~ My Mother ~

There are different opinions about what happened to my parents.

Those who know me know I’m inclined toward the view that my mother was killed by a bioweapon, released from a lab in Wuhan China, under a joint-effort by US and Chinese researchers.

I’ve tried to find it in my heart to do the Christian thing and ask God to forgive those responsible for this. But forgiveness requires someone to be sorry for what they’ve done. The best I can do in my prayers is ask God to wisely carry out His justice. To deal fairly with those who thought they were doing good or to those who love abstract utopia more than the individuals they trounce on to achieve it.

Even if you do believe the official narrative of this virus, we can all agree that it’s evil. And if you, like my mom, believe that evil is personified and alive, then you might also agree that he and his little bat-winged helpers want to tear us apart. They want us at each others’ throats. They want us to retreat behind our electronic walls, give up the ties of place, and be happy living as faceless, interchangeable, cogs on some one-world, globalist, plantation.

Where is God in all this? With all this evil? With all these people praying for my mother – some of the most Christian people I know – and still she died?

I remember something C.S. Lewis says in “Weight of Glory”, about how the best place to see God is on our bus ride to work in the mornings. Our neighbor is created in His image and likeness. All those faces in the church and at the funeral – showing up for each other, praying for each other, caring for each other … that’s us, being vice-regents for Christ, doing our part in His name.

And we will not let the evil one tear us apart.

My mother’s legacy was one of family, unity, roots, a turning off of the television, and a bringing of people together. This, we’ll do in His name…

We are God’s answers to someone else’s prayers, if only we have the courage to put down our phones and look up every now and then…

Shotgun vs the Manosphere (Again)

Gents, I can’t tell you how often I’ve had to fight snapping turtles for a woman while she sleeps through the whole thing. I’m sick of it. Can I get an amen?! This literally happens all the time. Ok, I may be exaggerating a little, but this does happen. Totally realistic…

Why is she in the swamp anyway?

Yes, it’s that time again. Another “Shotgun vs. the Manosphere” post, where I’ll be equally accused of both misogyny and simpage. I can’t win. So why do it? Because no one else will!

Let’s start with a wide shot: I agree with about 70 to 90 percent of the common wisdom in the “red pill” “MGTOW” community. They err in a few key ways, though, which makes that 10 to 30 percent gap quite significant. For one, the majority of these commentators aren’t Christians nor do they particularly value the social mores, habits, and attitudes of old Christian Europe. These ones often scoff at the word chivalry and developed the phrase “white knight” as an insult. For two, they almost universally believe the ridiculous theory of evolution and rely heavily on so-called “evolutionary psychology” to ground their analysis of female action.

Now, let’s zoom in a little: The biggest and most immediate problem, from both sides of the gender war, is that we live in a world totally conquered by the ideology of the French Jacobins. The average manosphere commentator isn’t willing to recognize or discuss this. “Equality” reigns supreme and isn’t questioned. Visible, explicit, social hierarchy is taboo and any suggestion otherwise is met with hostility. The fall out, as Burkean Conservatives could (and have) predicted is utter societal chaos. Women, especially, literally don’t know when a man is worthy of them, where as, in the past (say, in Jane Austen’s day), his class and status would have been clearly understood from the outset. In the Austen situation, a woman may still turn down a man’s advances, but she would be empowered to do so much more politely and civilly. Everyone observing would realize the man was within his social rights to aim for the girl he was approaching. If an unworthy man (of a lower social status and class) rose above himself like a dirty scoundrel with no tact, and propositioned a lady, he’d be swiftly and immediately dealt with by the lady’s male protectors, without her having to be involved in the confrontation.

Today, however, men who are far below a woman in eligibility will, nevertheless, “shoot their shot”, which quite rightly enrages the girl, who implicitly realizes she’s far more valuable than such a proposition (from a man in a lower social class) warrants. It’s not endearing or flattering. It’s insulting. I know this because, as a man, when I’m propositioned by low-class, 300lb, Shaniqua at the gas station (who be thinking my eyes be all blue), it’s not flattering. It’s audacious and insulting. The problem comes from both men and women not knowing their places because they have no clearly defined place.

