For all you manosphere bloggers out there who prefer the stick figure silicone Barbie Dolls, you might get a chuckle out of this.
For the red pill aspiring alpha who believes that for a chick to have a “feminine” figure she must resemble a transgender poster child…this video is for you!
Happy Friday.
…Are not unique, it turns out.
Hey, I love that Trump wrecked the plans of the RINO establishment; that he is uniquely sane on the issue of immigration; and that he doesn’t kowtow to the press. Unfortunately, POTUS has to make decisions on other matters, too. And Trump is really weak on a lot of them.
The dude voted for Hussein???????? If that doesn’t raise red flags all over the “alt right,” then all hope is lost.
It’s a cult of personality propelling Trump to nomination. That is no less dangerous than the cult of personality that installed the Obamanible Hussein.
“So what if he’s in bed with the Clintons. So what if he made the most idiotic choice an alleged savvy businessman could make at the polls. So what if he believes in socialized medicine and has no respect for the privacy of citizens. I’m voting for him because alpha male.”
You really think this brand of logic is going to save/restore “western civilization”?
Here’s an earlier Whittle video that is also good:
As the USA is fundamentally transformed into a third world police state, it’s hard not to notice that the police (local, state and federal) have been transforming before our eyes even faster. Depending on where you live, you might know a “good” cop or two. More often than not, though, police officers have been conditioned to be tools to carry out all sorts of missions except to serve and protect. My concern with this issue is what led me to slip this novel to the front of the line in my To Be Read queue.
Monte Turcott is a veteran recently returned to his home in Calumet County. He becomes a local hero when he stops a pointless shooting spree by killing the shooter. But the star of this novel is Sheriff Bear Ellis.
The irony in the behavior of government employees (from the White House down) is that they all are required to swear an oath to abide by the Constitution. Then they immediately set about violating every article and clause in it. Bear is a rarity in that he remembers his oath, and is convicted to keep it. But even though a county sheriff is theoretically accountable to the people of his county, and beholden to no higher official, Bear is under tremendous pressure from the jackbooted federal Gestapo (represented by the DEA in this case) to be a team player in the encroaching police state.
When the DEA raids the wrong house, killing Turcott’s wife, Bear finds himself caught in the middle of the struggle between the rule of law (to include due process) and the aspirations of the alphabet soup Gestapo agencies. The situation is further complicated when the agent who killed the innocent woman is himself bumped off. There is no evidence against Turcott but the judge/jury/executioner Feds want to pin it on him anyway, and exact revenge.
If this sounds like a farfetched scenario, then you haven’t been paying attention. Yes, “law enforcement” is upside-down from what it was in the 1950s and earlier.
Grice did a good job getting inside the mind of a cop. Even the dying breed of “good” ones have been poisoned by relativistic rationale that puts loyalty to fellow LEOs above actually keeping their oaths. It must be severely difficult not to develop an “us vs. them” attitude regarding the people they are paid to serve and protect.
A very well-written novel, examining one little microcosm of what is happening/has happened to our republic.
P.S: None of the characters of this book belong to the official Oathkeepers organization.
For the glass-is-half-full crowd, there is a lot to celebrate right now. For the first time in perhaps a century, The Narrative is coming under widespread scrutiny, and increasing rejection. Never before have so many been awake to the deceitfulness of the mainstream media, or the Hegelian theater of America’s “two-party” political system.
And yet this awakening has not resulted in a widespread appreciation for limited, representative government in general, or our Constitutional republic in particular; nor the free market; nor individual rights. Those principles made the United States of America the most prosperous nation in all history; yet where is the ground swell of enthusiasm to replace what is destroying us with what is proven to work? Indeed, to merely point out the demonstrable truth is to invite mockery.
And not just from the SJWs and usual subjects, but from the “Alt Right.”
Whether those in the “Alt Right” are truly right-wing is worthy of discussion another time. Suffice it to say they appear to be determined to prove the left correct regarding every slur, stereotype and accusation hurled at right-wingers…particularly when it comes to racism.
They mock Constitutionalists, for instance, because we’re hung up on “dead” concepts like freedom; individual rights; the rule of law; a free market; checks and balances; etc., when all that really matters is genetics.
