As Steyn says, we already know what it’s REALLY all about. And as always with ProPols and the crooked, venal tyrannies they build, maintain, and control, it definitely is NOT what they try to convince us it is.

The “national inquiry” Keir Starmer got bounced into announcing is now falling apart. Five victims of the “Asian” “groomers” have now quit the panel because they objected to both candidates for chairman – a choice between a social worker or a police officer, members in good standing of the two professions that most enthusiastically enabled the rapists. So, naturally, the only angle that interests the UK’s grisly media is whether the relevant minister, Jess Phillips, will now be forced to resign for calling the gang-raped girls “liars”.

We don’t need an “inquiry”. Because it’s all been known for years…What exactly is there to “inquire” into? We know who’s raping the girls. We know who’s colluding with them. We know it goes up to the Home Office, the House of Lords and at least two prime ministers. I suppose we don’t know the full story of why the “establishment” is covering for Ahmed and Mohammed, but we aren’t going to get it from Jess Phillips, are we? What can be deduced, even from my short monologue above, is that every English town covers up in the exact same way – whether northern and gritty or southern and leafy, or indeed midland and ambivalent. So it would not be unreasonable to posit that the cookie-cutter cover-ups are at the direction of headquarters in a Home Office now wholly hollowed out by Islam.

So it’s not a whodunnit, it’s a we-all-know-whodunnit-but-we-can-never-say-it. Why? Because the root cause of clan-based child-sodomy is the foundational myth of the post-war west – that Diversity is our Strength. No fifth-rate baroness for hire is going to go anywhere near that. That is also why, to the progressive mind, there is no acceptable rationale on which one can reject as mayor a Ugandan twelver who only thought to apply for US citizenship when he got into New York electoral politics. Old-school Tammany gladhanding wardheelers like the wretched Cuomo might still be willing to raise an objection or two, but he’s up against a culture that a generation ago decided the enlightened response to Islamic supremacism was to double the rate of Muslim immigration to the west.

The chilling conclusion:
The freedom to speak honestly about Islam would be more powerful than all the Cruise missiles lobbed at Afghanistan since 2002. But, if you’re indifferent to little Charlene Downes being fed into a kebab mincer, why get hot and bothered about the most powerful mayor in America being palsy-walsy with co-conspirators of the first World Trade Center bombing?

Across the west, the crisis is moving beyond politics.

Said a mouthful there, Mark; the crisis is doing precisely that. In fact, I might go so far as to say that it has already done precisely that…while tout le Western monde looked on langorously, sans even a whimper of protest. In any event, I think it safe enough to say that there are no satisfactory resolutions of the multitudinous crises, challenges, and dilemmas before the West to be found in the realm of politics. So far beyond politics has the crisis moved, in fact, that in my considered opinion a political solution is no longer possible. Furthermore, given how comprehensively our politics have been degraded, defiled, and discredited, a politics-based resolution to this or any other crisis might not even be desirable.

As alarming as that surely is, worse yet is that nobody, but nobody, has the slightest idea as to how this business might shake out, nor of what shape the West vs Pisslam struggle might take once the fog of war has cleared and the casualty lists have been compiled. Just because the jihadists are ascendant at present doesn’t mean this will always be so, after all. Although I’m not confident enough about that assertion to place any big-money bets against the yodeling fucktards, in light of A) the single-minded Moslem commitment to total, uncompromising world domination; and B) Western indolence, irresolution, and obstinate refusal to face facts.

It’s all too tempting to take putative Western global supremacy as read, a  permanent and unalterable state of affairs. This unfounded predilection could in its turn persuade us to drop our guard, stack arms, and relax into the comforting embrace of the ubiquitous delusion that all is well, that things will carry on pretty much as they have done since time immemorial. In the words of Mrs Mather Grouse, an indeiiably memorable character from Richard Russo’s terrific novel Mohawk: everything is going to be just fine.

As every good Western Whypeepuh knows (or thinks he knows), there is no reason for anxiety, alarm, or undue fuss. Such things are indulgences, not imperatives. Neither is there an implacable horde of primordial savages we must wrangle with and overcome, no existential threat marching as to war against us. In addition, no American is intent on murdering his fellow Americans, either one at a time or en bloc It’s a crying shame, really, how so many of us have come to believe, based on nothing whatever, that their fellow Americans are crazed, violent thugs bent on destroying everything normal, sane folks hold dear. Stuff and nonsense, i say! Pure poppycock!

