he balked and left the meeting.

But Stewart, who at the time was sharing an apartment with fellow veteran Henry Fonda, wasn’t getting any other offers. He eventually agreed to take the role.

Army veteran Alex Plitsas told the Daily Caller that it was only after returning from Iraq that he truly understood Stewart’s performance in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“I was able to understand the movie and [Stewart’s] performance in particular much better after coming home from Iraq. It’s as much of a war film as ‘Die Hard’ is a Christmas movie,” Plitsas said, adding, “Jimmy Stewart’s performance in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ during the throes of Post Traumatic Stress (PTS) is recognizable to many veterans. PTS was referred to as “shell shock” back then and wasn’t really spoken about nor was there good treatment available. Stewart appeared to use acting as therapy to get through it, and it’s visible in his performance.”

Intriguing stuff for sure. I thought I knew just about all there was to know about IAWL, but I didn’t know this.

(Via Ed Driscoll)

Update! Don’t believe I’ve ever embedded anything from another of my all-time Christmas faves here, so this seems like a fine time to do it.



BE ADVISED: Only the 1947 original version, in black and white, is acceptable. Do NOT allow yourself to be taken in by any sorry-assed remakes or washed-out “colorized” atrocities. Edmund Gwenn. Maureen O’Hara. John Payne. Natalie Wood. Black. And. White. The genuine item. Nothing else will do.

You have been warned.

Highbrows going low

The rich are different from you or I. Except when they ain’t.

The by-product of New York-area real estate demand isn’t just limited to staggering price tags. It also tends to create cachet with areas that other, less intense markets might consider just plain peculiar. Case-in-point: Montauk Shores, a trailer park with million-dollar listings, billionaire residents, and a parking lot filled with six-figure cars. A stone’s throw from Andy Warhol’s beach getaway and Dick Cavett’s famous estate and situated along Ditch Plains Beach, Montauk Shores —“the park,” as it’s familiarly known throughout the Hamptons—got its start as a modest campground for surfers and beach bunnies, becoming a co-operatively owned mobile home condominium park in 1976, before its recent reinvention as a real estate juggernaut.

Peter and Lois Moore, husband-and-wife brokers with The Corcoran Group, have had several exclusive listings in Montauk Shores over the years, so AD caught up with them to discuss property trends in what has become a heated real estate enclave. “About seven or eight years ago, these trailers became rather popular, and the waterfront lots came to be acquired by high-net-worth individuals,” Peter explains. For units along the water, the Moores say to expect a seven-figure price tag, while lots a few rows inland tend to hover between a half-million to a million. “It’s been a steady climb,” Peter says. “We have seen more consistency in pricing on an upward curve than we have in other residential areas.” Because of its proximity to the beach, the units have been subject to another only-in-the-Hamptons real estate trend. “Oftentimes, they’re second homes for buyers who don’t stay in them; they just use them as beach cabanas,” Peter explains.

7 figures? Okay, I come from a long line of confirmed trailer trash on my mom’s side. I have friends who have lived in trailer parks, and have whiled away many a pleasant hour hanging out in their homes. I have lived in a trailer park my own self.

Suffice it to say, then, that I have no problem whatsoever with the mobile-home lifestyle. So I feel qualified to state with perfect confidence that the article’s accompanying photo shows what is definitely a very nice trailer park—EXTREMELY nice, probably the nicest I’ve ever seen. Neat, well-kept, organized, clean. No sign of the decay, neglect, and chaotic clutter common to such places.

The first trailer I lived in had been my mom’s years before, a custom job she purchased when my folks split up in 1979. She sited the trailer on land bought by her folks way back in 1937, around eight-ten acres that my grandparents farmed right up until my grandpa dropped dead of a heart attack on his way home from an all-night poker game, in 1976. After living there for several years, my mom moved into the renovated farmhouse that still shares the family plot with that old trailer, which her sister and brother-in-law took over in their turn. They happily lived there for the rest of their lives. My aunt Sarah went first, her old man Rabbit (actually Hubert, which he just hated) succumbing to his overwhelming grief shortly after.

