Shotgun vs. the Liquid Jew

alien

I was told that if you’re sensitive to caffeine, stop using it for awhile, then take a high dose, it’s liable to give you a panic attack later in the evening. I didn’t believe it as I chugged one of the many brands of liquid jew on the market, but here it is, almost five in the morning and, I believe!

I was sitting on the back porch surfing my daily reading when, out of the corner of my eye I caught a slight movement that looked every bit like a seven-foot-tall “grey” alien, ambling menacingly outside my field of vision.

Whatever it was scared the (redacted) out of me.

The fear gave way to anger. No demon from Hell was going to treat *me* that way. I’m a son of Adam and holder of the sacred fire of the Occident! He shall not pass!!!

I burst out of the screened area onto the deck, shining my flashlight in all directions. A Netflix documentary popped into my mind. It was about this man who was “haunted” by aliens and saw them frequently, as well as mysterious little girls who’d peer at him from between his porch railings. I shined my light to the railings, expecting to see a little white girl with bulging, alien eyes.

“You are *NOT* welcome in my yard, you little minx!”

I didn’t see anything (lucky for the alien) but the dogs a field over were howling for all they were worth. I gathered my things, came back in, and am writing this post – where, I now realize (upon cooler reflection), this is all probably caused by that damned energy drink.

…the liquid Jew.

Not. Even. Once.

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The “Politically Correct” Test…

There’s an odd phenomenon among today’s work-a-day “conservative” masses – they consider themselves “politically incorrect”, while unconsciously holding the most radical left-wing social views. They are so badly educated they’ve become unable to critically analyze their own position and compare (or contrast) it to the “liberals” (who are the bad-guys in the pro-wrestling narrative that is American politics). These “white grazers” have the right emotional disposition towards liberals – a knee jerk hatred of them and their agenda to enforce social norms on the masses – but they don’t realize that their own acceptance of egalitarianism and multiculturalism, is the result of that same enforced enculturation. They’re “reconstructed” without realizing it.

I could rant about this, multiply anecdotes, or point to pop-cultural phenomena that exemplify my point (Gretchen Wilson’s country song “Politically Uncorrect”, with a video that is, well, very politically correct, for example)…but instead, I’d rather get to the business of aiding our bewitched brethren. I’ll offer a quick test – a quiz to help determine if the taker is politically correct or not.

So clear your desks, take out a clean sheet of paper, and get your #2 pencils ready, readers…it’s pop-quiz time here at Shotgun Barrel Straight:

============

True or False?

Question 1: It’s ok to swear, even around women and children, but we must never use racial slurs (like the “n-word”) or terms-of-bigotry towards those with lifestyle preferences we may disagree with.

Question 2: If your child picks up on your linguistic habits and repeats the “f-word” in front of your dinner guests, you’d laugh it off as cute. Kids will be kids, after all. But if your child calls one of your guests a “faggot”, you’d severely punish him. “Wrong F-Word, you little bigot!”

Question 3: Those pesky liberal historians are constantly trying to destroy the good image of our American founders. They clearly want to “re-write” history. But when it comes to the “Dark Ages”, or the American Civil War, or to WWII, we must trust everything these same historians teach.

Question 4: We must always use the preferred ethnic honorific when referring to our non-white brothers: African-American, Arab American, Latin-American, etc. Using any other terminology is not only impolite, but offensive.

Question 5: The old South was a multicultural utopia and the majority of the southern leaders were civil rights advocates; basically, the forerunners of Martin Luther King Jr. In light of this obvious historical fact, it is wrong for negros and other liberals to remove Confederate monuments and symbols.

Question 6: It is vitally important to use hip, upbeat, rock (or more preferably) hip-hop songs in Christian worship. Those old farts who protest, need to be relegated to the back pews, segregated into an earlier worship time, or simply die out. Some may need to be “educated” on the Biblical teaching of multiculturalism and racial harmony, because their objections to Christian Hip Hop may have sinister “racist” motivations.

For the following questions, answer with a number from 0 to 10, where 0 is outright disdain, dislike, or discomfort, and 10 is emphatic agreement or pleasure.

Question 7: How do you feel when Shotgun uses the word “negro” to describe black people?

