Farmer Tax Revolt


Taxation4Libertarians popularized the phrase, “Taxation is theft.” I think it’s closer to Strong-arm Robbery with a firearms possession enhancement, but the Libertarian version fits on coffee mugs and bumper stickers better.

All taxation carries the implied threat of government force. If you don’t believe me, try not paying any income taxes for a while. The letters will be relatively polite, at first, with phrases such as “We noticed” and “Please remit,” and become progressively more aggressive. Ignore the Tax Man’s love notes long enough, and you will discover men with guns breaking down the front door of your house to drag your off to jail.

Local government collecting property taxes may be less aggressive Caesars demanding what is theirs, but liens against property, which must be satisfied prior to any sale, will sooner or later result in the Sheriff, a man who not long ago came to you begging for his current job, evicting you from your home. He’s got a gun, too. As well, as the authority to drag you out kicking and screaming. So ultimately, local government isn’t any better than the Feds, other than he is easier to vote out of office. At least, I get to directly pick my executioner on the local level.

Government needs money to function. My complaint is they function entirely too much.

Long ago, I adopted the “Philosophy of No.” It’s based on my experience as a parent and human ATM for people with neither skills nor jobs.

Taxation2Whenever a ballot initiative appears asking for power over me or more money, the answer is not only “No,” but “You manage the money I’ve already given you so poorly, I refuse to give you any more to squander.”

It’s a lesson in tough love and money management that most any parents have to mete out sooner or later.

Rather than allow one half of the population to extort money out of the other half, I have a better plan. Run the government via GoFundMe campaign. Imagine a government funding mechanism where every voter was able to put his money where his mouth is. Everything from local projects to entire federal departments would limited to what citizens voluntarily gave.

If providing clean syringes to drug addicts is important to you, there is a fund to which you can contribute. Alternately, don’t like the War on Drugs, don’t contribute to the DEA. Want a border wall? There’s a fund for that, too.

Sometimes, before resorting to force, lower levels of government will resort to guilt trips for enforcement.

The county I live in has something called a Wheel Tax. The state calls it the altruistic-sounding Vehicle Privilege Tax, just in case somebody forgets who serves whom in this relationship.

Taxation1They get away with hiding this bit of extortion by not listing it as a line item on the state registration, but requiring the serfs to present themselves at the local government palace, where a court functionary doles out stickers bearing the county name. From my experience, the punchline to “How many civil servants does it take to hand out a sticker?” is three; one of which is the County Commissioner. I nearly pooped myself when informed the privilege of owning a vehicle in my county was reckoned to be worth sixty-one dollars per vehicle.

“And what all do I get for my contribution to the Wheel Tax?” I asked the clerk, suspecting I knew the answer.

“It pays for the upkeep of the county roads,” said the clerk, not breaking stride on the smacking of the wad of Hubba Bubba in her maw.

“Really?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Have you seen the county roads around here? A crew was out at my place two days ago and they missed every third pothole.”

“You can always move to town and live on a state road,” said Hubba Bubba.

“You’ve got a hellova way to handle life’s problems,” I said. Hubba Bubba’s face hardened. I could hear Mrs. Cunha shepherding the kids out of the Assessor’s office into the hallway. She knows I’m not one to pass up a fight, and nearly two decades of experience has taught her they come hard, fast, loud, and messy.

“County Commissioner’s right there,” said Hubba Bubba, pointing to a nervous looking man in a white shirt and blue tie standing at the end of the counter, whom I didn’t vote for in the last election and bore a striking kinship resemblance to Hubba Bubba. She had tired of my shit quickly, and didn’t get paid enough to deal with me.

“That is what a lot of people do,” said The Commish.

“God, no. Then I’d really be steamed, having to pay for something I don’t use,” I said. “At least, this way, I can kid myself into thinking I’m paying for the road in front of my property.”

“Well, you’re getting more than just roads,” said The Commish. “That’s only about a third of it.”

“What’s the other forty dollars go for?” I said.

“Drug abuse and battered women,” said The Commish.

“Put me down for a case of each,” I said. “I’ve got a big weekend planned and I want to get my money’s worth.”

Altruism with other people’s money is neither noble nor commendable.

Charity is a social good. Once bills and family obligations are met, everyone should endeavor to help those in their community who are in need, however you define “community.” Whether defined by geography, religion, ethnicity, occupation, or nature of the need, pick one or two and do what you can to relieve the want of a brother. The choice is entirely up to you, the giver, as is whatever benefit your derive from the charitable act. It’s a win-win for everyone that is best enacted personally, directly, and freely.

Taxation3Charity through forced redistribution of resources is theft, just the same as if a government bureaucrat slipped a debit card out of your wallet while you napped. I bet people would scream bloody murder if tax bills were payable in time and physical effort instead of cash.

I resent locally imposed taxes slightly less than the further removed ones levied by the state and federal governments because of the higher levels of accountability. Send your secretary out to run interference all you like, Mr. Elected County Official. Our kids attend the same school and there isn’t but one Piggly Wiggly in town. I’m not above asking in a loud voice why you can’t make time for a constituent who voted for you.

It doesn’t matter if that’s a lie. He won’t know one way or the other. Even if he does, the people listening won’t, and that is the important part. The damage will still be done.

I suffer a from genetic disorder called “lack of shame.”

Since the school bus my property taxes pay for is The Lord of the Flies on wheels, Mrs. Cunha and I build our lives around a twice-daily journey to the far side of town to three (now, thankfully, two) schools. I tell myself it is quality time with the kids, but it’s a lie. The more time, money, and energy I expend making up for the shortfalls of government schools, the more attractive home schooling becomes.

The two-a-day trek takes us right past the county government building. The very same building of the sticker standoff with The Commish and his Girl Friday, Hubba Bubba.

I structure my life in such a way as to avoid taxes whenever legally allowable. No less an authority than Learned Hand, the judge most quoted by the Supreme Court, said in Helvering v. Gregory way back in 1934, “Any one may so arrange his affairs that his taxes shall be as low as possible; he is not bound to choose that pattern which will best pay the Treasury; there is not even a patriotic duty to increase one’s taxes.”

