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Let’s Review 19


This Cuddly Robot Is Designed to Lull You to Sleep

How Your Grandpa Got His LOLs Stan: People also sent soldiers a lot of girlie-type boxes which contained an unclad young lady or tiny cloth panties inside. Mardi: Yeah, a lot of girlie things. But as time went on, as you got past World War II and started moving into the ’50s, like Stan said, the boxes got bigger and they featured very different things, like boobs. Boobs were big.

The key conceptual innovation is that prestige is replaced by capability as a unit of negotiating power.

Lately I find that the choice before those who populate the former Christendom is reduced to two paths: 1. To go Christian. 2. To go mad. The only game in town for the sane is the old Christian one. But look around: not everyone is playing.

Vending Machines in the U.S. Once Dispensed More Than Chips and Cookies Americans in the ‘40s, for instance, could get a fully cooked hot dog from a vending machine known as a “Speedy Weeny.” Machines in the United Kingdom dispensed hearty fare, such as potatoes and eggs, in the 1960s. Models in Germany provided clocks. Flight insurance became so popular in the United States that airports installed vending machines where people could purchase it ahead of their trips.

The Dutch “Tulip Mania” Bubble (aka “Tulipomania”) By the peak of tulipmania in February of 1637, a single tulip bulb was worth about ten times a craftsman’s annual income.

Rare Aztec Map Reveals a Glimpse of Life in 1500s Mexico

Vintage Transistor Radios of the 1950s and 60s | The Sony radio that seemed to change the entire electronics world forever was the TR-63. Released in 1957, it was considered the world’s first, truly pocket-sized radio and was the first to utilize all miniature components.

It’s 2017. Why does American medicine still run on fax machines?

Former Facebook exec says social media is ripping apart society ‘No civil discourse, no cooperation; misinformation, mistruth.

“Each new generation born,” says the great Thomas Sowell, “is in effect an invasion of civilization by little barbarians, who must be civilized before it is too late.”

Hate Hoax Map We have done an analysis of recent hate-crime hoaxes with a particular concentration on the period beginning June 2015—the month Donald Trump announced his candidacy—and ending December 2017.

Can We Be Honest About Women? Obviously not.

Net neutrality is dead. Good riddance. Has this country ever seen a more simperingly childish mob than the one responsible for the outcry over this boring prudential question concerning the allocation of hertz?

The FBI’s Ship of Fools If it is true — as seems increasingly likely (maybe even reasonably likely) — that a cabal inside the Justice Department conspired to prevent Donald Trump from being president and then, once he became president, did their best to make sure he did not succeed in office, then we are all in a horrifying pass until we sort this out.

BTW: SAY, HAS AL FRANKEN RESIGNED YET?

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A Menagerie of Galaxies.

Located 4 billion light-years away in the constellation Cetus, galaxy cluster Abell 370 contains an astounding assortment of several hundred galaxies tied together by the mutual pull of gravity. The brightest and largest galaxies in the cluster are the yellow-white, massive, elliptical galaxies containing many hundreds of billions of stars each. Spiral galaxies—like our Milky Way—have younger populations of stars and are bluish. Entangled among the galaxies are mysterious-looking arcs of blue light. These are actually distorted images of remote galaxies behind the cluster. These far-flung galaxies are too faint for Hubble to see directly. Instead, the cluster acts as a huge lens in space that magnifies and stretches images of background galaxies like a funhouse mirror. See the rest HERE. New Images Daily

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The Star

Were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt.

         — T. S. Eliot, “The Journey of the Magi”

Theirs was the Age of Myth; a world where night was not dimmed by the web of lights that now obscures the stars. Their nights were lit by flaring torches, dim oil lamps, guttering candles; by the phases of the moon and the broad shimmering river of the Milky Way. As the sun declined and night ascended, life withdrew into shuttered and barred homes. Only the very rich or the very poor were abroad in the dark.

The night sky, now so thin and distant, so seldom really seen, was to them as thick and close as a slab of coal studded with diamonds. They could turn it in their mind’s eye even as it turned above them. They reclined on their hill sides, their roofs, or in rooms built for viewing and marking the moon and the stars. They watched it all revolve above them and sang the centuries down. They remembered. They kept records and told tales. They saw beings in the heavens — gods and animals, giants and insects, all sparking the origins of myth — and they knew that in some way all was connected to all; as above, so below, “on Earth as it is in Heaven”. They studied the patterns of it all and from those repeating patterns fashioned our first science, astrology.

