A Fool’s Hope


~ Gandalf put his hand on Pippin’s head. “There was never much hope” he answered. “Just a fool’s hope, as I have been told.” ~

As most of you know by now, I wasn’t able to fast thirty days. I made it seven days before I couldn’t take it anymore and came down from the mountain. I’ve tried excusing myself by suggesting St. Antony never had to cleanse from a life of toxins, antibiotics, and refined sugars, but really I think it comes down to an issue of faith. And modernity has made me weak. Or maybe I’m just not strong enough to be the Christian modernity needs?

I’m experienced enough with fasting to have reasonably made it the entire time but wrestling in prayer with a God whose all but abandoned His people in their time of need…

…but wait, that’s more of the Devil talking. That much, at least, is true about the fasting mythos; old emotions bubble to the surface and the demons begin their whispers. I’m not exaggerating there. I never heard from God last week, but I heard demons aplenty. Want to know what they said, readers? They want me to be a deist; or, at least, to believe God, however real He may be, doesn’t care for His people right now. He’s opted out of our narrative and left us to ourselves. He’s offered us up to a period of judgement and those of us who love Him most are to receive the burden of Earthly dishonor in His stead. Most importantly, so they tell me, God will not live up to His promises of providing for our basic needs; He lets the most innocent among us die without vengeance, and more pious Christians than I have died from hunger. What hope, then, is there for a nobody, uninspired millennial like me?

I’ve sought out sermons on discerning one’s calling; I went up to the mountain to put to rest my incessant “casting about” and settle into whatever it is God’s made me to do. The sermons all suggest there is such a position. We’re all made for a specific purpose. Not, it must be said, because God needs us (so the sermonizers say), He’s omnipotent and doesn’t need anything. Rather, He wants us to be joyful and delight in our service. Assuming they’re at least partly right, what happens when we “seek ye first the Kingdom” but don’t find anything? What happens when the idea of becoming a wage slave on a giant Satanic plantation turns our stomachs? That’s when the old baby boomers tell us to shut up and do something; anything! But what of the joyful delight in God’s service? Should I flip burgers for Christ? Better a quick end than that.

In the darkest hours up on the mountain I’d turn to the Psalms and it was there I came to something of a revelation. I was reading Psalm 9 and was reminded that God is the refuge for the oppressed. The next verse, however, was what I latched onto like the drowning man I am: The Lord has *never* forsaken those who seek Him. Never. My old apologist notion – the rationalist notion about Christianity as a syllogism – was washed away. True faith isn’t faith that God merely exists – even Satan has that. True faith is believing that – even though He’s quiet, and even though evil men desecrate every holy thing, demons rage, madmen march in triumph over the bones of Christendom, and the very aesthetic beauty of the land is soiled – that He loves His people and wills the best for us. And not just corporately, but for each of us as the precious, human individuals we are.

This is the fool’s hope: that God, the master craftsman, creates His clay pots to hold their form throughout the homogenizing fires of modernity – fires which threaten to strip away every vibrant quality so precious (and rare) of men and mold them into demonic automatons, with echoing clicks, whirs, and buzzes – that out of this rusty, disease filled pile of anti-Christ war machines, will arise the fresh growth of the European rose.

And I believe it, even though He’s silent about my purpose. Even though it seems He wants me to expire in destitute, lonely, humiliation…

…though He slay me, yet I will hope in Him.

The demons say it’s a fools hope.

Guess I’m a fool.

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Into the Wild


As some of you know, I had to quit my job as a prison guard. Working for the state was a strike against my honor, but doing something day in and day out I found not only distasteful, but immoral, and doing it in an environment surrounded by sick depravity, was damaging to my soul. I began losing myself to the job, thinking of myself there indefinitely, not seeing any way out. I was becoming mired in the daily routine. Enough of my honor was left, however, to deal with the inmates as I saw fit and after one such exchange (which wasn’t by the book), I was told my methods were against policy. They sided with the inmate while undermining my authority. I replied that either he left the prison or I did. So, here I am.

I realized I was damaged in more ways than one. Ever since my notorious heartbreak in 2007, my Faith dissolved into little more than a sham. All of my prayers have been angry and my writings were shallow attempts to carry on an illusion of Christian optimism. On the inside, despair and faithlessness squirmed their way into my being until I found it impossible to say anything truthfully without demoralizing those around me.

