Friday in a word: sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow.
Not looking forward to the weekend one bit.
I’m utterly exhausted, and Casa de Huckleberry needs a thorough, top-to-bottom cleaning/tending-to, because someone in the house that isn’t me thinks it’d be swell to have a big ol’ barbecue like we used to with dozens of guests showing up to eat my food, drink my beer and make a mess. That happens next weekend, so this weekend is all about the prep.
And I’m over it already.
In the world, I note it was a mostly uneventful week until this morning, when I awoke to find that the media finally gets its crazed Tea Party Neo-Racist Mass Shooter that it’s been itching to find since Columbine. Also, two IGs request that Clinton be investigated for a host of crimes, which is hilarious because I’m sure that request is already shredded and disintegrating at the bottom of the Potomac as we speak.
Privileged black Millennials desperately wish to tell you that only their lives matter, so stop complaining with all the “all lives matter” bullshit and just keep the EBT cards charged up and ready to swipe. One wonders the consequences when white people actually and honestly do check their privilege, as they are so constantly asked to do. I have a feeling it will result in a lot less free stuff for blacks, and then the fun begins.
In the meantime, history chugs on until that inevitable point where robots develop their own economic interests outside the scope of human affairs, and then we can probably just call it curtains on “civilization” though to be honest I long ago have already.
That’s all I know.
Get ’em in and have a more relaxing weekend than I will.
Vertigo Records | 1976
“My son’s name was Joshua Wilkerson,” she began. “On November 16, 2010, he was beaten, strangled, tortured until he died. He was tied up, thrown in a field, and set on fire. His killer, Hermilo Moralez, was brought here illegally by his illegal parents when he was ten years old, so he fit the ‘DREAM’ kid description. He was sentenced to life in prison, which means it will be 30 years before he’s up for parole. He’ll be a 49-year-old man, who I don’t expect to be deported. And I just hope he doesn’t come to live in your city.”
— Laura Wilkerson, Testimony Before The Senate During The Oversight of the Administration’s Misdirected Immigration Enforcement Policies: Examining the Impact on Public Safety and Honoring the Victims Committee, 22 July 2015
We’re coming up on one now:
It might be tempting to dismiss Hillary’s triangulation on “black lives matter” as petty primary posturing with little political significance. In fact, it points to a very real division within the American left, with important implications for the future of the Democratic Party—namely, the division between economic populists who rally around the politics of class and social progressives who rally around the politics of identity.
While I couldn’t give fewer fucks than I currently do about the pustulations of the Democratic Party, or the Republican Party for that matter, the above paragraph highlights an interesting conundrum that I’ve been curious about for a while. Do the white(guilt) liberals who demand the unfettered importation of The Other, under the racist delusion that they, the white(guilt) liberals are the ones to lead them, do they know what Step 2 in the process is? I’d always guessed that of course they do, because how dumb can you be, but the more this sick tableau unfolds, I’m changing my answer.
No, they do not know what’s coming next.
Get your popcorn ready.
Because I wouldn’t joke about a thing like civic disintegration; when I say these are the Clown Show Times, I am 100% serious.
Clowns to the left of us:
An avowed socialist was heckled by #BlackLivesMatter protesters while being interviewed by an illegal immigrant and author of a recent documentary about white privilege … Another Democratic candidate, former Maryland governor Martin O’Malley, was also heckled by the protestors, and was later forced to apologize for suggesting that “all lives matter.”
Donald Trump revealed Sen. Lindsey Graham’s cellphone number during a televised rally in South Carolina. Graham “doesn’t seem as bright as Rick Perry,” Trump said before reading the number aloud. “Give it a shot.” The Daily Beast’s Betsy Woodruff reports that when called, the number goes to voicemail and a recording says that Graham is not available.
It’s all fun and games until, well, fuck it – it’s all fun and games. The good ship Keynes is going to crash upon the rocks whether the captain is drunk or not, because the rudder fell off a long time ago and all that’s left is to coast off into the night as the tide takes us to a much deserved and ultimately cathartic oblivion.
You know, for once, I’m more than ready to tackle Friday to the ground and beat the ever-loving shit out of it to close out a week that wasn’t the best, nor was it the worst, it simply was what it was; a testament to the mediocrity of mid-July. Although the weather has been more East Coast than West Coast lately, meaning swampy and humid rather than hot and dry, and it’s supposed to rain again tonight through tomorrow in the LAND OF PERPETUAL DOOMSDAY DROUGHT, but let’s not talk about that.