The old trailer sat empty for several years after that, gradually going to hell just as all houses will when left to sit unoccupied for long periods. Then, when my own marriage blew up in my face, I moved in. After I’d been in the place a few months, I was struck with the idea of getting hold of some iron pipe and fabricating a submarine periscope, to be mounted up on the rusty roof just for giggles. Unfortunately, I never did it. My uncle Larry bought the house and land from my mom and stepdad years back. An old WestPac Navy man, he moved his Filipino wife and her young ‘uns in, and they live there still. One of his stepsons is in my mom’s old trailer now, having done extensive renovations and repairs with assistance from his American wife, who’s a dab hand at projects of that nature.

I’m perfectly fine with trailers. But I don’t care HOW nice the trailer (or the park it sits in) is, or how much family history is wrapped up in it, trailers are basically just cheap tin cans—flimsy, cramped domiciles shaped exactly like your standard box of saltines. Not very many people move into a trailer intending to stay there forever. The things are only built to last for around twenty years or so anyway. After that, the place will start to cave in around your ears, with leaky roofs, drafty windows, holes in the floors, sagging cabinets, and such-like suddenly cropping up as if they were on a strict schedule.

Standard trailer doors are nothing but two thin layers of aluminum over a styrofoam core. Any healthy pre-teen could easily kick his way through one without straining himself, and I’m sure plenty of them have. The fixtures are all cut to odd-ball sizes and dimensions, and you can’t just trot on off to Lowes when you need to replace a window or a sink. There are mobile-home stores expressly dealing in that stuff, at surprisingly high prices, too.

A trailer is NEVER an “investment.” Not even close. It’s a product with a depreciation rate higher than a three-owner Yugo’s, one which appeals exclusively to the niche-est of niche markets. A trailer is typically either A) a temporary stand-in for the real house you hope to step up to later; B) a crash pad for bottom-of-the-societal-barrel types to get roaring drunk in on weekends, and/or cook meth in; or C) a place where destitute older people go to die. Also scattered in amongst the aforementioned categories are miscellaneous misfits, ne’er do wells, and recently-paroled convicts. Then you have the uncharacterizable weirdos who can never quite shake off the nagging feeling that they wound up there by mistake—like, say, myself. Those last often think of themselves as being IN the trailer park, but not OF the trailer park. It’s a comforting thought, but they’re probably wrong.

“Half a million to a million” for a trailer? Proof positive that some people have more money than sense…but at those rates, not for long. Maybe a nice, long visit from a true trailer-park maven like Ricky might wise those spendthrifts up to a thing or two.



(Via Bill)

Pinochet’s legacy

He was effective. His reversal of the disastrous policies implemented by his socialist predecessor made his country a far better place to live. One of his very first moves after taking over was to dismantle and ban all Marxist political parties, just as every nation which aspires to freedom and prosperity must do sooner or later. No wonder the American Left hates Augusto Pinochet so bitterly, and has slandered him ever since as one of history’s greatest monsters.

Chile was appeared to be hurtling toward a bitter, emotionally charged civil war. So, in September of 1973, to prevent a violent upheaval with the potential to kill hundreds of thousands of Chileans, the military stepped in.

The coup was not the act of an individual power-mad opportunist, as Pinochet is sometimes depicted. The heads of all three branches of the military, plus the caribineros (national police), participated in the takeover. The junta had shown considerable restraint, holding back for roughly a year in the hope that a constitutional solution could be found. Pinochet, as head of the most powerful branch, the army, emerged as the ultimate authority.

Among the junta’s initial acts was the elimination of Marxist political parties. To restore the market economy, they relied on the advice of a group of economists from Catholic University in Santiago who had studied at the University of Chicago where free market guru Milton Friedman dominated the economics department.

