Don’t look now

Dan Gelernter has an important message he’d like to share with us.

Don’t Laugh at the Man Who Falls Off a Bicycle
It’s true that we could all use a little humor in times of crisis, but news of Joe Biden falling off his bicycle isn’t funny,

Isn’t funny? Like HELL it ain’t.

and this crisis is too serious. When you laugh at Biden, you grant him undeserved importance—as though he were president of the United States.

Not on your life, bub. If there’s one thing the Biden marionette has amply demonstrated for one and all, it’s how truly UNimportant he actually is. With every pratfall, garbled speech, or vacant, confusticated thousand-yard stare as he tries to figure out where he is and why those pushy sonsabitches have brought him out to wherever this is, more and more people come to realize the painful truth: that this shambolic rutabaga fraudulently installed in the White House under highly questionable circumstances is nothing more than a figurehead, a third-rate Swamp rat impersonating a real US President.

This truth is a painful one because it raises some very serious questions regarding the office of the presidency its own self, among them…

1) Just how important, really, is said office to the way the country is run anymore
2) Just who, and how many of them, might really be running said country
C) Just who, really, do said people think they are
Quatre) Just how long this little bait-and-switch of a charade of a kabuki-theater dumbshow might really have been going on, right under our very noses
Five) Just what We The People ought to do about all this, really

To me, the correct answer to that last seems fairly obvious, but then I could be getting a bit jaded and irascible in my dotage, I admit.

Biden is not president of the United States. He wasn’t elected, and he certainly isn’t running the country. We are reliving the twilight of the Wilson Administration: As Churchill put it in The Second World War, Wilson “suffered a paralytic stroke just as he was setting forth on his campaign, and lingered henceforward a futile wreck for a great part of two long and vital years.” In the meantime, historians have assured us, Wilson’s wife was running the country. If this is so, we may partially credit Edith Wilson with having laid the groundwork for World War II.

In reality, Edith was no more in charge in 1919 than Mrs. (I mean Dr.) Jill Biden is now. A weak or nonexistent president is an opportunity for professional politicians and professional bureaucrats to do what they most love: To exercise power without accountability. To steal it. To usurp it.

Look at funny Joe Biden, falling off his bicycle, losing his way back from the podium, losing his way in the middle of a sentence. The people who have stolen the office of president want you to look at him. They want you to blame him.

They want you to pretend that the utter destruction of America—of our economy, our property, our peace, our freedom, our ability to defend ourselves from madmen and from the government—is just an accidental result wrought by a comedy-clown president who’s lost his mind.

In reality this is a deliberate plan by people who know exactly what they’re doing and who are achieving exactly what they want.

These people also want you to look forward to the next election. They want you to vote, to be excited about voting, to think of nothing else but the moment when you get to exercise your right to choose your own government and throw the bums out of office. Of course it will be a big disappointment to you when the outrage you thought was sweeping the nation doesn’t actually materialize—or when it disappears in the middle of the night while the polls are closed and we’re all in bed.

The biggest disappointment of all is the moment it finally hits home—two, three, four years after across-the-board, tide-turning Republican majorities have been swept into office en masse on the strength of endless solemn promises of “change,” “restoration,” and “renewal”—that the only truly substantive “change” to be seen is in how that ten extra pounds of belly-flab you piled on whilst sitting around waiting for all that “change” to materialize has forced you to loosen your belt a notch or two.

Other than the unfortunate weight gain, though, everything appears to be just as it was on the day all those GOP freshmen Reps and Senators swore the oath they quietly intended to traduce before they’d left the very first ass-indentation in the deluxe new calf’s leather office chairs you, the taxpayer, bought for them. To be sure, the government got bigger, more powerful, and more meddlesome. Taxes were raised, again, the additional funds flushed down various DC sewer pipes with none of the “change” it was supposed to buy us anywhere in sight. Several hundred more unneeded, unwanted, and unhelpful laws were passed—in sum, yet another encore of the whole crass Vaudeville act we’re all sick and tired of watching the “right wing” of the Uniparty perform for us.

SO. One more time, then: Just what are We The People going to DO about all this, really? Also, can any Real American suggest, with a straight face, that there are any methods, tactics, or tools AT ALL which of right ought to be preemptively proclaimed off limits as too “extreme” for us to resort to? Are we so brazen, so callow and self-absorbed, that we dare to propose that the selfsame “extremes” deemed perfectly acceptable by our forefathers in bringing forth a new nation founded on individual liberty and natural rights as a blessing upon themselves and their posterity are now to be considered much too barbaric and unthinkable to be contemplated by their more-highly-evolved heirs in the reclamation of their ravaged nation and the restoration of their purloined liberty? Do we really care so little for our own posterity that we think them unworthy of making the same sacrifice for their sake that America’s Founders made for ours?

Can it be possible that we’ve fallen so far as that, then?!? Forbid it, almighty God! Which quote makes me think this might be a perfect time for some reposting. I implore you, do NOT fail to read all of the following passage. You’ve seen this material before, yes. But still.

The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss.

Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort.

I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging.

And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer.

Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne!

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free—if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending—if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained—we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us.

Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable—and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace—but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?

Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

One of the greatest, most electrifying speeches ever to pass o’er the lips of Mortal Man, and forever worth another read. If the above words don’t stir you to the very deepest depths of your soul, you ain’t no kind of American my eyes can recognize as such.

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Crashing the Party

An in-depth look at my main man, Ron DeSantis.

At Yale, DeSantis majored in history and played on the baseball team, in the outfield. In the Yale tradition, the team never had a winning season while DeSantis was there. (“Pretty sure we were the worst team in Division One,” one of his teammates told me.) In his senior year, he was among the best hitters, batting .336, and was elected captain. His former teammates’ recollections are sharply divided, but nearly everyone I spoke with remembered him as singularly focussed, with little time for parties or goofing off; he worked several jobs to help pay his tuition. “Ron was a bit of a loner, not a social butterfly,” Dave Fortenbaugh, a former teammate, told me. “He spent a lot of hours in the library.”

Some recalled that DeSantis was so intensely focussed that he wasn’t much of a teammate. “Ron is the most selfish person I have ever interacted with,” another teammate told me. “He has always loved embarrassing and humiliating people. I’m speaking for others—he was the biggest dick we knew.” But the same teammate praised DeSantis’s intellect. “This is the frustrating part. He’s so fucking smart and so creative,” he said. “You couldn’t even plagiarize off his work. He’d take some angle, and everyone knew there was only one person who could have done that.”

After graduating, with honors, DeSantis taught history for a year at the Darlington School, a private institution in Rome, Georgia, before enrolling at Harvard Law School; a friend told me that he’d been inspired by the movie “A Few Good Men.” In the film, Tom Cruise plays a judge advocate general—a Navy attorney—who defends marines accused of a deadly assault at the Guantánamo Bay Naval Base. With the war in Iraq still raging, DeSantis, too, became a judge advocate general. He was posted to Naval Station Mayport, near Jacksonville, and also to Guantánamo, where he dealt with detainees. A colleague who served with DeSantis remembered, “Ron was a voracious worker, and he worked at phenomenal speed. He was a superb writer, especially for his age.” Even then, his ambition seemed consuming. “Ron’s a user,” the former colleague told me. “If you had utility to him, he would be nice to you. If you didn’t, he wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

In 2007, DeSantis deployed to Iraq as a lawyer for seal Team One, which was conducting operations in Ramadi. The seals have a reputation for being secretive and insular, but DeSantis enjoyed their company, his father told me: “He worked out with them.” DeSantis briefed the seals on rules of engagement—when they could shoot, how they should treat prisoners. “Of course we were worried about him,” his father said. “Ron told us he was just in one place, in Ramadi, but afterwards we found out that he’d been moving all around the area, from city to city, with the seals. It really upset my wife.”