I still love God and while my dreams have all been taken from me along with my young love – I’ve been given a new, though faint, vision of fairy tale Europe. I was bitter about this for a long time; I felt God took everything tangible from me and replaced it with ghosts, daydreams, and a world I would never be a part of. Suicidal thoughts plagued me and, honestly, in the past week since leaving my job, they’ve been especially difficult.

Well, no more. I’ve decided to do something no one else I know has ever done. I’m going to do something I’ve known for a long time I’ve needed to do. Ladies and gentlemen of the internet world, dear readers, you most patient of souls…I’m going into the wilderness to fast and pray and do battle with whatever demons plague me. I’ll take up the ascetic life, like my hero St. Antony; thirty days of it, at the least.

The old tales say that when a man fasts in this way, the demons manifest themselves. For the rationalists reading this, there’s some precedence for it in Scripture, even if you reject the tales of St. Antony. I believe it, anyway. And if they destroy me while I’m in the wilderness they’ll have done me the favor of avoiding damnation by taking my own life. If I overcome them, though, I’ll emerge whole, with my torn soul mended, my relationship with God renewed and strengthened like never before; my body will be cleansed, primed for fighting. And from there, I’ll make good on my desire to train, get in the best shape of my life, then call forth America’s demonic overlord, whomever and wherever he may be…for one final act of combat.

No one else, it seems, in the entirety of this generation, is willing to do it, so maybe that’s why it’s fallen to me? Maybe that’s why God took away all my dreams, left me without a family for this long, left me without a way to survive on the plantation? I’ll take on this Molech and die an honorable death, or win.

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Last Ride of the Christian Knights


They’re not trying to kill white people, they’re trying to kill Christ and Christ was most manifested in white Christian Europe. So naturally, it’s white Christian Europe they hate with the devil’s zeal. They don’t hate white trash neo-pagans exactly; they don’t hate white hipster atheists per se; it’s not the suit and tie clad eugenicists who raise their ire. It’s what they represent. It’s Charles Dickens. It’s Rudyard Kipling. It’s Walter Scott. It’s all of the European poets and the people so carefully represented in old European literature and art. It’s the people who mixed their blood with the blood of Christ who are targeted for execution.

The pagans, eugenicists, and all the rest, including average white policemen, and the elderly woman carrying her groceries down the street, in the mind of the savages, represent white Christian Europe. These people, even the racially aware ones, aren’t going to be competent to mount any sort of resistance to the slaughter because they don’t know or love white Christian Europe.

I’ll make an exception for the old lady carrying her groceries; she, maybe, out of all the rest, remembers. I’d take an army of old ladies who love and remember over an army of skin-headed pagans who hate and despise that which our enemy also hates and despises.

I’m lonely because very few people love and remember. To love and remember requires more than reading a history book; it takes more than studying philosophy. It takes more than correctly diagnosing the economic, political, or sociological ills of the populace. None of these things can be properly studied or understood unless one first has a burning passion for the world that was lost. Instead, these neo-pagans, eugenicists, and the rest, are social mechanics, hoping to build some future machine that churns out bodies with a particular genetic makeup. Stats and figures, calculations and strategies…the machine is all in all.

I say they wont be competent because this isn’t a physical war. It’s a war of spirit and only those with a familial bond to the Holy Spirit are equipped to fight the demonic forces arrayed against us. The modernists reading this, if they’ve made it this far, will refuse to believe it, but it’s true. The Apostle Paul said so in his letter to the Ephesians so long ago.

This spiritual war will manifest itself physically – it’s already doing so – and I truly believe God is a God of small, daily miracles. The casual observer might call them beneficial coincidences, timely events, or luck. The Christian knight, old European visor down, sees it for what it is. The miracles of fairyland.

When everyone else says “no”; when everyone else says “ill advised”; when everyone else says “democracy and system building”; the Christian knight, as far as I can tell, says “One last ride for God, King, and Country!”

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Fighting for Abstraction


The recent violence in Sacramento has brought me to a difficult contradiction in my way of thinking. People ask why a bunch of whites would go out onto the capitol grounds in the first place, knowing the Communist, government-school-indoctrianated thugs would be there waiting with knives, glass bottles, and guns. “It’s completely useless” they say. There’s nothing gained by it other than senseless violence. Why bother? Why feed the left with these opportunities to rally themselves?

The same sorts of arguments were made to Gary Cooper in “High Noon.” He went to visit his friend, the retired sheriff, looking for help and advice. The old sheriff sent him packing, telling him it was no use to die for a tin star.