Don’t hate the player. Hate the game. – US Second Circuit Court of Appeals Judge Learned Hand

I had spent days plotting revenge for the blood money I was unable to dodge because of our need for a truck on the farm, when the burrito from lunch decided Elvis was ready to leave the building. It seems giving the only Mexican restaurant in town another chance after its fourth closure by the Health Department was not the best of ideas.

Navigating the town square, a required lap around the county government building to make it from one end of town to the other, a sheen of sweat beaded my forehead, as I searched for a port to shelter against the brewing storm. Not surprisingly, parking was ample. Of the three dozen or so storefronts that ring the outside of the road encircling the county government building, all but four are vacant, and the buildings that house them in such bad repair they will likely never be rented or sold.

I slid out of the passenger seat of the truck (what can I say? Mrs. Cunha likes driving the truck, too), and penguin-walked my way into the building’s basement, where I knew there to be a public toilet.

We need to get out of here before the Sheriff shows up. What I did in there was a crime.

Mrs. Cunha was appalled at the brazenness of my decision that afternoon. She patiently waits in the truck virtually every day since, as I stride into the county government building, folded newspaper tucked under one arm, to conduct my business in the public lavatory. Apart from the occasional puzzled looks from the few building occupants, I draw no attention, create no ruckus, perform no vandalism, damage no property, and leave no unreasonable mess. I make use of a public bathroom during business hours in a taxpayer funded edifice of the county in which I am both a taxpayer and a resident.

It may not be possible to fight City Hall and win, but for anyone willing to sit down, bare assed on a public toilet, the power to subvert is as close as a roll of toilet paper.

Call me Rosa Parks on the Porcelain Throne.

 

3Thank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. The content on this website is free to access, but does take resources to produce. Please visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works and consider becoming a supporter. Patronage will get you additional content, behind the scenes access, goodies not available on the main site, and unique Thank You gifts for support.

L'homme Theroux CoverIf you’d prefer something more tangible in return for supporting my work, please preview my novel L’homme Theroux and consider purchasing it, if you enjoy the sample chapter.

Human Sacrifice to Socialism


Picture: FeatureWorldCharlie Gard died Britain’s sacrifice on the National Health Service alter to their god socialism. The infant boy, born August 2016 with mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome, is the next increment of government abrogation of parental rights, and it’s coming American shores.

As parents, we have virtually unlimited prerogative when making all manner of choices on children’s behalf. Permanent, life altering decisions, whether as benign as circumcision or as controversial as eschewing vaccines, have traditionally been left to the people who also bear the responsibility for the children for which they make decisions.

Liberals want to own your children as much as ISIS does.

Government busybodies in the British National Health Service, English courts, and the European Court of Human Rights denied his release from hospital all citing Charlie Gard’s grim prognosis and slim possibility of recovery. The British government and their collectivist bureaucrats in Brussels declared Charlie Gard’s life wasn’t worth saving. Apparently, National Health Service had better things to spend public money on, such as Viagra for Muslim invaders and breast implants.

Even after privately raising over one million, National Health Service refused to allow Charlie out of their care, so his parent could explore other treatment options. In all but name, Charlie Gard was held prisoner and sentenced to death by the British government.

Make no mistake, National Health Service sounds innocuous enough, but it is a government-run, single-payer health scheme with the power to decide who will receive what course of treatment, if at all. Even seeking out second or third opinions, every single doctor draws his paycheck from the government, follows the same directives, and suffers under the same master, if they rock the medical boat. Patients can appeal all they like, but the answer, as with Charlie Gard, is always the same when a patient cannot appeal to the free market for medical care.

This is the exact scenario the media and the rest of the Left pilloried Sarah Palin over when she predicted Death Panels as the natural results of healthcare rationing from a single-payer system.

A government monopoly on the supply of healthcare mean bureaucrats have the power of life or death.

By the time Charlie Gard was examined by the American doctor offering an experimental treatment, the infant was too far gone. The doctor said there was nothing he could do for Charlie. Perhaps, had he seen the boy before all the litigation five months before, there would have been a ten percent chance of saving Charlie Gard’s life.

Ten percent isn’t that great, either, but if your house is on fire and the choices are stay put for certain death or chance one-in-ten odds charging thought a second floor window, I know which option I would take. Those slim odds begin to look quite reasonable in dire situations.

Charlie was ultimately transferred to hospice care to await his death. Not unexpectedly for socialized medicine, the facility found themselves “unable to assemble the equipment and staff necessary” to care for him. This after nurses in the facility volunteered their off time to care for Charlie in his final days, and give his parents time say goodbye in their way.

The Left’s taste for watching babies die has progressed from inside the womb to outside it.

Liberals murder infants the way I go through a can of chewing tobacco, with disturbingly messy gusto, so their collective desire to watch a child slowly dies is not surprising.

A cynic might wonder whether the British government would have washed their hands of Charlie Gard so quickly and been so tenacious in acting on what the National Health Service viewed as his best interests had his name been Mohammed. Rates of physical and mental birth defects in European Muslim populations are sky high. None of them are left to die under a French fry lamp.

Europeans are now government property.

The overarching issues in the Charlie Gard case is not the death of this one infant. He would have likely died anyway. Neither is it about parental rights or government discrimination in favor of invading foreign immigrants.

The crux of Charlie Gard is the power handed over to government. For whatever reason, the government chose this case to remind the people of Britain that bureaucrats own every single British subject. This child and his parents were the nails the hammer of collectivist big government used to make an example of by driving into the ground.

I imagine Charlie’s parents, Chris Gard and Connie Yates, will never forget that they are possessions of the British government, and must go marching off to the Soylent Green factory when their government orders them. In Britain, it seems, the National Health Service, backed by the full weight of the government and European courts, decides who lives, who dies, when, and how.

Their behavior is repulsive. A pox on everyone involved in their barbaric health service and government.

Europe is lost. It is never to recover. What two World Wars were not able to accomplish has been achieved by the siren song of “free stuff.” The United States is not far behind. We will be England in three generations, Sweden in two, and Germany in one.

