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!

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Time to Pay the Piper


With the inauguration of Donald Trump, an awful lot of celebrities should be leaving the country soon, if their previous pronouncements are any more believable than campaign promises. With any luck, Hollywood will soon be a veritable ghost town, leaving a void where the all-to-rare original thought for a movie plot can take hold and flourish.

I get it. Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider to become Spider Man. I didn’t forget from the last movie.

Just for giggles, I collected a list of the scum and villains who promised to vacate the wretched hive that is the United States in the event of a Donald Trump presidential victory. Some I recognized. Some I had to take the word of my good friend Google that they were part of the Cool Kid Club.
A couple of them threatened to leave the planet entirely. It’s a prospect that’s quite appealing until the realization sets in that they would want the project to be funded by taxpayers. Considering the proclamation of University of California freshman Seth Greenberg to cut off his penis should Donald Trump build a wall along the Mexican border, threats to leave the country just don’t have the same pizazz.

This youngster definitely upped the ante in the Things I Want to See Happen category, but looking at his photo, I suspect he doesn’t have much call for its use, so it wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice.

Considering these trend setters garnered a collective shoulder shrug from the villagers for crying wolf one too many times, I wouldn’t blame any of my readers for missing the news. Each of them probably has far better uses for time than to research stupid things said by spoiled brats in a snit.
I had to do a fair bit of searching to collect the evidence. As a matter of fact, when I went to double check myself a few days ago, virtually all of the brave would-be emigrants had recanted.
Some brushed off the statements as a joke that very few people were smart enough to understand. Others claimed hyperbole. Most claimed some sort of burning bush moment of realization that they were needed to effect change in America, rather than flee the Trump Reich.

More likely, reality set it. I only wish we had as strong an immigration policy as Canada or Australia or pretty much any other country in the world.

It seems that when push comes to shove, these same brave pioneering souls, who largely wanted to ditch America for another First World country, or possibly settle on Uranus, found their destinations didn’t want them, either.

Lena Dunham

Probably best known for sexually molesting her sister, false college rape allegations, and insisting everyone find her sexually desirable, the poor child would be better served with membership in a platonic cuddle club to make up for her lack of parental affection as a child.

Reverend Al Sharpton

Tax-evading, race baiting, FBI informant Al Sharpton took about a day to realize he had been caught in another lie and whip out the “just kidding, y’all” card. I think I speak for a sizable chunk of America when I say, “We wish you hadn’t been.”

Raven Symone

We loved her in The Cosby Show. Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper wasn’t too terrible for a 1990’s sitcom. For reasons that elude me, That’s So Raven was popular, but it was downhill from there. If I had to pick between success under Disney and remaining a poor dirt farmer for the rest of my life, I’d pass on working for the Big Mouse. I swear, there is a curse on Disney talent.

Jon Stewart

Despite what Millennials believe, John Stewart began his career as a comedian, so his comment to leave the planet has a reasonable likelihood of having been a joke. Kidding or not, I’d like to see him lead the mission to Pluto. He can even decide whether it’s a planet or not.

Amy Schumer

She should be denied entry to Canada for the Pirelli calendar alone, but there’s so much more to make Amy Schumer an undesirable immigrant. If joke stealing is considered actual theft, our neighbors to the north probably won’t let her past the Customs desk.

She’s further proof that women, on average, just aren’t funny.

 

There are a whole bunch more, but it will just get boring from here on. I think I’ve made my point.
img_20161230_123607555Besides, I have to go feed Amy and Lena.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets 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 chapters.

Beelzebub the Social Justice Warrior


satanic-templeThe Satanic Temple has established international headquarters in a 130-year-old Victorian house on Bridge Street in Massachusetts that looks more like a bed-and-breakfast than a temple to the Prince of Darkness.

Zoned as an art gallery, the Satanic Temple building will be open to the public with art installations, lectures, and film screenings.

My dearest hope is these rather vanilla offerings will be spiced up with the occasional virgin sacrifice, just to enhance their street cred.

What will most certainly occur is the headquarters will become the permanent home of a nine-foot-tall statue of Baphomet, cast in bronze and weighing in at about a ton. This two thousand pound alloy Satyr is not likely to be moved again, as the Satanic Temple is waiting for Oklahoma City to accept the idol as the “quid” to the “pro quo” of getting the ACLU to drop their lawsuit demanding removal of a statue of the Ten Commandments in front of the State Legislature building.

Exactly what pull the Satanic Temple has with the ACLU isn’t clear, but that’s the offer listed on their website.

Despite a mission statement that includes the group’s commitment to “embrace practical common sense and justice,” the practical common sense idea that the laws of the United States, and all of the Western world, are based on the Ten Commandments escapes comment in their wider philosophy. Whether you believe Moses brought them down from the mountain or they are the product of a Bronze Age Jew’s peyote hallucination, the Ten Commandments as a basis for law are extant.