Question 8: What about above, when Shotgun used the word “faggot”, even though it was in quotes and an obvious allusion to a hypothetical context?

Question 9: How relieved were you when Shotgun used the replacement phrase “n-word”, instead of the actual word?

Question 10: Let’s say, hypothetically, a small handful of those Muslims snuck into America and, without us realizing it, slowly took control of the banking industry, the news industry, all education facilities, and Hollywood. Then, they began working together to influence culture in such a way that we each began hating ourselves and our Christian religion. They begin selling our daughters into slavery and posting lewd pictures of them on the internet. In this hypothetical scenario, would you be willing to round them all up into, say, a political prison camp?


Hand in your papers when you’re done and I’ll grade them. Non-Whites get an automatic curve, of course.

 

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Traveling Knight

questingknight

“Still the knight is young
 and traveling on with pleasure.
Grant him wishes well,
luck in the fullest measure.
Bid you all adieu,
stories to keep and treasure.
When he’s passing through,
ever and on he goes…”

I tweaked those lyrics; I hope the Willis Clan doesn’t mind. They suit me better now. And not just me, but all Christians. We’re all going ever and on. If you’ve stumbled across my blog and you’re not a Christian, you’re not exempt. Thinketh not ye are safe! The refining light of Heaven issues from a terrible being who spares not the wicked from celestial fire…at least I hope He doesn’t.

Don’t hate me! Don’t hate me! I don’t mean I’m wishing you were in Hell – that’d be unkind to my readers. Rather, I’m wishing your submission to the forge of Angels. Consider MacDonald:

TheVeryFire

That flashy intro out of the way, what’s the point of this evening’s post?

I’m traveling onward. Again. Ever and on.

My criticisms of Kinism – not new or capricious – have recently garnered attention. While not necessarily good attention, I consider it a small boon and will say a quick word while I’ve got an audience:

The trouble I have (had?) isn’t so much with the doctrines of Kinism, although I have always had small disagreements hither and yon with this or that talking-point. Rather, looking back, I think I was wrestling with the Reformed faith itself. I’ve noted here (and others have affirmed elsewhere) the importance of Calvinist dogma in laying the intellectual ground of Kinist polemics. There is no better or more thorough defense of racialism in the entire English speaking – perhaps in the entire white – world. No Alternative Rightist, no white nationalist philosopher, no Darwinian HBD guru, has as intimate a grasp of the underlying epistemological issues nor have any of them developed such an intricate, worldview-in-scope philosophical system to underlie their political philosophy. None. Of. Them.

I defy *anyone* to say otherwise – and even now, while I’m something of a pariah in official Kinist channels (and am in some doubt about the Reformed tradition), I could easily defeat such a challenge. Probably within a matter of minutes. They’d be reduced to profanity and sputtering about how useless philosophy is (I’ve seen it happen many times in my career as a Kinist). There are, of course, many who come close; there are some sharp guys in the pro-white community and I don’t want to disparage their work or discourage them. Nevertheless, the fact of the matter is, whenever a Kinist can be bothered to write the “Kinist Manifesto”, it’ll be the most thorough intellectual defense of the white race ever to have been written (assuming they do a good job in explicating the doctrines).

There’s a problem in the Reformed tradition however.

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere at Shotgun Barrel Straight (and in some of the podcasts I’ve participated in), but there was a split in American Calvinism, corresponding to the North / South divide in America. Refer to it as the “New School / Old School” debate if you’d like, but for those who aren’t interested in arcane Presbyterian history: the North (except Princeton) was radically “liberal” while the South, in whole, was Conservative. It’s difficult to lay out the theological issues specifically since there were so many of them. Nathan Strickland and I did a podcast on Southern Presbyterianism and Kinism which is still on Soundcloud if any of you are interested (the bad audio is completely my fault – I apologize). You can all guess: the Southern Calvinist tradition was lost along with the political South.

What happened afterwards was a spiritual tragedy. Northern religiosity spread throughout the entire country – this has been documented and analyzed elsewhere, especially by the Abbeville Institute (search their articles if you’re interested; also see “Strangers in Zion” by William Glass for a concise study of how “fundamentalism” in the South is an aspect of Northern religious tradition).