Let Charlie Gard be a cautionary tale of the horrors possible when busybodies in secure government jobs are allowed to decide what is best for anyone besides themselves.

 

3Thank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. This is usually where I ask you to visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works and consider becoming a supporter.

L'homme Theroux CoverBut for this article, go donate some money to Charlie’s parents. They will probably need it. Don’t be a cheapskate. Go!

Tranny Factories


trannyTransgender suicide rates are ten times the overall population. Does sexual reassignment surgery cure mental disorder or has medical science made life worse through medical mutilation?

Bradley Manning, who changed his stage name to “Chelsea” to further his career as a professional malcontent and attention whore, has at least two suicide attempts under his belt that keep his male genitalia company on those long winter nights when nobody wants anything to do with him because he’s a nut-job. Actually, that might be three attempts, since the case can be made that a hunger strike is close enough to a suicide attempt to count.

This clown can’t even succeed at offing himself.

Reviewing Bradley Manning’s entry on Wikipedia, chosen for review because the site is overflowing with Leftists and Liberal bias, leads to the conclusion that Bradley made a habit of throwing tantrums when he failed in life. Whether pulling a knife on his step-mother during an argument about his not finding a job, taking running jumps at walls when his step-brother took the Manning name, leaving college after failing an exam, or overturning a table in response to an Army supervisor disciplining him, rash and violent reactions were the young man’s preferred method of dealing with frustrated objectives. His suicide attempts in prison were continuations of the pattern of throwing hissy fits.

Little Lord Fauntleroy Bradley Manning isn’t the only prima donna to have a meltdown when life refuses to play the requested tune. Transgenders kill themselves at a rate an order of magnitude greater than the overall population; greater than forty percent versus a smidge under four percent. The Liberals, who establish what can only be described as Tranny Nanny Organizations, would have you believe the astronomical suicide rate of transgenders is the result of combinations of bullying in school, familial rejection, societal genders norms, and butterflies flapping their wings in the Amazon rain-forest in 1921.

For a group that wants to portray themselves as tough and brave, trannys sure seem emotionally fragile.

The faith-based belief that God created only two genders in all but the most primitive of life forms is disregarded by those who worship at the altar of science, so the argument has to be made imperfectly by putting it into terms the heathens will understand. It’s not easy because they are society’s version of a petulant child shouting at his parents that they are not the boss of him.

Because sex chromosomes only come in two flavors, XX-for women and XY for men, there are literally only two ways to combine them on a fifty-fifty basis. In the rare case of a third sex chromosome, a third sex not possible. It’s a new sex variant in the same way being born with a sixth digit is a new class of human being. The fancy word is polydactyly and occurs at the same rate as XXY-chromosomes (one in five hundred versus between one in seventeen thousand to one in fifty thousand, depending on the exact sex chromosome defect).

Trannys are going to have to do better than an extra pinky before they get their own X-Men movie.

While on the subject of genes, what few twin studies exists show a concordance rate of thirty-nine percent of both identical twins being transgender. So, even sharing the exact set of genes, if one twin decides to literally switch sides and play for the other team, there is a sixty percent chance the other twin won’t.

These studies performed by Leftist institutions, desperate for transgenderism to be an immutable quality, such as race, color, or ethnicity, still fall flat in the claim that transsexuals are “born this way.” Based on identical twins being, by definition, genetically identical, the expectation would be to have a concordance rate of one hundred percent. Twin studies involving those separated at birth show massively higher rates of far more ephemeral outcomes, such as choice of musical instruments, career fields, and pets they own.

You would think the amputation of existing genitalia and plastic surgery to construct the opposite would rest on evidence a little more solid that what is cheerfully accepted for concordance in hobbies.

The Tranny Mongers have an answer to that. The discussion of results explains away the lack of correlation as being environmental.

Say what?

So, when the Born This Way model is not supported by science, the cause of transgenderism reverts back to the way mom and dad raised you. Got it. It’s their fault.

What mom and dad screwed up, a little medically approved butchery is sure to fix. An August 2016 study by Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center reported that thirty percent of transgender youth reported at least one suicide attempt, forty-two percent a history of self-injury, such as cutting, and a higher frequency of suicide attempts among transgender youth dissatisfied with their weight.

As mentioned above, the overall suicide rate for transgenders is a touch above forty percent. What should make people think is that the suicide rate does not go down any appreciable amount post-surgery. If lopping off the twig and berries and installing a fun-zone (or vice versa) solved all the life problems of trannys, why isn’t the post-surgery suicide rate closer to the under-four percent of the general population?

Bodily mutilation does not solve mental disorders.

Were a psychiatrist to examine a patient who said the neighbor’s dog was instructing him to kill people, the doctor would treat the auditory hallucinations, rather than hand the patient a loaded pistol, shrug his shoulders, and say, “Do what you gotta do, buddy.” However, that is exactly what happens with transsexuals. Gender Dysphoria (because the old Gender Identity Disorder made it sound like people who felt they are the opposite sex visiting a psychiatrist had something wrong inside their head) is the only psychiatric condition that is self-diagnosed by the patient and treated by surgical intervention.

An August 2014 study from Tehran Institute of Psychiatry (admittedly, the land of forced sexual reassignment surgery for homosexuals, but the most recent study I could find and in line with older studies) found that two-thirds of participants, all persons requesting sex reassignment surgery, had at least one psychiatric condition paired with, and that contributed to, Gender Dysphoria; major depressive disorder, specific phobia, and adjustment disorder being the three most common, in order of occurrence.

None of those things sound like something good to have. I also have it on pretty good authority that they can be managed quite effectively with courses of treatment that do not include changing the foundation of the patient’s identity.

We know antidepressants reduce suicides by twenty percent. Could we try the Happy Pills before taking a scalpel to Mr. Happy?

Sex reassignment surgery regret is a real thing. Of course, there are people who are never content no matter how many good things happen to them. They exist, but hopefully should have been weeded out of the sex reassignment surgery pipeline before going under anesthesia.