And, like all our other celebrated sciences since, they looked to astrology to give them hints about the future, about what they should do, what they should expect, what they should become. They looked to their science then, as many look to their science now, to remove their doubt.

In time stronger, more intricately argued sciences would rise upon the structures of the proto-sciences of astrology and alchemy; sciences that chained demons with data. These new data-based sciences would push the first sciences into the realm of myth, speculation, superstition and popular fantasy. And, as it is with our advertising, promise, big promise is the soul of our brave new sciences.

The new sciences, you see, are much, much more about “Reality” than the old sciences. They will never be tossed aside as so many playthings of mankind’s youth. The authority of our astronomy, our biology, our physics, our chemistry and others is, we fervently believe, as certain as the pole star. Unlike astrology and alchemy, they will never be questioned; they will be built upon.

It is a central tenet of our faith in science that the new will encompass the old in one endless and eternal conservation of sense and sensibility. In this cathedral we worship a database. We can see outward to the edge of what is, and downward into time was to (almost) the moment of Creation. We can see inward into (almost) the mute heart of matter. We have the proven method. We have the hard evidence. We know that nothing is, in time, beyond our knowing. All doubt has been removed. We are the Alpha and Omega. Our science is now as eternal and as deeply grounded in truth as… well, as astrology was in 5 B.C.

Somewhere around 5 B.C. three of the world’s leading astronomers/astrologers noticed something unusual in the sky. It could have been a comet. It could have been a supernova. It could have been a rare conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter. Whatever it was, it was strange enough for them to travel towards it. Or so it is said. Or so it is written. Or so it is remembered from the time of myth.

Myth or history? What is the reality of this road trip towards an obscure birth in a wretched town, during a not very pleasant passage in history, over 2,000 years in our past?

We do not know. We cannot know. As it is in so much else that we ignore it is not given to us to know.

We have only shards of pottery and fragments of texts snatched from desert caves or teased out of the soil with tin trowels and brushes. We have only the sifted detritus of history; a global jigsaw puzzle where ninety-nine percent of the pieces have long gone to dust.

Our past is a handful of ashes. It is beyond our gift to ever know the difference between an inspiring folk tale and the eyewitness accounts of something that, even today, would occupy the realm of the miraculous. For today, in the realm of the mysteries, we no longer have any time for the good or the beautiful; we have no time for miracles. We have only time for denigration.

In 2004 Time and Newsweek, endeavored, in their ham-fisted way, to gin up some circulation with articles that purported to “examine” the miracles surrounding the intersection of the divine with a world now buried two millennia deep in the ash of the Earth. We shall probably see the same sort of thing this year. The cheapening of the spirit in this culture,”the expense of reason in a waste of shame,” by those whose lamp of the soul burns low, is now as predicable as the winter solstice.

In the manner of these publications, and the habits of the sodden intellects that grind them out for small silver, a lot of time was spent on the “question” of the Virginity of Mary, the mother of Christ. It’s a scurrilous bit of work. A “hit piece” on Mary, in the jargon of the magazine trade. For all the preening of these publications, the articles were just two chunks of thinly veiled anti-Christian porn, sops to secular hedonists in search of a cheap thrill by imbibing another hit of their favorite pap. These kinds of magazine articles always strike a chord of sadness in me, because I know at last the true cost of creating them. They are a curious kind of self-damnation in life, and, as a result, a waste of life.

Beneath all the buffed prose and appeals to experts and phoned-in quotes from scholars, the articles rose to little more than the coarse chortling of fraternity boys in the early drunken hours of the morning: “A virgin? Right! Sure. Any wife’d tell her husband that if she suddenly…”

In the offices of Time and Newsweek, there is no room for wonder beyond the fact that, for fewer people every passing year, they are still publishing and still making payroll. So far. Anything else, anything that might have within it the spark of the divine, is fit for nothing except denigration. This belief squats at the cold dead center of their editorial philosophy, a philosophy they share with untold millions of our coarsened fellow citizens. And still they cannot comprehend why year after year, no matter how cheap they price their subscriptions, their circulation continues to decline. In none of their editorial meetings do any of those attending look about them and declare that they have become “an alien people clutching their gods” in a land that finds them more and more dispensable.

