The Monday Substack—Oldie but goodie: Gore Vidal Vs Wm F Buckley Jr, on the historic 1968 Vidal-Buckley debate and its newfound relevance thanks to a London stage revival production—is now up and running. In the spirit of Eric Cartman’s axiom positing that an appetizer is what you eat before you eat to make you more hungry, here’s an appetizer.

Though his legend has been tarnished somewhat in recent years thanks to the way his creation, National Review magazine, has been betrayed by its present-day stewards, that isn’t in any way the fault of Buckley himself; the purblind fools currently running Bill Buckley’s noble legacy into the ground have to stand up to that charge on their own lightweight hook. The man single-handedly kept a practically-moribund conservative movement viable, breathing life into the corpse so it could carry on into whatever future it might ever have had. It’s a lead-pipe cinch that, without the foundation laid years before by one Wm F Buckley Jr, there would never have been a President Ronald Wilson Reagan to look back on in nostalgic admiration.

William F Buckley, much like the US Constitution he so revered, didn’t fail us. WE failed HIM, to our everlasting regret and disgrace.

Yes, the justly-renowned Buckley response to Vidal from that aforementioned debate is included verbatim. Although I wouldn’t say that was my sole reason for writing the piece, it woulda been justification aplenty, don’tchathink? And since I still haven’t been able to figure out a way to get Twitter embeds to show up in Substack posts, here’s the missing Tweet.

I’ll append a link back to this post to the Eyrie thang to reflect that inadvertent omission.

Update! Commenter streamfortyseven has most graciously provided a link over at the Eyrie post to the YewToob vid of the Buckley-Vidal debate’s “I’ll sock you in the goddamn face” magic moment. Thanks a mill for that, sfs!

The Friday Substack post—Of motivations and inspirations—discussing what might well be the REAL reason Murdoch decided to suddenly sideline his now-faltering network’s biggest draw by far, is now up and running. A wee dram of a teaser:

Having called many, many times over at the CF Mothershippe for not just beating the unholy snot out of pAntiFa/BLM pukes until the carcasses are fit only to be left bleeding out on the street, but sniping them from great distances—and having meant every last word of it, too—I can’t blame Tucker even slightly for feeling the way he did about seeing exactly that transpiring before his very eyes. Granted, as a major-network personality, Tucker is in a much more sensitive position than a lowly blogger like me is, so I get why Murdoch might have dampened his Depends on seeing that.

So stipulated.

Be all that as it may, I suspect that there might be much more of precisely this sort of thing going on out there than we know about; at least, I fervently hope there is. A HUGE part of the problem, of why we are where we currently are, has been the so-far supine response to having actual, literal war waged against us by FederalGovCo and its pAntiFa minions.

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

1

Error happened.

Monday’s Substack, Making sense of life—and death, is now live and kicking. An expostulation mainly on atheism, this one is less of a standard blog post, and more like the long-form essays I used to do a lot of back in the day. Sample ‘graphs:

Despite a passing flirtation with it back in my own youth, symptomatic more of jejune rebellion than of reflection, I now see atheism as willful, blank stupidity. No, the existence of a supreme and benelovent Lord reining over all of His creation cannot be proven empirically. But then, neither can it be proven that God does NOT exist. Matters of faith are not subject to empirical proof; after all, that’s why it’s called faith. It’s the very definition of the word.

So to my way of thinking, atheism must necessarily also be a matter of faith, not empiricism. Atheists don’t know any more than I do whether we have immortal souls, whether we were created by a loving God in His own image, whether death truly is the final indignity—snuffing out all that we are, all that we know, all that we’ve experienced. As if those things, so incredibly rare throughout this incalculably vast universe of ours, bear no weightier import than snuffing out a candle—extinguishing forever the unique light of our lives, leaving nothing but darkness behind.

Read, subscribe, comment, &c. You all know the drill.

Friday’s Eyrie post, Stopped clock comes through again!, is now live. It’s a treatise about, in part, the faceless Grey Men in charge of the Biden Crime Syndicate’s progression from merely rigging “elections” to rigging…press conferences? Sample:

Oh, I think all people possessed of an ounce of integrity can admit that we’re well past mere “speculation” at this late stage of the game; Biden is quite obviously cognitively impaired, to the point that he is manifestly unfit for the office he usurped. And that’s granting that he ever was fit to hold it, an overly-charitable proposition which is at best debatable.