Despite unambiguous, gizzard-freezing declarations of their eternal ambition to earn the favor of Allah (piss be upon Him), via slaughtering decadent Western infidels to the last man Jack of them, our Moslem partners in peace (FACT: I have it from unimpeachably authoritative sources that the word Islam means peace, so there) are just human beings not at all different from you or I. A family; a nice home; democracy; stability, a decent job which pays well enough to cover expenses in full and on time, perhaps with a little left over at the end of the month—get my point? It’s plain to see that our Moslem friends want the same things as the rest of us do.

Many Americans might be astonished to learn how conciliatory, easygoing, and warm-hearted they are. The Moslem peoples are unfailingly polite, trustworthy, kind, broad-minded, and affable. Their integrity is a byword, their loyalty beyond question, their open-handed generosity unstinting, their culture and traditions as rich and varied as they are beautiful.

Their love of music, their dedication to the fair treatment, respect, and equality of/for women, their placid, untroubled mindset, their inborn jocularity, irreverence, and adaptability—all these qualities and many more are hallmarks of the Moslem world.

All in all, Moslems are just as America as we are. No really, they are. Stop laughing, you guys!

Okay, okay, enough with the sarcasm awready, Kiddio. In truth, Ye Aulde Bloggehoste is still having a tough time wrapping his head around the credulity-straining notion that NYC—being the selfsame NYC where the Muzzies struck a blow on 9/11/01 so ferociously injurious that Western Civ entire is reeling from it still; the place where the long, deep, and ugly scar slashed into the face of the Earth that black September morn remains visible at Ground Zero—now a popular tourist attraction featuring mobile beer/liquor/hot dog/falafel carts, shopping outlets, food trucks, live bands, a Tilt-A-Whirl, and a nightly fireworks display—is about to hand over the keys to the City, in both the figurative and quite literal senses, to not just a Moslem but a fucking Communist, terrorist-friendly Moslem, no less.

Not 25 years after the 9/11/01 atrocities, THIS is what it’s come to? SRSLY, New York???

The repellent Mayor Momdani scenario feels like some kind of crazy dream or something—one of those extravagantly baroque ones from which you jolt awake quaking with fear, the cold sweat soaking you, your pajamas, the sheets, et al, In fact, this dream was so bad, so mind-bendingly terrifying, as to leave you groping desperately in search of the switch on the little bedside lamp so’s you can get a little fucking LIGHT up in here, dammit! Because let’s face it: a pitch-dark, spooky, graveyard-quiet back bedroom is no place you want to be in all by your lonesome at such a fraught moment. Not after what you’ve just been through with that hellish dream and all, it ain’t.

in the wake of such an intense scream-dream (night terrors, the shrinks call ‘em, as dear, kindly old Dr Rankin explained to me in his Lucky Strike-roughened growl during yet another 3AM house call way back when;  as a child, I was sorely beset by such-like dreadful visitations) is when the grim reallization floods over you in the manner of the famous poet’s blood-dimmed tide—before your jackhammering heart has had time to ease down, slow its frenetic pace, and resume a more survivable rhythm—that this dream will be hanging around in your sub-conscious mind for a long time, nagging at you, haunting you. Much as you’d like to forget the foul thing, to wash its accursed memory from your imagination like the lather of fear-sweat it brought forth on your corporeal self, you damned well know you won’t. That, in fact, you can’t.

So tell me true, then: am I the one that’s lost my marbles here? Or is it THEM?!? What the actual fucking FUCK is the deal, New Yorkers? Has the time finally come to surround The Big City with that 20-feet wall, topped with great looping lengths of razor wire (electrified, natch), augmented by guard towers manned 24-7 by armed security personnel with across-the-board deadly-force authorizaton and blanket prosecutorial immunity, upon completion of which the self-blighted shithole is declared, by proper adjudicative process held in a court of law, to be finis non habemus for any and everyone not currently sentenced to do hard time inside The Wall.