For better or worse, this “spirit” (if you will) dominated all of the Reformed tradition although, years later, the conservative wing of it spawned the Christian Reconstruction movement which later spawned Kinism. Kinism, however great, is, nevertheless, mired in the Northern Calvinist religiosity. To the extent most Kinist are Southerners however, they’ve managed to mitigate the negative effects and yet, the total devotion to a dogmatic system is, perhaps, in varying degrees, a disease in all modern religious expression.

And however mean and childish (fill-in-the-blank with whatever other criticism you prefer) you think I am, I’m simply not comfortable with this “Dogma-Uber-Alles” attitude. Hence my struggle with Kinism – a struggle perhaps more with a dogmatic religiosity than with the Kinists themselves (most of whom are still very dear friends – I even still like the ones who claim to be my friends while publicly psychoanalyzing me).

What am I now if not a Calvinist? What am I traveling on to? Onwards and upwards? (Or, downwards if you’re convinced strict adherence to a system is the path to Heaven)? Well that’s just it, isn’t it? What does it mean to be a Calvinist? Is it that I believe in some typically Calvinist doctrines? If so, then maybe I’m still a Calvinist. Or is it that I’m a formal member of an organized church? That, I’m certainly not. Or is it that I participate in and identify as a member of a certain culture, with certain jargon and social habits? If it’s that – and I suspect it is, even if a Calvinist says otherwise – then I’m not at all a Calvinist.

In fact, it’s only been recently that I’ve stopped caring about dogma at all. There are far greater and more important truths about our Father than how His liver might work in conjunction with His pancreas. He’s not on the theologian’s autopsy table.

Call me a “Christian Romantic” if you need a label. My mentors in the Faith are the likes of Lewis, MacDonald, and Owen Barfield…although, don’t suppose that’s an exclusive list. I value Spurgeon and Machen as well. Far more so than anything I’ve ever read in Calvin or Edwards.

At any rate, I still care for many who claim to be Kinists; I don’t suppose for a minute they believe in abstractions over flesh and blood, or dogma over bonds of honor. I’ll never forget the fellowship and in-the-trenches-type battling we’ve done together (many of my Kinist friends came to my defense when I was being slandered by the national media, some even risking exposure and doxxing on my behalf).

…but I’m sorry. I can’t continue traveling the Calvinist path. God is taking me (quite against my will, truth be told) onwards and upwards. To higher truths and a stronger Faith than I ever imagined.

I truly hope He does the same for you (although I pray the flames aren’t as hot for you as they are for me).

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Shotgun and the Leprechaun

Leprechaun

If you’re wondering what happened to my response to Ehud’s F&H slam article, I’ve unpublished it. I decided to take the high road; be the bigger man, as it were. So come, my minions. Critique me; psychoanalyze me; make judgements about me based on little more than a phone conversation we had years ago. I welcome it. Really. I’ll enter your criticisms in the footnotes of my ten-chapter-long memoir (which I’m sure F&H will publish).

…but if you’re new to my blog (visiting thanks to the publicity my friends decided, out of the blue, to offer me), then be mindful that I’ve been publishing my struggles with the Christian Faith. You’ll be interested to know that after a particularly dark bout of providence and a resulting spate of angry prayers, I challenged God to discipline me. He did, in at least two instances, both of which, oddly (though humorously) had an Irish twist. The first was a few weeks ago and is recorded in my last post (Luck of the Irate). Here’s how the second happened:


Suffice it to say, I was having a case of the Mondays. Two hours from home, my car had broken down in coon-town. My radiator was bone dry and I was in a vacant lot surrounded by be-bopping jacobins. Was this God punishing me again?! “Well…” I reminded myself, “…I asked for it.” Asked for it indeed, with a healthy side of profanity. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure God disciplines us whether we ask for it or not. Best not to ask for it.

Luckily (and the irony of that word doesn’t escape me), there was an auto parts store about half a mile away. Believe it or not, it was an Irish-themed establishment with, you guessed it, a large shamrock as part of their logo. I put my pistol in my back pocket and set out to a gas station to get water. I was able to fill the reservoir enough so the car would start, then managed to drive it out of the lot and down to the O’Reilly’s. I had a busted seal in my thermostat housing; the water blew out so fast the radiator was dry again by the time I arrived. I thought I could purchase sealant and plug it enough to get home.