When the Islamists take over and impose Sharia law, they will replace the Ten Commandments statue with one of the Koran, or whatever they base their lunacy on.

For all the convoluted logic of why they are kinda, sorta are a bonafide church and really a religion, but not in the way we unenlightened, Christ cultists understand it, these lightweight Lucifer lovers are just another flavor of pedantic Social Justice Warriors.

timthumb3This is the same group that created the After School Satan program as an attention grabbing device to promote their real religion; the Church of Science. The Satanic Temple website is a litany of pabulum pushed by Social Justice Warriors and intellectuals who are too smart to be fooled into having faith in anything not springing from a laboratory.

If the Satanic Temple at least worshiped Satan, they might be worth more serious consideration, but from what I can gather, the organization lines up firmly on the left. It’s platform is pro-choice, anti-religion, feminist,…you get the idea.

They are the average Hillary supporter with a better mascot.

What ever happened to the apolitical Satanists? Guys like Anton LaVey, who were into the Devil for the naked women and dissident shock value of carving pentagrams into school desks with a protractor. Those are the right reasons to wear all black in the summer.

I never saw any evidence that my parents were Satanists, but rummaging through the family’s Encyclopedia Britannica, a 1969 newspaper clipping from the San Francisco Examiner dropped out from between the pages. The caption read something along the lines “Satanist Minister Anton LaVey marries…” and mentions names of participants I neither know nor remember. When queried, my parents said the couple depicted were friends of theirs from when my dad was stationed at Treasure Island in the Navy and they lived in San Francisco. Included in the explanation, was an entirely too casual mention that not only did they attend the ceremony, but my dad was the cameraman because outsiders weren’t allowed into the temple where the wedding took place.

Wait a second. My parents bought the house where I grew up in 1972 and married in 1966. They lived in San Francisco between those two dates and had a pair of friends married by arguably the most famous Satanist in the world. Clearly, they were close enough friends to warrant tucking the memento away for twenty years.

And what’s this jazz about outsiders not being allowed into the ceremony?

Did my parents flirt with the occult? I always suspected they liked to party, but I never thought it might extend to summoning the Devil.

My running joke about being a writer is that I’m a profession liar. Often, Mrs. Cunha stops me mid-sentence to ask if I’m giving an accurate recounting of events or setting up a punchline. My dad wasn’t a writer, but he did have the ability to lay believable groundwork for a zinger. It’s a skill he passed on to both me and my brother Jake.

anton_lavey_photoHowever, two decades to set up a practical joke for children not even conceived stretches the reasonable bounds of hijinx. Bravo, if my dad had that sort of patience and forethought, but I doubt it. That’s just too long to sit on a gag.

If you’ve never been, you might not realize just how small San Francisco actually is. It’s less than fifty square miles and, at the time, had about three-quarters of a million people crammed into it.

The place is very much like a small town in that you run into friends often and can’t avoid your enemies.

The Satanic Temple website goes to pains in explaining how they are different and distinct from LaVey Satanism. Looking around at some other Satanist organizations, they do, too. For all the proclaimed differences, Anton LaVey’s First Church of Satan is the yardstick against which the rest of the Satyr worshipers measure themselves.

I also get the sense, after researching his background and recalling the occasional local television appearances, Anton LaVey was a bit of jackass. Even with the benefit of Black Masses featuring nude young women rebelling against their parents, I can imagine his shtick got old pretty fast. My parents having a connection, however tenuous and tangential, to the Granddaddy of Devil worship, explains an awful lot.

The modern breakaway worshipers of the Fallen Angel have eschewed the “sex, drugs, and heavy metal” of old school Azazel for a more thoughtful, socially conscious Mephistopheles, who provides safe spaces and trigger warnings.

If the Satanic Temple was cheese, it would be Brie; soft, bland, and palatable to everyone.

Maybe it’s all an elaborate ruse? The Devil is known to be a trickster, and what better way to hide than to present as a Social Justice Warrior?

It all makes sense, now.

 

 

 

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 for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets 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 chapters.

The Whine Glass Generation


HW-4020-0952My youngest son, like most of his generation, has figured out the secret to outlandish fame and fabulous fortune. According to him, it’s all a matter of “going to Hollywood and making it big.” I went to Hollywood once. Admittedly, my visit was only as a day-tripping tourist to Universal Studios, so I must have missed the roving packs of talent agents who patrol the street corners and malt shops (do those things even exist, anymore?) in central Los Angeles for the next Lana Turner.

Possessing neither marketable skills nor good looks, I clearly don’t understand how this works.

“Exactly what is it that is going to make you famous?” I said, marking a 2×4 for the next cut.

“Acting,” he said, shooting me an incredulous look I saw in my peripheral vision. “Maybe with some singing and dancing mixed in.”