In modern America social status and class are secret, implicit, categories that are taboo to openly discuss. Excepting, of course, those rare opportunities the Satanic priests of the new Jacobin world order get to teach us what our place truly is. While there is formally no status or class in America, the true acolyte of our modern religion knows that some animals are more equal than others. And right now, women are “queens” and encouraged to think of themselves as impossibly high value and high class, so much so the average man has no viable option with them (romantically), while men, especially white Southern Christian men like myself, are taught that we are less than worthless and have nothing at all to provide to a modern goddess. Our respect, our time, our attention, and our money, are to be freely given to a woman,in exchange for her mere attention and a peck or two on the cheek. Meanwhile, while we’re acting as living “wallets”, she’s out chasing after the next chad peacock because, chastity, don’t cha know, is not for the “strong” woman.

At any rate, mountains of ink have been spilled on this topic from the manosphere. I can’t add much more other than to provide a simple solution for Christians – a solution the manosphere guys have no access to. Women should not get their sense of value (or their estimation of their class status) from modern feminists or from pop-culture, and certainly not from leering men with their pseudo-validation. Men, likewise, need to ignore the shaming tactics of feminist witches and pop-culture shamans. We both ought to look to old European culture and social mores to objectively classify ourselves, have a firm idea of our social value and the social value of others – then look to those of a similar class and status when choosing a possible romance.

More on this to come…

Review: The Truth About COVID

To be honest friends, personal circumstances make it difficult for me to provide as thorough of a review as I’d like. You may have noticed a lack of commentary about the so-called pandemic here at Shotgun Barrel Straight. Much of that is due to my self-conscious decision to avoid current events and a refusal to allow the demoniacs in what is popularly called “the media” to influence my writing. I’ve not taken COVID seriously. Let this review count as a remedy for at least that much…

For many years I’ve approached health issues from an alternative paradigm, one that, while popular in many circles, also seemed to flow seamlessly from my Christian worldview. God created our bodies to heal themselves when required. With a proper lifestyle that avoids being a mindless consumer, practices back to the land habits, agrarian wholesomeness, and has an eye for supplementation when needed, I believe the bulk of modern sicknesses can be avoided. Moreover, with rigorous water-fasting, I believe the really scary ailments of modernity can be readily handled. Where these methods fail, God Himself may step in (if we ask Him).

Two weeks ago, a few hours after that fine dinner I mentioned in a previous post, my parents came down with a terrible cold. My mom texted me saying they thought it was bronchitis and suggested we move our plans up a few days. The next text I got was from my sister, saying both of my parents had been rushed in an ambulance to the E.R…

…now, friends, both of my parents are locked away in the protective custody of the lab-coat-wearing pagans, and we’re not sure how much longer either will live. My mother has been on life-support for almost two-weeks and the doctor is hinting that we need to “make the decision.”

This is a terribly difficult time, as you all might imagine. Any prayers would be appreciated.

In the turmoil I decided to immerse myself in COVID literature and Mercola’s book was top of my list. While I’m not in the best frame of mind for recounting all the information presented therein (and it’s quite considerable), I, nevertheless, appreciated the systematic coverage of the issue. Mercola has been in the alternative health industry for many decades. I’ve been reading his articles off and on for years. While he’s not perfect – his book, especially, has its faults – his is a trusted and authoritative voice. I turn to him often.

The faults in the book reflect his overall reliance on a generally liberal worldview when it comes to racial issues and the pandering to minorities. COVID is bad, among all the other reasons, because of how disproportionately it affects the black community. This is oft-repeated throughout the book and while I read it as a desperate attempt to rally liberals to his cause, it’s a tactic that stems from his genuine acceptance of such nonsensical ideology.

But with that caveat out of the way, this is probably the best book-length treatment of COVID and all the surrounding issues from an alt-health paradigm. He not only covers the virus, itself, and possible therapies for avoiding it (or helping treat it), he covers the entire cultural and economic impact. He presents the pandemic in a broader political framework as a tool used by the Satanic globalists (Bill Gates especially) to usher in a new-world-order (or: the great reset)…this techno-cratic hell where every aspect of our lives is completely governed and we’ll all, essentially, live in a giant, digital, prison.

In the early chapters, he discusses the official narrative of the origin of the virus – where it supposedly emerged from a bat after somehow miraculously mixing with a pangolin, whereupon it’s ingested by Chinese people at a Wuhan market. This, says Mercola, is utterly ridiculous. He destroys this official narrative and paints a more sinister picture: a global arms race for biological weapons, where numerous biolabs all over the world conduct their experiments while dodging government oversight and avoiding international law.