I can go further: I’ve often written against those “alienists” who are “neo-gnostic” in their thinking, preferring abstractions over concrete, physical people. There are no “men” in this view, there are only possibilities of men. There is no “nation” other than the propositions adhered to in the abstract. This sort of abstraction seems drastically at odds with the sort of concrete, hearth-and-home racialism I advocate. The “stay-home” crowd appeals to this sort of argument as well. “Why go out and risk life and limb for mere symbols?”

Why risk death for a flag?

In Walter Scott’s “The Talisman”, Sir Kenneth pledges his life to defend the English flag from the German crusaders who, in their drunken revelry, might try and remove it. Sir Kenneth was Scottish and had no special love for the English; it was his honor, alone, that inspired him to accept the responsibility. He was the hero of the novel and if defending flags is good enough for a Walter Scott hero, shouldn’t it be good enough for us?


In point of fact, I’ve been in a similar situation as the guys in Sacramento – when Heimbach and I (along with others of our friends) stood off against a group of four-hundred or so Marxists. They tried getting violent, but thankfully, none of them had knives. They did rip the Confederate flag away from Heimbach though, and I remember diving into the crowd, being attacked, and throwing wild punches to retrieve it. And by God, retrieve it we did. Our friend Shane somehow ended up with it, was thrown to the ground by police and arrested. They drove him a mile from the crowd and dropped him off, explaining they needed to pacify the Marxists, who were quickly dispersing after the confrontation. They flew that flag at the following League of the South conference.

So, I’ve arrived at an odd contradiction and I don’t know how to resolve it. I have no doubt about how I’ll react when the symbols of my people are attacked. The symbols themselves, in some odd way that I don’t understand, represent the entirety of our people. They’re worth fighting and dying for, not because they’re cloth, or tin, or whatever, but because of what they represent.

…maybe some abstractions are worth dying for?

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A Southern View of Young Earth Creation


Recently, in a forum thread populated by self-professing members of the “Alternative Right”, the question was raised as to whether or not Young Earth Creationists could be considered part of the Alt. Right. Seeing as how racial realist and biodiversity literature is built on evolutionary paradigms, how could someone be both Young Earth and a racial realist? More importantly, how can we see black people as made in the image of God?

I’ve argued before that it’s easy to be a Young Earth creationist if we simply recognize and highlight the underlying materialist bias inherent in modern academia, especially the hard sciences. These people are often philosophically naive and as “fundamentalist” in their sentiments as any snake handling West Virginian. Presbyterian philosophy is helpful in this sort of deconstruction, utilizing similar arguments as those used by postmodernists, leading some commentators to the absurd conclusion that Cornelius Van Til, himself, was a postmodernist. He most certainly was not. Van Til utilized Presbyterian theology to develop postmodern-style criticisms of anti-Christian academia, while providing (with his other hand, as it were) a solid “Revelational Epistemology” on which to ground all the necessary preconditions of scientific inquiry.

Still, a new scientific paradigm has emerged on the popular scene – the so-called “Flat Earth” theory. Without a solid epistemological foundation, the scientific community is simply floating through cultural hegemony and become little more than snake-oil salesmen for their particular bias; they have little ability to combat these alternative paradigms. As a side note, economists are often described in similar terms – as simply being fancy polemicists for their chosen political ideology, practicing a “science” that has little to do with the objective world. Practitioners of the “hard sciences” balk at being described that way.

It seems that if we use postmodern arguments to wrench open the door for Young Earth creationism, we have to leave it wide open enough for any sort of “absurd” theory (like the Flat Earth) to slip in. If that happens, then it’s a free-for-all and we’re in danger of losing all Scientific theorizing. If anything goes – if we can come up with any answer to any scientific question – then we really have no answers at all.

So really, the entire question (as I see it) is one of what Christians refer to as: “ultimate authority.” Without it, we must arbitrarily keep out all the “uncool” paradigms, or take the more honest approach and let every one of them in. Most materialist scientists take the first option. They hold to some form of naive realism, preferring to simply suppose philosophical preconditions arbitrarily and get on with their work, while using their bully pulpit to keep out all the views they find distasteful. This seems fine until we realize that it’s impossible to play the game consistently. If such a man, let’s say a geologist for example, were to play the game consistently, he might empirically study a rock and tell us that it has a certain ratio of potassium and argon. But when he begins speculating about the age of the rock based on this data, he’s violating the rules of the game by bringing in all sorts of metaphysical and (dare I say it?) “theological” assumptions. They want to pretend to be philosophically neutral while slipping in (through the backdoor) their pet ideals.