We will leave them in their conference rooms high above the Avenue of the Americas, and wish them a “Happy Holiday. Have a good one.” It is far more interesting to ponder, instead, those ancient ancestors who had no doubts that what they had seen in the heavens was unusual enough to travel.

In 5 B.C. “travel” was not something undertaken lightly. It involved, across distances that would seem trivial today, risks of life and death at every turn. It required wealth and endurance. Few traveled for pleasure. To travel at all required a motivation far beyond the ordinary. So, at the very least, while we cannot know what was in the sky in those days, we can be certain it was something very unusual.

In his short story, “The Star,” Arthur C. Clarke’s Jesuit narrator of the far future discovers the remnants of a civilization destroyed by a violent nova so that its light might announce the birth of Christ on Earth. The story has that ironic twist that is popular with authors and pleasing to readers. I remember it as making an impression on me when I was around 12 years old. But the story does not age well because the science of it, like all science, does not age well. The story is just 53 years old.

In 1957, when I was twelve years old, we all lived in a far smaller universe with far fewer stars for God to destroy by way of cosmic birth announcements. Now that the inventory of His stars has increased a billion fold, I think it is safe to say He could have found one to suit His purpose that didn’t involve destroying a blameless alien race. He could simply pick one deeper in the field and, well, ramp up the volume. That sort of thing is just an afterthought once You’ve got omnipotence. It might even do double duty if You could use a star in an area that might need a few more heavy elements across the next brief one or two billion years of Your plan.

Sages and mystics, Eliot and Clarke, and a host of others have all had their turns with the story of The Star. In the end it remains what it was when it began, a story. The story of a road trip by three astrologers, kings, wise men. A journey by men who saw something special in the heavens and determined to follow it wherever it led, no matter what the cost.

To see something special. To see something beyond yourself and your imaginings. To follow it wherever it leads. To always remain prepared for miracle. That is the inner music of the story of The Star. Like all stories that survive, it is the music of the heart and not of the head, and like the heart, it will endure.

“Were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt.”

To have “evidence and no doubt.” That is what those that put themselves forward as our “wise men” seem to propose to us day after day from their sterile rooms high above the avenues. They have the “data” from which we should derive, they insist, doubt about all that for which they have no evidence, no data.

First and foremost in their blinded vision is their iron requirement that we should doubt the original myths that have made us and sustained us as individuals and as a people across the centuries. In their pointless world, they would have us cast off the old myths and embrace their “new and improved myths — complete with evidence;” myths made of purposeless matter “hovering in the dark.”

And seeing what these “wise men” have become, we turn. We turn away.

Instead, every year a bit more it seems, a tide has shifted in the hearts of men and we turn like a lodestone to the deeper myths of the human heart; that place where The Star will always shine — always within and yet always beyond us. In the end, the Mystery is the Gift.

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Let’s Review 18

 

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. And like that – poof – he’s gone!

George Washington’s Hard Death Shows the Limits of Medicine in His Time

“We have to fix the schools” is one of those phrases that has become a bit of joke on the Dissident Right, but it remains wildly popular with Progressives and Conservative Inc. One reason for this is it helps finance that nexus of non-profits and unread publications that keep an army of liberal arts majors in six figure positions. The article in question was produced by an outfit calling itself the American Principles Project. The Rackets

THALES: Do Lefties Live in a Parallel Universe? Let’s Explore.

Journalists are at war with their critics — and they’re losing badly

The Daredevil Female Photographer Who Lowers Herself Into Active Volcanoes

Sun Tzu: The Art of the War On Christmas  3.Hence, when able to attack, we must know when he is sleeping; when using our forces, we must know when he’s awake; when we are near, we must also know if he’s been bad or good; when far away, we must make him believe we’ll be good for goodness’ sake.

One Cʘsmos: An Offer You Must Refuse It’s either one nation under God, or no nation — and eternal hostility — under multiculturalism and identity politics.