He gives the “elites” the benefit of the doubt by suggesting the virus leaked as the result of an accident, but one need only listen to a few minutes of a Bill Gates (or some other equivalent demoniac) to see how easily accidents of this sort could be planned. When a billionaire says there are too many people in the world and when the same billionaire says there’s going to be a massive outbreak, we ought to take him at his word. When they run simulations and plan for media battles and coverups and when they hire major Hollywood actors to act-out desired compliance (all documented in Mercola’s book), we need to take them seriously.

Gates, according to Mercola, has predicted a second, even worse, outbreak. We’re already seeing some ungodly “monkey pox” in the news. Will that be the next big thing?

Speaking of conspiracies and viruses, I’m always reminded of something R.J. Rushdoony used to say. He said that ever since our country began there have been evil men conspiring together. When a country is healthy, Christian, and well-educated, these conspiracies never come to fruition. We have a healthy spiritual immune system. But when we are spiritually dead? That’s when the conspiracies, like viruses, take hold of a people.

God help me but I’m at the point now of wondering if my parents might not be better off with God calling them home. If this is their end, then it’s their end. I’ve done all I can do. They’re in God’s hands now…

…as are we all.

Shotgun on Summer Fleek

I just had an incident in the gas-station.

I was walking back to look at drinks when two white girls approached from around the aisle. They looked about 13 or 14. Their noses had gaudy piercings and both girls were covered in tattoos.

I stepped aside out of instinct but apparently not far enough for the second girl who said, in a thick negro accent: “es-cooose you…” She had massive fake eyelashes and her nails be all did…

I said: “Oh, I’m sorry. I only step aside for white girls…”

At which point, she flew into a profanity-riddled rage, making a huge scene in the store. Her sister(?), slightly more white in style, managed to grab the girl and pull her, still shouting, out of the store. Apparently, I’m an ugly old white racist who wanted to do unspeakable things (of a sexual nature) to the girl…news to me….

I’m still shaking. Honestly, I’m more furious at the demonic alchemists who’ve successfully transformed our women into negros than I am at the girl.

The black lady at the register was shaking her head when I finally made it to check out.

“MMmmmMmmm…some people aint got no manners…”

“…must be the heat.” I said…

~ Further Thoughts ~

I’ve been watching youtube vids of guys who play pranks on their wives and/or girlfriends. Most of the pranks are abhorrent and inexcusable (like pretending to commit adultery only to reveal to a devastated wife that it was a joke all along, or any prank having to do with fake proposals).

Some are kind of cute, though. In one, they call their wife by her full name, at which point, she comes shuffling into the room confused, hurt, and often angry. She asks: “what? Did I do something wrong?” The low-class wives come in hot, hands on hips, using profanity. They insist they be referred to as “babe, baby, love,” or some other, equally vapid pet-name. “Why you be usin’ my real name like that? What’s wrong with you?”

So, as a man who’s never had a long-term relationship, what is the deal with this? I can’t imagine referring to a woman I love as “baby” or “babe”…she’s not a pig. I’ve spent too much time imagining the name of my future wife to neglect it during the course of our happily-ever-after.

Am I off base here? It’s ok if I am. I know the pet-name is a mark of love and intimacy and maybe if I ever have a wife she’ll be off-put by my use of her actual name instead. Maybe I’m just so out of touch with couples-culture that normal relationship things seem odd?

But I’ve heard girls who like to scribble the name of their crush in their diaries or on their desks at school. I’m not as overt as all that, but I think I would relish and delight in the name of any woman who loves me…

Southern Roots

I went out to eat with my parents last night. The restaurant was about 45 minutes away from where I grew up. Far enough away so you don’t see people you know, or so we thought.

When your roots run deep in the south, you see old friends in unexpected places.

We were just sitting down good when a large party got up to leave. As they were passing our table, they stopped. Turns out, we knew them all. They were in various positions of law-enforcement, dispatch, firefighting, local government, etc. My parents knew them all. Moreover, I was, apparently, famous among this crowd.

I was too young to remember them, but we used to all go to the same church. The preacher at the church was a staple in the community and had a characteristically rowdy son. Today, we might diagnose the kid as hyper-active. His mouth and his feet were always in motion. He was older than the rest of us kids which made him a natural bully.

Well, me being me, ever the showman at my young age (I must have been five or six), I was tasked with giving a prayer in front of the congregation. So what did I do? Well, apparently, I said a long and hilarious prayer for the soul of the preacher’s child, asking God to help the boy settle down and act right.

So, here I am, long way away from home, lots of cares on my mind about the world and my place in it…and a crowd of seniors are laughing at something I did as a child. I only had the faintest memory of it and that only bubbled up thanks to their recollections. It was endearing all the same.

