Every survivor now grieving knows the hollowness of “honest talk” about gun control.

France and Paris have very strict gun control laws — even the police are unarmed — which seems about as “honest” as every gun-grabber expects the U.S. to be about gun control: Just get rid of guns.

Let’s have that honest conversation. I prefer the honesty of meeting evil force with like force, quickly and decisively. I prefer the honesty of protecting those we love with the hard promise that we will kill, decisively and quickly, anyone who aims to harm them. I’d prefer to let my child know that, like the President, she deserves nothing less than vigilance and protection afforded by good citizens armed with equal force to meet the bad ones. Everything else is a political agenda full of sound and fury, signifying nothing but a surrender of beautiful Reason for cheap, feel-good superiority.

Every survivor now grieving knows the hollowness of “honest talk” about gun control. If they’d had a gun at that moment, they would have owned the conversation and the outcome.

Click on the pic below for a link to see how some scared rabbit on Upworthy wants it to wring my heart with tears of impotent rage, and wishes that a Unicorn could make all the guns disappear.

See the sad face in the picture below? Were she my child, she would know beyond any doubt, any law, or any “honest” rhetoric that I have no vision of strewing a street corner with flowers and candles in her memory but would destroy ANYthing that sought to make her one.


You Are Here

Found amid the ruins of commentary on this post, Anonymous aims his clue-bat well and rings a bright golden bell of reality whose clarion is unmistakable as it soars over the din of dull noodlers noodling. Herewith:

No, it’s multicult fascism: Take from the producers to give to the centers of multicult wealth and political power. It’s worse than mere “socialism”.

Here’s how it “works”:

1) Confuse people about the distinction between “wealth” and “income”—probably the worst single political economic crime possible to commit in public discourse and one of which the wealthiest man in the US, Warren Buffett, is guilty.

2) Progressively tax income while claiming you are taxing the “wealthy”.

3) Respond to all of the pathologies you create in this confusion by a proliferation of public sector “fixes” that eventually result in the public sector overtaking economic activities by “virtue” of its taxation of all economic activities.

4) Allow the truly wealthy, whose property rights would disappear in an instant in the absence of government protections, to continue to accumulate net assets without limit and without paying the costs of protection of those property rights—shifting them onto the heavily taxed producers.

5) Continue to increase the overall taxation of producers until the goose that laid the golden egg, the middle class, is dead.

6) Decry the profligacy of the middle class as it ceases to have children hence family values, and goes into the abyss of usurious debt, the economy collapses due to a failure of consumer demand and the government centralizes even more power by handing over even more wealth to the creditors in exchange for equity stake.


Your U.S. Military Base: The HOA From Hell

It’s been quite a few years since I’ve been on a military base. Today my job required me to get a contractor’s pass. This entailed being “sponsored” by someone within the base’s cadre of clerical managers for contract work. After photo, fingerprints, and some sort of form requiring the surrender of my first-born male child, I was in.

Let me just say that the footlings in the courtesy pass office were surpassed in their cold professionalism only by their lack of humor of any sort.

It’s such a stupid sham of “security.” Let’s make everyone so uncomfortable we can’t tell the innocent-but-intimidated from the evil-but-nervous operators.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about the future. I saw it there, at the residence manager’s office. Some small woman comes in and speaks through a window-hole to protest that she was ticketed for having tall weeds in her lawn. “But, they were bushes you folks planted last month that died.”

You see? THIS IS THE WORLD THE LEFT WANTS. Conformity or conviction. Rules instead of reality. Fines instead of finesse.

Maybe this will be my outreach phrase to folks on the Left: you wanna live in a country that’s run like your HOA?

The Media are NOT Hypocritical

While the mainstream media outlets drum up a semblance of umbrage at the latest revelations of IRS bias, Benghazi cover-ups, and State-sponsored illegal surveillance of the AP I stand athwart all the hand-wringing about hypocrisy and shout, WRONG!!

The media do not have a hypocritical bone in their collective body, collective being the key signature in their song sheet. They, being an entity of power and control, realize that their power comes from holding ranks and holding with those who wield the reigns of power. But, you may note, even when Conservatives sit in legislative or executive power, the Media oppose them mightily. There is no up-sucking.

Now, you can look at it like most do and opine that a thin, meaningless label of hypocrite is the proper indictment, and having so judged, you sit and fume and tweet and blog and watch the follower count tick upward in your stats. You have your finger on the pulse of the problem, so you think: a moral dichotomy, a spiritual schism, a character flaw.

But you’d be wrong.

In the first place, Progressives eschew any actual “choices” while touting their very importance. It’s why an issue such as abortion is such an untenable social arrangement, yet remains firmly institutionalized as a norm: no one can commit to a definition of when life begins.  Obama is a master at this game. It keeps one away from values judgment and leaves no inkling, no trace of thought, origin, or morality. It is the passive equivalent of nailing jello to the wall. He likes all his issues this way.