Trump Hastens Media Meltdown

820-foot long Chunk Of ‘Fatberg’ Clogging London’s Sewers To Be Displayed In Museum Curator Vyki Sparkes said it “will be one of the most fascinating and disgusting objects we have ever had on display.”

The Dweeb State Peter Strzok, is a 13 year old girl, judging by his texts with his mistress, Lisa Page. Strzok – Omg. You listening to npr? Apparently Melania’s speech had passages lifted from Michelle Obama’s…Unbelievable Page – NO WAY! Page – God, it’s just a two-bit organization. I do so hope his disorganization comes to bite him hard in November. Strzok – It HAS to, right? Right?!? Panicked

A 17th-Century Portrait of a Glamorous Bearded Woman

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Sexual Harassment and You: The Training Film

Journalist: Donald Trump Jr. Abusive Towards Women When He Was 3-Years-Old

4 Fascinating Uncontacted Tribes From The Sentinelese To The Korowai Korowai tradition states there are witches called “khakhua” that take over men’s bodies, and can only be expelled by killing the man and eating him.

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Against Compassion

[Below this entry readers have been commenting on an item concerning Amazon, Seasonal Giving, and the Homeless. It would seem that giving alms has become more complicated than just tossing some change to a person who asks you to “spare a quarta?” This, from 2009, is a small tale about my own experience.]

Outside the ancient offices of the Cosmoangelic Book Publishers that I once worked in at 2 Park Street in Boston, an old lady stood with her back to the old bricks on every working day. A square yard of sidewalk was her office. Eyes behind thick glasses were watery-gray. She stood hunched in a permanent flinch like some dog who’d been struck too many times for nothing. She dressed in clean, shabby, but not too shabby, clothing — warm enough for the winters and cool enough when summer came around at last. To all who passed by her office she repeated her Bostonian-inflected mantra:
“Spare a quarta?”
“Spare a quarta?”
“Spare a quarta?”

She stood to the left of the entrance for part of the day and to the right for the remainder. You didn’t know when she’d shift, but she always seemed to be in your path as you came out of the building.

Going for some coffee?

“Spare a quarta?”

Going to lunch?

“Spare a quarta?”

Going to skip out on the afternoon and catch a matinee?

“Spare a quarta?”

I once spared her a quarta and went into the Boston Commons with a newspaper and watched her work at her job.

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Inspired.

More Information at:Amazon Prime Now. This link shows you where this service is available by zip code. The video shows you how via “Special Instructions.”

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Let’s Review 17: Illustrated Edition


Banner Ladies: The Human Billboards of Yesteryear

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“By January, the media were playing down the Hitler stuff and going balls-out on the “Russiagate” story. According to The Washington Post (which, let’s remember, is a serious newspaper, as opposed to a propaganda organ of the so-called US “Intelligence Community”), not only had the Russians “hacked” the election, but they had hacked the Vermont power grid!

“Editorialists at The New York Times were declaring that Trump “had been appointed by Putin,” and that the USA was now “at war” with Russia. This was also around the time when liberals first learned of the Trump-Russia Dossier, which detailed how Putin was blackmailing Trump with a video the FSB had shot of Trump and a bunch of Russian hookers peeing on a bed in a Moscow hotel in which Obama had allegedly slept.

“This nonsense was reported completely straight-faced, and thus liberals were forced to take it seriously. Imagine the cognitive dissonance they suffered. It was like that scene in 1984 when the Party abruptly switches enemies, and the war with Eurasia becomes the war with Eastasia. Suddenly, Trump wasn’t Hitler anymore. Now he was a Russian sleeper agent whom Putin had been blackmailing into destroying democracy with this incriminating “golden showers” video.

“Putin had presumably been “running” Trump since Trump’s visit to Russia in 2013 to hobnob with “Russia-linked” Russian businessmen and attend the Miss Universe pageant in Moscow. During the ensuing partying, Trump must have gotten loaded on Diet Coke and gotten carried away with those Russian hookers. Now, Putin had him by the short hairs and was forcing him to staff his Manchurian cabinet with corporate CEOs and Goldman Sachs guys, who probably had also been videotaped by the FSB in Moscow hotels paying hookers to pee on furniture, or performing whatever other types of seditious, perverted kink they were into.