“You’re a real triple-threat, Gregory Hines,” I said, depressing the trigger of the circular saw and filling the room with its scream.

“Who’s Gregory Hines?” he said, after the din had dissipated.

“Never mind,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, show me what you’ve got.”

“What?”

“Sing me a song.”

“Right now?”

“Yes,” I said. I laid down the saw and cut board. “Or dance, if you prefer. You pick the song. Go.”

Anyone familiar with the entitlement of youth, millennials in particular, knows full well how this exchange ends. You’ve probably lived it.

Mind you, I’ve never seen the boy engage in any of the pursuits he aims to make a living with. Come to think of it, if his phone isn’t involved, it’s a rare day I see him engage in any activity without direction. You would think the siren call of performance arts would move the lad to engage in them occasionally without prompting. Despite all these seeming detractions from the likelihood of success, the boy continues to be obsessed with the achievement of fame.

I guess he’s just so naturally talented that he doesn’t have to work at it…Just like the rest of his generation is continually told.

Showing me a seven-foot-tall Chinaman does not mean all Chinamen are seven-foot-tall.

Of necessity, I paint in the broad brushstrokes of averages. I know a few teenagers who are squared away, responsible, and hardworking. I’d gladly trade mine for one of those, but the few parents who have such adolescent unicorns are loath to trade them.

entitled-kid-494x328So, please don’t point to your brat as a counter to why I’m wrong. You’re probably lying or severely overestimating your precious little snowflake. On the off chance your kid is as perfect as you think, congratulations. You won the genetic equivalent of a scratch-off ticket.

Now, go be content with your life, while I bitch about my kids. Or stay and enjoy the schadenfreude. Whichever makes you happy.

“As long as your happy” is the biggest load of horseshit ever put out by parents.

I hear those words come out of the mouths of people severely disappointed by the choices their children make. That’s part of the reason kids are so fouled up. We parents did it to them in trying not to crush their delicate egos.

Here are some examples with along with what parents hear:

Child says: “I changed my major to Lesbian Dance Theory.” – Parents hear: “You’re going to be supporting me for the rest of your life.”

Child says: “We’re in love.” – Parents hear: “She’ll be a single mother on welfare in two years.”

Child says: “I don’t need to learn a trade. I’ve got talent.” – Parents hear: “I’m going to learn a trade after life kicks me in the nuts for a decade or so.”

Child says: “I’ve decided to come out.” – Parents hear: “You’ll be lucky if your adopted grandchildren even remotely resemble you.”

Child says: “I’m a feminist.” – Parents hear: “I hate my father.”

Of course, my favorite response to that last declaration is “That’s so cute. What do want to be when you grow up, sweetie pie?” It’s bait they can’t resist because feminists, whether female or male, lack even the pretense of a sense of humor.

My sense of humor might be as dark as a Milo Yiannopoulos paramour, but it exists and is anything besides fragile.

Somewhere along the line, society lost the ability to take a joke. I blame it largely on a generation of children taught in public schools staffed almost entirely by women and effeminate men. These delicate flowers entrusted with impressionable minds simply do not appreciate the comedic gold in a loud, wet fart or kicking your buddy in the nuts.

I remember hanging out with my middle school teachers behind the wood-shop building between classes showing them my newest pocket knife while they pounded down a cigarette, sipped from whiskey flasks, and told me dirty jokes. These are also the same men who would backhand a student about once a year for mouthing off too much or steeping toward them aggressively.

Eighth grade was my turn to learn the fine line that separates a vigorous debate between gentlemen, where differences are resolved, and just being a loud-mouth punk. When I told my dad what happened, he gave me a backhand in the opposite direction for being a whiny little bitch about it.

I wish John Lott would write a companion piece to More Guns, Less Crime researching the tendency I see in schools of “More Paddles, Less Problems.”

One of the rites of passage into manhood is the proverbial “mouth writing a check the body can’t cash.” That first good, hard punch in the face a young man receives, usually from an unrelated, older man, delivers more lessons in manners than an Emily Post etiquette book.

Millennials have missed out on such character forming experiences, by and large. Instead of a quick and corrective slap for giving mom a dirty look, they were asked what’s wrong. Their playgrounds, the true navel of education at any school, were made so child-safe and patrolled so heavily for any hint of exuberance that children no longer cherish recess. That is, if they get it at all.

A skinned knee is now worthy of being picked up by a parent instead of rubbing some dirt on it and getting back to class with torn britches. A schoolyard scuffle between equally matched opponents is cause for expulsion and arrest of both participants. And woe to any high school student who goes rabbit hunting before school and is found to have tossed his rifle behind the seat of his car.