Some Christians, unfortunately, are impressed with this game and tend to be glamorized by current reigning viewpoints. As a result, they try to merge their theology and their reading of Scripture with pop-paradigms. We get “theistic evolutionists” for example. Of course, the only way to be a theistic evolutionist is to accept the self-proclaimed philosophical neutrality of the oh-so-impressive academic institutions; barring that, there’s no real reason not to read the Bible in its very literal, fairy-tale-like style…and to believe every word of it.

But to the point: how can one read the Bible in this way and also be a racial realist? Setting aside the various theories of racial realism among Young Earthers (like, for example, the special creation of the black race as a result of the cursing of Ham’s line; or, the gradual creation of races after the linguistic break-up at Babel)…we ought to realize that, at its essence, the Young Earth model promotes “staying put” in one’s created place, where the evolutionist model promotes “progress” – even eternal progress.

And the Southerner has always been the enemy of “progress”; at least, “progress” in its malicious form, meaning, progression away from traditional life and towards a new, rationally-planned mode of living. I have a hard time figuring out how the theistic evolutionist, who believes God utilizes His system of second-causes over a long period (fitting with secular evolutionary narratives) to bring about the modern world, can turn around and argue that certain modes of living ought to remain unchanged. Any “progress” on his view, ought to be seen as God continuing to work out His will for Creation. Perhaps, on this view, white people ought to be genocided out of existence to make way for a new, racially homogeneous world of peace; peace because of a one-world language, culture, and single mega “tribe” that has no “other” with which to antagonize? I can’t see how these theistic evolutionists, for example, have any grounds to oppose the so-called “transhumanist” movement, which is little more than evolutionary “eschatology”. Man, on this view, reaches rational self-consciousness and is able to take charge of his own evolutionary destiny – creating new bodies for himself, merged with nano-tech. computers, and wireless communications.

But on the Young Earth view, we can see that God specially created humans, warts and all, and means for us to take dominion within the bounds He’s set for us. “This far and no farther.” On this view, races exist and will continue to exist, even if we’re all given robot bodies; this, because racial categories are not defined by one’s genetics (a model which leads to savage counter examples), but rather, are defined by a divine person. Consider the marble example. Suppose there is a group of 20 identical marbles. They’re divided into 4 groups of five. The person dividing them can name each of the groups and think of them however he likes because he’s the one imposing meaning on their groupings. In the same way, in some hideous dystopian future, where we’re all uploaded into identical robotic machines, there’s still be “race” – as long as we exist as individual persons – simply because God has imposed meaning on particular groups of men. Yes, yes, there are phenotypical and genotypical realities as a result of these groups, but the “spiritual” grouping precedes the physical realities.

Much more can (and will) be said about this sort of “spiritual” view of racial categories, but my aim here is to highlight some of the benefits of a Young Earth position that, if adhered to, has the potential not only to strengthen the alternative right…but maybe to save it as well?

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Cafe Down on the Cosmos…and other tales

lunar lander

I’ve got a few writing projects in the works, but one I’m really excited about is a collection of Southern science-fiction short stories.

“Science Fiction from a southern perspective???” you might be asking …

I know, I know. It’s an insane conflation of genres; a merging of two areas that must not be merged. And yet, Southerners too, at least hopefully, are going to be a part of the future; how we carry ourselves into the technological horizon, and how our unique cultural distinctives will be recognized 200 years from now (or even 20 years from now) has always interested me. And what better way to explore these themes than through science fiction?

With titles like “Cafe Down on the Cosmos”, “Manufacturing Monsters” and “Dark Matter to the Back of the Bus”…I think my stories will be exciting enough for the average sci-fi fan, while still resonating with many Southerners.

Besides, I’ve always believed (along with C.S. Lewis) that if a man can’t find an abiding strangeness in his own back garden, then he certainly wont find it on the moon. And Southerners have always recognized the beauty inherent in back gardens…

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Clash in Cali…


(Looks like one of the idiotic anti-whites got what he deserved)

Click on the above picture and you’ll be taken to a Russia Today story covering the recent clash in California. Members of the Traditionalist Worker’s Party and the local “Anti-Fascists” apparently engaged in a brawl on the Sacramento capitol’s lawn.