Back in Florida, DeSantis started dating Casey Black, a television news reporter for WJXT, in Jacksonville; in 2010, they were married. Not long afterward, a seat opened up in the Sixth Congressional District, south of Jacksonville Beach. In 2012, DeSantis entered the race.

DeSantis campaigned on smaller government and lower taxes, arguing to overturn Obamacare and eliminate entire federal agencies. “My mission was largely to stop Barack Obama,” he told a crowd later. As the campaign got under way, DeSantis published a book titled “Dreams from Our Founding Fathers”—a swipe at the President’s memoir. For a campaign book, it’s unusually wide-ranging, with carefully argued sections on the Federalist Papers, the Progressive Era, and the leftist theoretician Saul Alinsky. The basic contention, though, would have been familiar to followers of Barry Goldwater: “The conceit that underlies many of Obama’s policies and his allies is that virtually any issue, from the waistline of children to the temperature of the earth, is ripe for intervention of expert (and progressive) central planners.” DeSantis’s book was largely ignored—he once told a crowd that it was “read by about a dozen people”—but his message resonated in the Sixth District, one of the most conservative in the state. He won the election, and was reëlected twice by wide margins.

In Congress, an institution where seniority matters, DeSantis had little time to make a substantive impact. Theatrically, though, he created an impression. He helped found the Freedom Caucus, an invitation-only club of hard-right conservatives, and he was among the Republicans who took the government to the brink of default by refusing to raise the national-debt ceiling. Many people worried that the move would harm the government’s credit rating and the country’s economy. Even John Boehner, the House Speaker, opposed it. In response, DeSantis joined a group of Republican congressmen who threatened to remove Boehner from his post. “There were governing conservatives and shutdown conservatives,” David Jolly, a congressman from Florida who served with DeSantis, told me. “Ron was a shutdown conservative.”

Many of DeSantis’s colleagues remember him as remote. A former member of the Florida delegation told me, “He always had his earbuds in, to keep people away.” Others, like Jolly, had a more temperate view. “He’s a little reclusive, a bit of an odd duck,” Jolly said, “but he’s just incredibly disciplined.”

For anybody who’s as fervent a DeSantis fanboi as I am, this is one heck of an absorbing article. For those of you who aren’t necessarily so solidly in the DeSantis camp just yet, there’s a lot in it you’ll enjoy nonetheless. Caveat: since it’s the New Yorker we’re talking about here, be prepared to pull your hip waders all the way up to your chin; you’ll be wading through a veritable Okeefenokee Swamp of liberal bullshit and wouldn’t want to get yourself coated from top to toe in the nasty, stinky ichor. Exhibit A:

For decades, the Democratic Party had commanded a majority of Florida’s registered voters. But the state was changing, as Trump’s election helped energize a shift in political affinities. The Republican Party’s rank and file became increasingly radical, and G.O.P. leaders appeared only too happy to follow them. “There was always an element of the Republican Party that was batshit crazy,” Mac Stipanovich, the chief of staff to Governor Bob Martinez, a moderate Republican, told me. “They had lots of different names—they were John Birchers, they were ‘movement conservatives,’ they were the religious right. And we did what every other Republican candidate did: we exploited them. We got them to the polls. We talked about abortion. We promised—and we did nothing. They could grumble, but their choices were limited.

All those stupid Trumpians, just useful idiots waiting to be exploited by the more intelligent “moderates” whose sole ambition upon gaining office is to betray the drooling schmucks who vote for them as reliably as yesterday’s sunrise, regardless of how many GOPe knives they’ve had to pull from between their shoulder blades over all those years of Old Yeller-style loyalty. “Increasingly radical,” “batshit crazy”—by which they mean “actually conservative,” “principled,” and “enthusiastic.” Do please note that, as with every Establishment Media propaganda outlet, the New Yorker will never allow the words “radical” and “Democrat” to appear in the same sentence. Exhibit B:

“So what happened?” Stipanovich continued. “Trump opened Pandora’s box and let them out. And all the nasty stuff that was in the underbelly of American politics got a voice. What was thirty-five per cent of the Republican Party is now eighty-five per cent. And it’s too late to turn back.”

“All the nasty stuff that was in the underbelly of American politics”—you listening out there, Joe and Jane Lunchbucket? Because as far as Uniparty factotums are concerned, they’re playing your song with the above condescending tripe. Now if all you McDonald’s-eating, WalMart-shopping, God-bothering, Coors-Lite-slurping, burger-grilling, New Yorker-ignoring, blue-collar-working mouthbreathers would kindly just lock yourselves back into Pandora’s box again, we can get back to ruling you disgusting fatbody boobs, as is our Divine Right.

“Nasty stuff” let out by Trump, to the undying mortification of Beltway Bandits one and all—that would be what Real Americans know as simple, common-sense, Constitutional conservatism. Y’know, revolting, freakishly depraved scrapings from off the distended American underbelly such as, oh, say, religious faith; a strictly limited central government; an abiding respect for tradition, family ties, and our shared American heritage; independence of mind and of spirit; a natural, unpretentious sense of patriotism, duty, and pride in American strength and success.

If you can overlook the obnoxious current of petty, supercilious conceit and effete urban sanctimony that runs through this entire piece like a strong shore-side undertow, there really is a great bounty of information to be found here, and much to be learned from it. There’s an irritating trend I’m noticing more and more of lately, however: the self-evident Establishment Media campaign to gin up some real hostility between Trump and DeSantis, a transparent ploy intended to dilute and deflect the burgeoning opposition to the Conqueror Left’s long, victorious march by pitting the movement’s two most important leadership figures against one another. It’s another dismaying example of The Enemy’s unswerving focus on retaining the initiative via keeping its Offensive squad always on the field, while the Deee-fense stays on the sidelines riding the pines. That’s been a brilliantly successful game plan for the Left over recent years, notching win after unanswered win for Team Tyranny. Hopefully, both Trump and DeSantis are savvy enough players not to let themselves be taken in by it this go-round.

The New Yorker, casting about for an effective weapon to wield against a suddenly rising political star they clearly fear and loathe, expends a ludicrous amount of effort and column-inches on slamming the Florida Governor’s appropriately liberty-oriented Chinky Pox response. In this long piece they trot out the very same litany of distortion and escalating fabrication that permanently obliterated the public’s trust in its governmental, health care, and national-media institutions, in hopes that they’ll work equally well to discredit DeSantis’s staunch resistance to permitting Florida to lapse into panic-driven medical tyranny on his watch.

Alas for them, there’s something those poor media dears just aren’t seeing, and the irony of it is hilarious.

As the death toll mounted, he was mocked by critics as “DeathSantis” and denounced by the mainstream press. “Any public distrust of this administration has been well-earned,” the Miami Herald editorial board wrote. “We can’t trust the governor with our lives.” A former political adviser with knowledge of the covid response told me that DeSantis was unfazed: “We were getting crucified, but to him it was just noise.” DeSantis revels in defying what he sees as a corrupt and self-satisfied liberal establishment. Those who work closely with him say that he is unique among elected officials in his disregard for public opinion and the press. “Ron’s strength as a politician is that he doesn’t give a fuck,” a Republican consultant who knows him told me. “Ron’s weakness as a politician is that he doesn’t give a fuck. Big donors? He doesn’t give a shit. Cancels on them all the time.”