These people (the ones in the US, I mean) don’t love or appreciate America. For them it’s all about “western civilization.”
I’ve heard several Trump supporters claim, “The only matter that’s important right now is immigration!”
Certainly the invasion at the US borders is a HUGE factor in the betrayal of America, but I can think of quite a few matters that are pretty important as well. What’s weird is, a lot of the white nationalists will acknowledge them in the next breath, but through some reasoning process I haven’t quite mapped out, always lay the blame upon so-and-so’s skin color. (Or if so-and-so is white, then “It’s because he’s Jewish!” Or, “He’s an agent of the Jews!”)
There’s a lot to say about these attitudes that I’ll reserve for another time for the sake of brevity. For now, I’ll point out one other attitude of many WNs that makes for what I consider a scary combination: their subscription to the cult of personality.
Trump is lionized mostly for his forceful, “alpha” personality, and not so much for what he’s done or what he believes. Some have opined that the socio-sexual politics should be what this next election is about.
My readers are pretty intelligent, so maybe you can put all these things together for yourselves and see the catastrophe they’re almost begging for.
Western civilization has had a few “strong man” leaders–some of whom were equally obsessed with genetics. I know for a fact I wouldn’t want to live under a regime like any of theirs.
But nobody is making that point. In fact, evidence would indicate a lot of white nationalists DO prefer that form of government.
And that’s damn tragic.
Only the gullible put their faith in Hollywood anymore. When you go into the theater, expect to be lied to if the film is “based on a true story,” or for the leftist agenda and their cultural Marxist tropes to get in the way of telling a decent story if it’s not.
Keep your guard up…and once in a while you’ll be pleasantly surprised.
What Hollywood would like to do is have everyone forget about Benghazi. Failing that, they would prefer to feed it through the leftward-cranking revisionist machine in which incompetent traitors like Hillary and Hussein are the heroes, and “right-wing extremists” are somehow the villains.
For whatever reasons, Michael Bay didn’t make that movie. Of course he doesn’t put a spotlight on the culpability of the US State Department, or tackle the unasked questions of why Ambassador Stevens was there in the first place, what he was doing, and by whose orders…but c’mon. That’s kinda like not being stung by the scorpion, then, on top of that, expecting him to pay you for taking him across the river. Count your blessings.
Here’s my list of pros and cons about the movie:
PRO: Very solid acting, from pretty much everybody. The CIA station chief stood out, in particular.
CON: It’s rough keeping track of all the characters, especially at first. They are introduced rapidly and you really don’t know much about their respective personalities until deep in the film.
PRO: The action is intense, and believable.
CON: As with the characters, there are several different entities involved in the Benghazi debacle, and there is no exposition to introduce you. If the viewer hasn’t studied Benghazi beforehand, he might feel a bit overwhelmed and out of the loop. There’s GRS; the QRF in Tripoli; plus security details for the consulate and the CIA Annex; and Feb 17. The interrelations are never politely explained.
PRO: If the movie is accurate, then what I initially heard about Glen Doherty’s role was not. Makes me want to dig a little to see what else I had faulty info on.
CON: There are the usual little nits to pick about scenes and shots in the firefight(s). These are usually due to either the director’s ignorance about tactics, or his sacrifice of accuracy for cinematic purposes.
UNDECIDED: Speaking of accuracy vs. dramatic license, the plot doesn’t perfectly progress after the pattern the audience is used to, and the simple explanation for that is because real life doesn’t, either. I know first-hand that it’s very difficult telling a true story that is dramatic/exciting; and probably impossible to tell a story that is both 100% accurate and 100% captivating. Considering that, the writers and director did an admirable job finding a balance.
PRO: While there is enough ambiguity to avoid revealing the smoking gun in Hillary’s hand (and the Obamanible Hussein’s, for that matter), this movie does cause thinking men to ask important questions.
Questions that should have been relentlessly asked since 2012, by the bulk of the American population.
Jacob Hornswoggler ended the call on his cell phone as he strode through the automatically opening doors of the GBS building. His wife had called him with a minor emergency. She fell in love with a pair of dress gloves and paid a few hundred for them, only to find out they didn’t fit her hands. Hornswoggler assured her he would come up with a solution; but for now he had other matters to deal with.