When did calling your best friend “faggot” cease to be a term of endearment?

broken-glassLiberals, with zero-tolerance policies for everything that used to be called “hijinks,” have created the Whine Glass Generation; pretty to look at, of marginal practical use, and exceedingly fragile.

Words give these Social Justice Warrior pussies the vapors. I predict that in the near future fainting couches will make a comeback. No college safe space will be complete without one and the de rigueur slipcovers crocheted by fellow special snowflakes calming themselves after being confronted by an idea with which they disagree.

Hand in hand with the expectation of never confronting a divergent idea or a difficult situation is the presumption of entitlement. Perhaps it’s our fault as parents. After living through the privations of the Great Depression and the horrors of World War Two, the Greatest Generation spoiled the mettle out of the Baby Boomers, and the trend has been downhill in successive generations.

01TriggerwarningAs teenagers, my brother Jake and I mowed lawns, hauled trash, and dug out tree stumps to earn money to buy a tiny, second-hand, black-and-white television to place in the room we shared and watch the half dozen channels available. My children are on the verge of calling Child Protective Services because I have only provided a hundred-odd channels, internet, and several video game consoles (they are all “Nintendo” to me) in the family room on a television bigger than any wall of my first apartment.

This has to be the result of continually being told how wonderful they are. They really are like lead crystal stemware; only taken out of the china cabinet for special occasions. Used sparingly. Handled gingerly. Washed by hand. Never seeing the inside of a dishwasher.

And subject to shattering from sound alone.

Life far more resembles a dishwasher than it does a china cabinet. Unable to change the fundamental nature of the world around them, Liberals have taken over education to change the nature of the world’s inhabitants. It’s the most brilliant long-con ever devised.

My grandparents’ generation did nothing less than save the world and then set about rebuilding it. That inheritance has largely been squandered, and were we are on the downhill slide.

How many more generations before we are all Hummel miniatures in someone else’s display case?

 

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 for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets you content, behind the scenes access, and goodies not available on the main site.

Let My People Go


1blackmoses3Virginia Governor Terry McAuliffe has guaranteed 200,000 additional Democrat votes in November’s general election. Felons, in what is likely a historical first, will be able to pull the lever under the Governor’s executive in order to, as the Governor put it, undo the state’s long history of trying to prevent blacks from fully participating in our democracy.

In the sort of irony that is about a surprising as bears pooping in the woods, Terry McAuliffe is not only a Democrat Governor who won his seat with less than half the vote in a three-way race where the third candidate acted as a spoiler, but has served as Chairman of the Democratic National Committee, Co-Chairman of Bill Clinton’s 1996 re-election campaign, and Chairman of Hillary Clinton’s 2008 presidential campaign.

The Governor didn’t say “black.” Rather, he said “African-American,” but I get what he meant.

1blackmoses2I’ve lived and worked with enough actual Africans, both black and white, and various shades of brown people to know the term “African-American” makes absolutely no sense to them. Black Africans, in particular, think Americans are a combination of naive to the realities of the world and entirely too hung up on the color of skin.

In my youth, I married into an African-American family. They were white Angolans who made their way to America after their farm was burned down and about half of their extended family was hacked to death with machetes by the communist guerrillas who eventually prevailed in the civil war. The blacks who worked for them fared even worse due to a combination of wrong politics, wrong tribe, and wrong employer. No black monolith existed there and then; just as none exists in the United States today.

But back to felonious Virginians, who statistically and by statement of Governor McAuliffe, are overwhelmingly black. The percentages of black and white felons in America are pretty close to inverse of the percentages in overall US population.

1blackmoses6Depending on your politics, this may or may not be by design, and may or may not warrant examination and possible redress. However, the numbers are whey they are, and don’t care about feelings.

On a side note, I don’t generally provide statistics because they are quite literally for sale, and the argument devolves into dueling statistics. Go build something of your own instead of gnawing at the foundation of what someone else has built.

The easiest thing in the world is to destroy the creation of another.

Governor McAuliffe’s executive order is nothing short of delivering a block of reliable Democrat voters for the general election in a swing state. The reason I’m comfortable stating that is because if the Governor gave a fat baby’s dimple for redressing historical wrongs committed against blacks or encouraging felons to participate in the political process, he would have made this order in time for them to vote in the Virginia primary, nearly two months ago.

The Governor knows full well the voting patterns of this group, just as Ted Kennedy knew that the immigrants granted entrance under his 1965 immigration bill would have the tendency to swell the ranks of Democrat voters.

1blackmoses7I have known, and been the instrument of creation for, many felons in my career. Not very many were what you would call “administrative error” felon; for example, the guy who forgot to leave his legally carried, concealed pistol in the car while popping into the Post Office or the ten-year-old ticketed for not having a business license for her lemonade stand.

The felons I have known, particularly the ones that did hard time, made their livings doing illegal things. The nature of the conviction was largely irrelevant, since the nature of criminal prosecution is to be satisfied with the amount of time and not be overly concerned with the exact charge that wins the conviction.