“Before the poor liberals had time to process this, the ruling classes launched “the Resistance.” You remember the Pussyhat People, don’t you?

RTWT of the Day: 2017: The Year of the Headless Liberal Chicken


HT: Liberty’s Torch: A VERY clever take on recent American politics.

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Something Wonderful: I Saw 3 Ships

This was really filmed in the middle of the night, as you may have guessed.

500,000 Christmas lights “starred” in this display (that’s a half-million, people!!) 4,900 digital channels were utilized to ensure that the entire spectrum of the piano’s keyboard was featured brilliantly. 46,000 watts of juice were pumped to electrify this pizazz! A camera attached to a drone served as the primary angle to capture the captivating Christmas Spirit of these festive homes. The piano was actually being played. The police actually did show up. For real. (We’d like to thank them for their kindness and mercy. No pianists were harmed or jailed in the making of this video
…yet.

Gentlemen, start your Christmas engines!

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What It Would Take to Kill New York City

Ullah built the pipe bomb in his Brooklyn residence a week before the attack and began compiling materials two to three weeks earlier, investigators said. He filled the bomb with metal screws, which he believed would cause maximum damage. On Facebook the morning of the attack, authorities say Ullah posted a statement: “Trump you failed to protect your nation.”– – abc7ny.com

Back in 2004, I wrote the following “scenario” of what it would take to kill New York. I’ve updated it once or twice since, but it still works. I see that currently terrorists are thinking a bit smaller and simpler. And if they miss, they all think: “No matter. We’ll come back tomorrow. We’re sure to get a winner one of these days.”


The Elements:

One City: New York

Three Locations: The Brooklyn Bridge, Union Square, Penn Station

Terrorists: 4

Equipment:

Plastique explosives (15 pounds)
Backpacks: 2
Ten penny nails and ball bearings: 4 pounds
Anthrax: 2 Liters
Machine Guns: 4 (Small) with 2 extra clips each

Time: Late September to Late March when the weather makes wearing coats common.

Intellectual Equipment: An understanding of the New York subway and bridge system, an understanding of symbolism in America, a willingness to die.

The Method:

For over a year after the 9/11, I used to think about the nature of the Brooklyn Bridge, and how easy it would be to damage this 19th century structure every time I walked across it — which was often.

On September 11th I stood at the Brooklyn end of the bridge handing out water to the ash covered ghosts that came walking across it in endless droves.

After the 11th it was closed except for emergency vehicles for weeks on end. After that the bridge was guarded and vehicles vetted on a random schedule for months. For all I know this goes on today.

The Bridge and what it represents and, more importantly, what it controls in the way of access to and from NYC, makes for an exquisite lynchpin for a memorable workday morning in New York City. The way to work this little terrorist scenario is as follows:

Four dedicated homicide terrorists decide on a date certain to carry out something they have only rehearsed before. (Surely we’ve still got four sleeping somewhere near the Brooklyn mosque on Atlantic avenue about a half a mile from the bridge. After all, this is America where we hold all forms of religious expression sacred.) Because they are religious in nature and not given to alcohol or drug abuse, they’ve all held jobs in Manhattan for years and their morning ritual is nothing unusual. If there are any guards or surveillance people at any of the points these men pass through they’ve been seen thousands of times already. Always at about the same time. They are ‘routine.’

One gets up and takes the A train to Penn Station at about six in the morning on, say, a Tuesday. Gets there and pops out of the entrance at 7th avenue and 31st street, turns right and walks about a half a block to the Starbucks, orders a latte and sits down to read the Times. Backpack/bookbag on the chair beside him. As usual.

The second one takes an express under the river and gets off at 14th Street/Union Square on the East Side with his off-brand little naughahyde attache. It usually contains his lunch and a selection of papers. Today it contains a couple of modified fire extinguishers — the kind you can pick up at the local hardware store or, say, the Costco along the Brooklyn waterfront about three miles from the Atlantic Avenue mosque. Just a little something he’s bringing to the office ‘in case of fire.’ You’d have to look carefully to note the seals have been broken.