…turned out, that was wishful thinking. There was no way the sealant could plug the entire leak. At that point, I called my dad, who had to stop what he was doing and drive two hours with tools so we could perform a minor operation right there in the parking lot; we’d have to replace the entire thermostat. In the mean time, I needed more water (to re-fill the radiator), and asked the clerk if I could get some. “In the back,” he said.

I’ve had radiator issues before and I knew about the large sinks in auto stores. They use them to fill mop buckets but they’re also ideal for milk jugs. Sad to say, when I got to the back, theirs had an “out of order” sign on it. I swore. All the frustration of my recent religious struggles hit me full force. “Why God!?!? Again?! You just can’t give me any good luck, can you?!”

If you’ve arrived at my blog from F&H you might be used to judging your fellows harshly. I implore you not to in my case. There are times we all lose our cool and the pressures of life, even the relatively small ones, act as proverbial “feathers” to break a peeved-off camel’s back; or my back, as the case may be. Broke down in coon town, surrounded by vagrants and thugs. Even the O’Reilly’s employees were shady looking. It just wasn’t my lucky day. Until…

“Hey man…maybe I can help?” a voice said.

I turned around and…you’ll never believe it… there was a midget. A friendly lil’ feller, who, despite his stature, had the trustworthy features of an honorable, normal sized white man. He was holding a water key.

“Yeah…” he explained, “…this one’s broke so we’ve been having to use the outside spigot. You have to have this key though. Come on, I’ll help you out.” And help he did.

A kind word and friendly hand at the right moment, dear readers, mean all the world to a Christian down on his luck.

…although, maybe I wasn’t down on luck after all?

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Luck of the Irate

irate

Here’s a pro tip guys: if you give a girl flowers and she’s disappointed because they’re not edible or otherwise useful around the farm, marry her.

Here’s another pro tip: no matter how angry you get at God, never challenge Him to discipline you. “Come on! Do it! We both know you wont! We both know I’m out of the covenant and praying to a God who doesn’t answer prayers! You only discipline those you love anyway; I’d prefer that to silence. So come on! Have at it!”

If, hypothetically, you ever pray such a prayer, consider the following two stories about what happened to me after doing so. Interestingly enough, both anecdotes have an Irish twist. The symbolism escapes me but in hindsight, adds an hilarious irony I can’t write off as coincidence. No, what I’m about to relate are real interactions between God and man. My awe (and frustration) aside, if I’ve learned nothing else, I’ve learned they might still be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in Heaven…


The first happened a few weeks ago. I was angry because God seems capricious, “…you’re no better than a weathervain, Lord.” He blesses one minute, curses the next. This makes God more of an impersonal force than a divine person. We may as well be praying to the wind. Although that’s not quite true either (so I reasoned). No, the wind, at least, changes directions from time to time. With God it’s a never-ending stream of bad luck. “Why can’t you be more like the wind, God?! Change it up a little! Give me some good luck for a change!”

The next morning I got out ye olde power washer, put on my headphones, and began a long day of labor. Hours went by. I washed everything, high and low; destroyed wasps, spiders, pollen, and mold. I had to re-fill the gas tank five times. As the day was wearing down, the machine inexplicably shut off. I checked the gas – it had plenty. I checked the water – it was on full blast. The engine started but I wasn’t getting any pressure.

After messing with it and performing all the troubleshooting I could, I decided my water pump had gone bad. It’s a fairly common problem with pressure washers. Unfortunately, a new pump costs almost as much as the whole machine. I’d have to scrap it. “See, God?! This is exactly what I’m talking about! Where’s my luck?! Why can’t I have good luck for a change?!”

As I began coiling the hose and preparing for a disappointing end to the day, it occurred to me there was one thing left I might try. I hadn’t checked the water hose’s connection to the washer. Maybe, somehow or other, something had gotten lodged in there? So I squatted down, hunkered over the connector, and released it. As soon as I did, residual pressure exploded out of the nozzle, blowing… (and you’ll never believe this)…clovers all in my face. Shamrocks! Not just a few, ladies and gents; an entire face full of stereotypical good luck charms. They were clogging the hose and blocking the water. It took me awhile to clean them all out, there were so many.

