Colossus

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I miss Breitbart. I miss him more than I thought I would; in some soulful and deep way as though I actually knew him. I know, I know, we are all Breitbart. But only Andrew could be Andrew and look straight into the camera and say, “Fuck. You.” in his indelible, unmistakably merry-warrior way. You know that he means harm to none but his enemies, and if there’s one thing weaklings will not abide, it’s a man who will not bow to their bullying even as they howl in his face.

I wonder at his untimely passing, the death of his coroner, and the complete disappearance of the last man to see him alive.

Mostly, I just miss this:

Don’t shut up.

He started it just by talking out loud. Look at the people in that clip. Look at the outrage, the stunned and wounded minds that he exposed to the light. They cannot abide a question or a thought that they haven’t carefully sculpted into their own likeness. They liked the ever-shrinking world they controlled, and basked in the artificial lamps of their Narratives. They never suspected a world beyond the one they imagined.

But Breitbart was the Colossus they did not form. He arose, meteoric as Helios, blazing across the oceans of their uncharted intellectual maps from an expanse noted as, “beyond here be dragons.” His irreligion in the face of the Media’s overwrought veneration of itself was their first clue that other beings actually existed. Breitbart’s unapologetic Otherness was the only fiery dart he wielded, and he wounded them with nothing but truth.

Don’t awaken sleeping dragons, dear Proggies, because you are crunchy and taste good with a salty, “Fuck.You.”

War.

I doubt it will be civil.

*****
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I’m Not An Organ Donor. I Hope That Offends The Left.

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And if it offends you, then you can take the measure of just how far your thinking has been influenced by the “Imagine” crowd. Specifically, the “imagine no possessions” set.

You have no right to my organs after I’m gone. Sorry. I have every right to be this way without being judged as selfish. Here I draw the line on the march of the boundary-challenged fascists: No. Hands off. Find some other way to save a life that doesn’t involve the inherent corruption of the medical profession when an unscrupulous and hardened surgeon is tempted with my shiny, perfectly functioning kidneys while I’m under the knife for an appendectomy.

Mine.

Update: I’m fine with being an organ receiver from a willing donor. I’m fine with willingly offering surplus parts of my own while I’m still alive. I am not a passive donor. It’s my living, thinking, breathing choice while I’m alive and my fervent wish to be respected after I’m gone. Mine.

Update the Second: The comments are bringing out other things, but elsewhere I was pointed to this eye-opening account.

Update III: I wasn’t even aware of all these sites and statistics, I was just viscerally responding to the perceptible push toward organ donation. The agenda of it. I had no idea of the scope and reach of the anecdotal evidence.

Julia, You Ignorant Slut!

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Without fear of being a misogynist, I must aver that I’m sick of women.

Not any particular woman– certainly not any of my dear readers of the fair sex, nor my friends and family and acquaintances– but the whole “women as ‘special’” two-dimensional media thing: their special drama, special biology, special needs, advertisements, accomplishments, celebrations, and bleeding-heart politics. I wrote all this earlier today and then Obama had to foist “Julia” on everyone. Enough!

Women in media are scolding me on the so-called news, telling me how to be happy like they are; they’re degrading men in advertisements, opining on the world stage, mewling about their relationships, their weight, their uterus, their rights, and their demands that the taxpayer do something for their awesomeness. They even have to be part of home improvement shows while they’re too skinny to haul a bag of cement mix up a driveway, and yet they have to bore me in an affected monotone about wainscots and eaves and cedar shingles. Blah-frickety-blah.

For the record, once again, let me say that I don’t ever need, much less want, to see a woman talking to me about men’s sports. Ever.  As a woman I enjoy watching men being  men, or even behaving like the boys they are at heart. Men at work. Men at play. Awesome and sexy. Don’t bring another woman into that fantasy, bee-yatch. I like to watch Mikey do dirty jobs because I just do. I like football and rugby because. Now go away, get outta my face and offa my television for at least one hour.

Someone please tell the women who want to be sportscasters for men’s sports that there is no market for their dream, except the affirmative action kind. ENOUGH already with the “woman’s point of view.”  It’s suffocating even for other women.