He comes out of the subway and bides his time at the McDonalds on Union Square with a fine little Egg McMuffin.

The third man stops by an apartment building along Atlantic avenue to hook-up with his friend. They always walk together to work across the Brooklyn Bridge. They have for years. His backpack usually has some workout clothes for the gym. Today it contains a small Uzi and extra clips. The fourth has a similar backpack that usually also has some workout clothes. Today, before he leaves the apartment, the fourth man places a sequence of shaped plastique charges with either a cell phone detonator or a dead-man switch into his backpack He’s probably armed as well.

All four have cell phones. All four have set up the speed dial numbers long ago.

When the last two have reached the stairs that lead up to the pedestrian walkway on the Brooklyn side of the Bridge at, say 7:30, the 3rd man phones the first two and gives them the 10 minute warning.

The man at Union Square goes down into the Union Square station and stands in the crowds on the platform near the uptown / downtown platforms. The trains have to stop on a curve here and the loading and unloading is always slower. If you stand to the end of the platform you can cover two lines at once. You tend to fade into the crowds coming and going as the morning rush begins to build.

The man at the 7th Avenue Starbucks goes into the bathroom stall upstairs and, opening his backpack, inserts the detonators into his explosive vest packed with a couple of layers of nails and ball bearings. Checking to make sure it is armed and good to go, he makes his way back to Penn Station. He gets in the back of the long lines waiting to buy rail tickers or subway passes in the midst of hundreds of people milling about.

The two on the bridge stroll past the security folks that may or may not be at the pedestrian entrance of the bridge. They walk about 150 yards out onto the span to where the cable is just a short little walk across the metal struts from the walkway. Pausing, one takes out his cell phone and gets the other two conferenced in while the other takes the shaped plastique charges from his backpack.

Now are, at about 7:40 Tuesday morning, all dressed up and with a lot of things to do in a very small amount of time.

The two listen in on the cell phone as the man on the bridge goes to work while the other stands ready.

Step one: Remove automatic weapon from backpack and empty a clip or two into the pedestrians, the bike riders and also into the cars below.

The resulting dead bodies and carnage from the accidents in the cars below essentially bring the bridge to a halt and give his partner some working room.

Step two: Walk across metal struts to cable with the plastique explosive belt from backpack and sort of loop it around the cable. If your explosives technicians know what they are doing, this is a shaped charge that will, at the very least, damage a main cable if not sever it.

Step three: Say your prayers to Allah and trigger the device.

When the cell phone connection to the men on the bridge goes dead, the fellow at 14th Street probably shoots a few people near him to give him some working room, takes the modified fire extinguishers out of his case and unloads a large cloud of anthrax or some other chemical or biological agent into the uptown and downtown tunnels at Union Square. The vast amounts of air pushed by the trains will disperse it quite nicely up and down the line.

The third man at Penn Station decides he doesn’t need a subway pass for the next few instances of eternity, puts the cell phone away, gets to the center of the crowd and triggers his explosive vest. At about quarter to eight in the morning the immediate result is hundreds of shredded, dead, and wounded New Yorkers who never saw it coming.

Four men. Three cell phones. Maybe about 15 pounds of plastique and a couple of liters of anthrax. That’s all it would take. New York would, in a moment, come to a complete halt and stay that way for some time.

Political result? Hard to say, but it would create a political climate in the United States where the nuclear option would become very, very real. New targeting instructions would be passed to the submarines and the land based missiles within three hours if they were not already there. Muslim round-ups would ramp up into the stratosphere. Voices urging restraint and respect for individual freedoms will be steamrolled into silence. John Kerry would know in an instant that the only thing that will keep him from becoming the Senior Senator from Massachusetts will be Teddy Kennedy and that little alliance will be kaput.

So, as you can see, the understanding of American symbolism is not lost on our enemies. They love this sort of thing. One might even say “They’re just dying to do it.”

Then again, since our security is now first rate, the best that billions can buy, it can’t happen here. Can it?