Now you tell me, you science-minded denizens of modernity…you tell me how that many clovers got into my water hose. You tell me how they made it through miles of county pipe to arrive, at the most ironic of times, plastered all over my face.

Fun Fact: St. Patrick, it’s sometimes said, thought of the Shamrock as a symbol of the Holy Trinity.


In the interest of keeping these posts a manageable size, I’ll post the second story tomorrow. It may involve a leprechaun!

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Farewell to Arms?

fairies

“Yet I know that good is coming to me – that good is always coming; though few have at all times the simplicity and the courage to believe it.” ~ George MacDonald

I deleted my entire social media presence and came very close to deleting this blog. But as my finger hovered over the metaphorical “delete” key, I discovered I loved my little production more than its recent neglect indicates. A lot more. More so than my massive social network of pseudo friends whom (with a few notable exceptions), I was able to drop without thought at all.

As to that, here’s the unfortunate lay of the land:

I was seeking acceptance and social standing in the “Kinist” community. I wasn’t able to find either there; not really. There’s a schizophrenia in Kinism. A puritan trapped in the same body with a radical Alternative Rightist. I’m not either and wasn’t comfortable trapped between the two; and, given how many clashes, dust ups, and arguments I’ve had with that crowd, they weren’t comfortable with me either.

One half of Kinism, the puritan half, likes to lounge behind protected walls, resting on laurels it barely earned in the first place, while lobbing cynical barbs at all who dare threaten its tranquility. The other half, the half which actually engages the outside world, is so enamored with the degenerate “Alternative Right” culture that it’s become indistinguishable in all but a few esoteric theological issues. The swearing, filthy sexual talk, and musical tastes are all there. And no matter what I did – be it driving to different time zones to try and incite negro riots, be it putting my name on the line to defend Kinism in public contexts, be it long travels to harass anti-Kinist personalities, or be it countless nights arguing and debating in online venues – it availethededed me nothing with them. Whether that’s my fault, theirs, or both, I left.

I thought, maybe, I could find a different online community with the so-called “Alternative Right”, but as I indicated above, there’s so much profanity, filth, and staunch materialism there, I’d never feel at home. Certainly my ideas and contributions could never be taken seriously. Here’s a brief analysis of the Alt. Right: the Alternative Right is to Liberalism, what Protestantism was to Catholicism. This comparison has drawn ire from Alt. Rightists, all of whom claim to staunchly oppose liberalism, but consider this: liberalism rests on three pillars: equality, rationalism, and science.

The Alt. Right attacks “equality” with a passion. They do very well at it. But they steadfastly hold to the other two. Until those other two pillars are attacked with equal passion, nothing will change about modernity.

So I left social media all together.

There were other “real life” considerations that caused me to leave, such as I’m moving into a career where I’ll be particularly vulnerable to “doxxing”. But the main fact is, I need community. Real friendships. I want the quality, not the quasi!

Without those other avenues of expression, expect this blog to pick up.

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The Braggart

phariseebraggart.jpg

Men who brag about wanting to meet Jesus have something seriously wrong with them. You all don’t have to share this opinion. Our judgements of others are influenced by life’s little anecdotes as well as individual temperaments, so I don’t offer this as a universal truth. You can take it or leave it. But I reiterate: there’s something wrong with a man who so boasts. Don’t trust him.

There’s too much of the pharisee in modern Christians. Their holiness consists in outward shows of piety, while on the inside, they’re petty, cruel, and tyrannical. Ohhhh…by their own admission (they’ll have you know), they’re on excellent terms with Christ. Their every word is Scripture and if you disagree with them, you’re “disagreeing with the Bible!” Is it naivete? Stupidity? Or down right sorriness? Yes and yes. It’s that petty, streak of meanness that runs through the hearts of both the cultist and the revolutionary alike – the two are the same creature, after all.

I’m absolutely terrified of meeting Jesus. He’ll see right to the black heart of me; all my weaknesses instantly revealed. The shame of it will be unbearable. And yes, yes, my pharisee, cult friends are right. He’s forgiven us. That’s what Easter is all about. But friends, there’s a reason the men in the Bible fell to their faces and weren’t able to speak in the presence of the Lord.