I still don’t want to hear a tinny, pinched-voiced woman calling a car race or a horse race. No. They’re every freaking where I don’t want them to be asking a man how he feels about losing half a million in a fiery crash.

I don’t want to see women weight lifters, lumberjacks, or boxers. Don’t want to see them tossing the caber. The only Julia I want to see is the much-loved and much-missed Julia Child tossing a vinaigrette onto some greens.

I like everything about men and I think they deserve to be left alone from all the picky perfections that women imagine they want and need from a man. In real life, when men acquiesce and become what women think they want, women despise them as weak. Every time. In the movies, men are the sensitive hero or mild-mannered milquetoast that has made her dreams come true, or the oaf that has to learn a lesson in order to be worthy of the perfect princess. Gah. You and I know that real life doesn’t function like this but Hollywood is determined to rebuild simple minds into their image. (Which is why Jerry Springer is so horribly funny and popular; the women are truly awful, as women can certainly be.)

Guys, you do need a life-mate, a soul mate, but not an inmate!  Today’s younger women have been raised against type, against nature, and against their own interests. The image they are given to mold their life after does not come from a chaste mother, but from an aging Hollywood cougar still trying to be a man. Still envying that penis.

If women  were delightfully puzzling in earlier Hollywood outings, most of them are downright toxic now. It’s like they’ve been raised by wolves; almost feral in their phobias and callous in their regard for other human life. Disconnected from their very womb by pills, ovulation suppressants, and fabulous careers, they seek to make their men into children of their own imagination.  Or make themselves child-like (MPDGs) or, if lucky, they have a man, a career, and children according to script. They laugh! They cry! They save lives and win court cases and change diapers and have.it.all.  Heck, even their men have to be women.

These are the sorts of media-foisted women I am weary of; the willfully stupid, the gulliblly guided, the overwrought and overly self-impressed.  The impossible templates of feminine success. They are overbearing and ever-present in our daily entertainment offerings and I think it’s about time to say, “enough!”

I don’t want to silence women on television for any reason, but I do want most of them to shut up for a lot of reasons. Your mileage may vary.

Time, Gentlemen! Robert Wenzel Speaks To The NY Federal Reserve Bank

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Mr. Wenzel is editor and publisher of the Economic Policy Journal. The NY Fed Reserve Bank invited him to speak at a luncheon. They probably won’t do that again:

That said, I suspect my views are so different from those of you here today that my comments will be a complete failure in convincing you to do what I believe should be done, which is to close down the entire Federal Reserve System.

My views, I suspect, differ from beginning to end. From the proper methodology to be used in the science of economics, to the manner in which the macro-economy functions, to the role of the Federal Reserve, and to the accomplishments of the Federal Reserve, I stand here confused as to how you see the world so differently than I do.

I simply do not understand most of the thinking that goes on here at the Fed and I do not understand how this thinking can go on when in my view it smacks up against reality.

Please allow me to begin with methodology, I hold the view developed by such great economic thinkers as Ludwig von Mises, Friedrich Hayek and Murray Rothbard that there are no constants in the science of economics similar to those in the physical sciences.

He’s quite respectful in his approach, but unapologetic in his call for an end to the Fed. I’m sure he sounded like Chicken Little to the Keynesians:

The noose is tightening on your organization, vast amounts of money printing are now required to keep your manipulated economy afloat. It will ultimately result in huge price inflation, or, if you stop printing, another massive economic crash will occur. There is no other way out.

Yeah, you’ll want to read the whole thing.

Caption Time: Bear Market

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Best bear pic evah:

Bear falls from tree after being tranquilized on April 26, 2012, in Boulder. (credit: Andy Duann/CU Independent)

The bear was trying to get into Colorado U, wanted to beef up his resume. In today’s job market, it’s a waste of his time and hard-earned honey.

Here’s a lesson for the kids at CU: Feed a bear for a day and you teach him to come back for a lifetime.

Mad props to Mike Hills. 

Update: I could only think of doing this:

Vertigo Bear

From @DaveInTexas:

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