The world owed an unpayable debt of gratitude to people like Jacob Hornswoggler. The Generic Broadcast Service was making the world a better place thanks to his vision and tireless vigilance.
Still, viewership of his network—especially the news programs—wasn’t as high as it should be. Of course the quota of loyal watchers had nothing to do with anything as evil as profits. It was merely established to ensure that voters citizens were adequately conditioned informed. This was the purpose of Jacob Hornswoggler’s visit to the video editing suites today.
An atmosphere of impartiality settled over the network’s headquarters when this paragon of journalistic integrity graced the multimedia conglomerate’s loyal footsoldiers with his presence.
Hornswoggler stopped by an editing room with an open door and stepped inside. A pimple-faced 20-something from Tarnation University nodded a reverent greeting.
“How’s the homicide beat?” Hornswoggler asked.
“I’m going through the list,” replied his employee. “Trying to find what to lead with.”
Hornswoggler tactfully snatched the list out of his employee’s hands and pored over it with his experienced eye.
Well, he actually used his less experienced eye, too.
“Hmm,” he intoned, “Muggers kill unarmed victims in Detroit; Fast and Furious hit on Border patrol agent; muggers kill unarmed victims in Chicago; rapist rapes and murders unarmed victim in New York…ah, here’s one: a prominent politician’s lawyer found dead from a gunshot wound to the back of the head.”
The employee rubbed his head uncomfortably. “Um, the prominent politician is a Democrat up for reelection.”
“Obviously a suicide,” Hornswoggler said, and continued thumbing through the pages.
“That Weinburg murder could be sensational,” suggested the employee.
Hornswoggler shook his head and frowned. “Come on, now, get with the program. We don’t run same-sex gang rape/murders. They foment an attitude of fear and contaminate the whole gay rights debate. Not to mention influencing the Boy Scouts’ upcoming vote.”
“The Boy Scouts’ upcoming vote?”
Hornswoggler frowned. “I said: ‘not to mention the Boy Scouts’ upcoming vote.’ Can’t you follow simple instructions?”
The employee blushed and said, “Sorry, sir. I must be crashing from the Red Steer. It’s just that we led with the Peter Puffer murder for all those weeks in a row. I thought homicides involving gays were a priority…”
“Gays are victims!” Hornswoggler snapped. “What are you—a closet homophobe?”
“Of course not!”
Hornswoggler glared at him for a moment, then resumed scanning over the list. “Hmm. What do we know about this homicide in Swampfill, Florida?”
The employee shrugged dismissively. “Not very useful.”
“Well, the victim was from the appropriate victim class…play the 911 tape.”
The employee summarized while cuing up the recording, skeptically. “Jerry Lipschitz was being a proactive Neighborhood Watch patrol person. Throdown Moerage freaked out, attacked him. Lipschitz shot him.”
“Gun violence!” Hornswoggler growled, already fuming at the inherent evil of firearms in the hands of American citizens. The only people who should be allowed to keep and bear arms were federal agents and Mexican drug lords.
The employee turned up the volume. The voice of a police dispatcher asked, “Can you describe what he looks like?”
Lipschitz replied, “About six-three, muscular, wearing a hoodie…”
“Is he white? Black? Hispanic?” asked the dispatcher.
“I think he’s black,” Lipschitz said.
Hornswoggler reached past his employee and stopped the recording, eyes gleaming with journalistic integrity. “We lead with this: racial profiling leads to senseless racially-motivated murder by Christian right-wing gun nut! Edit out the part where the dispatcher asked him about ethnicity, or the audience will miss the racial motivation angle.”
The employee squirmed. “But, um, Lipschitz is a minority, too.”
Hornswoggler stroked his chin. “He’s not an undocumented worker, is he?”
“No. He’s a US citizen.”
“Alright. We can work with this,” Hornswoggler said, too filled with the proper indignation to let this story go untold.
The employee still didn’t like it. “But Lipschitz is, like, Jewish and Puerto Rican or something.”
“Hmm. Jewish Nazi?” Hornswoggler mused, then shook his head. After many years of covering the Middle East, he still couldn’t get that label to catch on.