These people gravitated toward money; it wasn’t even easy money. Even discounting apprehension and prosecution, every one of them would have been ahead by putting as much effort into legal work as the illegal work. They were in it for the lifestyle.

Like any entrepreneur, criminals diversify their enterprises. Remove the profit motive from running dope, guns, cigarettes, alcohol, human beings, or you name it, career criminals will go find another activity where the reward justifies the risks. Just like a writer will write politics, Westerns, Sci-Fi, erotica, or catalog copy, depending on the market demand, criminals will find the demand, too. It’s about lifestyle.

And Democrats, at least the ones in Virginia, seem just fine with allowing criminals to swing a national election to their side.

The Commonwealth of Virginia is poised to allow 200,000 felons currently in the state to vote in the November general election. There’s no word on whether these will be currently incarcerated felons, released felons under supervision, or be limited to everybody who has been convicted of a felony and now walks around free.

1blackmoses5I would imagine the logistics of setting up polls in a prison are daunting, except for an exceedingly high turn-out rate. What else have they got to do on a Tuesday? Draw your own conclusions between Australia’s compulsory voting and its beginnings as a penal colony.

I’m going to presume Virginia Governor Terry McAuliffe only means to enfranchise felons who have completed their sentences, but suffer under lack of suffrage.

Going out on a limb, the tendency of felons will be to vote Democrat. And damn it, that’s the best reason I can think of not to allow the to vote.

I’m all for those who do the crime doing the time. I’m also open to reevaluating exactly what constitutes a crime. However, once the bickering is settled, there will still be a list of acts everyone has agreed upon as unacceptable and deserving of the adult version of a time-out.

1blackmoses4Aside from the valid and reasonable “having paid their debt to society” argument, a bigger issue looms. Namely, the trust that civilized society is built upon. If you can’t be trusted with a gun, a vote, or where you can live, you are clearly still too dangerous to be walking among the rest of us.

I agree with the effect of Governor McAuliffe’s executive order, but the reason he states are spurious and the real reasons, which are easily discernible, are dishonest.

 

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 for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets you content, behind the scenes access, and goodies not available on the main site.

The Relevance of The Revenant


1Glass3The Revenant, Leonardo DiCaprio’s overdue Oscar vehicle, is a revenge tale lived by Hugh Glass in 1823. For a Hollywood production, it’s reasonably true to the sparse historical records that exist. Yet, Social Justice Warriors couldn’t help but inject their cultural necrosis to fill in the gaps and retell a folk legend, so it fit the Liberal narrative.

The maddeningly sparse promos for The Revenant appeared in about October of last year, promising an orgy of flintlock fueled gun-play, scalped white men, and Indian fighting. All of it due out in time for Christmas shopping and celebration of the Prince of Peace’s birthday.

Speaking of gifts and dead Indians, look to the right. My novel is the same genre.

Growing up, my local television station aired daily re-runs of The Adventures of Grizzly Adams and a plethora of horse-operas. Combine that with a love of history so intense that I threw my financial future to the wind and majored in it, I was thrilled to learn Hollywood was trying its hand at actual story telling again.

Hugh Glass is one of those historical figures that are difficult to research. We know very little about the man, and what we think we know has been embellished, retold, and distorted in a generational games of Chinese Whispers to the point it’s near impossible to say much of anything about Hugh Glass with certainty. Historians aren’t even sure of his place and date of birth or date of death.

Censuses chocked full of vital statistics and demographic information are a relatively recent development, and like most people of his time and place, Hugh Glass left precious little evidence of his life and adventures. In that sense, he was an average dude.

Staying alive, finding food, not catching cholera, and not freezing to death occupied a lot of his day. There wasn’t time to record for posterity what he would have likely seen as “nothing special.”

So, what do we know for certain about Hugh Glass? The short answer is, “Not much.”

1Glass1We know he was on an expedition up the Missouri River in 1823 when he was mauled by a bear, left for dead, and some weeks later (it varies by source), turns up very much alive at Fort Kiowa. We know he was involved in at least two Indian attacks, the one that killed him and an Arikara attack, where he was wounded in the leg. The letter he wrote to the parents of one of the men killed in the attack mentions this wound and shows Glass was functionally literate.

Don’t get me wrong. There are all sorts of other facts about Hugh Glass that can be pieced together from various sources with a reasonable enough degree of certainty that historians can agree. However, there are enough conflicting sources, and complete lack of sources, that many details of his life are thrown into dispute.

And isn’t that part of the fun of being a historian?

These vagaries of history are not only the playgrounds where history nerds engage in flights of fancy they would never present as fact, but they are the fields in which writers grow their crops. I have a foot firmly planted in both arenas.