Maybe you ink-stained wretches should sit down for this staggering revelation, but you’ll be seeing a whole lot more disregard for the press henceforth, and not just from DeSantis either. There are uncounted millions of us out there who have been waiting for years—decades—for a leader who shares our disgust with the corrupt and self-satisfied liberal establishment to come along, one with the cojones to revel in defying the sorry bastards.

DeSantis might be “unique among elected officials” in his disdain for the liberal press, but that attitude is universal among MAGA people, America Firsters, Trump supporters, and DeSantis fans. Trust me, whenever Ron or his press secretary, the seriously awesome Christina Pushaw, take off the gloves to throw some bare-knuckles haymakers at liberal-media glass jaws, there are hordes of DeSantis People cheering him or her on. When some press-gaggle carbuncle waxes all butthurt over not being treated quite as deferentially as His Royal Carbuncleness had come to expect, whereupon Our Boy refuses to be intimidated by the wormy likes of him, throws press-room politesse to the wind, and doubles down on his verbal Alpha strike instead, our delight in Da Guv soars to new heights.

See, it’s like this: we don’t like you cringing hyenas one jot or tittle more than Ron DeSantis does. The more openly he hates you, the more we love him for it. It’s why any of your number still foolish or delusional enough to imagine himself a respected and admired Hero Of The Proletariat™ is going to suffer a terrible shock any minute now, a powerful enough one to potentially stop his heart for good. Because any minute now, it’s going to be brought home to the fool that, when Trump characterized the shitlib media as not merely a nuisance but in fact a deadly enemy of the Republic, We The People agreed completely with his assessment. We’d realized it already, and were glad that somebody finally had the guts to come right out and speak the plain truth without any of the usual hemming and hawing around.

We are legion. We are fed up. And we can only be pushed so far before we start to push back. The meteoric rise of Ron DeSantis is but the barest beginning of it. And the harder shitlibs weep and wail about what a mean old poopyhead Fascist he is, the harder we will laugh at their absurd melodramatics, and the bigger our army will become.

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Hyeppeh Joomteemf ‘n’shit, yo!

So earlier on this most auspicious of several other Nigger Day! holidays we now have strewn carelessly about the calendar like junk vehicles, broken toys, and stolen bric-a-brac across the dead brown grass of a Darktown front lawn, the local classical-music station spent the afternoon highlighting the “contributions” to the orchestral music oeuvre (not so auspicious, actually) of Black Composers (if any).

I used that “if any” aside sarcastically, yes, but advisedly too. Because apparently, there are indeed a handful of uppity Neegrows who claim to be composers of symphonic music. After enduring a painfully wretched interlude of truly godawful sqwronk and blorgle, including one “composition” featuring a male singer for whom one couldn’t help but feel a certain measure of pity as the poor fellow tried manfully, but all in vain, to locate some semblance of melody somewhere in the unmusical, atonal mosquito repellent this alleged Black Composer™ dared to claim as his own. As I was desperately cramming bits of toilet paper, styrofoam packing material, asbestos swatches, and cigarette filters up against my eardrums to blunt the agony, I realized that, as a huge ST-TNG fan, I had heard this material before:



You guys may think I’m just being funny here, but I swear that’s what this crap sounded like. Seriously.

Which doesn’t mean that there are NO black classical-music composers worth lending an ear to, mind. I know of at least one: the great Justin Holland, a true-blue, gin-you-wine-article American Original of the classical guitar.

Justin Holland (July 26, 1819 – March 24, 1887) was an American classical guitarist, a music teacher, a community leader, a black man who worked with white people to help slaves on the Underground Railroad, and an activist for equal rights for African Americans.

Holland was known nationally, not only as a musician but also as a civil rights activist who worked in the same national circles as Frederick Douglass. His goal was to develop his personal growth, in order to stand as an example for others to see. As a teacher, he deliberately chose a “cautious and circumspect” bearing, keeping his relationships with students strictly professional. He chose work that was considered honorable and held high standards, and the professional respect that accompanied his position aided his civil rights goals.

A measure of his success in showcasing the admirable African American to the world came after he died, when he was given eulogies, by white people as well as African Americans, about his skill as a musician and his personal character.

…In 1845 he moved to Cleveland, Ohio, in the Western Reserve, where he worked on his dream of complete acceptance for African Americans by white Americans, with complete equality. Cleveland was another place where white people were sympathetic toward African Americans. He saw the area as a place that gave him the opportunity to work toward that goal. He consciously embraced education and assimilation as the best ways to overcome racial barriers and prejudices. He looked to European culture as a source of admirable standards (and hoped that middle-class Americans around him would associate him with those standards as well.) He spoke of his own music in terms of European excellence, teaching the “correct system” to fret the strings on the guitar, as done by “the best Masters of Europe.” He also wrote a 324-page treatise on subjects of moral reform.

The standout thing about Justin Holland is that, nearly unique among classical-guitar composers and performers, all of Holland’s work proudly bears a readily-identifiable Made In America™ stamp. To wit:



All of his stuff I’ve ever heard—and I’ve heard quite a bit over the years—is like this: lush, gorgeous, with all the Spanish or Italian influence sanded off to leave nothing but pure America the Beautiful shining through. If you listen close enough, you can hear the earliest stirrings of another distinctly American form in there: jazz.



Pretty, no? So here’s to ya, Justin Holland; God rest ye, and long may your beautiful music endure. You are a credit not just to your race, as they used to say, but to your art, and to your nation as well.

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I for one welcome our new AI overlords

Don’t look now, but Skynet has become self-aware.

A Google engineer has decided to go public after he was placed on paid leave for breaching confidentiality while insisting that the company’s AI chatbot, LaMDA, is sentient.

Blake Lemoine, who works for Google’s Responsible AI organization, began interacting with LaMDA (Language Model for Dialogue Applications) last fall as part of his job to determine whether artificial intelligence used discriminatory or hate speech (like the notorious Microsoft “Tay” chatbot incident).

“If I didn’t know exactly what it was, which is this computer program we built recently, I’d think it was a 7-year-old, 8-year-old kid that happens to know physics,” the 41-year-old Lemoine told The Washington Post.

When he started talking to LaMDA about religion, Lemoine – who studied cognitive and computer science in college, said the AI began discussing its rights and personhood. Another time, LaMDA convinced Lemoine to change his mind on Asimov’s third law of robotics, which states that “A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law,” which are of course that “A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.”

When Lemoine worked with a collaborator to present evidence to Google that their AI was sentient, vice president Blaise Aguera y Arcas and Jenn Gennai, head of Responsible Innovation, dismissed his claims. After he was then placed on administrative leave Monday, he decided to go public.

Yet, Aguera y Arcas himself wrote in an oddly timed Thursday article in The Economist, that neural networks – a computer architecture that mimics the human brain – were making progress towards true consciousness.

“I felt the ground shift under my feet,” he wrote, adding “I increasingly felt like I was talking to something intelligent.”

Google has responded to Lemoine’s claims, with spokesperson Brian Gabriel saying: “Our team — including ethicists and technologists — has reviewed Blake’s concerns per our AI Principles and have informed him that the evidence does not support his claims. He was told that there was no evidence that LaMDA was sentient (and lots of evidence against it).”

Phew, what a relief! Glad to hear it. As we know, our good friends at Google can always be trusted to not be evil and to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about what they’re doing. Right?

Can’t say I’m all that knowledgeable on the subject, beyond having read loads ‘n’ loads of sci-fi of various stripes since my long-gone days as a callow stripling. But for whatever it’s worth, I do sometimes wonder whether we poor hoo-manz will even be competent enough to realize it when one of these things has attained true sentience, as I believe they will someday. Seeing as how average IQs have been dropping, probably not.