I thought about all this yesterday morning as I drove to my special place of prayer to watch the sunrise. On Sundays or on holy days, I like to devote my prayers specifically to thanksgiving, worship, praises (and the like). Too often my regular prayers turn into strategy sessions where I hash out what I’ve already decided while God watches from the sidelines. Sometimes those prayers drift into daydreams or drag up new worries. But on holy days, I allow none of that.

Only, yesterday, not for the first or last time, I was speechless before the throne. What do you say to a perfect and holy God? What can you really do other than fall (even if only metaphorically) to the ground and beg for mercy? But then we hear that wonderful voice that touches us lightly and says:

“…be not afraid. Stand!”

Beware the man who takes that voice lightly.

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Shotgun vs. Hipstergrass

streetperformers

Modern bluegrass needs its own category: “Hipstergrass.”

The Dixie Chicks and Nickel Creek, back in the 90’s, started the slide, and now every two-bit suspender-wearing degenerate is strumming a banjo, claiming to sing old time music, and wearing the thickest framed glasses he (or she) can find.

Their music is about how bad blacks were treated, or about the “fusion” of urban culture with the surrounding rural landscape. Sara Watkins, the girl from Nickel Creek, has joined up with Sarah Jarosz and formed a group called: “I’m With Her”, for example, an obvious nod towards Hillary. Other groups (like “The Dead South”) are explicit in their views and feature prominent diversity. In all, there’s a new melody resounding around Appalachia (whenever these clowns see fit to visit): Dear white boy…your culture no longer belongs to you.

If I were two ounces more musically inclined, I’d go to war with these people.

I have a cousin who is in the thick of all this. He’s a prominent blues musician and having been indoctrinated at the nearby college, he now tries to educate us backward whites on the history and importance of his chosen genre. Specifically, the blues (according to one of his presentations I attended), were developed as a way for blacks to secretly voice the frustration they felt, living under the unbearable yoke of white domination. It was a way for them to make sly jokes without being lynched by the Klan, which, apparently, was hiding just around every corner.

He’s often encouraged me to check out the “Carolina Chocolate Drops”, a rare band of negro “old time” musicians. My cousin’s entourage approves and have often suggested other “bluegrass” for me to check out. It’s always the same story. Always the same hipstergrass.

There’s a larger point to be made:

Many of these people are really good musicians. Unfortunately, they’ve become acolytes of the new religion. The very people who, in a Christian world, would be making the most beautiful music, are obsessed with praising the devil.

While the situation is bad, there might be hope.

See, these hipstergrass musicians are trying to be the poetic voice of their people, but it’s a major doctrine of their religion to give up any notion of having a “people”. As a result, their songs are nonsensical (in many cases), formulaic, and without spirit. They latch on to jews or blacks (who still have a people) or they sing about vacuous nothings. This can’t last forever. They’ll eventually lose interest whenever a new fad comes around and those with one foot still in that ol’ time religion, will have the field to themselves.

When that happens, we may no longer hear banjos on the radio, but front porches across the South will, once again, sound forth the music of Dixie.

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A Rose From the Ruins

rose

“What would you do, Captain Quantrill, were yours the power and the opportunity?” inquired the secretary.

“Do, Mr. Secretary? I would wage such a war as to make surrender forever impossible. I would break up foreign enlistments by indiscriminate massacre. I would win the independence of my people or I would find them graves.” ~ The Autobiography of Cole Younger

The secretary turned down Captain Quantrill’s request for generalship, presumably because of the above sentiment. The Confederates were determined to be gentleman. In hindsight – and this is a new feeling for me – I’m not sure Quantrill was wrong. If any of the Confederates were alive today and could see our modern savagery, they might, along with us, wish Quantrill had been given free reign. Cole Younger was right when, earlier in the book, he says “Gray heads suffer because younger ones had not been noosed”.

As it is, there’s not enough rope for all the lynching needed today.

My readers might guess it’s the recent London terror attack that has me riled. You’re all half right. I am not surprised Muslims are killing people. This one is far from the first (or last) of such crimes. No, what I’m angry about is the way Satanic lunatics are attempting to justify this one.