As a fiction writer, I am a professional liar, by definition. I never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Being trained as a historian, I try to never let a good story get in the way of the truth. How much truth and how much poetic license to allow in any given piece is a balancing act every fiction writer struggles with. Some more than others.

Taken by itself, on its own merits as a story, The Revenant is excellent. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end in a three-act structure with a clear progression of events and characters with clearly defined objectives.

History nerd that I am, the compunction to point out historical discrepancies in movies and on television absolutely ruins the viewing experience of anyone unlucky enough to be around me. It makes me a solid historical fiction writer, but a miserable date. I’m also not a fan of the way the Hollywood Liberals and Social Justice Warriors infect their products with their view of how the world should be.

I’m fixin’ to piss all over both of them for what they did with The Revenant, so y’all might want a refresher on the history, first. Go ahead. I can wait.

Depending on your definition, some spoilers might lie ahead, but if you’re unfamiliar enough of Mountain Man history to not know about its towering figures, the fur trade, and courers de bois in general, you really should stop Googling “Kardashians” and “big boob Korean school girls” long enough to pick up a history book.

This is as close to a trigger warning as you’re likely to get out of me.

1Glass7The three principle characters, Hugh Glass, Jim Bridger, and John Fitzgerald, existed, as did the attack on Hugh Glass that looked vaguely like a bear raping Leonardo DiCaprio in the promos. We can look to modern bear attacks to see how horrific they are, and common sense would inform us Glass was not only non-ambulatory, but endangering the group. The decision to leave Glass behind is one of those “no-good-option” sort of choices that always damns the decider.

The witness accounts are consistent in Glass being on death’s door (at least, based on the medical knowledge of the period and the other men’s experience). The accounts are also consistent in the plan to wait for Glass to expire on his own and have the men who stayed behind rejoin the group. However, objection to that course of action is lacking from participant accounts. There may have been some who disagreed, but evidence of such has not survived.

John Fitzgerald is known to be one of the men left behind. Popular lore pegs Jim Bridger as the other man, and he was certainly on the expedition. However, the evidence that Bridger was “the young man” is not as clear. The pedigree is not as substantial and the chain from event to present is convoluted.

For the sake of clear storytelling and leaving discussion of historical minutiae to us history nerds, I can see glossing over this minor controversy. Other undocumented periods of Hugh Glass’ life, such as his capture by Jean Lafitte and Pawnee Indians are even more difficult to prove, as pirates and Indians are not exactly known for their scrupulous documentation; written or otherwise.

Most of these events are no better supported than my Grandmother telling me about her Grandfather achieving local notoriety along the Kansas-Nebraska border for having shot and killed two Indians.

Based on the time and place, it is entirely possible. Then again, after the numerous re-tellings, it is also possible that Great-Great-Grandpa merely spotted two Indians and shot at them. Knowing my family, either version is equally possible, and lacking independent corroboration from contemporaneous witness accounts, there is little that can be concluded with certainty.

1Glass4Storytellers have told their stories since man began to talk. One of the reasons has to do with societal expectations, and helps explains embellishments. Tall tales are a social clue to the listener that says, “Should you ever find yourself in this sort of situation, this is what we expect out of you, young man.”

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of movies and books that venerate manliness and masculinity as admirable traits. The sorts of stories that lack inner turmoil over ethical questions. Men either struggle against other men, nature, or their physical limitations, but where what needs to be accomplished and the course to chart is never in question.

If you don’t understand that peeing on your buddy’s leg is simultaneously a manly show of affection and the funniest God-damn thing in the world, you need to read “War” by Sebastian Junger.

And that is where my biggest complaint about The Revenant lands. Not satisfied with survival as sufficient motivation, the writers felt compelled to stray far off the reservation, as it were, and shape a nearly two hundred year old story to fit their modern social narrative.

1Glass2The only conclusion I can draw is that Hollywood does not see the life of a traditionally masculine man, who hacks and tears his livelihood from the wilderness, as worthy of sympathy from the audience. Contributors to this project, whether intentionally or not, send a very subtle message to viewers that mere life is not worthy of preservation.

I come to this conclusion from the strategic inclusion of Indians.

The main differentiation in The Revenant between Hugh Glass and the other courers de bois is a belabored emotional attachment to Indian culture via a murdered wife and son.

Hugh Glass may well have spent substantial time with the Pawnee, either though choice or coercion. He may have married into the Wolf Pawnee tribe and had children. Other men in similar time, place, and profession did just that. There simply isn’t a record that he did, and there is absolutely no surviving record of a full-grown son on the fateful expedition. A lack of evidence does not provide evidence of lack, if that makes sense, but no third man has ever been mentioned in any account.

Dramatic license, I suppose.