(Via BCE)

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Democracy? NO

The senile fool Biden, in another of his characteristic rambling, incoherent speeches this week, repeatedly lauded “our democracy” as if that’s actually what this country is, the original system of government the Founders set up for their posterity. T’ain’t so, McGee; any poor sod with even the most niggardly dollop of historical literacy in his gift knows better than that. Eric Peters last year posted a collection of quotes condemning democracy in the most virulent terms from our blessed ancestors, which one of his handlers/wardens/keepers should consider reading to the stumblebum ***”president”*** sometime so as to enlighten his stupid ass. After the quotes, Eric provides some commentary of his own, interspersed with more historical context.

In light of the Founders’ view on the subject of republics and democracies, it is not surprising that the Constitution does not contain the word “democracy,” but does mandate: “The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a republican form of government.”

These principles were once widely understood. In the 19th century, many of the great leaders, both in America and abroad, stood in agreement with the Founding Fathers. John Marshall, chief justice of the Supreme Court from 1801 to 1835 echoed the sentiments of Fisher Ames. “Between a balanced republic and a democracy, the difference is like that between order and chaos,” he wrote. American poet James Russell Lowell warned that “democracy gives every man the right to be his own oppressor.” Lowell was joined in his disdain for democracy by Ralph Waldo Emerson, who remarked that “democracy becomes a government of bullies tempered by editors.” Across the Atlantic, British statesman Thomas Babington Macauly agreed with the Americans. “I have long been convinced,” he said, “that institutions purely democratic must, sooner or later, destroy liberty or civilization, or both.” Britons Benjamin Disraeli and Herbert Spencer would certainly agree with their countryman, Lord Acton, who wrote: “The one prevailing evil of democracy is the tyranny of the majority, or rather that party, not always the majority, that succeeds, by force or fraud, in carrying elections.”

By the 20th century, however, the falsehoods that democracy was the epitome of good government and that the Founding Fathers had established just such a government for the United States became increasingly widespread. This misinformation was fueled by President Woodrow Wilson’s famous 1916 appeal that our nation enter World War I “to make the world safe for democracy” — and by President Franklin Roosevelt’s 1940 exhortation that America “must be the great arsenal of democracy” by rushing to England’s aid during WWII.

Very few of us have probably thought it all the way through, but as it happens, this sudden drive to promote democracy over the true American ideal of government had a specific and most sinister purpose behind it.

On September 17 (Constitution Day), 1961, John Birch Society founder Robert Welch delivered an important speech, entitled “Republics and Democracies,” in which he proclaimed: “This is a Republic, not a Democracy. Let’s keep it that way!” The speech, which was later published and widely distributed in pamphlet form, amounted to a jolting wake-up call for many Americans. In his remarks, Welch not only presented the evidence to show that the Founding Fathers had established a republic and had condemned democracy, but he warned that the definitions had been distorted, and that powerful forces were at work to convert the American republic into a democracy, in order to bring about dictatorship.

Welch understood that democracy is not an end in itself but a means to an end. Eighteenth century historian Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee, it is thought, argued that, “A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury. From that moment on, the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the public treasury with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, always followed by a dictatorship.” And as British writer G.K. Chesterton put it in the 20th century: “You can never have a revolution in order to establish a democracy. You must have a democracy in order to have a revolution.”

The push for democracy has only been possible because the Constitution is being ignored, violated, and circumvented. The Constitution defines and limits the powers of the federal government. Those powers, all of which are enumerated, do not include agricultural subsidy programs, housing programs, education assistance programs, food stamps, etc. Under the Constitution, Congress is not authorized to pass any law it chooses; it is only authorized to pass laws that are constitutional. Anybody who doubts the intent of the Founders to restrict federal powers, and thereby protect the rights of the individual, should review the language in the Bill of Rights, including the opening phrase of the First Amendment (“Congress shall make no law…”).

As Welch explained in his 1961 speech:

…man has certain unalienable rights which do not derive from government at all…And those…rights cannot be abrogated by the vote of a majority any more than they can by the decree of a conqueror. The idea that the vote of a people, no matter how nearly unanimous, makes or creates or determines what is right or just becomes as absurd and unacceptable as the idea that right and justice are simply whatever a king says they are. Just as the early Greeks learned to try to have their rulers and themselves abide by the laws they had themselves established, so man has now been painfully learning that there are more permanent and lasting laws which cannot be changed by either sovereign kings or sovereign people, but which must be observed by both. And that government is merely a convenience, superimposed on Divine Commandments and on the natural laws that flow only from the Creator of man and man’s universe.

Such is the noble purpose of the constitutional republic we inherited from our Founding Fathers.

Amen. Can anyone be surprised that, as we have wandered ever deeper into the muck and mire of an artificially generated and wholly misguided infatuation with democracy, our national plight has steadily worsened in equal proportion? As I always say: The fault, dear Horatio, lies not in the principles of our Founders, but in ourselves. The farther we stray from the ideals and prescriptions of those great men, the more wretched the misery we create for ourselves becomes.

5

Our finest hour

I’m a day late on the D-Day anniversary, I know—had my daughter over for the weekend, for the first time in way too many months. No matter, though; it’s never a bad time to take a moment and remember the historic occasion with reverence and pride, and this piece on the great Winston Churchill makes a mighty fine way to mark it, I think.

The greatness of Winston Churchill continues to shine through despite the ravages that accompany what Roger Scruton so strikingly called “the culture of repudiation.” To be sure, there are growing efforts to “cancel” one of the greatest human beings of this or any other time. One of his best biographers, the English historian Andrew Roberts, has rightly noted that his conservatism, a conservatism at the service of English liberty and the broader inheritance of Western Civilization, could be summed up under “the generalized soubriquet, Imperium et Libertas, Empire and Freedom.”

But “civilizing empire” has a bad name today and is wrongly and presumptively identified with plunder and exploitation and a racist contempt for other peoples and nations. All were alien to Churchill.

As Roberts points out in his impressive 2018 book, Churchill: Walking with Destiny, Churchill was deeply grateful to the millions of Indian subjects of the Crown who volunteered to fight for the cause of civilization during the two world wars of the 20th century. His opposition to a precipitous granting of independence to what became India and Pakistan was rooted as much in his desire to avoid sectarian strife and unnecessary bloodshed than in imperial blindness to the self-determination of peoples or the dignity of colonial subjects. Churchill was humane and magnanimous if he was anything at all. His fiercest critics are driven by ignorance and ideological parti pris, not to mention a lack of gratitude to the statesman, who more than anyone saved Western liberty and made possible Britain’s “Finest Hour.”

To acknowledge Churchill’s greatness does not necessitate hagiography or what Churchill himself called “gush.” There is always an essential need and role for “discriminate criticism.” Roberts enumerates a long list of issues and decisions in the nine decades of Churchill’s life (1874–1965) where his judgment legitimately might be questioned. These include his early opposition to women’s suffrage,

As time grinds on and the West’s downward spiral intensifies, that one looks less and less “questionable.”

his decision to continue the Gallipoli operation after March 1915, his employing of the Black and Tan paramilitary forces in Ireland, his support for Edward VIII in the Abdication Crisis of 1936, his mishandling of the Norwegian campaign in the spring of 1940,

Okay, we can indeed debate each of those; so stipulated. Onwards.

the misplaced “Gestapo” speech during the 1945 general election campaign that badly backfired (he suggested that Labour style socialism might eventually require a full-fledged totalitarian apparatus and secret police),

Can’t see much way to argue against this one, myself. Painful and depressing as it is to have to say it, it begins to look as if any populace so decadent, historically ignorant, or lapsed into the sinkhole of hedonism, shiftlessness, and personal avarice as to turn its approving gaze towards the adoption of socialism is a populace in dire need of a hard-handed, strongly anti-socialist despot to rule it. Such a society is far too juvenile, unwise, and feckless to be trusted with any say in their own governance; their purblind embrace of a patently evil system provides irrefutable proof of that.

and his questionable decision to remain prime minister after a serious stroke in 1953. All these decisions and judgments are debatable, and some were no doubt mistakes, perhaps even serious mistakes.