From MARCH, 2004: What It Would Take — A Simple Scenario @ AMERICAN DIGEST

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Let’s Review 16: Happy Hanukkah Edition

Meme of the day | Stella’s Place

Probably the best thing about the current nuclear wave of Tranny Mania is that, if left unimpeded, it will destroy women’s sports, firmly establish that gender is real and that men and women have different mean levels of athletic ability, anger lesbian feminists to the point where they engage in brutal and prolonged bloody street battles to establish dominance over male-to-female trannies, and herald in a new era where everyone returns to traditional gender roles, men stop being such pussies, and women wear chaste and modest Amish clothing while they resume baking pies.The Week That Perished

DNA Testing Companies Like 23andme Admit Adding Fake African Ancestry To White Profiles In Order To “Screw With Racists”

(Garrison Keillor, unperson) Ah, but the erasure of history is a thing now, don’t you know? Remember the tearing down of the monuments? Sometimes I think people have gone mad in their race to show who’s the most righteous of all in pursuing and destroying the witches of our age.

The Port Authority Attack is a Snapshot of Our Future

MOTUS A.D.: Another Croc Drops In Kitchen Confidential, Tony penned the definitive expose of his “twenty-five years of sex, drugs, bad behavior and haute cuisine” and reports that your meal was likely prepared by a team of “wacked-out moral degenerates, dope fiends, refugees, a thuggish assortment of drunks, sneak thieves, sluts, and psychopaths.” Apparently he wasn’t exaggerating.

Six New Tiny Anteater Species Found—Hiding in Plain Sight

The Case of the Missing Catastrophe  The most strident objections to the Jerusalem decision and tax bill weren’t because of the specific arguments against them so much as their delegimizing effect on global governance.  Both actions (as well as the earlier repudiation of the Paris Climate Agreement and the threatened ditching of the Iran nuclear deal) thumbed their noses at the global order. They were an assault on its entire structure. Worst of all they struck at the money.

The Most Impressive Gingerbread Houses of All Time – Chowhound

The Life of Bugmen | French is a good example of the soulless bugman that is now a feature of Conservative Inc. These are establishment men, who stand for nothing, because they traded away whatever integrity they possessed for a small salary and place in the system. In addition to peddling conspiracy theories about President Trump, they are now tasked with convincing conservative voters to vote against their own interests.

CHEONG: Feminist Dating Guide Reveals Secrets to Being Alone and Miserable Forever

Charles Jenkins, American soldier who defected to North Korea, dies at 77 He memorized the teachings of President Kim Il Sung and killed rats that crawled out of his toilet.

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What do your people have?

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RTWT: The Arriving Ordeal by Joel Hirst

Outside the compound, gazing through the bullet-proof glass they sit, though we don’t know who they are. Young men, squatting in the dust or selling phone cards and mystery meat, eyes squinting through the grimness, that wary look of both predator and prey; watching, waiting, but for what? Who knows… We fear them, and we build our walls. This is Kabul; and Mogadishu. It is Bamako, Dakar and Abidjan. Accra and Abuja and Dhaka; Caracas and Lima and even these days parts of Phoenix and Chicago and Washington DC. Paris outside the ring; Molenbeek or Schaerbeek in Brussels. “I saw similar young men everywhere – hordes of them. They were like loose molecules in a very unstable social fluid, a fluid that was clearly on the verge of igniting…” Robert Kaplan evocatively writes.

Twenty-five years, that’s how long ago Kaplan warned us of ‘The Coming Anarchy’. Not that we listened – hubris, which is something we are good at in the West. And why not? We won, the commies were crawling back into their holes; walls were falling down – a “New World Order” was upon us. It was “The End of History”, said Fukuyama. Except that it wasn’t. “While a minority of the human population will be, as Francis Fukuyama would put it, sufficiently sheltered so as to enter a ‘post-historical’ realm, living in cities and suburbs in which the environment has been mastered and ethnic animosities have been quelled by bourgeois prosperity, an increasingly large number of people will be stuck in history, living in shantytowns where attempts to rise above poverty, cultural dysfunction, and ethnic strife will be doomed by a lack of water to drink, soil to till, and space to survive in.”

THE REST IS @ Joel D. Hirst’s Blog

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Murmuration or “The Art of Flying”

The Art of Flying is a short film about “murmurations”: the mysterious flights of the Common Starling. It is still unknown how the thousands of birds are able to fly in such dense swarms without colliding.

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The Lying Eye Confesses

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