So does the Media.

Can you see that questioning the VALUE of a thing renders doubt in the mind of the inattentive? To erase the absolutes is to leave no trail of the past and no compass for the future. Everything is fair game, free of judgment, and nothing is hypocritical. But I don’t give the Media as a collective much credit for understanding even so much as that. Mostly, they reject values so that they won’t later have to answer to them. It’s sort of pre-paid hypocrisy credits. If I maintain that everything is normal, nothing is abnormal, everyone is okay and no one is a monster, then I can like myself better and sleep smugly, if not soundly, at night.

And even that isn’t the real deal.

The Real Deal is this: The higher-ups in the MSM won’t say much about the abuses they suffer at the hands of the Obama administration because they answer to an extra-political power base. You think the consumer has sway anymore? When the New Media erupted and the Old Media saw their chuck wagon headed over the cliff, they kicked the consumer-based power structure to the curb. They just didn’t tell the consumer. Or their advertisers. They have gladly embraced devils who wield more money and power in just a few hands, rather than put up with the likes of you.

There may be an Invisible Hand in the market place, but the executives of the MSM are  no longer licking that hand. They are not in the losing, exhausting game of brands and marketing. They are now in the game of thrones  unlike any we’ve experienced in our country before. They will NOT cede power or betray allegiances to their source of income. Oh, they’ll allow awful financial reports about their circulatory health to ease Tea Party types into a hollow sense of accomplishment, but even after all that, the neighbors  are still watching the infernal evening news every night.

At its worst, the shark-dead eyes of the MSM’s ambition see everything as colored red, in tooth and claw. Every time the Right hollers, “hypocrite” the MSM’s unblinking ambition sinks its teeth even further into the Republic.  At best, it’s a con game of the ages-old redirect: a video, a redaction, a mournful aspersion cast at inanimate objects like guns. “Hypocrisy” is the empty echo of those who aren’t even in the game.

“Hypocrite?” they snort. “What else ya got?”


Thanks to the gracious Sultan Knish for the link to this mish-mash of thought!

Florida Atlantic University’s Objectivism Exercise Plagiarizes C.S. Lewis

Yes, Ryan Rotela, you have been exposed to a long and time-tested experiment in objectivity:

[…] Now whereas Jane had abandoned Christianity in early childhood, along with her belief in fairies and Santa Claus, Mark had never believed in it at all. At this moment, therefore, it crossed his mind for the very first time that there might conceivably be something in it. Frost who was watching him carefully knew perfectly well that this might be the result of the present experiment. He knew it for the very good reason that his own training by the Macrobes had, at one point, suggested the same odd idea to himself. But he had no choice. Whether he wished it or not this sort of thing was part of the initiation.

“But, look here,’ said Mark.

“What is it?’ said Frost. “Pray be quick. We have only a limited time at our disposal.”

“This,” said Mark, pointing with an undefined reluctance to the horrible white figure on the cross. “This is all surely a pure superstition.”


“Well, if so, what is there objective about stamping on the face? Isn’t is just as subjective to spit on a thing like this as to worship it? I mean–damn it all–if it’s only a bit of wood, why do anything about it?”

“That is superficial. If you had been brought up in a non-Christian society, you would not be asked to do this. Of course, it is a superstition; but it is that particular superstition which has pressed upon our society for a great many centuries. It can be experimentally shown that is still forms a dominant system in the subconscious of many individuals whose conscious thought appears to be wholly liberated. An explicit action in the reverse direction is therefore a necessary step towards complete objectivity. It is not a question for a priori discussion. We find it in practice that it cannot be dispensed with.”

Mark himself was surprised at the emotions he was undergoing. He did not regard the image with anything at all like a religious feeling. Most emphatically it did not belong to that idea of the Straight or Normal or Wholesome which had, for the last few days, been his support against what he now knew of the innermost circle at Belbury. The horrible vigour of its realism was, indeed, in its own way as remote from that Idea as anything else in the room. That was one source of his reluctance. To insult even a carved image of such agony seemed an abominable act. But it was not the only source. With the introduction of this Christian symbol the whole situation had somehow altered. The thing was becoming incalculable. His simple antithesis of the Normal and the Diseased had obviously failed to take something into account. Why was the Crucifix there? Why were more than half of the poison-pictures religious? He had the sense of new parties to the conflict–potential allies and enemies which he had not suspected before. “If I take a step in any direction,” he thought, “I may step over a precipice.” A donkey like determination to plant hoofs and stay still at all costs arose n his mind.

“Pray make haste,” said Frost.

The quick urgency of the voice, and the fact that he had so often obeyed it before, almost conquered him. He was on the verge of obeying, and getting the whole silly business over, when the defenselessness of the figure deterred him. the feeling was a very illogical one. Not because its hands were nailed and helpless, but because they were only made of wood and therefore even more helpless, because the thing, for all its realism, was inanimate and could not in any way hit back, he paused. The unretaliating face of a doll–one of Myrtle’s dolls–which he had pulled to pieces in boyhood had affected him in the same way and the memory, even now, was tender to the touch.