As early as 1979, Dr. Charles Ihlenfeld, after six years studying under pioneering transsexual researcher Dr. Harry Benjamin and three years treating over five hundred people with cross-gender hormones, concluded that eighty percent of people seeking sex reassignment surgery should not do it, and the remaining twenty percent would only find a temporary reprieve from their unhappiness.

This was long before any actual studies were conducted, so it’s the best evidence available. It’s anecdotal and doesn’t meet study standards, but at least, it’s an opinion from someone with an undeniably qualified background from which to speak.

More recently, but still fairly dated, is Dr. Chris Hyde of University of Birmingham who “found no robust scientific evidence that gender reassignment surgery is clinically effective.” Current studies to put numbers on the actual regret rate of sex reassignment surgery don’t seem to attract sufficient academic interest or government money to mount any studies. The possible funders likely know exactly what they will find, and it doesn’t jive with the current Liberal narrative.

Tennis champ Rene Richards, born Richard Raskind, deeply regrets his sex reassignment surgery. Writer Mike Penner regretted his so deeply that he joined the “Forty-One Percent Club” by committing suicide in 2009, even though he had transitioned back to a man after a year of writing at the pinnacle of Gonzo Journalism as Christine Daniels. Wait Heyer, never finding the promised Nirvana that came with transitioning into a woman, transitioned back to his original sex and became a mental health advocate. Rumor has it that Caitlyn Jenner is so unhappy pretending to be a woman, that he is considering rejoining the world as Bruce.

Go here for a bunch of other sex change regret research I didn’t touch on.

The biology says there is no such thing as a woman trapped in a man’s body, or vice versa, which is much less common. The psychiatric community is beginning to grudgingly admit there are often underlying psychiatric disorders that make the lives of those with Gender Dysphoria suck even more than if they had Gender Dysphoria by itself.

There is no guarantee that curing, or at least, effectively managing, depression, phobias, or adjustment disorder would help even one patient be released from a Gender Dysphoria diagnosis, but it makes a lot of sense to this redneck farmer from Tennessee to see how far you can get with a pill before resorting to a knife.

Who knows? Perhaps up to two-thirds of people with Gender Dysphoria could come to the realization that only the one psychopathy is manageable, as well, or simply not worth going the full measure of sex reassignment surgery.

They could always manage their Gender Dysphoria with some weekend crossdressing and the occasional Casual Encounter ad on Craigslist.

My wild-ass theory is that adults who manifest with Gender Dysphoria fall into one of three categories:

Greener Grass Trannies

The Greener Grass theory has to do with the chronically unhappy. Everyone has encountered them in life. This guy could find a pair of Swedish supermodel twins riding a unicorn that pisses gold coins and craps bacon-cheeseburgers and still not be content with life.

The Greener Grass Tranny may or may not be homosexual, but knows something is not right. Despite all the claims of misogyny and danger in being a woman, the transgender, knowing full well that women have the societal advantage, jump at the opportunity to gain the perks of womanhood. Often, they retain sexual attraction to women, which complicates, rather than simplifies, their lives.

Women who transition into men are generally lesbians who continue having sex with none-to-picky men until their add-a-dick-to-me surgery and assumption of their place in the glorious patriarchy, where they discover being a man isn’t all backyard barbeques and chopping down trees.

Men get injured and killed a lot.

Closet Homosexuals

The biology of men is such that we like sex and plenty of it, with as many partners as possible. The reason that AIDS spread so rapidly, and sexually transmitted diseases, in general, are so widespread in the gay community, is that men are highly promiscuous, as a group. Some men are so randy that once they work through every ugly and fat girl within an hour’s drive of the house, they lower their standards even more and become bisexual.

That sexual drive among homosexual men, who for whatever reasons don’t live life as a gay man, leads to a lot of frustration. Whether it be an aversion to identifying as homosexual or the relative paucity of possible sex partners, how better to have your cake and eat it, too, than becoming a woman? Rather than about ten percent of the male population possibly willing to insert themselves into you, it expands to ninety percent.

The current whining of the transgender community that heterosexual men don’t want to have sex with transgenders is a manifestation of coming face-to-face with the often intransient nature of the vast majority of men’s requirement that the women they bed having been born with female naughty bits.

Attention Whores

Women who crave continual reassurance and positive reinforcement are tolerated by men because they ultimately control access to sex. We don’t like it, but that’s the way it is. Men who behave in the same needy ways are scorned by their peers. They are treated shabbily, and with good cause. Hell, women don’t even dig bitch-ass men.

Such behavior in men stems from a lack of fathers in families, and its result of boys being raised into manhood by women. As wonderful and necessary as women are, they make piss-poor fathers. Uncles, brothers, step-dads, etc. are poor substitutes for the presence of a biological father, the absolute authority he wields, and his ability to bring righteous fury down upon an uppity teenage boy, who has realized he is physically stronger than his mother and wonders exactly why it is he has to do as she tells him.

“Wait until your father gets home” is the scariest and most powerful phrase a mother has at her disposal. Without the ability to use it, mothers tend to raise self-absorbed, selfish men, who do not think or act beyond their own desires and interests. Mothers then have to negotiate, cajole, and bribe to convince their sons to perform the least of selfless acts that should be ingrained parts of all decent men’s ethos.

Johns Hopkins, pioneers of sex reassignment surgery, stopped performing them about the time Bruce Jenner won Gold because they concluded the practice brought no important benefits.

None of the above evidence is presented to make a case that Gender Dysphoria does not exist or that the concept of gender is biological. Quite the contrary. I am willing to concede both points; Gender Dysphoria exits and gender is a fluid social construct.

Were gender not both fluid and a social construct, the concepts of masculine, feminine, effeminate, and butch would not exist.

Having said that, sex is immutable and determined at conception. Any attempts to alter the situation result in masculinized women and feminized men, who go through a hollow life playacting as a person they are not. No less an authority than Dr. Paul McHugh, Distinguished Service Professor of Psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University and their hospital’s former psychiatrist-in-chief, who has studied transgenders for forty years, flatly states as much in a June 2015 Witherspoon Institute article.