“You can tell he’s Latino by looking at him.”
“He’s a white Hispanic,” Hornswoggler declared. “Emphasize that.”
“White Hispanic? Is there such a thing? I’ve never heard of that.”
“Don’t fear change,” Hornswoggler encouraged. “But don’t show his photo too much. Show Throdown—but find some Farcebook pictures of him when he was 12 or younger. We owe it to the public to show his vulnerability.”
“I’m on it,” the employee said.
Jacob Hornswoggler nodded and proceeded to the next door. An obese, androgynous editor from Smithereens State occupied this room.
“How are we doing here?”
The employee grimaced and sighed heavily. “It’s hard to find any real news stories amidst all the whining about unwarranted federal wire tapping, use of the IRS to harass and intimidate political opponents, and indefinite detention without trial.”
“Crybabies are everywhere,” Hornswoggler agreed, rolling his eyes with an enlightened scoff. “To hear them tell it, you’d think that abuses of power are just as wrong under this administration as they were under the previous one.”
They both shared an exasperated shake of the head. Despite all their valiant effort to educate, some Neanderthals just couldn’t grasp the complexities of relative standards.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Hornswoggler said, drawing on his bottomless supply of conflict resolution savvy. “Let’s put together a special report on executive tyranny—which can certainly be a bad thing, you see. Make it hard-hitting, relevant and timely. We’ll call it ‘Looking Back on Watergate’.”
Their exchange of mutually supportive harrumphs were interrupted by a text from Hornswoggler’s wife.
Have you come up with a resolution about the gloves?
The gloves, the gloves. What could be done about a brand new pair of gloves that were the wrong size? He pulled the receipt from his pocket and flicked it with his thumb thoughtfully.
Jacob Hornswoggler was still mulling over this dilemma when he entered the next room.
“Why the long face?” he asked, noticing the dour expression worn by his economic analyst from Sam Hill College.
“I just can’t figure out a way to present these numbers,” the employee replied. “Not in a way that will reflect the superb national leadership we now have.”
Hornswoggler patted his employee on the shoulder. “It’s challenging, but not impossible. First of all, don’t include people who are still jobless but have used up all their unemployment benefits. Put it on a fancy bar graph and call it ‘unemployment statistics,’ just don’t explain that you’re only counting the fraction of unemployed people who are still getting unemployment checks.”
“But I’ve done that, sir,” the employee said, dejected. “The figures are still worse than ever.”
Hornswoggler stroked his chin. “Hmm. Well, remove the state of California from the report. Then re-run the numbers and show a clip of the president blaming the previous administration for the economy.”
Well, that certainly wouldn’t be difficult to find. The employee began to feel a little better. But that wouldn’t fix everything.
“Um, sir,” the employee said, tentatively. “We still have a problem.”
Hornswoggler raised his index finger. “No we don’t. The economy is in its best shape ever. Remember: as of Inauguration Day, the recession became a ‘slow economic recovery.’ Slow because of the previous administration, of course.”
“Um, what I mean is, sir: things like gas prices.?”
“Gas prices?” Hornswoggler boomed. “What about gas prices? People shouldn’t be driving personal vehicles anyway! Everyone should use public transportation…except people in critical positions, of course, such as myself.”
“Well, see sir, during that previous administration, when prices were a buck-seventy a gallon, we kind of blamed it on them, because they had no sympathy for the little guy.”
“They didn’t,” Hornswoggler said. “They were hopelessly out-of-touch—a bunch of cold-hearted elitist pigs who couldn’t care less about poor working class people getting gouged at the pumps!”
“Well,” the employee continued, nervously, “gas prices are now three-fifty a gallon.”
Hornswoggler pshawed. “Just don’t mention gas prices. You just show those jobs figures. Hoo, boy, what an impressive employment graph that will be!”
“Well, the reason…um, I’m not real confident,” the employee said, “is that some bloggers kept records of what we said then, and are comparing it to our silence now.”
Righteous outrage coursed through Jacob Hornswoggler’s body. How dare those amateurs! He was sure this was a violation of his rights, somehow. They should be prevented from spreading their vile hatred amongst the working class morons out there, who were sure to draw the wrong conclusions if exposed to such unregulated vitriol.