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Studdock?” said Frost.

Mark was well aware of the rising danger. Obviously, if he disobeyed, his last chance of getting out of Belbury alive might be gone. Even of getting out of this room. The smothering sensation once again attacked him. He was himself, he felt, as helpless as the wooden Christ. As he thought this, he found himself looking at the crucifix in a new way–neither as a piece of wood nor a monument of superstition but as a bit of history. Christianity was nonsense, but one did not doubt that the man had lived and had been executed thus by the Belbury of those days. And that, as he suddenly saw, explained why this image,though not itself an image of the Straight or Normal, was yet in opposition to the crooked Belbury. It was a picture of what happened when the Straight met the Crooked, a picture of what the Crooked did to the Straight–what it would do to him if he remained straight. It was, in a more emphatic sense than he had yet understood, a cross.

“Do you intend to go on with the training or not?” said Frost. His eye was on the time. […]

“Do you not hear what I am saying?” he asked Mark again.

Mark made no reply. He was thinking, and thinking hard because he knew, that if he stopped even for a moment, mere terror of death would take the decision out of his hands. Christianity was a fable. It would be ridiculous to die for a religion one did not believe. This Man himself, on that very cross, had discovered it to be a fable, and had died complaining that the God in whom he trusted had forsaken him–had, in fact, found the universe a cheat. But this raised a question that Mark had never thought of before. Was that the moment at which to turn against the Man? If the universe was a cheat, was that a good reason for joining its side? Supposing the Straight was utterly powerless, always and everywhere certain to be mocked, tortured, and finally killed by the Crooked, what then? Why not go down with the ship? He began to be frightened by the very fact that his fears seemed to have momentarily vanished. They had been a safeguard…they had prevented him, all his life, from making mad decisions like that which he was now making as he turned to Frost and said,

“It’s all bloody nonsense, and I’m damned if I do any such thing.”

When he said this he had no idea what might happen next.

-excerpt from That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis [Emphases mine]

So, the 21st century is officially a teenager.

Awkward, messy, irresponsible, vague about where it’s been, and lying about where it’s going.

Happy New Year to all the wonderful peeps who stop by here and say things silly and serious, and share in the wonderful, miraculous mayhem of life. May we find our strength in truth, our voice in dissent, our comfort in common sense.

Not sure if that’s fireworks or the sound of the economy hitting every outcrop on the way down the fiscal cliff. Wheee-e-e-e!

Relax. It’s all life, and none of us are getting out of it alive!

While Awaiting the Cryin’ Mayan Day of Doom

There we all were, camped on the banks of the Edisto river, our guns, rifles and ammo at the ready. We were swapping stories of music and parties and places we’d been with the predictable amounts of exaggeration and hoots of incredulity when there was a loud commotion, the kind that preceeds the sort of movement in tandem by every human limb and torso that immediately pings your central alarm system. We were on our feet, up and around, hands outstretched toward our stockpiles only to discover that wild boars had overrun us!

As we climbed every available tree with the alacrity of a Chinese acrobat seeking political asylum, we looked wistfully toward our guns and ammo as they were summarily swept up by the wild boars and carried off like so much ComicCon schwag.

So, y’know. Merry Christmas you pigs. Sad to say, we no longer possess any guns, weapons or ammo. And we have no money to replace them. But somewhere in the mouldy swamps of the Lowcountry the damn wild boars are armed. And dangerous.

Like a Locust, Susan Rice has a 14-year Cycle of Devouring the Truth

And Sultan Knish isn’t letting her get away with it.

A matter of months later, on Aug. 7, 1998, the American embassies in Tanzania and Kenya were simultaneously attacked with car bombs. In Kenya, 12 American diplomats and more than 200 Africans were killed.

Susan Rice: not caring about Kenyans in favor of sucking up to a Clinton. Racist.

The Ballad of Barry and Reggie

Young Barry Obama was perfect in all
A man full of purpose and soul
Yet all the fair unicorns could not aright
The vexing of Barry’s dark mole.

Long did he gaze at his blemish, bemused
by its stubborn and unsightly perch
His vanity chafed and his pride sore abused
He befriended the wretched brown smirch.

It’s ‘Reggie’ my darkling companion,”
He claimed, “He rides to the Left of my nose.”
Thus pock’d pitted mole, o’er mountain, through canyon
Did ride against Obama’s foes.

And finding at last a peer and friend
In that bulbous skin-tag so appalling.
Barry would stroke it with mid finger’s end
Just to add to his arrogant galling.

He used the foul flesh-bean to answer
Detractors with quarrelous questions,
with a, “Fuck You!” while petting his canker
To quell any tame insurrections.

Damned spot’s tale still has not ended
And who knows the men that will fall
‘neath that dark, evil blotch thus defended
as “One Mole, to rule them all.”