The movie wastes no opportunity to portray every trapper as, at best, indifferent to human suffering and, at worst, bloodthirsty, wanton marauders, who only have theft, rape, and murder on their minds. The only show of humanity by a white man, besides Hugh Glass, is a brief scene where Jim Bridger surreptitiously leaves behind a bit of food for a starving Indian woman, who’s village is still smoking after a being set ablaze during a raid by…you guessed it, white men.

You can tell an awful lot about a people by how they fill in the blanks of history.

Imagine if Beowulf were created in the United States today, instead of being the first known written saga.

1Glass6While certainly remaining foreign, likely an indigenous Central American, Beowulf would almost certainly be cast as an LGBTQ trans-person of indeterminate ethnic origin and fluid gender identity…And quite possibly a shape-shifter, as well.

Modern Hollywood depictions of frontier interactions between Indians and Europeans tend to follow one of two patterns. A white man fleeing his past has his eyes opened to the superiority of indigenous culture and intercedes on their behalf against encroaching European settlement, so everyone can live in harmony or a half-breed Indian, who has strong ties to both words, must decide which side to support in a looming conflict.

As a writer, I get it. Nobody want to read about the day that nothing happened.

1Glass5By the same token, The Revenant falls into the trap of portraying Indians as a class of victims fighting back against a class of oppressors. The collective cultural guilt of Hollywood has caused them to either forget or willfully ignore the facts that Indians expanded their territories, enslaved one another, and waged war against each other for the same very human reasons as Europeans in Europe.

It is nothing short of ancestor shaming fed to an audience that lacks understanding of history, imposes a modern sensibility on the past, and is generally self-loathing for being the beneficiary of past sacrifices and victories. We Americans have this funny habit of hating ourselves for our successes, and that tendency will be our downfall, if it isn’t abated.

And The Revenant is still a hell of a good story. Go see it.

 

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 for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets you content, behind the scenes access, and goodies not available on the main site.

Unhappy Warriors


Self-described fat girl Tess Holliday has a message for you; #effyourbeautystandards. Unlike Richard Simmons and Jack LaLanne, who spent decades dedicated to encouraging women to get off their fat asses and pursue a goal, Tess Holliday pushes a quintessentially Millennial ethos.

And fat girls everywhere are eating it up, if you’ll pardon the pun.

1beauty4An entire generation of women who are unhappy with their bodies have taken to the internet demanding the world find their double chins and cottage cheese thighs the height of beauty. The #effyourbeautystandards hashtag is a whole thing on the Twitter. Fat girls wearing bikinis are creating entire channels on Youtube and Facebook demanding that everyone find them both beautiful and brave for daring to expose their rolls.

Loey Lane is a bouncy, vapid co-ed who embraces her chubbiness on all the usual suspects of social media, while giving other fat girls beauty tips, showing off how absolutely fabulous her life of conspicuous consumption lived on Daddy’s money can be, and generally proving Millennials are callow and bereft of depth.

1beauty3Lately, she’s donned the Social Justice Warrior armor over her impeccably coiffed hair and meticulously manicured nails to crusade against fat shaming in the name of body positive…something or other bullshit. I guess there are only so many videos to be made about cosmetics and overpriced underwear. All her fat acceptance videos boil down to, “Stop being so mean to fat people and love us the way we are.”

What if we simply ignore you? Would that be sufficient? Somehow, I suspect you would continue to ball like a hungry calf until you were venerated.

These women are missing some salient points.

Youth has its own beauty – Several of the women demanding men love their jelly rolls are young. In less enlightened days, we called them “tragic fat,” before focusing our attention onto a girl whose physique was more to our liking. As in, “She’d be really pretty, if she wasn’t so fat.”

What these chubby chicks fail to understand about the male procreative drive is that given the choice between young and fat or old and skinny, the biological imperative is to go for youth, since that is where to find the best chance of conception and a healthy birth. It’s an unfortunate side effect of the way God made us to find a field where our seed can find purchase.

Strip any woman half naked, and men will pay some attention. It’s just the way we are wired.

As such, men will let the young fatties believe and say pretty much anything, if they show a little skin. However, as the youth slips away, so does a man’s willingness to put up with the formerly young, but now, fat and mouthy chick. Our grandmothers understood this truth, and gave quaint advice to our mothers, such as, “Don’t get fat.”

Chubby Chasers exist – There is a segment of men who prefer bigger women. I don’t mean simply zaftig or Rubenesque. These men like manatees, but to each their own.

From the Chubby Chasers I’ve encountered, I sense an undercurrent of self-loathing and insecurity. These men tend to lack traditional masculine attributes of height, strength of build, and forceful personalities.

My suspicion is they manage their shortcoming by focusing their romantic efforts on women for whom there is less competition.

I shouldn’t ride the fat girls too hard. Lord knows, I’ve done my share of them. However, in my defense, sometimes you don’t feel like putting out much effort.