Out there in the world, things are dwindling at an epic pace. This is the time of SJWs tripling and quadrupling down on multiple fronts in the face of real, honest-to-God opposition for the first time in decades, and they’re handling it about as well as you’d think, which is to stay not at all. The civic order is in a female mindset where everything breaks down into consensus-badgerings and permissions-quests. Giving a quick look at cyclical epochs in human history, along with the masculine and feminine demarcations in numerous languages both alive and dead, I wonder if the movements and oscillations of the civic order can be likewise delineated into the masculine and the feminine.
The vaunted F-35 Lightning is about to enter service following a brisk 20-year development project. Endlessly behind schedule (in fact it still is since there’s a better than not chance it won’t actually end up in service for a while longer) the joint-strike-fighter-bomber of the future seeks to streamline production costs by giving all three air branches of service the same plane with the same assembly system, and that since this plane can do a little bit of everything, other planes can be safely retired.
Unfortunately, the $400B+ boondoggle can’t ever possibly hope to save costs now, unless the plane somehow stays in service for 68 years with minimal losses. Couple this with the fact that while the F-35 can indeed do a little bit of everything, it does none of them particularly well. It’s an abysmal fighter plane that’s turning out to be slightly slower than the F-15 and a lot less agile than the F-16; to maintain any agility at all, it’s internal bomb payload must be kept to a minimum, or if sacrificing agility, it’s internal fuel capacity must be reduced, greatly diminishing its bomb range; in several flight modes its stealth profile isn’t a flock of geese or windswept debris, it’s a fighter plane; the VTAL system for the Navy/USMC variants are less reliable than the Harriers and expend a tremendous amount of fuel just to get the damn things airborn.
But it doesn’t matter; as with the subsumption of the American electorate/workforce with immigrants, the F-35 isn’t supposed to be THE PLANE OF THE FUTURE, it’s merely to bridge the gap between the status quo and a fully automated drone air force.
I can hardly wait.
On the home front, the county flea market is set for Sunday, which is always fun. I’ve already got the truck loaded up with a few boxes of stuff I’d like to off-load, some old tools and parts that are just taking up space. Every year there’s a guy that makes custom leather belts, tool belts, gun belts and holsters and just about anything else you could need, and he makes it right there in front of you by hand. My dad got a tool belt from this guy not too long before he died (my dad, not the belt-maker) and 15 years later it’s still in great shape, and I use it all the time. I’m going to have him make me a holster for the X D, and I’m nearly giddy about it.
But enough about that.
Have a great weekend and get ‘em in.
Maybe Baby (Original Version)
Buddy Holly & The Crickets
Brunswick Records | 1957
For whatever reason, the U.S. Marine Recruiting Station was designated as a gun-free zone, giving the armed ambassador of Islamic good will plenty of time to shoot up the joint:
A gunman unleashed a barrage of gunfire at two military facilities Thursday in Tennessee, killing at least four Marines and wounding a soldier and a police officer, officials told CBS News. The shooter also was killed. Two law enforcement sources told CBS News that the shooting suspect was identified as Muhammad Youssef Abdulazeez.
Remember, though, in the words of Our Simple Affirmative Action President, the future does not belong to those who slander The Prophet.
What a stupid week this has been so far.
I’m tired of all the endless victory laps in the absence of any kind of victory.
Our Simple Affirmative Action President reached a “deal” with the Islamic Revolutionaries of Iran which removes economic sanctions in exchange for nothing.
It’d be as if someone came up to you, offered you $100 with no strings attached, then went on an endless braggadocio about how tough-as-nails a negotiator he was when you accepted it.
Next, we find that the ghouls at Planned Parenthood are who we thought they were, and let ’em off the hook. Although it sadly puzzles me why stabbing infants in the womb through the head with vacuum cleaners is somehow not a problem at all, but parting out and selling the remains is where the line is crossed.
They are both the work of ghouls.
As for the too-early-to-call-it campaign horse race, it’s worth noting that enthusiasm for all of the Inevitables continues to lag, with Extremists and Outsiders on both sides making the Electables sweat it out. While I’ve come up wrong on some prognostications, it certainly looks as though my vision of political life where two political parties form an establishment diametrically opposed to the interests of all others save for the apparatchiks is holding strong.
We’ll always have Dunkirk, in other words.
As for the rest of it, I expect the short term to look a lot like the long term, in the only way that matters — the less reliant you are on other things, the brighter your future will look. It isn’t just the current civic order that’s in
decline collapse; it’s the reigning civilizational model of the past 200 years, one built entirely on the backbone of wage-labor industry. Odd, too, that in our decline we’re essentially playing the record backwards — five minutes in our neo-Victorianism, replete with digital fainting couches, should suffice to make the point.
Whatever comes after that is going to look a lot like what came before it, and fiefdoms are a lot more tolerable for the self-reliant than for the indigent.