Even so, the economy did not immediately spring back. It took several years to get inflation down to its historical (but still very high) levels. Income also did not rise immediately, since Pinochet had to institute austerity measures first. Allende had created artificially low unemployment rates through government featherbedding; among other measures, the junta had to eliminate many unnecessary government jobs to allow market forces to operate.

But eventually, in the mid-1980s, the Chilean economy took off. Today, Chile is the most prosperous country in Latin America, with a per capita income of $15,111 in 2018 (it was only fifth-best in 1970). Inflation for 2018 was a paltry 2.56 percent. Chile ranks 15th worldwide in the Heritage Foundation’s 2020 “Index of Economic Freedom”; the next closest country in Latin America is Colombia in 45th place. It also ranked first in Latin America in the Cato Institute’s “Human Freedom Index,” last published in 2017. And it is just edged out by Costa Rica for having Latin America’s longest life span: 79.57 years to 79.52 years.

Those statistics — not the numbers but the human flourishing they represent — are Pinochet’s real legacy. Would most Venezuelans today — who live in a failing totalitarian state with a popularly elected Marxist government — prefer that a military junta had wrested control from Hugo Chavez and eliminated a few thousand of the most hardcore Marxists? They would likely jump at the opportunity. Pinochet took over an equally nightmarish state that was racing toward either bloody civil war or totalitarian communism (or both), made hard decisions to correct the problems, nurtured the government for 17 years, and voluntarily relinquished power in 1990 when the nation’s practices and institutions were strengthened so that it could flourish democratically.

For that, the international left has damned him for all time.

The Chilean coup of 1973 offers hard lessons that many will not accept because these lessons do not appeal to superficial norms of fairness and tolerance. For one, electoral politics do not always equate to human flourishing but can instead bring repression. For another, a nation must deal harshly with those who would deny liberty to the rest.

Precisely so. America That Was’s failure to do so was the costliest of errors, with the bill now due and payable. It would have been A-okay with me if Trump had taken a page or three out of Pinochet’s book, especially the chapter on the proper treatment of malignant Commies. Instead, we got our own coup, which won’t have nearly as congenial an outcome as Chile’s.

Publick Notice

Added a YouTube alternative to the Neutral Territory sidebar section: Rumble. And what the hell, here’s another fine Cantus Christmas selection for ya.



Great as Chanticleer is, and they are, I really have to admit that I like Cantus better. Can’t really come up with a specific reason why, other than Cantus seems to produce a fuller, more muscular sound. Don’t know the actual number of vocalists in each ensemble off the top of my head; maybe it’s just that Cantus has more throats belting their stuff out than Chanticleer does, maybe it’s the arrangements, I dunno. Either way, when the singing kicks back in after the percussion interlude, this one takes off and soars like a mighty, majestic eagle.

Get real

The word of the day seems to be “secession.” That, or some other specimen of national break-up. Which is every bit as futile a notion as the fantasy that the massive and completely successful 2020 election fraud will miraculously be righted via courtroom maneuvering or other peaceful means.

Ain’t gonna happen, folks.

The nation’s current divide is partly geographic but mostly cultural and juridical. The Texas-led states, despite including parts of the former confederacy, now stand for the rule of law and the civil rights protections of the 1868 14th Amendment. The California-led states now seek to undo over 150 years of human rights laws so that they can override the suffrage and petitions of a “suspect class” (Republicans).

Polling indicates that neither side is budging on the question that best serves as a litmus test: whether the election of Joe Biden is legitimate. About half the country believes it was not because they share Texas’s understanding of what citizen rights are and what constitutes evidence. Half the country believes the election was legitimate because they share California’s understanding of citizen rights as framed by context and by goals, with any means being justified by the right goals, depending on the group involved.

For the first time in anyone’s living memory, we have to contend with the real possibility that the United States will split into separate nations. The split will not look like the 19th century Civil War and may not even be a war at all. Looking at history, I’ve come upon the following possible precedents in history that may help us understand the potential outcomes.