Joe Biden, on his very best day, was never anybody’s idea of the sharpest knife in the DC drawer, anyway. Throw in the profligate, grubby corruption of the entire Biden Crime Family cartel (another simple fact that is beyond obvious to any halfway honest soul); Jaux’ uncontrollable bent towards pedophilia and other sexual perversity (again, beyond all debate); his serial, seemingly compulsive plagiarism (indicative of a core-deep greed and moral perfidy); and the disqualifying evidence against Greasy Joe really starts to pile up. His mere presence in the White House defiles it, and also disgraces us for countenancing it without demur.

Read, subscribe, comment, all that jazz.

1

Error happened.

The Monday Eyrie is now available for perusal: RFKjr…um, NAILS it, wherein Our New Savior says things, and against all expectations, They. Are. Good. Also featured is the bone-stupid, not-even-remotely-likely proposition of a Trump-RFKj ticket. A little appetizer addressing that supposedly “titillating” notion:

Titillating? Hardly. Thankfully, I can’t even begin to imagine any such team-up actually occurring—and even if it did, neither of the two has the proverbial snowball’s chance of ever getting anywhere close to the White House anyway, other than as members of a guided-tour group.

In Trump’s case, probably not even then; the Capitol Police would no doubt descend on the poor man in a full-throttle, truncheon-swinging frenzy to club him to the sidewalk, arrest and cuff him, and then unceremoniously load him into the Black Maria and bunge him immediately off to durance vile. Y’know, for inciting a terroristinsurrectionistWhiteSupremacistNazi riot, or parading, or some other such gross atrocity.

And you know damned well they would, too, to afterwards be hailed in Congress Duly Assembled as courageous heroes for having “saved” Our Sacred Democracy through their swift, bold action in Her defense.

Go read, subscribe, comment, &c. Y’all reprobates know the drill.

The Friday Substack thingie is now live: A new Savior? It’s a dissertation using the esteemed James Kunstler’s fascination with RFKJr’s just-announced candidacy for “president” in next year’s “election” as the springboard for my characteristic bleak ruminations. Read, subscribe, comment (if you’re a paid-sub member), all that jazz.

The Monday Substack is up and running: Party in Murdertown, USA! This installment makes mock of last week’s three days of binge-violence in Chicongo, especially the typical aversion towards saying anything factual about who might be carrying out all this wil’in’ out ’n’ sheeit, and why they might be doing it. Sample:

As always, there’s more to it than just that, another angle that most of us studiously avoid talking or even thinking about. Bottom line, that angle can be described, bluntly, like this: what this really is, is feral urban Neegrows acting like feral urban Neegrows.

No more than, no less than.

The more you think about it, the more arrant nonsense you see tucked away behind the white flag CPD is desperately waving around with their silly-ass statement. For instance: “Enjoy everything the city has to offer”? Nowadays, rioting, violence, and lawless anarchy pretty much IS “everything the city has to offer.” But I doubt anybody other than the perps themselves is enjoying it very much.

Hie thee thither and read of it, for It. Is. Umm, appalling, actually. But still.

My Friday Substacker is hell on wheels: All-American muscle, about, of all things, AMC’s (!) early-70s muscle car offerings. No, really, they had some, and they weren’t at all bad, either. A taste:

The thing about the short-lived AMC marque was, they were an unpretentious, honest-to-God American car maker. They didn’t try to copy anybody (as evidenced by that ugliest of ugly ducklings, the Pacer, Gawd help us), they didn’t seem to worry about trying to either follow or set any trends. Instead, they went their own way, just trying to make a decent car while remaining competitive in a tough, ever-shifting market. Any car guy worth his salt has gotta respect that.

Read, subscribe, comment (requires a paid sub), you know the drill.

Today’s fresh-from-the-oven Substack post is now up: We have not yet begun to fight, a discussion of Final Battles, whether or not they’re upon us, and whether or not we’re ready for ‘em. Excerpt:

A fearful adversary, uncertain of his ability to prevail, is tentative, reticent, even outright reluctant to engage his foe. His timidity is written plain to see in his every plan, his every maneuver. The enemy Real Americans now confront evidences not a single trace of those qualities, either in his behavior or his rhetoric. This enemy has to date been given no reason for caution or reticence; his time is spent not thinking about what his opponent might do to him, but of what he might do to his opponent, a mindset Union GEN US Grant once famously urged his own officers to adopt.