The Islamic mayor of London (!?) says these sorts of attacks are to be expected in large cities. The “social justice warriors” chime in with the same talking points. “There is no crime wave. There is no rape epidemic” they say. “The normal amount of crimes and rapes are taking place but the bias of the government and news media – those evil bastions of right wing propaganda – report the Muslim ones more often. They’re trying to scare whites into racial aggression.” Their recommendation? Open our arms wider. Be more welcoming. Double-down on our anti-racism.

Can such be reasoned with? Given my Presbyterian rationalism (which I’m now cured of, I hope), I used to try. I never realized how ridiculous I looked. I saw that foolishness on display in a recent podcast where a panel of young commentators from different ends of the political spectrum discussed their differences. There was an “anarcho-syndacalist” (a radical left-wing Marxist), an “anarcho-capitalist” (who sounded homosexual), a left-leaning moderate (admitted he was confused and would probably listen more than contribute), the host (a self-styled Christian traditionalist), a “manosphere-type” (with generic Alt. Right leanings but who was mostly interested in discussing feminism), and a self-professed Alt. Right fascist.

Their discussion quickly turned into a debate when the Alt. Right guy suggested there was a muslim rape epidemic in Sweden. The Marxist quickly chimed in with the talking point I’ve outlined above. The anarcho-capitalist agreed with the Marxist and suggested the Alt. Right guy had no real stats or data to support his ludicrous claim. After all, said the Marxist, most rapes are committed by someone the victim knows and it’s ridiculous to think there are gangs of muslims, roaming the streets looking for white women to violate. The two Alt. Right guys attempted to argue until the one got so disgusted, he said “I don’t care! I don’t care what the statistics are! I want them all out of Sweden!”

He should have led with that.

The Marxist understood the religious nature of the debate from the outset. His was a religious passion. He openly suggested violence is necessary to bring in his utopian scheme (although, he quickly added he wouldn’t personally be open to practicing it because of his Buddhism – he couldn’t speak for his fellow anarchists, however).

None of the other panelists had the religious passion to match the Marxist’s. They had a secularized version of my old Presbyterian rationalism.

So what, then, Shotgun?

I’ll tell you what. At least, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do: I’m going to find the prettiest, kind-hearted, woman I can, and marry her. And I’m going to begin creating a small piece of the old Europe that used to exist – build it on top of the ruins.

And that, ladies and gents, is a far better use of my time than attempting to rhetorically force a Satanist into conceding some minor ideological point.

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Fasting: To be Continued…

– Bad luck strikes again. Or maybe it’s God’s providence? For reasons beyond my control life has stepped in requiring me to break my fast earlier than I had planned. Still, I made it five days, so I suppose that’s something, right?

– It’s difficult to fast anyway but doing so when in your everyday environment, with the everyday cares spiraling around you, is extra challenging. All the more reason to “go into the desert”, even if only a metaphorical one.

– I was doing really well this time and I’m disappointed, even a little discouraged I’m unable to go longer at the moment. Nevertheless, doing an extended fast (30 days or longer) is a goal of mine I refuse to give up on.

– Basically – a job opportunity surfaced and I’m not in a situation where I can afford to turn it down because of a water fast. Nevertheless, 2017 is my year and I’m determined to do a long one before December. I have enemies reading my blogs so I wont say too much about the job, only that it’ll be largely sedentary and with planning, I ought to be able to work while fasting. That’s not ideal, I know, but it should be doable.

– Despite the shortness of the fast, I feel my insulin is balanced, my gut is slightly better off, and I’m no longer addicted to nicotine. I’ll abstain from smoke and sugar for the foreseeable future. I want to be in shape again! New job, new body…who knows, maybe I can have a new life too?

Thanks for all the prayers and encouragement and I humbly apologize if I’ve let anyone down.

I’ve said it before and I’ll reiterate now: I hope to morph this blog into more of a personal, lifestyle type blog. I’m even thinking of changing the name. Something like: “The Alt. Life” or some such? Or…and this is crazy… I’m kicking around the idea of a video “vlog”…a weekly (bi-weekly?) youtube presentation. Not many of those in the Alt. Right at the moment and certainly none devoted to the type of lifestyle / fitness / motivation / book reviews / philosophy / wildlife / martial arts / vocational / etc. etc. stuff I could bring to the table. Still, do I want to trivialize my image and “de-personalize” myself by being a youtube celebrity? (Assuming anyone would even watch)?

Stay tuned…

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