The poor wretches who suffer from bona fide cases of Gender Dystopia, especially as children or adolescents, are suffering from anxiety about the roles and expectations of their respective sex and are attempting to seek refuge from the storm under a different umbrella. They are not so much Greener Grass Trannies as they fail to see, or are unaware of, the downsides of their opposite sex.

Transgenders suffer from a treatable, and often, preventable, mental psychopath. They need not resort to socially approved, medically sanctioned mayhem, which leaves them unable to create a life, in exchange for presenting a counterfeit image to the world. Transgenders are children of God, just like the rest of us. They deserve our pity, rather than our encouragement of their delusion.

No one would offer liposuction to an anorexic or cigarettes to someone suffering lung cancer. So, too, should we not offer sex reassignment surgery to transgenders.

 

3Thank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. The content on this website is free to access, but does take resources to produce. Please visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works and consider becoming a supporter. Patronage will get you additional content, behind the scenes access, goodies not available on the main site, and unique Thank You gifts for support.

L'homme Theroux CoverIf you’d prefer something more tangible in return for supporting my work, please preview my novel L’homme Theroux and consider purchasing it, if you enjoy the sample chapter.

Homestead Rules to Live By


Creating your own homestead is a great way to free yourself of other people’s rules, but in one of life’s ironies, often you end up establishing your own set. The good news is they are yours. The bad news is you have to enforce them, sooner or later. Here’s my list of non-negotiable rules. You might have similar ones.

Behave or be eaten

My kids are all old enough to know this rule can’t really be applied to them, but understand the sentiment. I doubt they believed it when they were young, either.  A seven-year-old girl walking around the chicken coop, pointing out pullets, and saying, “This one’s a jerk. She dies first,” tells me the lesson has been assimilated.

1389d74399e7d94e12031c4ee0ee0b75ad0ca2dce77429e3bepimgpsh_fullsize_distrIt’s my policy to maintain an understudy rooster in the all too likely event that Number One decides he wants to expand his dominion over more than the other chickens. The current Cock of the Walk at The Five Cent Farm is named “Turkey,” an unfortunate moniker he earned as a gangly cockerel, which was especially confusing once we added actual Meleagris gallopavo to the menagerie.

Turkey earned his promotion when I pulled into the driveway one afternoon to find Mrs. Cunha chasing Billy, the then-top-rooster, around the chicken run with a table leg, shouting, “I’m gonna kill that sonofabitch!” As it turns out, he had attacked both our daughters and Mrs. Cunha, leaving scratches from his spurs down the length of both forearms. That earned him a trip to Freezer Camp and created a job vacancy in the chicken coop.

Go be wildlife somewhere else

If you read my terrorist threat to the fox who ate my ducks, my position on wildlife predators should already be clear; there is no free lunch on the Cunha homestead. That meal will cost you dearly, if I have anything to say about it.

photo4Any venom I harbor for particular sorts of animals stems from experience and proximity. Any wildlife that makes the life-extending decision to not damage my property are regarded with indifference. With the exception of spotting a deer during fall, while having room in the freezer, I take a live-and-live approach.

I don’t have time to go traipsing all over the farm to eradicate every critter that might possibly take what is mine. Maintain a quick trot along the fence line and keep your eyes forward. You’ll be fine. We even overlook the occasional egg lost to Black King Snakes, since they eat rattlesnakes; #BlackSnakesMatter.

If you’re not producing, you’re waiting your turn on the menu

Several of the animals on my farm labor under the delusion they are somehow special; the sheep and pigs, in particular. Neither the sheep nor the pigs have ever looked around and thought, “Hey, what happened to Joe? I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

photo 2The dirty secret is they are breeding stock. We will be eating their babies, soon enough. And if my boar Hamilton doesn’t start siring me some piglets in pretty quick order, we’re going to have ourselves a little luau and find the gilts a new boyfriend, who doesn’t have the sex drive of a panda.

I suppose this rule confounds and terrifies the chickens, since we eat what they produce and sometimes eat one of them for dinner. Along with the occasional coup d’état necessitated to enforce Rule #1, it must strike the chickens as tyranny at its most schizophrenic, but such is life when your social structure is that of an all-girls middle school.

This isn’t a safe space (it’s not a safe place, either)

Homesteading isn’t just dangerous in terms of the ultimate fate of most of the animal residents. Safety sleeves on PTO drives and roll-bars make tractors safer, but you can still be hurt with sufficient disregard for common sense. On the plus side, these safety devices will only leave you maimed, so you can live to farm thoughtlessly another day.

KudzuMud and ice leave you on your ass wondering if you shouldn’t find a job in town. Waiting for your wife to hook up the next bale of hay, thoughts of whether it’s preferable to fall out of the barn loft or get a finger caught in the pulley flit through your mind. Animals don’t care about your feelings, your cold, or the weather. I suspect they conspire to launch coordinated attacks of mischief at the absolute worst times in order to make me look as foolish and inept as possible.

Make no mistake. Farms are harsh, unforgiving environments. It hardens a person. I realized “the birds and the bees” talk was unnecessary when my daughters began bringing me daily heat reports from the barn and cheering at successful mountings. They are well versed in anatomy, and I pity the nervous young men who come courting when my girls are older.

Well, not really. I find horrified millennials hilarious.

 

3Thank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. The content on this website is free to access, but does take resources to produce. Please visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works and consider becoming a supporter. Patronage will get you additional content, behind the scenes access, goodies not available on the main site, and unique Thank You gifts for support.

L'homme Theroux CoverIf you’d prefer something more tangible in return for supporting my work, please preview my novel L’homme Theroux and consider purchasing it, if you enjoy the sample chapter.

Muslim Gold Rush


20170605_184046Housing Syrian refugees might be your additional revenue stream, if the proposed 2018 budget passes. With a little unused living space and minimal qualms about being beheaded in your sleep, you could soon be up to your armpits in military-age, Muslim males and a monthly check from Uncle Sugar.