Our present-day Enemy’s confidence may yet turn out to be overconfidence, a consummation devoutly to be wished by all freedom-loving people everywhere. But today is not that day. If we indeed stand upon the threshold of the Final Battle in the long struggle against tyranny, as Downey holds, then we’d better all turn our thinking around and get ourselves ready for it, and that right soon —before it’s too late.

Go read, subscribe for free or upgrade your sub to paid (required to comment), and enjoy, everybody.

Friday’s Substack post is now live: Enough Ghey, Inc to go around, featuring an examination of and commentary on Tal Bachman’s latest piece. Excerpt:

Like racial bigotry and religion-based squabbling, anti-gay sentiment is a universal constant—always been with us, always will be, just one of the less-appealing aspects of what they call the human condition. Yes, it’s only true of a small minority of us, but it’s there nonetheless, and the least trace of bigotry or intolerance will always be plenty enough to provoke paroxysms of frothing hatred among Loony-Left hysterics.

That being so, Leftard cultists have pushed Normals well beyond the bounds of mere tolerance and acceptance as part of an ongoing campaign of destruction and subjugation, now insisting that we all must actively celebrate Teh Ghey. As their mantra has it, “the personal is political.” Which covers one hell of a lot of ground. Or, as the sardonic Righty counter-slogan translates, You Will Be MADE To Care.

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

Yesterday’s Substack is now up and running, a day late and a dollar short: DIY justice.

Okay, got the Friday Substack post up—The madness of crowds, a discussion of MTG’s brave but foolhardy call for a mass demonstration in NYC to protest Trump’s indictment. Excerpt:

Any appeal for relief from oppression made to the agency of said oppression is a mug’s game. None but a fool could seriously hope that a demonstrably broken government might be able to FIX a broken government, or is even interested in attempting to. For them, it’s working exactly as it should.

I devoutly wish I could applaud MTG for her bold call to confront the voracious Beast in its very lair and demand that it not devour one of our own, but…well, frankly, I just can’t do it. Any of us who might actually be considering joining her in this reckless, doomed venture chances being eaten alive. It’s like handing over all your money to a notorious thief and asking him to keep it safe for you; when you go back for it, you can’t be shocked or angry to learn that he’s spent it all.

MTG should consult with the inmates of DC’s J6 gulag and find out just how well exercising their right to peacefully petition THIS government for redress of grievances worked out for them, before she hares off to NYC for an encore performance. As if the current illegitimate junta gives a tinker’s damn about what SHE thinks her “rights” ought to be, versus the radically expurgated version of them she actually enjoys.

No, there is but one way out of this now, and that dark road does NOT pass through any more “peaceful protests.” 

Check it out, subscribe, comment, etc.

1

Error happened.

My latest Substack hatchling has emerged to spread its awesome wings and soar: Sieg Heil, baby! 

This one’s a particularly rambunctious offering, even for me—a rant excoriating the violent Leftard assault against one Posie Parker by violent “transgender” retards in Kiwigrad, with explicit recommendations from moi about how saner sorts of right ought to respond. Don’t miss it.

Update! Blast it all, it was my intention to start appending a wee small excerpt from these biweekly Eyrie eructations of mine to the notifications here, so naturally I clean forget about it right off the bat. Here ya go:

Call it Mike’s Iron Law #18473: This shit stops only when WE decide to stop it, not a moment before. Henceforth, the goal for Normals everywhere ought to be to live to see the day when all and every shitlib is mortally terrified to so much as leave his/her/its home without an armed protective detail surrounding them on all sides. Privately hired, at their own fucking expense, natch.

Now that’s what I’d call progress, of the right (Right?) sort.

Okay, ‘nuff said, I think. Hie ye thither and read of it, for It. Is. Good.

Updated update! A hearty yo-ho-ho and welcome aboard to my good friend Chris, and to everyone else out there who has deemed it worth their while to become an Eyrie subscriber. Glad to have y’all, truly I am.

The Friday Substack post—“Remembrance of an American life”—is now live and in color. It’s an at-length tribute to what I call a True American Original, who also happened to be one of the best and closest friends I ever did have. Read, subscribe, comment, etc etc. Above all else: enjoy.