You see, I’m not much of a trophy hunter. I’m a meat hunter. Filling the freezer is my goal, so I take the first legal shot that presents itself. As a result, I’m quite familiar with the concept of “low-hanging fruit.”

That’s why you always go to her place, boys. It’s difficult and awkward to sneak out of your own apartment.

God bless these Tubby Tinas for finding their niche in life posing for cheesecake photos and becoming internet personalities. Everyone is entitled to make a living however they like. My complaint is the unmitigated gall to tell me, and the rest of their target demographic, what to think, feel, and believe.

They don’t get to decide that. I do.

There is magnificent irony that occurs to me in a cohort of women foisting their fatness on the world and demanding Victoria’s Secret models look like them. Other than the occasional lingerie purchase for romantic gift giving and the stunningly minuscule population of trannys, women are the target of women’s clothing marketing, and in an old-fashioned concept the Social Justice Warriors either have forgotten or willfully ignore, market influence informs model size.

If Victoria’s Secret and other women’s clothing sellers thought they could plump up the bottom line by pumping up the models, they would.

Women like to see their potential clothing purchases on skinny models for the same reason men prefer truck ads featuring farmers, lumberjacks, and roughnecks.

It has to do with how we see ourselves and what we aspire to be. Rather than put in the hard work to achieve a goal, the fat acceptance crowd finds it easier to give up on difficult goals and demand that the world rotate around them.

Having grown up as a chubby kid and afflicted by teenagers of my own, I can attest that children are cruel creatures, with teenage girls being the worst. They are like chickens; vicious and dumb.

But, here’s a secret of life. It doesn’t get any better. The nasty twat who called you fat in high school will still be pulling that shit on her deathbed. The asshat in football tryouts who finished the forty-yard dash backward for no better reason than to humiliate me is still a prick two decades later.

He was still a jerk after I tackled him in practice hard enough to give him a concussion and got benched for the next game for intentionally stepping on him as I got up. You would have thought he learned a lesson from me hurting him every chance I got, but he didn’t.

Every time one of my kids whines about a classmate, a teacher, or life in general battering them, I include the advice that life doesn’t get any easier and now is the time to learn how to deal with people’s bullshit, lest they become a typical Millennial Liberal bitching about the unfairness of the world.

Don’t think I’m picking on fat girls. They meet the OEM requirements, and quite truthfully, they seem to try harder. I point to my first wife, as case in point, but due to the restraining order and my conditions of release, I’m prohibited from saying anything further.

Men are fairly simple creatures, willing to overlook cellulite when compensated for. We don’t use a checklist; we use a balance scale. Tip it in favor, and we keep her. However, pileup morbidly obese, overly demanding, and generally bitchy, and there is a lot to overcome.

Being fat isn’t an accomplishment. It’s a resignation.

While the likes of Tess Holliday and Loey Lane are busy demanding the moon rotate around them, Amy Schumer, a marginally funny comedienne benefiting out of all proportion to her talent because people like to hear girls curse and tell dirty stories, and Lena Dunham, who, if memory serves, is more notorious for sexually abusing her younger sister than famous for anything she ever created, are busy challenging beauty standards by appealing in ridiculous poses in various states of undress.

1beauty1Exactly how sitting Indian-style, naked on a toilet eating cake off a plate strategically placed over the nether regions challenges beauty standards is beyond me, but Portagees aren’t known for our deep thinking skills. It’s probably something subliminal.

Hopefully, the photoshoot was not in a working bathroom with a functional toilet. Otherwise, I’m turned off to cake forever…and middle-aged, androgynous women with boy haircuts. Some things are just too far, even for me.

1beauty2Amy Schumer’s photo in the Pirelli calendar had less to do with her not conforming to beauty standards than with poor photography. Was the photographer taken aside and told, “Look. We get that you can do some amazing stuff to make an average girl look great, but we’re making a Social Justice statement here, so…

“Don’t put any thought into poses, lighting, props, expression. Make it look like a ten-year-old took the photos on Christmas morning with the new camera he got as a gift.”

And then they call it brave.

Morbidly obese women on a fetish photo shoot, chubby attention seekers on Youtube, and professional jokesters aren’t brave. At best, they are working an angle to further their career, which I can totally get behind.

Yeah for capitalism!

At worst, they are (to subsume the William Wordsworth poem) the Unhappy Warriors of the Social Justice movement.

Not satisfied to enjoy the fruits of their labor titillating self-loathing men, blurting obscenities while standing between a crowd of strangers and a brick wall, or revealing the most horrifying details of predatory, child sexual abuse perpetrated on her younger sibling, these fucked up bitches project their neuroses on the rest of society, and tell us that we have to change.

Doctor, heal thyself.

 

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 for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets you content, behind the scenes access, and goodies not available on the main site.