“Find out who these bloggers are and expose them as racists,” he said.
His employee couldn’t help but swell with pride for being under the inspired tutelage of a visionary genius like Jacob Hornswoggler.
The entire GBS building glowed with an aura of journalistic objectivity.
Before Hornswoggler made it to the next room, his cell phone rang. He smiled, thinking it was his wife…but then noticed the number was the Virtual Hotline straight from the Capitol.
“This is Jacob Hornswoggler,” he intoned, voice rich with the nuances of his ethical supremacy.
“We have a Level Three emergency,” the voice on the phone said. “We need you to come in immediately.”
“On my way,” Hornswoggler said, striding toward the door.
Level Three was bad. It meant the March of Progress was being threatened and required a swift, vehement response.
But there was a silver lining in this dark cloud: during the limousine ride to his personal jet, Jacob Hornswoggler played with the glove receipt and smiled through the tinted windows at the sign over the store where the gloves were bought as the limo drove past.
Jacob Hornswoggler knew exactly what to do about the ill-fitting gloves. It was so simple, he should have thought of it from the start…but the rigors of his job must have distracted him. The answer was staring him right in the face the entire time!
All he had to do was make a call to some doctors he knew and have them surgically alter his wife’s hands to fit the gloves.
At various locations around the globe, certain individuals received the Level Three Emergency call, and had to interrupt their important work for an impromptu trip to the White House.
This was Chapter 3 of The Greater Good.
Elsa Von Branefuq yawned and stretched. This session of the House of Representatives had been grinding along non-stop for hours, and they hadn’t even voted themselves another pay raise yet.
“In summary,” the Speaker of the House said, “in order to preempt the spread of a potential outbreak of the Zombie Plague, this bill will require the replacement of public drinking water with Compound X-13.”
Predictably, a renegade Congressman from one of the flyover states just had to raise an objection. “Ms. Speaker, it is puzzling why you have this urgency to address a problem which might not even exist by mandating that citizens drink something that contains a deadly poison.”
“With all due respect to the gentleman from flyover country,” Representative Vlad Impaler said, “there’s not one smidgeon of evidence that Strychnine is in the compound, or that it’s poisonous.”
“Every single time it’s been used in substantial doses, it’s been fatal,” insisted the fringe lunatic right-winger. “Why don’t we at least examine the compound before we vote, to settle for sure exactly what is in it?”
Speaker of the House Natasha Polecatsky vainly tried to reason with the radical right nutcase. “We have to pass it before we can find out what’s in it.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Hey, it’s not like we have to drink the same water our constituents do,” Representative Pamien Bendover reminded him.
The wacko began spewing some kind of egalitarian platitude before the learned, elder statesman Neville McRino stood and raised his hands to silence his radical colleague. He turned to address the Speaker. “We have to work together to overcome this gridlock. How about we make it a 50/50 mixture of drinking water and Compound X-13?”
“The learned gentleman from Tarnation insults this august body,” retorted Speaker Polecatsky. “And I’m sure July and September bodies don’t like it either.”
“Very well,” McRino said. “We’ll do 60/40.”
“You might as well sentence the people to the Zombie Plague,” Representative Putzenbum said.
McRino sighed. “Fine. 75/25.”
“When did you become such a hard-liner?” asked Representative Hannover Fiste.
“Obviously this is a very divisive topic,” McRino said. “In the interest of bipartisan cooperation, we should put this issue behind us. So 90 % poison, 10 percent drinking water. And that’s my final offer.”
“Make it 99 parts poison to one part water and you’ve got a deal,” Natasha Polecatsky said.
“Done,” McRino said, and sat heavily back down, fatigued from such a knock-down-drag-out struggle on behalf of his constituents.
“All in favor?” Speaker Polecatsky asked.
“Wait a minute!” Barked one of the religious right extremists. “We have absolutely no authority to tell the people what they must or must not drink!”
McRino shrugged apologetically to the Speaker of the House. “I’m afraid ‘compromise’ is a dirty word to some of these hard-liners I have to work with.”
“The ‘ayes’ have it,” Polecatsky said. “Now that it’s law, we should move onto the next item. We are graced today by the presence of our Education Czar, who has a presentation for us before we vote on the next bill.”