As much as I like Donald Trump, his record on taking in Syrian refugees is only slightly better than Barack Obama’s. Trump has resettled a little over 15,000 refugees since taking office, and Obama resettled 23,000 the previous year.

There are fewer Syrian refugees being admitted because most of them have already left Syria.

With so many Syrian refugees gaining admittance to the United States, the question becomes where to put them all. Europeans might not have learned to avoid putting people into camps, but after the generations of bad press from our little experiment with putting Japanese into internment camps, Americans cringe at masses of people milling about behind barbed wire fences.

A year and a half ago, Michael Moore, of Bowling for Columbine and Roger and Me fame, published an open letter offering any Syrian refugees to live rent free in his Traverse City, Michigan apartment for up to a year.

It’s a 700-square-foot apartment, so I’m going to call Michael Moore a skin-flint for offering such paltry accommodations. He has enough money to be far more generous.

Cheapskate Socialist Michael Moore has even established a website with a registry to allow his guilt-ridden minions to pony up their abodes for Syrian squatters to get on their feet, while acclimating to their new surrounds, such as flushing toilets, functioning governments, and the lack of sectarian violence.

Make no mistake. There is big money to be had. All told, there is about half a billion dollars proposed to flow toward resettling Syrian refugees into communities all across the United States. That might not be big money in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a halal gravy train to the residents of rural America.

IMG_20170507_154002178Like a lot of government services, the job of relocating Syrian refugees into America is administered by government contract; meaning the work is parceled out to organizations who have won a competitive bidding process to do the work. They take a cut of money off the top for the privilege and perform the task. Of course, the more refugees there are to resettle, the more money they make.

If you don’t believe these companies exist, take a look at this list of them:

There are a few more bit-players, but this is the oligarchy of federal contractors in the realm of the US Refugee Admissions Program.

Why not sharecrop some Syrian refugees?

I’m always interested in a new revenue stream for the farm and I have a few acres tucked away in the back of my property that are timber. My plans to log the timber were accelerated by the fire last November, so we wound up clearing the standing deadwood and the trees that were worth harvesting. The younger trees now have plenty of room to grow, but that will still be a decade or so wait, since white oak has a slow growth curve.

There are wide tracks between the remaining trees that can easily accommodate FEMA-type trailers and access trails. For a couple thousand dollars of bulldozer work to clear the stumps out, that back ten acres can be a veritable Shady Oaks Syrian Refugee Mobile Estates.

The rural area I live in might not have all the urban amenities of Michael Moore’s Michigan apartment, but having to been to areas of the world comparable to Syria, I can say with confidence that phone and internet service out here are on par with places like Afghanistan. The big benefit would be lower population density, bucolic living, and very few people interesting in killing you. What better place for a Syrian refugee family to de-stress and gather their thoughts before embarking on a new life in America?

The difficulty I encountered as I made my telephonic rounds to these benevolent organizations was the nature of my livestock. They were thrilled at the variety and unusual choices. They even thought it wonderful that, as one of many working farms in the area, there are seasonal work opportunities for the newly arriving refugees that easily compliment the assimilation timetable.

I took that to mean unskilled labor that is not impacted by high turnover.

20170409_090325Where things came to a screeching halt with each phone call was a laundry list of questions regarding the property. It seems having swine on the property is a no-go for bellying up to the trough of federal government largess. It didn’t matter the three hogs (magnificent examples of the breed, if you can overlook my bias) are at the opposite end of the property. As a matter of fact, any bordering properties having swine would have disqualified me, as well.

I’m not your average redneck. I’m an extraordinary redneck.

Being marginally smarter than the average bear, I pointed out that according Pew Research Muslims were definitely the majority religious affiliation of Syrian refugees, but Christians were not too far behind, on a percentage basis. Why not just send me Christians, who presumably wouldn’t give a pig’s tail that the rest of the hog was nearby?

After the person on the other end of the phone line stopped laughing, each time I was given a response along the lines of “the Christians don’t have trouble finding people to take them in, you racist redneck.”

20170419_162228So, as a result of my affinity of homegrown bacon, sausage, and craklin, I will not be beneficiary of Uncle Sam’s Syrian refugee money. My aspirations have been crushed like a bucket of eggs under a tractor tire.

However, I have been talking to some of my neighbors who have unused portions of their property and no deuterocanonical violations. They are interested in getting in on the act. There’s quite a bit of land clearing going on in preparation of the government inspections to establish the number of temporary housing trailers the land can support.

Hopefully, the certification process will be sufficiently stringent to keep the acceptance rate low enough to keep this county from becoming a Muslim ghetto. Unfortunately, the lure of easy money is creating a bit of a Muslim Gold Rush.

When I talked to the relocation organizations, the numbers they put out were two trailers per acre of cleared land or one trailer per acre of woodland with undergrowth cleared. They weren’t real specific about dollar amounts, but they mentioned a monthly stipend of four figures per trailer plus an occupancy per capita rate.

Word of my experience must have gotten around because the local pig market has been flooded with supply, and you can’t find an idle Bush Hog anywhere along my street. I suspect the county knows what’s coming, too. They resurfaced the road for the first time in I don’t know how long, and did a much more thorough job of it than in times past.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

PatreonThank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. The content on this website is free to access, but does take resources to produce. Please visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works and consider becoming a supporter. Patronage will get you additional content, behind the scenes access, goodies not available on the main site, and unique Thank You gifts for support.

L'homme Theroux CoverIf you’d prefer something more tangible in return for supporting my work, please preview my novel L’homme Theroux and consider purchasing it, if you enjoy the sample chapter.

Fox in Socks


FoxRule #2 on the Cunha farm: Go be wildlife somewhere else because otherwise, I will hunt you down and kill you. I found your little den in the bushes, Mr. Fox. The trap is now set, and if need be, I will stakeout your dirt condo every night until you make the mistake of showing your furry little ass around my homestead again.

I’ve watched you trot back and forth along the fence line, through the bushes, and across the road for the better part of two years. You have been ignored the entire time because you have not taken from me. You were given benefit of the doubt when the first bird disappeared. However, I have strong evidence you have killed and eaten one (possibly, two) of my turkeys, and two of my ducks. That goofy little crested duck was the last straw. He was my favorite. I kept him around for no better reason than he entertained me.