To know and be known is the most divine thing we humans can do.

This heart to heart connection with others and with God Himself is our only path to salvation…

Maybe I’ve been wrong to focus so much on severing those roots by moving to a foreign locale? I thought about my last blog post as I drove home. I used to struggle with suicidal thoughts and, as far as I knew, I had defeated them. But what if I just replaced thoughts of suicide with thoughts of leaving the country? Both have the same emotional resonance…

Patriotic Expatriation

I will not, I will not, I will not devolve into cynicism here! I promise!

Is leaving a burning house cynical?

Here’s a question for you stay’n’fighters…

What are you fighting for?

My southern friends like to launch into romance on this point, even though when I launch into romance, they ridicule me for it. I’m a realist when they’re romantic, and they’re romantic when I’m a realist. Once again, I find myself on the opposite point of emphasis from my friends.

“Our ancestors fought for this soil, and I will to! I’m not leaving Dixie!”

Ok, well, take a five-gallon bucket, fill it with dirt, and take it with you. Plant a rose bush in your new, foreign, plantation using soil from conquered Dixie. Grow your yellow roses in peace. Dixie is dead. Or do you think so highly of your Tara you’d like to watch the weeds gather over it from behind the bars of your local gulag? Do you want to see trans-children frolicking gayly through George Floyd park, guided by their homosexual handlers, all built on the smoldering ruins of your Tara?

Land has only ever grown people and once the people are rotten, the land is useless. Our ancestors knew this which is why they came to America in the first place. So fleeing *is* in our genes and in our religion too. Christ told us what to do when we see the abomination that causes desolation.

But what of the second retort from the stay’n’fighters?

“We have a political system to defend!”

I’ll leave such people to their delusions. You can fight and die for your propositions. I want none of it. Your propositions didn’t save you from liberalism. No constitution can do that. You think it was the presence of slaves here in the states that did us in? You think it was women getting the vote? Recall: there was a time when only white men and property owners could vote and we *still*, despite that utopian system, descended into this…

No…political machines, magical words on paper, scientifically-arranged social orders, none of that stops liberalism. Only hearts connected to the divine heart can stop liberalism. And only if there are sufficient numbers of them.

I’ll look at the final and most convincing argument from the stay’n’fighters…

“My family is here, my extended family, my church friends and social community. We’re all still Christian and we can’t all just leave…”

Christ addresses these, too. Woe to pregnant women and nursing mothers in those days…

I’m as sorry as I can be for you, but you know what? I haven’t been blessed with a wife or a family. Moreover, I’m usually ridiculed for this by the holier-than-thou super-trads. Joke’s on them, now. My alleged failings as a man may be what saves me, at least so far as I’m mobile and can easily transplant. Besides, I’ve been surrounded by feminist harpies all my life and am now of an age where I envision myself living without the love of a good woman. I don’t want a woman unless she comes with roots and a country.

I like country girls. :D

You all are blind if you can’t see what has happened with this “Great Reset”. The demoniacs who control our country have moved into a phase of increasing tyranny unlike anything I ever thought I’d see. I always thought Orwell was over-the-top. “Things might get bad, but it’ll never be *that* bad…” … I was naive.

Whenever I read a futuristic novel about some dystopian state, I always imagine myself slipping out of it and living in the woods. Taking the forest path.

You stay’n’fighters can hate me for it, but I’ll be living a free, though diminished life, in some non-American hinterland. I haven’t picked out a country yet, but I’ve mentioned my parameters before. It’ll be one where I’m free. Where I can be a man. Where I can impose Godly order over my little slice.

I’ll raise a coconut full of homemade wine to you stay’n’fighters, while we watch the sunset – me from my remote beach, you from your gulag cell.

The Unbroken Spirit

I’ve just heard that CWNY will definitely be back soon.

Looks like Cambria Will Not Yield has gotten banned again.

I don’t know who CWNY is but Satan knows. They talk about him in the dark councils of the air. Despite the vast and literal army of demonic propagandists at his beck-and-call, Satan is terrified of CWNY. Terrified of the last of the European minstrels.

Satan can’t allow any voice, no matter how small, to speak against his blasphemy. And CWNY is, at least in my humble estimation, a prophet. The rest of us can speak our half-truths. We’re not a real threat. God knows if you read the last few years of my posts, you’ll know why I’m no real threat to the devil. But CWNY’s voice must be silenced.