Elsa Von Branefuq approached the podium and addressed the House. “If you’ll direct your attention to the screen,” she said, “there’s a short video you need to see.”
She played the video on the big screen and Congressmen watched with interest. The interviews and polls they saw painted a grim picture.
America suffered an epidemic of reactionism. Narrow-minded bigots, so fanatic about defending their irrational prejudices, were hostile to any new idea or alternative insight which challenged the sacred cows of the traditional worldview.
But enough about academia. Elsa’s video was more concerned with the average Joe on the street.
“You all saw the results,” Elsa said after the first video clip. “There’s a significant percentage of the population that believe freedom of speech should apply to everyone—including those whose opinions are incorrect.”
Speechless with dismay, the intellectually superior members of the House shook their heads sadly at the state of national recklessness.
“Some people actually believe that random roadside searches, unwarranted wiretapping and remote monitoring of everyone’s cell phones and social networking violate their so-called Fourth Amendment rights.”
The rational congresspersons groaned at the radical extremism of some of the unwashed crackpots out there.
“And on it goes,” Elsa said. “Not long ago, we had a Hollywood actress, of all people, publicly state that she believed that there’s nothing wrong with a married woman staying home to raise children.”
“Boo. Hiss,” said the enlightened representatives.
Elsa placed one hand over her heart. “I assure you that my professional educators are doing all they can to combat this mass hysteria, but some of our efforts are slipping through the cracks. There’s just not enough reinforcement outside the classroom. Our experts have pinpointed the breakdown in conditioning, and it amounts simply to this: people don’t watch enough TV!”
She pushed a button on the remote and the screen filled with the image of a slick, shiny, modern-looking wide screen television.
“Industry leaders who share our vision of progress have assessed our needs and cooperated with us to develop a new tool to combat this widespread problem. I present: the new Cerebrolave, by Phillips Pavlovox.”
The House gasped and stared at the striking image of technological innovation.
“Now observe the cognitive functions evident after only a few hours of immersion in the patented Cerebrolave technology,” Elsa said, and rolled the next video clip.
An interviewee wiped drool from her lips as she watched the gorgeous wide screen of her new television, then turned to face the camera. “Violent criminals, by nature, obey laws,” she said. “We need more gun control legislation.”
The video jump-cut to a basement, where a 26 year old Occupy protester salivated, eyes glued to his new Pavlovox. “All religions of the world should be respected and welcomed in our society,” he said. “Except Christianity, of course.”
Another jump-cut to a middle class living room. A couple sat watching TV while workmen paraded in and out the foreclosure notice-covered front door and waded through the drool-flooded house repossessing everything they found (except the new Phillips Pavlovox).
The husband said, “You know, the economy isn’t really that bad. And however bad it is, it’s the fault of the previous administration. Anyone who disagrees is a racist.”
His wife, sitting across the couch from him, nodded. “By doubling our national debt,” she said, “our president kept his promise to cut it in half within his first term. While colossal, unsustainable debt was flagrantly irresponsible during the previous administration, twice as much colossal, unsustainable debt under this administration is sound economic policy. The solution to impending bankruptcy is to borrow and spend even more than before.”
The reasonable representatives in the House applauded.
“Thank-you,” Elsa Von Branefuq said. “And I won’t go into all the features of these new televisions, but I’d like to point out that they have integrated cameras. Now the person watching TV can be observed, to determine their reaction to what they watch. This provides an early warning system. Since those with inappropriate responses to various stimuli suffer from some sort of mental disorder, they can now be identified. Once identified, corrective action can be taken, whether it be adjustment of their medication, or removal for private treatment…before they become a danger to themselves or others.”
The House gave her a standing ovation—all except for a few lunatic fringe right-wingers who always tried to throw a stumbling block in the way of progress.
“We need to make it mandatory,” Natasha Polecatsky said, “that every household in the country have one of these TVs in it! I’ll have my assistants begin drafting legislation immediately.”
“Pardon me, Ms. Speaker,” McRino said, “but what about people who can’t afford this TV?”
“We’ll have to penalize them with fines,” Polecatsky said.
“Makes perfect sense,” McRino said.
