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[Mike] Hammertime in the Labyrinth

by Vanderleun on September 22, 2017

I killed more people tonight than I have fingers on my hand. I shot them in cold blood and enjoyed every minute of it. I pumped slugs in the nastiest bunch of bastards you ever saw and here I am calmer than I’ve ever been, and happy too. They were Communists, Lee. They were red sons of bitches who should have died long ago… -Mike Hammer

It’s almost like mouthy liberal jackasses can’t connect the dots between their incessant douchebag whining, and people nationwide telling them to f**k off, and voting with their feet, their wallets, and their remotes.

Prog appeals to white virtue fall on deaf ears, while the deranged antics of ungrateful non-whites convince white people that there is no fixing race relation.

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• Blacks abort about 140,000 fetuses yearly—about 450 times the number of blacks who die at the hands of police of all colors every year.

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No matter how the law is written, as long as anyone is eligible for amnesty, everybody’s getting amnesty. — Woodpile Report

The actual agenda is that Americans must be made to feel their nation was born in sin and cannot be redeemed – patriotism must be replaced with obsessive self-criticism and eternal guilt.

Utopianism – the sin of the naïve that seems to be reinvented with each generation; more so these days as we lose our common story and our universities fail to teach us about the failures of those who came before.

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Master of the Twitter Universe I ask “may I see the Presidential Behavior Manual?”

The appeal of progressivism is grounded in a perennial feature of human nature: the desire for someone, anyone, to take care of us.

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Comments on this entry are closed.

Sam L. September 22, 2017, 5:41 PM

I’ll believe BlackLivesMatter when the stop killing each other and aborting their babies.

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Walt Erickson September 22, 2017, 10:51 PM

If 140,000 abortions per year is about 450 times the number of blacks killed by police per year, then about 300 blacks are killed each year by police. I would not have thought it that high.

∞

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Welcome to the New American Digest: 2001-2022

John Muir on Mt. Ritter by Gary Snyder

After scanning its face again and again,
I began to scale it, picking my holds
With intense caution. About half-way
To the top, I was suddenly brought to
A dead stop, with arms outspread
Clinging close to the face of the rock
Unable to move hand or foot
Either up or down. My doom
Appeared fixed. I MUST fall.
There would be a moment of
Bewilderment, and then,
A lifeless rumble down the cliff
To the glacier below.
My mind seemed to fill with a
Stifling smoke. This terrible eclipse
Lasted only a moment, when life blazed
Forth again with preternatural clearness.
I seemed suddenly to become possessed
Of a new sense. My trembling muscles
Became firm again, every rift and flaw in
The rock was seen as through a microscope,
My limbs moved with a positiveness and precision
With which I seemed to have
Nothing at all to do.

Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg

My head knocks against the stars.
 My feet are on the hilltops.
 My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of universal life. 
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny. 
I have been to hell and back many times.
 I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God. 
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible. 
I know the passionate seizure of beauty 
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive  in the universe.