Here are your options, Mr. Fox. One, leave immediately on your own accord and never return. Two, sign your own death warrant by entering my sight. Those are the only choices.

I am tactically patient, tenacious, and possessor of the hardest heart you have ever encountered. I will fashion you into a hat as a warning to others of your ilk that I will not tolerate killing of my livestock and theft of food from my family’s mouth.

This is your only warning and my singular promise under God, Grandpa Miguel, and all the Pygmies in Africa.

Sincerely,

Your Angel of Death Carlos

 

3Thank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. The content on this website is free to access, but does take resources to produce. Please visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works and consider becoming a supporter. Patronage will get you additional content, behind the scenes access, goodies not available on the main site, and unique Thank You gifts for support.

L'homme Theroux CoverIf you’d prefer something more tangible in return for supporting my work, please preview my novel L’homme Theroux and consider purchasing it, if you enjoy the sample chapter.

Retarded ISIS Truckers Deliver Peace to Your Door


Inbred2Fifty generations of divinely encouraged Muslim incest has created a raft of retarded Jihadi truck drivers, too dumb to use firearms, who favor Islamic Frogger over the traditional cargo of explosives.

The tried and true method of mayhem, where a young Muslim loser loads a vehicle full of explosives and detonates it in a crowd, seems to have fallen out of fashion in Europe. The current trend is much more personal in that it involves mowing victims down in the name of Allah instead of smiting them with concussive force and shrapnel.

Despite a few close calls, I’ve never run over someone with a vehicle of any sort. However, I suspect it takes a special kind of zealotry to bear down on another human being in a Kenworth.

Maybe it’s the continent’s strict gun control that pushes Muhammed toward a Mack truck instead of a Mac-10 to punish infidels. Despite an instance or two in the beginning of the decade, America’s Islamic terrorists still seem to prefer firearms and the occasional homemade explosive device.

American terrorists at least have the stones to risk a gunfight.

This past November, one of the many ISIS media publications Rumiyah, extolled would-be lone wolves to plow into crowds with large vehicles. The bigger the vehicle the better.

Rumiyah seems to be a mixture of People Magazine and Mother Earth News for Muslim terrorists. It features martyr profiles, how-to tips and tricks, and what can only be described as Jihad of Dummies articles.

ISIS is known for its media savvy and ability to disseminate its message. Starbucks and Nike are second to the Islamic State in this ability. Coca-Cola would sell John Pemberton’s remains for the ability to filch a Pepsi die-hard as easily as ISIS radicalizes middle-class Muslim kids.

Europe is lost to ISIS and should be abandoned, in the absence of a second Reconquista to push them back into the Mediterranean.

A huge part of the Islamic State message is to kill infidels, but where does a socially awkward, Muslim Millennial from the suburbs learn the trade-craft necessary to create orphans and earn his place in the Virgin Valhalla?

Before the internet, anyone interested in subversive mayhem creation had to skulk around gun shows, pay cash to a sketchy, one-armed Vietnam veteran wearing mirrored Aviator-style sunglasses for a tattered copy of The Anarchist Cookbook, and risk several fingers in experimentation, as about half the stuff in the book was complete bullshit.

…Or, so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know.

Much was made a few years ago that human intelligence across the board was in decline, losing just shy of two points each generation since the Victorian era. In true Leftist fashion, much of the decline was attributed to smarter women figuring out ways to have fewer children. Nobody came out and said it like that, but that was definitely the message between the lines.

So, in my left handed way of looking at the world, a whole bunch of studies in the last decade discovered three things:

  1. Intelligence is heritable.
  2. Patriarchy keeps society smart.
  3. Women voting, pursuing careers, having access to abortions, and generally demanding to be treated like men has made us all dumber.

Clearly, feminism brings the highly entertaining movie Idocracy into reality.

Every once in a while, one of my children will miss turning in a school assignment, usually through forgetting it at home or something equally absentminded. More often, the teacher flubs it and doesn’t enter the score in the school’s fancy, automated grade ciphering web portal, so I get an e-mail advising me of the fact.

I’m looking directly at you, Miss Sullivan. Maybe you should pay more attention to detail instead of regaling the class with photos of your trip to the Jack Daniels distillery, so I would not have to call you at home over the weekend for such silliness. Waste my off time because of your incompetence, and I’ll be sure to waste yours.

I’m not terribly bright. Why in the name of all that is holy am I the smartest person sitting around the table at a parent-teacher conference? Oh, yeah. That’s exactly why I’m not a public school teacher.

My disdain for public school teachers aside, the effect of “zero” on an average is catastrophic. Even a below-average score thrown in seems to have a larger negative effect than an above-average score has on improving the average. At least, it always seemed that way in school.

Edit: It seems facts don’t care about my feelings. I just spent twenty minutes proving to myself the above perception is completely divorced from the reality of mathematics. That’s what happens when you walk your daughter to school because you’re both in the same grade.

Since intelligence is heritable and smart people are having fewer children, it does stand to reason that the remaining children bring down the average. So, exactly what sane nation would import people who further tamp down their average?

On average, Muslim nations are dumb, but still smart enough not to exacerbate the situation with bad immigration policies.

All the research I can find shows the average intelligence (as measured by IQ tests) of Muslim-majority countries to hover right around eighty. When the Muslim immigrant populations in the West are separated out, the average IQ score isn’t much better, at about eighty-six.

At best, that’s a full standard deviation below the mean of 100. My friends who took statistics in college tell me that is significant. This isn’t quite Forrest Gump levels of “special” (he clocked in with an IQ of seventy-five; a shade above being technically retarded and what used to be designated a moron), but with the general two point per generation decline doubled by the tendency for close parental kinship, the average Muslim is no more than three generations from being officially retarded.

Judging by the trail of evidence left behind by these geniuses and the level of assistance they need from the likes of Rumiyah to pull off their attacks, the current crop of Jihadis are at the crest of the retardation wave.