“Excuse me Ms. Speaker,” one of the fascist pigs said, “but what right do we have to force the taxpayers to buy a television? Or any product for that matter?”
Polecatsky winked at her supporters. “If you’re happy with your current TV set, you can keep it.”
Elsa’s cell phone rang. She recognized the number and turned to the Speaker. “I beg your pardon, Ms. Speaker, but there’s an emergency and I have to leave immediately.”
“Hmmph,” Polecatsky said. “Well, we’d like to ask you some specific questions. Let me earmark a few million taxpayer dollars for a return visit, with hotel accommodations, limousine service…”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted one of the hate-filled religious right monsters. “She lives right here in town!”
“Your personal attacks against the Education Czar prove you’re anti-education and pro-ignorance,” the Speaker of the House concluded. “Next thing you know you’ll be denying school lunches and starving children to death.”
The last thing Elsa heard on her way out the door was Neville McRino pontificating on how they should just get this devisive issue behind them by approving it.
This was Chapter 2 of The Greater Good.
A chilling wind swept over the barren wasteland.
In all directions, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but desolate emptiness. In such a dreary location the imagination tends to wander and one can’t help wondering if maybe there was, at some point in time immemorial, an advanced, thriving civilization long departed for some unknown reason, all evidence of its achievements in culture and technology now buried under the ruin of time.
But enough about Detroit. This story begins far to the north, and quite a ways west.
The large, steel-hulled ship steamed through the icy waters, between the frozen steppes of Siberia on the left and the frozen tundra of Alaska on the right. A man sitting alone in his private cabin watched the godforsaken scenery slide by.
Tyrone Tirikeldaun didn’t necessarily have to become a supervillain. He could have just as easily become a healthy, positive contributor to society…like an actor, community organizer or Occupy protester.
He had a promising start—watching network television, playing video games, complaining a lot and letting his parents support him while waiting for his first welfare check.
Then, to the detriment of all that lives, he got an idea.
Instead of watching TV and playing video games, he worked on the idea and it grew into a business. But not a socially responsible business that loses money or, at best, breaks even. Once all his expenses were covered and bills paid, he had some money left over. To compound this unethical behavior, he kept that money for himself, reinvesting it in his business.
It was a slippery slope from there. Before long, he was looking for tax breaks to take advantage of, gleefully hoarding as much of the money he earned as was possible.
Villainy was like a drug to him. He couldn’t get enough. The compulsion to oppress the working class and destroy the environment only grew stronger, the more people bought his products.
Tyrone Trikeldaun’s eyes sparkled with a villainous glint as he gazed out over the North Alaskan coast through the cabin porthole in his ship, the SS Unfair Advantage. If only I had time, he thought, I could murder a whole bunch of cute little animals. I could drop anchor, set up some oil drilling equipment and watch multiple species frightened to extinction by the sight of a man-made object.
He sighed and sipped from his decadent 64 ounce Big Glunk. Maybe, as a consolation, he could take a landing party ashore on the way back and swat some protected species of spotted mosquito or something. There were no trees from the Brazilian Rainforest handy to slash, burn, or otherwise take his villainous sadism out on, so he would have to make do.
He pushed the intercom button and asked, “How long until we’re in the Arctic Circle?”
Henchman 34 replied, through the speaker, “We’re about to cross into the Arctic Circle very soon, now.”
“Oh. I mean that other circle, then. You know—the one that’s like a hundred mile radius from the North Pole. I pointed to it on the big map display in my underground lair when I was explaining the plan.”
“Right, sir. We should be there within a week, depending on how thick the ice is.”
Arctic Circle, schmartcic circle. They’d have to think up a different name for it soon. He laughed maniacally and rubbed his hands together.
Continuing the series on Superheroes and The Narrative, this is chapter One from my short e-book The Greater Good.
I’m interrupting the series on superheroes for breaking news that’s relevant to the latest battles in the war for our culture. If you follow Vox Popoli, you are probably already aware that Goodreads has banished him and others associated with the Rabid Puppies. The reason? Non-violation of non-policies. Meanwhile, those of the correct political affiliation are allowed to violate stated Goodreads policies at will, and only those who point the violations out are punished.