Follows, three historical examples going all the way back to the Roman Empire. Normal American runs down a few scenarios himself before proposing the only one I’ve seen yet that’s even a wee mite plausible:

There is an alternative. An October column here endorsed co-existence through radical federalism: “Longer term re-stabilization could devolve power from Washington, D.C. to state governments. California could ban pickups and mandate abortions, while Texas could do the opposite. Nobody would love it, but the republic would survive.”

An American Mind article from November 30 proposes radical federalism through a constitutional convention. The result would be one currency, one army, mostly separate, somewhat united. Most federal functions would vanish, with state courts becoming “the final word on the right to bear arms, free speech and abortion.” That avoids the difficulty of the U.S. Fourth Fleet in Florida operating a few miles from Naval Submarine Base Kings Bay in hostile territory previously known as Georgia.

Sadly, no evidence suggests that the left will compromise. It is emboldened. Our self-appointed rulers are calling President Trump and his supporters “maggots” who “must be prosecuted and convicted and removed from our society.” Democrat operatives are talking up “guillotines.” Instead of lowering tensions this week, Joe Biden’s senior aides are cursing opponents. Plus federalism is racist.

Even under such a plan, the Defense Department, the State Department, intelligence agencies, federal law enforcement, and the Federal Reserve will continue. Those account for millions of jobs and nearly a quarter of today’s federal budget. The deep state creatures denning in these agencies will not agree to reductions in their authority any more than a colony of paper wasps will agree to the destruction of its nest.

A second American Mind article was published this week as a rebuttal to the first. The left will not tolerate co-existence, wrote Edward Erler, an emeritus professor of political science. “Like all domineering partners who abuse their consorts, they want to rule.”

A commenter at the American Greatness article above forcefully reiterates that home truth:

The only flaw I can see to the “separate ways” argument is a fatal one.

No matter what you do, no matter what you try, do you really think these people will leave you alone?

A major part of the draw of American leftism is the false sense of moral and intellectual superiority it confers to its devotees. But what good is that if you don’t have a captive audience of people into whose faces you can rub your superiority? If you can’t reach them, then how can you lord over them? Tell them how to live? What to eat? When they can leave their homes? Whether they’re permitted to worship? How can you censor them, take away their right to self defense, and punish them?

How can you keep humiliating them and mocking them with sham elections that serve to reinforce their helplessness before your power?

We lost the culture wars because every time we gave in to what the leftists demanded and asked, “Now will you leave us alone?” they attacked another institution.

They will never leave you alone.

So you might as well fight them where you are. This is our country. Our Constitution, our Republic. Not theirs. Why cede it to them? Fight.

Sadly, the very next commenter plunges face-first into the fog of Pretend War, emphasizing the crucially crucial importance of “attending city government meetings, attending school board meetings, running for local government” and, one can only assume, VOTING VOTING VOTING! Aesop puts paid to that happy horseshit with a bucket of cold-water reality to the face.

It’s nice to dream (by which I mean it’s free, pleasant, and makes one feel happy), but you aren’t going to dream your way out of what’s coming.
You can’t dream your way out of socialism.
And history demonstrates, over and over, that you cannot vote your way out of it either.
So unless you’re 10 years old, and planning on outliving it, eventually, when you’re 95, the only way out of socialism is either to flee it (to where?), or to fight it.

Yup. And when some of us more practical, historically-literate types say “fight,” we are NOT talking about verbal complaints, smoke signals, angry letters to the editor, or allegorical puppet theater, either.

Like it or not, whatever “split” is going to happen in America already did—a philosophical, ideological, and cultural divergence that severed Lincoln’s “bonds of affection” in all but the strictly physical/geographic sense—and that’s as far as things are going to go without bloodshed. I repeat: FederalGovCo will never, ever, EVER peaceably agree to cede its power over half the country by partitioning it off and just letting all that territory, all that infrastructure, all those military installations, and all those taxpayer dollars stroll away unmolested. In fact, now that we’ve taken the final steps towards Commie dictatorship with the recent fraudulent “election,” I’d say the bloated, illegitimate central government’s iron grip is far likelier to tighten than to relax.