Heimbach was supposed to go and, hearing the rumors of violence swirling around this event, I decided to take the days off and fly out to watch his back. Finances didn’t work out for either of us, so we both had to miss the carnage. Was this fortunate for us or unfortunate?

Fortunate for me anyway, maybe unfortunate for Heimbach. In Claire Wolfe’s “Freedom Outlaw’s Handbook” she notes three different types of “freedom outlaws.” There’s the Mole; he works anonymously, on the inside of the system, having an outward appearance of normalcy, he works to subvert the machine when no one’s looking. There’s the Activist; he is the loud voice in the streets, ensuring there’s always a public outcry against travesties and sometimes engages in street fights. Then there’s the Ghost; he separates from the system entirely and snipes at it from a distance, a true outlaw. All three, argues Wolfe, have a legitimate role to play in toppling a tyrannical power.

Heimbach and crew are clearly of the “Activist” type and as such, it would have been better if he’d been in California. It would add to his street cred. and would have helped boost the event’s importance.

I think I want to be a “ghost” of some type, though…so I need to re-think my participation in these sorts of events here on out.

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Revolutionary Abstractions


Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.

Beware the Revolutionary, dear readers! He loves his victims so much he ends up destroying them. Recognize him by his insistence on abstraction. Instead of talking about his friends (if he has any) he’ll talk about the ideal person – Joe the Plumber, Smith the Coal Miner, Sophie the Washwoman, and so on. These people fill the neighborhoods and cities of the Revolutionary’s imagination but he doesn’t know them in person. The unfortunate few he does know, he knows only as archetypes – as ideals that fit his revolutionary notions. They’re never individuals in and of themselves.

Politicians are great at this, often bragging about some guy they know in Nebraska who happens to be a farmer, or some woman they know in Boston who happens to be a nurse. How many fish have the politician and farmer caught together? How many cups of coffee has he shared with the nurse? None – but he speaks of them as if they’re in his social circle when in point of fact, he’s merely using them as typical examples of the American “everyman.” I know a farmer, so I know you!

Christ, on the other hand, literally became one of us. He knows the unabstracted situation of humanity from first-hand experience.

I bring all this up because Revolutionaries are legion among pro-white activists. They’re problematic because they never support the eccentric actions or passions of individual whites, preferring instead to think of whites in the abstract. Because of this, they’re unable to support individual acts of heroism – they’re too worried about their revolutionary strategies for that.

Be on the lookout for phrases like: “…such and such makes us look bad.” Or, “…that fellow is too ugly to be in the public light.” On the Revolutionary’s view, we need to present, at all times and in front of all cameras, a Greek Adonis archetype. When, at a local rally, conference, or protest, an attractive young couple is found who seem to meet this standard, they’re hounded to the front, put on posters and signs, and placed in front of all the cameras. But because they’re humans instead of two-dimensional archetypes, they always fall short of the ideal, usually publicly, and are humiliated because of it, ending up disgruntled and heart-broken.

When a man does something heroic – like shooting one of our enemies – the last thing we need to do is cry about how it “makes us look” or about how much it damages the revolutionary initiative. He ought to be treated heroically. We’re of Germanic decent, are we not? Invite him to the front of the mead hall and sing songs about his victorious exploits!

…but no. If he’s no Greek Adonis, he’s pushed to the back, shackled; abandoned. But let the Devil beware – we are special people, crafted for specific damning purposes by loving, white God, each and every one of us.

To the demons reading this: you’re on notice. The abstractionless are coming for you.

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Celebrating 8 Years of Shotgun Barrel Straight


It’s real folks – today is the 8-year anniversary of my blog and things sure have changed. I’ll comment on a few brief “happenings.”

I started out a red-state neoconservative, oblivious to the world around me except for a few points of knowledge about Christian apologetics. I started this blog to be a splash page for my lengthy polemical essays in case they were removed from the forums. Soon, I began posting research items as well, then daily thoughts. Today, Shotgun Barrel Straight is more like an online journal or a place where I can vent, formulate ideals, run things by the public – basically a catch-all. This doesn’t build readership numbers of course, but I feel like I have to write. Writers gotta write, even when the writing’s not very good. I humbly thank all of you who’ve stuck by me through the years and have watched my transformation from naive neo-con Evangelical, to forthright old-style European, Christian Romantic, paleo-con…or whatever the heck you want to label me.