As a Portagee who makes his home in the Tennessee Valley, I have two strikes against me when it comes to the cousin-marrying stereotype. However, the last time that occurred in my family was my parents’ generation, and even then, it was an uncommon enough occurrence to be thoroughly scandalous.

Think of it like speeding tickets. Once in a great while isn’t too big of a problem for your insurance rates, but do it consistently, and trouble comes your way pretty fast.

Believe it or not, there is actually a formula for writing a joke. It consists of starting with a realistic premise, known as “the set up,” and progressing to the absurd, the “punchline.”

For example:

Q: What’s the most common thing said during sex in Tennessee?

A: “Get off me, Dad. You’re crushing my cigarettes.”

That fits the definition of a joke, and is generally considered humorous, because the punchline is so wildly unreasonable to the average listener as to be inconceivable. It may also be in bad taste, offensive, or shocking to the conscious, which elevates it to the level of hilarious. Protests to the contrary are both irrelevant and proof of concept.

The Aristocrats is the funniest joke ever told, but requires a degree of abstract thought less common further down the IQ scale.

Despite the self-deprecating nature of Southern humor, the scenario implied by the answer is universally frowned upon and generally considered justification for a beating, as long as it does not result in death.

Muhammed, the prophet, pedophile, and perfect man according to Islam, most likely would not see the humor, since the answer does not reach his threshold for unrealistic, a tenet of absurdity.

The hypothetical of whether Muhammed would have sex with his daughter, and would therefore be acceptable behavior for a Muslim based on the “Muhammed as paragon of male behavior” theory, is not supported by the Koran. However, the revelation that Allah said it was okay-fine for Muhammed to marry his daughter-in-law, along with a whole bunch of other oddly convenient revelations in Muhammed’s favor, make Muslim mores seem quite malleable.

Allah either loved him some Muhammed, or this guy was a sex fiend masquerading as a religious prophet.

Inbred4What is most definitely condoned by the Koran, in addition to child marriage, genocide, rape, slave taking/owning/trading, and wife beating, is inbreeding.

I will be the first to admit that the Old Testament has its share of practices found abhorrent in modern culture. The difference between Islam and the rest of the civilized world is Christianity went through a reformation where the most unsavory aspects of the religion were purged. Mainstream Islam behaves as if we are still wandering the desert and talking to burning bushes.

Much like the Pharos, who incidentally were Greek (Black Lives Matter hates when I point that out), and European royalty until fairly recently, there is a price to pay when the family tree does not branch.

Despite fondly recalling the eighth grade as “my senior year,” I have continued to learn. As a farmer, I have a practical understanding of how genetics work, both good and bad.

Believe it or not, intentionally breeding related animals is a technique of selective breeding to accentuate and solidify desired traits in an animal. The downside is that it also accentuates and brings out undesirable recessive traits. The running joke among animal breeders is bringing forward the desired trait is called the respectable sounding “line-breeding,” but a screw-up that creates an undesirable trait is the dreaded “inbreeding.”

This is why different breeds of animals have specific looks, exhibit specific behavior, and display specific temperaments. This is also why the ailments of many purebred dogs are predictable; the undesirable recessive gene has been cemented in the breed’s DNA.

Of course, the answer to these genetic goofs is to cull ruthlessly. The dirty secret of animal breeders of all stripes is that we kill a lot of baby animals for no better reason than they do not look or behave the way we expected. “Keep the best and eat the rest” is my mantra…Then again, I don’t breed dogs, so this might not exactly apply to other people.

Puppies wag their tails because we kill the ones that don’t.

A civilized people does not cull defective human beings, whether still in the womb or not. There are notable exceptions, but the reason we remember them is because of their barbarity. With enough barbeque sauce and a lack of cellphone cameras, you could probably convince me and most of my buddies to try eating puppy-kabob, but none of us would snuff an Autistic because he’s a pain in the ass to take care of.

Likely as not, he’d probably wind up the designated driver. Those young men with Downs Syndrome always strike me as the responsible sort to ride herd over a gaggle of drunks. It must have something to do with the neutral expression and stern, even delivery of a rebuke.

I was only kidding. The degenerates I associate with would insist cell phones were recording while chowing down on a bowl of Sum Young Dog.

Fourteen hundred years of Mohammed-sanctioned and Allah-approved consanguineous marriage, and downright incestuous extramarital sex with virtually whomever or whatever the man desires (because the Koran says he can), has created an entire religion whose average adherent is violent, prone to mental disorders, and borderline retarded.

Is it any wonder why the United States and rest of the civilized world doesn’t want them to have access to nuclear weapons?

Inbred1And the fun doesn’t end when they escape the septic tanks from which they spawned. Every European nation desiring large amounts of unskilled labor, needing a wide tax base to support their social welfare programs, or gripped by a guilt complex over endorsing Hitler has imported these half-wits on the hope that, as a group, they possess the mental wherewithal to join the modern world.

Large numbers of them clearly don’t.

And if Muslim behavior, as seen in footage of street harassment of non-Muslims in no-go zones, riots in refugee camps over lack of cash payments for pocket money, and the oh, so cerebral, enlightened pastime of a rape game called “taharrush gamea,” is any indication of what they tolerate, the only conclusion is these countries have a collective cultural death wish.

At least, Rome put up a fight to keep the invading hordes out.

After literally creating modern civilization, if not the very concept itself, Europe has allowed the utter destruction of civilization to begin by inviting the barbarians behind the city walls.

Inbred3Well over half of Pakastani immigrants in England are married to their first cousins. Over forty percent of the patients in Denmark‘s biggest ward for clinically insane criminals are Muslim. Back home in the United States, the Somali population in Minnesota, which to no one’s surprise is exclusively Muslim, suffers from significantly higher rates of Autism, physical consanguinity-caused birth defects, and IQs below seventy.

Literal morons, by the eschewed medical terminology.

Europe is the harbinger of America. It’s only a matter of time before our Muslim terrorists find firearms too complex to operate and cars become the go-to weapon for striking down us infidels. Maybe it has something to do with the prevalence of Muslims in the transportation industries?