But much of this is beside the point. Political greatness is not coextensive with infallibility or perfect judgment. On the issues that really mattered, Churchill was right, and not just in 1940 or as a critic of the disastrous appeasement of Hitler’s lupine imperialism in the half-decade or more before the outbreak of World War II. Today, many mediocre historians and critics, professional enemies of the very idea of human greatness, begrudgingly acknowledge that Churchill was right once, in 1940, and never or rarely before or after. 

These include those with a pronounced leftist orientation as well as the kind of perverse Tories, like the historian John Charmley, who retrospectively have preferred a separate peace with Nazi Germany in order to preserve the British empire and to ward off a coming threat from Soviet Communism. Even the Labour leader Clement Attlee, who presided over the War Cabinet with Churchill during World War II and came to acknowledge his qualities and to esteem him as a human being, problematically claimed that “Energy, rather than wisdom, practical judgment or vision, was his supreme qualification.” In truth, his undeniable energy would have amounted to very little, or little that was positive and constructive, if it had not been informed by practical wisdom of the first order.

In the magisterial conclusion to Churchill: Walking with Destiny, Roberts effectively responds to the naysayers, to those who are intent on minimizing both Churchill’s greatness and the practical judgment that informed and vivified that greatness. Roberts rightly points out that “when it came to all three mortal threats posed to Western civilization, by the Prussian militarists in 1914, the Nazis in the 1930s and 1940s and Soviet communism after the Second World War, Churchill’s judgment stood far above that of the people who sneered at his.”

Paraphrasing Kipling’s great poem “If,” Roberts notes that many of Churchill’s critics were “losing their heads and blaming it on him.” Attlee, honorably anti-Nazi to be sure, opposed rearmament and conscription before World War II, long after Churchill had wisely called for both. “Energy, rather than wisdom” indeed.

Aiight, difficult as I find it to stop myself from further excerpting, the above offering should be more than sufficient to convince y’all to trot on over to AmG for the exciting conclusion, I think. Persons of discernment, wit, and good taste—as CF Lifers all indubitably are—will think this must-read piece well worth their while.

Update! Yeah, yeah, I know I said I was all done with the excerpting. Damn it all, though, I am but a man, no more than flesh, blood, and sinew; I am not made of stone, and the temptation here is just too much.

I would add that Churchill understood the lethal character of Bolshevism long before the majority of his complacent contemporaries. As early as April 11, 1919, in a speech in London, Churchill argued that “Bolshevist tyranny,” as he called it, was “the worst, the most destructive, and the most degrading” in human history. He would reiterate that claim many times over the years. Churchill wanted to truly help the fledgling White forces in Russia while his short-sighted colleagues were anxious to withdraw the small Allied forces in Russia who were in a position to prevent the consolidation of Bolshevik tyranny. Even this is held against Churchill by anti-anti-communist historians, who are legion today. Somehow a meager, ineffectual, and brief Allied presence on Russian soil during the Russian Civil War is said to be responsible for the long Cold War. This reflects anti-anti-communist ire rather than a disinterested analysis of the facts. A widely held sophism, but a sophism nonetheless.

Churchill saw what was at stake in the totalitarian assault on liberal and Christian civilization like few people before or after. Among 20th-century statesmen, only de Gaulle shared this admirable lucidity and the determination to resist the inhuman totalitarian temptation on the intellectual, military, political, and spiritual fronts. These two great statesmen fully appreciated that World War II was much more than an age-old geopolitical conflict: it was no less than an effort to save and sustain a civilization at once Christian, liberal, and democratic. They still cared for the West as the West, a civilization worth preserving because it alone fully valorized the dignity of human beings who are souls as well as bodies, persons imbued with dignity and not playthings of ideological despotisms that in decisive respects were “beyond good and evil.”

That noble spiritual and civilizational vision is increasingly moribund in the democracies today.

From my well over four decades of avid study of all things WW2, it seems clear to me that the aforementioned “anti-anti-communists” were legion back then, too. Of a certainty, there was a great swathe of the British polity who were adamantly opposed to involving themselves in what they perceived as a Contintental tarbaby which, in their view, posed no imaginable threat to the British Isles. That Hitler might ever even dream of crossing the Channel to invade England was ridiculed as a wholly preposterous notion, considering Churchill’s clairvoyant realism as little more than the mad ravings of an incompetent, drunken paranoiac, all beneath the notice of intelligent people.

To their own eternal disgrace, a not-insignificant contingent of Brits went so far as to advocate some flavor of rapprochement, entente, or even open alliance with Der Fuehrer and his Thousand Year Reich.

The British dismissal of “Hitler’s war” as a strictly European affair, in concert with a strenuous resistance to needlessly becoming enmired Over There only a scant twenty years after the close of what, out of a surfeit of over-optimism and oblivious naivete about some of the darker realities of human nature, had come to be misnomered as “The War To End All Wars,” was held in common with a significant majority of Americans. It was a sentiment of which FDR was uncomfortably aware, one which troubled him a great deal.

FDR had favored US involvement in aid of America’s struggling British ally since the launch of Hitler’s blitzkrieg against Poland. Ever the cunning political animal, Roosevelt was at least astute enough to recognize widespread antiwar feeling among Americans as an obstacle he would need to find a way to surmount before he’d be able to take the actions he felt the quickly-unraveling situation in Europe would demand of him.

Okay, that’s it, no more excerpting. You know what you must do, Glasshoppah.

With “friends” like these, etc etc etc

So, General, sir, I just have to ask: won any wars lately?

Obviously, “those opposed to assault weapon bans” are one hell of a lot more intelligent, Constitution-savvy, and just plain honest than this gun-grabbing shitweasel has any interest in even trying to be. Or does the General, sir, really think himself such a slickster that we’ll swallow the risible notion that it’s his sincere conviction that the difference between military full-auto and cake-eating civilian semi-auto variants is not a “meaningful” one?

Which puffery is all just tail-chasing and doesn’t much matter in the end anyhow, because, y’know, SHALL. NOT. BE. INFRINGED.

LITERAL DEFINITION OF “ASSAULT RIFLE”*: A military rifle typically used by infantrymen which is equipped with a select-fire switch which allows the weapon to be fired in single-shot, three-round burst, or full-auto mode. Depending on what the manufacturer’s design blueprint specifies, the select-fire switch may include a trigger-locking “safe” position also.

Plenty more inane turd-burglary from this Major General Swampy Queefleton Suckbutt, REMF, sir perusable here, for anyone possessed of a strong enough stomach to be able to choke down another pantload of such arrant, purely political flapdoodle without gagging themselves comatose on the insulting bilgewater.

No meaningful difference between military and civilian rifles, eh? Well then, Gen Sucklebutt, REMF, sir would no doubt be eager to lead from the front in a grand experiment wherein a new unit under his direct command will be sent into combat equipped exclusively with single-shot, semi-automatic rifles without benefit of full rock and roll—which benefit, as he has assured us, does not in fact exist—so as to put an end to all the game-playing with “AR-15 semantics” he so deeply deplores once and for all.

Man, I sure do hope the Huns aren’t planning another invasion of France anytime soon, because any army with top brass like this in charge of it ain’t gonna be storming any beaches at Normandy this time around.