The difficult I have in labeling myself is, I hope, a sign of intellectual maturity. At the moment, you might call me an “anarchist” with respect to the state, but by that, I only mean that in a stateless Christian society, institutions would emerge, order would sort itself out, and we’d have something like the middle ages again. I draw on a lot of Hans Hoppe’s material to work out the details of this thesis.

I’m quasi-Calvinist even though I’m not a formal member of any church and despise almost every Calvinist I know (excepting a few of my Kinist friends). I’m more like a Christian Romantic; that label will have to do for now. “Christian Mystic” is too strong and “cessationist” too weak to describe me. I think my inability to fit into post-Enlightenment religious molds is a good thing.

I’m not really a paleo-conservative reactionary either – more of a paleo libertarian, but I hate how libertarians want to “atomize” society and treat people as if they’re machines instead of persons. Society must be thought of as a set of personal relationships – again, like we had in the dark ages. This is opposed to the bureaucratic “impersonal” model of legal relationships (imposed by force) we have today…much much more can and will be said about that in future posts.

I love the fact that England has left the E.U. but like some in the Alt. Right, I remain suspicious about how this’ll play out in the long run. I learned about Merry ol’ England from a young age, watching Mary Poppins and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. When I was older and in highschool, I was surrounded by an 80% negro population – you all can imagine what that was like. I retreated to the library where I discovered James Herriot’s novels about being a veterinarian in the English countryside. This caused me, more and more, to daydream about the place.

And of course, there’s Cambria Will not Yield…perhaps the biggest influence on my adult life. He’s either ruined me (I’ll never be able to live on the Devil’s plantation now) or helped saved my life…

It’s almost been a decade now, since I discovered his website and instead of killing myself, being absorbed back into the sludge of Americana, or wasting away in some horrible marriage – I’m single and contemplating heroism. One day I’ll be able to thank him for that…maybe at some point during the next 8 years?

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The Alt. Right’s Holy Trinity


Some Christian commentators want to throw out the Alternative Right all together, but it’s hard to separate entirely once you’ve met some of the guys, slept on their couches, or had beers with them. A sober morning later, the Christian realizes he’s simply not at home with them. He might visit, he might be friends (or go fishing) with some of the self-proclaimed “fashy goys”, but at the end of the day, he loves old Europe, while the Alt. Right guys love a new, enlightened, materialistic machine.

This leads to an off-the-cuff thesis I’ve been tossing around. I think the Alternative Right will implode after Donald Trump wins the presidency – and by “implode”, I mean, it’ll eat itself. To understand why I’m predicting this, direct your attentions to the classic work by Neil Postman “Amusing Ourselves to Death.” Postman predicted a television show that would lampoon all other television shows, thus trivializing television itself. In a sense, he predicted Seth MacFarlane’s “Family Guy.”

Family Guy promoted a culture of sacrilege among an entire generation; there was no passion behind MacFarlane’s subtle ideological axe grinding. Rather, any position deemed sacred, be it Christianity or liberal taboo, was fair game, targeted, and lampooned without a twang of conscience. The show features everything from blasphemous skits about Jesus Christ, to “racist” and “sexist” jokes – an equal opportunity offender. Out of this rancid fire rose an entire generation of young men, willing to attack anything with sarcasm, wit, and foul buffoonery.

The religion of liberalism is the most sacred of all beliefs in the modern west, adhered to by legions and enforced from the top down; these young lads eagerly attacked it with memes and so-called “sh– posting.” (Pardon the profanity, but the profane inundates alt. right terminology). Those especially adept at “sh– posting” are known as “sh– lords.” They tear down the walls of the liberal religion and in so doing, formed bonds of camaraderie while simultaneously opening doors to previously taboo ideas. Nothing can be taboo for this new generation. Nothing can be sacred. They seek out the sacred and destroy it, wherever it’s found.

Of course, this all takes place within a materialistic, secular paradigm. The kids were indoctrinated into materialism by their government schools and are unable to think outside its box. The “Alt. Right”, in essence, is a bunch of government school secularists, blaspheming the liberal religion. Hence, the Holy Trinity of the alternative right:

Government School (the Father); Seth MacFarlane (the Son); and The Internet (the Holy Spirit).

Posting memes against the sacred ideals of liberaldom is their sacrament.

But what then? What happens when their ideas become the new sacred? They’ll eat each other, I’m afraid.

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