We fought one Civil War over secession already. Does anybody really want to try arguing that—after a century and a half of consolidating its might, expanding it, and carefully sweeping up the remaining scraps of Federalism and States’ Rights—the government is MORE likely to shrug its shoulders and allow it to occur without a murmur now? Although I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to a national split myself if it would mean out-and-out war might be avoided…well, frankly, I just can’t see anything of the sort actually happening, that’s all.

More Lincoln, just to put the cherry on top.

Physically speaking, we cannot separate. We cannot remove our respective sections from each other, nor build an impassable wall between them. A husband and wife may be divorced, and go out of the presence, and beyond the reach of each other; but the different parts of our country cannot do this. They cannot but remain face to face; and intercourse, either amicable or hostile, must continue between them. Is it possible then to make that intercourse more advantageous or more satisfactory, after separation than before? Can aliens make treaties easier than friends can make laws? Can treaties be more faithfully enforced between aliens, than laws can among friends? Suppose you go to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical old questions, as to terms of intercourse, are again upon you.

The sand in the gears is that the TWANLOCs can in no conceivable way be considered “friends” any longer, either of Real Americans or of Constitutional governance itself. As “aliens” go, they’re the worst possible variety: hostile ones. Lincoln is correct when he contends that “you cannot fight always.” But you absolutely MUST fight until your enemy is vanquished. And this war will not be won until the Left is crushed utterly, the pugnacity and power-lust stomped out of them.

I bring you good tidings of great joy

No, not THOSE good tidings of etc. In welcome contradiction of my recent claim concerning the routine failure of the Get Woke Go Broke boycotts to result in anybody actually, y’know, Going Broke:

In early 2019 Gillette released its infamous “toxic masculinity” commercial which effectively accused its loyal customer base of being bullies and sexual predators. That ad sparked an angry backlash of men who are fed up with SJW attacks on them, and who vowed to stop buying Gillette products. (I’m one of them.) Six months later Procter & Gamble had to take an $8 billion impairment charge due to Gillette’s declining sales and the declining book value of the Gillette brand, which caused P&G to have an overall $5 billion loss that quarter.

We don’t know how many millions of men quit buying Gillette products after it went hyper-woke, because P&G isn’t telling us. But the Securities and Exchange Commission does require P&G to document problem areas and potentially impaired assets.

Procter & Gamble’s 10-K published in August for the fiscal year ending 6/30/2020 is a long slog of a report, but in summary, things are going well for all P&G units except “Shave Care”.

Hilariously, P&G attempts to lay the blame for Gillette’s sudden collapse on…wait for it…waaaait for it…THEVIRUSTHEVIRUSTHEVIRUS!!!™ Because, y’know, reasons. Buck cheerfully takes a lance to that lame-ass boil.

It’s weird, but as I perused this 10-K report, I found that there is only one P&G unit that may have an upcoming impairment charge, and that one unit is its “Shave Care” unit. Covid apparently isn’t having an impact on Old Spice sales (Old Spice is part of P&G’s “Beauty Care” division), but those same men still buying Old Spice aftershave have stopped buying Gillette razors. Yeah right. Or maybe it’s because P&G hasn’t yet run any commercials where it slanders its Old Spice users as bullies and sexual predators.

P&G tries out several other rationales while scrupulously avoiding any mention of the ill-considered foray into the Kingdom of Woke as a possible cause for Gillette auguring in. Lest we forget, the Male Hate ads were by no means Woke Gillette’s only misfire:

That scarifying offense against pretty much everything imaginable inspired a pictorial response from me, which I’m happy to repost now in celebration of the Big Faceplant.

 

 


Tragically, the post with the above images was vaporized in last year’s blog-buster hack, along with the images themselves and pretty much everything else. But I did have copies here on the local machine, thank goodness.

 

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