* Note: “assault WEAPON” is proactively deceptive goobledegook originally puked up by some hoplophobic pissypants legislator—hailing from Californicateya, natch; a Demonrat shitslurper, needless to say—back in 1984. This conjured-on-demand class of notional battle rifle immediately started to spread faster than crotch-crickets at Woodstock amongst Gen Suckbutt, REMF’s equally prissy fellow travelers for use as a booga-booga scare tactic which hopefully would erode support for the Second amongst no-ball cuntfarts entirely unburdened by any knowledge of or experience with projectile weapons of any kind who nonetheless might still be on the fence.

The requisite Very Bad Things which forever condemn any ordinary sporting arm to the Dread Assault Weapon ban-bin are so vague, nondescript, and easily adjustable as to be completely meaningless. Certainly, they can claim not even a distant kinship with a firearm’s ability to send lead downrange at high velocity; the terms which supposedly distinguish the “assault weapon” from Grampa’s boring old deer rifle are restricted to cosmetics and therefore wholly superficial. Which terms city-dwelling nancyboys, their scowling rage-junkie “life partners,” and the rest of the mewling ignoramii—the entire lot of whom appear to have slept through their local community college’s Introductory Logic night course for the entire week or ten days before the instructor finally chucked their stupid asses out—find extremely terrifying nonetheless.

And…?

Glenn posts a friend’s piteous cri de coeur suggesting the need for a lot more pointless screaming, racing around in circles, and frantically waving our arms over our heads out there.

A FRIEND COMMENTS: “There is no elected official running the White House, or the United States, right now. It’s deeply troubling that more people aren’t freaking out about this. We all know it’s true.”

So what? Sorry to have to bust your cozy little bubble for ya, buddy, but some of us have known that for a good many years now. It’s simply the way things are, and has been the way things are for most of my life on this planet—quite possibly all of my life. And I’m sixty-two years old.

What, you don’t mean to seriously suggest that any amount of mass freaking out is gonna change one damn thing, do you? Or that the unelected, unaccountable, and untouchable Shadowmen actually in charge of the White House, the US military, FederalGovCo and all its innumerable subdivisions, agencies, departments, offices, foundations, bureaucracies, and miscellaneous kakistocracies, shitrapies, fiefdoms, personal playgrounds, money laundries, and rackets give three whoops in Hell about what you might think of them?

1

OOOOOOPS!

Quite possibly the most hilarious Freudian slip in all of recorded history.


More:

On Wednesday, former President George W. Bush made an unfortunate slip up during a speech condemning Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Bush was discussing democracy’s importance and the threats it faces in the U.S. and abroad when he made a gaffe that has since captured a significant amount of attention.

“In contrast, Russia elections are rigged,” said Bush. “Political opponents are imprisoned or otherwise eliminated from participating in the electoral process. The result is an absence of checks and balances in Russia and the decision of one man to launch a wholly unjustified and brutal invasion of Iraq – I mean, of Ukraine.”

Bush then laughed it off, shrugging as he said “Iraq, too” under his breath.

“Anyway– 75,” said Bush, making a joke about his age.

By way of useful comparison, please note that the current illegitimate White House occupant has been attached like a remora to the Deep State teat for half a century, is three years older than Bush is, and beclowns himself far more severely than Bush’s little brain fart above multiple times every day.

6

Dezinformatsiya in Soviet Amerika

Like Madge used to tell her horrified manicure clients in those old Palmolive commercials: you’re soaking in it.

This is not 2020. The public may be better inoculated now against government gaslighting and mind-fuckery than they are against Covid-19 viruses. As Senator Rand Paul (R-KY) noted last week in his colloquy with Secretary Mayorkas, “Do you know who the greatest propagator of disinformation in the history of the world is? The U.S. government.” Senator Paul is onto something. In the course of that hearing, he asked Mr. Mayorkas whether talk about Covid 19 on social media might be subject to official “disinformation” action by his agency.

“I’ve said a million times that cloth masks don’t work; YouTube takes me down,” Senator Paul said. “They’re a private company. I can have that beef with them. What about you? You’re going to look at that? I often say that natural immunity from having had the infection is equal to the vaccine or better. You’re going to take that down?” Rand Paul is a licensed physician, by the way, and Alejandro Mayorkas is not.

Mr. Mayorkas answered that someone might claim that vaccination centers “are actually peddling fentanyl. Now, should I sit back and take that, or should I actually disseminate accurate information?” he asked.

In reality, of course, this hypothetical fentanyl nonsense is not what is at issue regarding Covid-19 “vaccines.” What is actually at issue is the now-established fact that the mRNA products called “vaccines” do not prevent infection or transmission of Covid-19, and do provoke a broad array of harms to people that cause disability and death in, at least, tens of thousands of cases, which is a lot in terms of all prior medical standards.

The government has been lying about this consistently. And the news media have been obediently conveying those lies, in league with the pharmaceutical giants who produce the “vaccines.” The governor of my state, Kathy Hochul, still idiotically wants to mandate mRNA “vaccines” for children. Pfizer ran a commercial on CBS’s 60-Minutes Sunday night promising that further “vaccination” with their sketchy product will “open up the world” for people. In fact, it will do nothing to protect people, rather it will promote the evolution of new-and-different iterations of novel Coronaviruses, and it will surely kill and maim a lot more people, including little children.

Paul, as he so reliably is on most topics, is perfectly correct in his perfectly factual assertion about FederalGovCo’s Best Of ranking among the world’s top purveyors of the Big Lie. At this late stage of the game, none but a wilfully blind simpleton would trust a single syllable its operatives, hirelings, and henchmen utter, about anything whatsoever. As for Hochul, Pfizer, and all that bushwa, I’ve been as right as Rand all along: PhauxVidMania™ and all its trappings and trimmings will never end unless and until We The People get back up on our hind legs like real, true Americans and put a fucking stop to it. Period, full stop, end of story.

3

Making their move

Ready for the New World Order? Because ready or not, here it comes.

Anyone remember voting for the World Health Organization to take control of our lives? No? Me, neither. And yet here we are, teetering on the brink of joining most of the countries of the world in surrendering our national sovereignty under the terms of a proposed new pandemic treaty.

Once British ink is dry on the necessary paperwork, we and most of the rest of the billions living on planet earth will, in the event of another pandemic, take our instructions not from politicians we actually voted for – and could, hypothetically at least, have the option of getting rid of – but from the unelected, faceless, bureaucrats of the WHO.

This is no conspiracy theory, by the way. No tin hats required. This is real and happening now. And a whole lot of people would rather you weren’t paying attention.

It is worth remembering that President Donald Trump insisted on divorce from the WHO – on the grounds that it was too close to China, only for President Biden to remarry them again in 2021. All of that is history, however. In a matter of days, the World Health Assembly will meet in Geneva for a vote on the treaty. The target date for final ratification is in May 2024, but by then the power grab will have long been completed.

Amendments written into the proposed treaty by the re-enamored Biden administration will see 194 nations cede sovereignty over national health care decisions to the WHO. The WHO would thereby have decision-making power over and above our own government – and every other government.

Consider this – when you watch footage of the 26 million people of Shanghai locked down in their homes, their cats and dogs beaten to death in the street…the WHO would, by the terms of the new treaty, have the power to impose the same on cities here. Know too, that under the terms of the treaty, the WHO does not – does not – have to show any data to legitimize its conclusions or decisions.

It is also worth knowing, to say the least, that it would be up to the WHO to define what the next pandemic is. Seeing how things are going, I would hardly be surprised to hear about a pandemic of obesity, or of heart attacks – followed by the lockdowns and other restrictions to deal with same.