Truth is treason in the Empire of Lies, from the Obama Administration down to the People’s Democratic Republic of Goodreads.
Virtual Pulp has covered the efforts toward SJW convergence at Amazon before, but below is a recent attack on a review I posted there. Mind you, it’s obvious that I read the book, and the review is detailed enough for any reader to determine whether he would like it the book or not. Here’s the review of Breeder I posted on the old Two-Fisted Blog, before paring it down for Amazon.
(Note: That review resulted in my e-meeting the author. Afterwards we became correspondents. I also reviewed a handful of his other books and he reviewed two of mine. All because I was a fan of his nigh-forgotten men’s adventure spoof.)
I am now going to use my psychic abilities to locate the offensive passage from my review that inspired this Social Justice Warrior to attack (and vote my review “not helpful”…the only vote it has received, BTW):
…From the very first time I read this novel, I dismissed the Master Race aspect of the plot as silly, simple, and off-the-wall. After all, no tinkering with the American gene pool has been necessary to bring us to the brink of financial ruin (to name just one calamity that we now face). All it has required has been Pavlovian conditioning, softening, and dumbing-down of the electorate over a couple generations.
But then, Europe is rapidly transforming into a Muslim continent as I write this, and this paradigm shift is taking place in the womb.There is a political power base here in America that hopes to forge an ironclad monopoly over the three branches of our government, and one method they’ve been using to great effect (besides the aforementioned Pavlovian conditioning, softening and dumbing-down) includes tactics like refusal to enforce immigration laws, granting of amnesty to illegals, and the encouragement of “anchor babies” through redistribution of taxpayers’ money. Again, the key to victory, for some, is considered to lie within the womb.
So maybe the whole Master Race plot is not as silly as I assumed…
Want to piss off SJWs on search-and-disqualify destroy? Speak the truth about immigration. Here is his (?) response:
May have been an interesting review – minus all the clearly rightwing wingnut agenda based propaganda that seem to appear out of thin air (by the reviewer) based upon some wistful interpretations of a couple non related statements by the author (in a novel yet).
Even the Reviewer admits that “In any event, I don’t purport that this was Jim Morris’ attempt at an Atlas Shrugged” (but seems to sure wish that was the case).
Interestingly, the author has worked strongly with the aiding of non Christians pagan Montagnards from Vietnam into the United States (as well as other Hill Tribes, Nungs, Cambodes, etcetera) by the thousands (and many initially illegally). It would be interesting to see what the author would feel about those comments of this Reviewer in that regard.
But there was one correct comment: “There is a political power base here in America that hopes to forge an ironclad monopoly over the three branches of our government, and one method they’ve been using to great effect” (Only that Party has been the Republicans and the vehicle used has many scare tactics, disinformation, misinformation, The Big Lie, and other propaganda techniques that the best known fascists would have been proud of).
Leaving political agendas out of a book review that is a book of satire and immense tongue-in-cheek would have made it much better.
How about a read of the author’s “Sheriff of Purgatory” and show an interpretation of the main character’s clearly liberal character is actually another Ayn Rand one (without guns or personal killing this time).
I would find that interesting.
SJWs see what they want to see, whether it’s there or not. That’s why he/she/it can proclaim, with a straight cyber-face, that my “right-wing wingnut agenda based propaganda” was “based upon some wistful interpretations of a couple non related statements by the author (in a novel yet).”
No. Actually, to anyone with reading comprehension above a Ninth Grade level, it is clear that my observations were not based on some “statements” by the author in a novel.
The entire plot of the novel hangs on the premise that the USA can be taken over by breeding a specific type of progeny. I once considered this a silly idea, but in the review I pointed out that it’s hardly a silly concept, because current events demonstrate that genetics/breeding is one tactic being used right now in an agenda to take over the USA (and Europe).
What actually came “out of thin air” was this ankle-biter’s word-vomit about pagan Montagnards and Nungs, which is completely irrelevant to anything in the novel, or my review of it.
But having learned my lesson about speaking in Dialectic in debates with those who can’t understand it, I resisted the urge to shoot back with a point-by-point refutation based on observable truth. I returned fire with rhetoric–at least I tried to keep it rhetorical. You can read my response here.