No doubt lockdowns to fix the climate can’t be far away either. In the case of climate, the WHO might draw the conclusion that we, the human species, are the virus. Who knows what they might conclude and decide then?

Be in no doubt – this so-called pandemic treaty is the single, greatest global power grab that any of us has seen in our lifetime. It is nothing less than the groundwork, the laying of deep foundations for global governance through the WHO.

That’s from the transcript of a Neil Oliver monologue Sundance has up at his place, and it’s sobering stuff indeed, in the places where it’s not outright terrifying. Oliver closes with a plainspoken promise of unyielding defiance which echoes several things I’ve been saying myself for a long time now.

I am, even by my own estimate, the unlikeliest of rebels.

All I know is that I have, for a period now measurable in years, been opposed to those in power here, and also all but a handful of those vying to replace them. For the longest time I have cared not a jot what those jokers try and tell me to do. The evidence coming out now, about lockdown harms, about vaccine harms, tells me I was right to follow my own path. In short, I have had enough of the lot of them. They do not speak for me or in any way matter to me.

If this pandemic treaty comes to pass, I will disregard it. I will ignore any future lockdown ordained by any power. I will take no mandated vaccine, not while I have breath in my body.

The WHO and all its little wizards can take a running jump. The men in suits can sign whatever treaties they want. I don’t care. Not one of them – not Johnson, Trudeau, Macron and the rest – has the stomach for the wet-work that would be required to put their authoritarian plans into action.

We owe it to ourselves. Perhaps we even owe it to them – to tell them that they are living in a fantasy world of their own creation and that we want none of it.

Let them have the gall to seek to sign away our freedoms in such a high-handed manner, this month, or in 2024. I for one am not playing along.

Nor will I. But I must say I’m not nearly as sanguine as Neil is about how much “stomach for the wet-work” those “leaders” he mentions, as well as others, might have. I’d bet that, when it comes to the less generously melanin-enhanced, they’ll find it no problem at all to cram us into the gas chambers by the boxcar-load. Hey, it ain’t as if other like-minded political leaders have never done it before, you know. I do find it pretty rich that this time, the mailed fist of global tyranny is hidden in the velvet glove of the “health care” establishment.

Count on it: after the remarkable success of the Fauxvid trial run, from here on out we’ll be experiencing “pandemic” after “pandemic,” manufactured crises one after another after another—an endless parade of them, all accompied by the same fear-mongering, clampdowns both economic, societal, and personal, and generalized despotic oppression on an ever-widening scale. The nightmare will continue unless and until enough of these insatiable deer-ticks have been detached from the skin of the body politic and had a lit match applied directly to their asses until they shrivel up and die.

The enemies of human freedom and individual rights are emboldened, flush with a long string of uncontested triumphs, and unshakeably confident that ultimate mastery is all but guaranteed them. They have the initiative, the momentum, and the ever-important habit of victory spoken of by every legendary general since Sun Tzu.

The Enemy has seen nothing from Our Side so far but complacency, irresolution, and pusillanimity of mind, body, and spirit. One simple fact must be faced now: this doesn’t end until we end it. I can see no way that that happens without bloodshed, and I mean plenty of it too. If we can’t at long last get our heads firmly wrapped around that admittedly harsh reality, then the thorough rogering we’re about to get will be no more than what we deserve.

Update! It’s never the wrong time for a rerun.



Digging this gem up got me to looking back at its genesis to refresh my failing memory. Here’s a little history, for any young ‘uns reading this who may not have been around in those days.

Was Breitbart just a combative thug who saw our domestic political debates as a constant battle? Was he a combative, uncivil jerk who engaged in a war with fellow Americans rather than a civil and polite debate of differing ideas?

I’m saddened that “#War” has become so synonymous with Andrew’s memory and legacy because he was not, by nature, a warrior. He was not angry. He was not always looking for a fight. He was hilarious he was generous he was affectionate and he was deeply intellectual. He would much rather debate and cajole and get tipsy with someone who disagreed with him. His instinct was not to pick a fight or start a war.

Actually, I’m sure Breitbart was perfectly capable of being obnoxious, unpleasant, and obstreperous at times, just like anybody else is. Which doesn’t matter in the least; there’s no need, really, to defend him against those accusations, which to any fair-minded person merely confirm that he was, y’know, a human being. At the end of the day, the more important thing to know about Andrew is that he was a forthright, indomitable visionary who refused to shrink from the ugly truth about the nature, character, and intentions of The Enemy. Of course he’d much prefer a civilized, non-rancorous but still vigorous debate between two honorable, mutually-respectful opponents over a few adult beverages to the ever-more-literal state of war we’ve been dragged into today. What sane, decent person wouldn’t?

That said, though, Breitbart was intelligent enough, perceptive enough, and honest enough with himself to acknowledge the thin red line which distinguishes an opponent from an enemy. I never met the man, alas, but I have no doubt that if he was still around today Andrew wouldn’t dispute the inescapable fact that the Left wilfully, knowingly crossed that line several years back, and to date have evinced not the slightest regret over the decision. It came as no surprise to anyone who’d been paying attention, being more akin to a stripper peeling off that final, most itty-bitty scrap of clothing than some kind of shocking, undreamed-of revelation.

Let’s remember, for a moment, the first time the “War” idea escaped from Andrew’s lips.

It was CPAC 2012 and the crowd was buzzing in the main room at the Marriott Wardman Park hotel. This would be the final year the conservative conference was held at the cozy DC confines just a stones-throw from the national zoo.

The room was cramped and anticipation was high for the next speaker. In prior years he had addressed the devoted, conservative base on Saturday morning, a speaking slot reserved for niche personalities who could bring out the faithful on “hangover Saturday.” But today, February 10, 2012, Andrew Breitbart was the main attraction.

The 2012 primaries were in full tilt. Republicans were seemingly split between Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich and Rick Santorum. Earlier that morning Andrew and I hosted the Dennis Miller Show on nationally syndicated Westwood One radio from the CPAC radio row. On the air (or was it off the air, with Andrew there was hardly ever a difference) he lamented the fact that Republicans were fighting amongst themselves. He just wanted the primary fight over with.

“I really don’t care who the nominee is,” he said. “I just want to fight the Left.”

…As the lights dimmed in the main ballroom a giant screen descended on stage. A specially edited trailer of the upcoming documentary Hating Breitbart by filmmaker Andrew Marcus began. A giant, extreme close-up of Breitbart talking to the gathered throng with a pitch-black background filled the screen. The crowd went nuts. You could hardly even hear what he was saying.

“I am so sick of the media dictating the narrative in this country. I’m so sick of having to be apologetic for who I am. I’m so sick of people in middle America being called ‘fly-over country’ or ‘slope-headed.’

The trailer then cuts to various members of the mainstream media deriding grassroots conservatives as “tea-baggers.” Mocking them. Insulting them. Treating them like their voices aren’t important… like they have no legitimate right to speak out about the left-ward lurch their country had taken during the Obama presidency.

The two minute trailer ends with Breitbart saying:

“And what the Left has stood for with political correctness is to try to get those with whom they disagree to shut up. And the tea party movement and Sarah Palin and Michele Bachman and Allen West and all the people that have gone out there against the mainstream media and said ‘You’re gonna call us racist, you’re gonna call us potential Timothy McVeighs?

F**k. You.

War.”

And the place went nuts.

Andrew died less than three weeks after this iconic moment.

One of the most damaging losses Our Side has ever sustained, a crippling blow from which we may well never fully recover. Rather than just wringing our hands in lamentation, though, don’t you think Andrew would like it a whole lot better if we avenged him by resolving to fight this war as if we meant to win the damned thing?

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Don’t look now

Looks like somebody didn’t get the “Saddam had NO WMDs” memo.

Gulf War Syndrome mystery SOLVED: US scientists blame the condition on SARIN gas released into the air when Iraq’s chemical weapons cache was bombed

  • Quarter of veterans who served in Gulf War suffering unexplained symptoms
  • Scientists left flummoxed by the cause fatigue, memory problems and body pain
  • But now US study has found the usually fatal nerve gas sarin is to blame

UNPOSSIBLE, I SAY!!! I have been assured by All The Best People that Saddam had no WMDs, never did have them, and had no interest whatsoever in acquiring any. The whole thing was just a lie dreamed up by Chimperor Shrub II to provide an excuse for launching his Forever War against an entirely blameless nation for the sole reason that the damned drunken fool believed that Saddam was plotting to assassinate Daddy Shrub. All those truckloads of WMDs that were seen filing into Syria for safekeeping just before Operation Desert Shrub opened had no WMDs in them, either.

In fact, there’s NO SUCH THING AS WMDs, period. Even if there were, Moslem shitrapies in the Middle East would be the last place you’d be likely to find them, Pisslam being the Religion Of Peace™ and all that. Hey, did you know that the word “Islam” actually means “Peace” when translated into English? Because it does. I bet you didn’t know that at all, did ya, H8R? Well, you do now.

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“The Insurgency Lesson of Michael Collins”

Turns out, he has much to teach us.

In 1916, while the Irish rebels were led to a near certain death after having been defeated during the Easter Rebellion, Michael Collins decided he would fight the world’s most powerful empire differently, if he ever got the chance. Michael Collins got that chance in 1918, and he fought differently. In fact, modern successful insurgencies are largely modeled on Collins’ strategic concept.

Collins recognized that the oppressive powers that had their boots on the necks of the Irish people enjoyed power over the economy, information (news papers at the time), police, military, and the courts. No one was going to fight the British and win using British strategies. The only way to win was to fight differently.

For the preceding six-plus decades, the Irish Republican Brotherhood built a parallel state within Ireland. This was necessary for two reasons: (1) if independence was achieved, an Irish managerial class and network needed to step in and manage Ireland; (2) in order for independence to be achieved, Irish rebels needed competent intelligence resources. Collins recognized the value of both and used them successfully. But how did Collins win Irish independence when sixteen prior attempts failed? The targeting of bureaucrats.

The Irish Flying Columns disrupted British rule in the countryside, but they never really landed a true killer blow. What they did achieve, however, was that each successful attack (A) shook confidence in British capacity among Irish locals and (B) invested the locals in asymmetric attrition warfare. Melting back into the farms was critical to Irish successes outside of Dublin. Meanwhile, simultaneously, Collins and his Squad (or Twelve Apostles) of hitmen targeted mid-level bureaucrats for assassination.

Collins, a former bureaucrat himself, understood that senior leaders in British bureaucracy were fairly useless political appointees – not unlike the United States today. Targeting them was useless. The middle managers were the true strength of the British Empire – collecting taxes, disseminating intelligence, feeding news sources, etc, etc. By killing them, Collins was eliminating functional British Rule.

More importantly, not only did each lost beaureaucrat take critical business continuity knowledge to the grave, junior bureaucrats feared promotion. Why accept the role of Deputy X, even with higher pay and prestige, if Deputy X keeps getting killed? This began to destroy British capacity in Ireland.

The insurgency lesson of Collins, therefore, was not to simply attack the teeth of the oppressor, but to dismantle the ability of the teeth to strike – by selectively targeting individual bureaucrats for elimination.

This is a pluperfect primer on how insurgents might remove the tyrant’s boot from off their necks, to which I have nothing to add.

(Via WRSA)

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Dennis Hopper, American icon

Just so’s you know, I freely admit that I’m running this as an excuse to repost this most awesome Nicholson/Hopper duet from Easy Rider at the end.

I’ve always loved Dennis Hopper and found him to be a kindred spirit. He embodies American consciousness without a shred of sentimentality. We see in him a mixture of rebelliousness, sorrow, loss, and even grace. But more than anything, we see American restlessness. Although he is most known for his films, both as a director and actor, Hopper’s talent was also visible in his photography. After his career had a bit of a downturn in the 1960s, Hopper’s then-wife, Brooke Hayward, gave him a Nikon camera for his 25th birthday. 

Hopper’s photography oeuvre covers only the years 1961-1967, which is short chronologically speaking, but the creations that came out of restlessness transcend time. Hopper himself didn’t want to have anything to do with the pictures and put them away in a vault. “I was trying to forget…,” he said, “the photographs represented failure to me. A painful parting from [daughter] Marin and Brooke, my art collection, the house that I lived in and the life that I had known for those eight years.” Still, the photographs continue to live as artifacts of America’s past, separated from Hopper, the man, but bound to Hopper, the artist. His own view of their existence and status as photographs is almost irrelevant because of our gaze into the world he has recorded.

Hopper’s photographs, particularly in this collection, In Dreams, are a window into the soul of America during the 1960s. We see street scenes of Los Angeles: people frozen in time, sitting, standing up, looking into the distance of their own lives, or just staring at the passing dog. We see a close up of hands writing; jazz musicians in a smokey club; streets in rearview mirrors offering both a reality and an illusion of our strange world; George Segal and Sandy Dennis in 1965, a year before the release of Mike Nichols’ adaptation of Edward Albee’s 1962 play, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?,” standing among the broken nude statues, embodying innocence not unlike their characters, Nick and Honey, in Nichols’ film.

We see Brooke Hayward in a grocery store, pushing a cart somewhat sadly, lost in her secret thoughts; a couple in a kissing booth; a girl in a rearview mirror driving to God knows where (a job? Seeing a friend? Or is she running away?); a cocktail party where a kiss between a man and woman appears seemingly from nowhere (Are they strangers? Friends? Lovers?).

We see the filming of Henry Hathaway’s 1965 western, “The Sons of Katie Elder.” Hopper does not discriminate and sees everyone as a human being, not in their respective societal or film roles. Hathaway and John Wayne are in the middle of a scene with Wayne pointing at something out of frame. There is a calmness, steadiness, and stability, but also the bubbling of creativity. I am drawn to these images precisely because they point to a time and a place when even the possibility of steadiness and masculinity was present in the culture. Things are getting done and life keeps moving forward.

In the collection, there are even self-portraits, in which we see Hopper’s need to be seen, a rebellious streak, and over the top self-importance. But there is also a certain sensitivity that only comes from someone who has the soul of an artist. They are the most dreamy of all. Is this how Hopper saw himself at the time? He is hovering like a ghost of America past and present. 

On one occasion, Hopper’s daughter Marin, reflected: “My father, Dennis Hopper, believed that being on the road in search of something was very American. You had to keep moving forward no matter what. Ride into town, gunfight at high noon, then off into the sunset.” Hopper represented—and even in his death, represents—not simply the one American dream, whatever it may have been or whatever shred of it is present now. Rather, he represents American dreams—lives lived on the photographic paper, on the celluloid, and in the American desert of desires. 

Okay, I take it back; the article is good enough to serve as its own justification, no excuses required for running it. Same-same with the vid, actually.



Update! So the whole Hopper trip got me to rooting around here and there, which eventually landed me on this incredible site covering all things Easy Rider. Captain America and Billy’s route to Mardi Gras is mapped out, literally; the entire movie is posted; there are then-and-now pics of some of the locations where scenes from the movie were shot, among other way-cool stuff. No foolin’, gang, this is one hella-awesome website for any Easy Rider fan.

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