I’ve learned enough to know what needs to be done, I just don’t have the talent or ability to do it. Many people out there have half of the truth, or even 90 percent of the truth. But CWNY not only knows what needs to be said, he’s got the talent to say it properly.

Reading his material every Saturday was like a religious ritual for me. Helped orient me back to the true faith. Over my years of studying CWNY, I’ve relied heavily on it for both emotional and intellectual support. For the rest of my life, I’ll always have his material in the background of my thoughts as I consider any new situation or travesty of modernity.

It’s like we’re all living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, completely isolated, but we have our old transistor radios tuned to hear words of hope. CWNY gives me hope for what a future could be, not just for all of us collectively, but for me, personally – helps me reimagine who and what I am and what I could be (and ought to be) in this modern world. With so many of the old things falling away, with so many friends turning out to be false, and so much of our past destroyed, our identities crumble away in the winds of propositional chaos.

But we, that spiritual army of people moved by his writings, we refuse to yield.

Speaking personally (as I too often do), my spirit has almost broken. It’s been beaten down so much. But it’s still there. There’s celestial smoke rising from the ruble of my ruined life. A few sparks waiting to flare back up into an all-consuming, holy, rage.

I don’t know what will happen with CWNY (or with any of us), but if I, with my trounced-on spirit, am still smouldering, then out there, somewhere, in the hinterlands, where old-Europe still exists, there must be a bonfire raging. A drummer still drumming…

We just have to listen for it…

Stick ‘Em Up, Brother!

I’ve always wondered if Jesse James were still alive, who he’d be robbing?

I’ve thought about it quite a bit, actually. He wouldn’t hold up trains. Petty cash from a convenience store wouldn’t be his style. No, I think he’d be passing the collection plate at local churches – the more liberal, the better. If they’re presumptuous enough to meet under the banner of Christ, the least they can do is financially support His cause. That’s what I’d do, anyway, if I were an actual man.

As it is, I watch movies about Jesse James. I’ve finally gotten around to the one starring Tyrone Power (as Jesse) and Randolph Scott (the friendly law-man out to give Jesse a fair shake). I thought it was going to be an amazing homage to a folk hero. I was wrong…

I don’t want this post to be a review so I’ll just say, the biggest heroes of the James saga were the women in his life. His mother, especially. She was a true Spartan. “Come back with your shield or on it!” A southern lady with fighting spirit. The movie, however, had both James’ mother and wife as sobbing, blubbering, compromisers, constantly nagging at Jesse to give up his private war. And, maybe for simplicity’s sake (but I suspect for propaganda reasons), the movie leaves out the civil war all together. On this version, Jesse and Frank are innocent farm-boys who get unjustly attacked by the evil railroad. Nothing about the noble Southern guerillas, Quantrill, or border wars.

The version starring Brad Pitt was more historically accurate and surprisingly generous to the South (given that it’s a product of modern Hollywood). For that movie, alone, I can never hate Brad Pitt, even though he’s generally worthless in all his other films.

Power gets a pass because, for me, he’ll always be Zorro, and that movie (The Mark of Zorro) is one of the few ever made that hits every one of my nerves in just the right way. Christian, dashing, chivalrous, romantic, heroic; it might be the one perfect movie ever made. At least, it’s in my top five.

I learned about Randolph Scott from reading CWNY (although I think the relevant article is lost to oblivion thanks to the cowards at WordPress). He said something about how Scott was the best at saying a whole lot using few words.

“You afraid?”

“…I reckon I am…”

Presently, however, white men are exiled from leading roles. We must only see degenerate “anti-heroes” who have glaring flaws. Our alchemist overlords wish to systematically demoralize then re-shape us, in this way.

Mel Gibson may be the closest thing we have to a genuine white man in the movies but the devil got to him through alcohol, causing him to reveal his white instincts to the paparazzi. Now he’s stuck having to repudiate his whiteness in a never-ending bid for redemption. (I watched part of his recent Christmas movie, but turned it off when I realized Mrs. Claus was a black woman and the entire movie was premised on a gritty and violent realism that fell short both artistically and morally).

Jesse James was the hero the south needed and came along at just the right time.

Now, though, we’re not fighting physical border wars. We’re fighting a brutal spiritual war and we’re in need of outlaw poets and artists to make raids on Hollywood.

We need that one, great, filmmaker, in my humble opinion.

A Jesse James of the Silver Screen…

How to Marry a Noble Woman

It’s spring and also I’ve been watching Tyrone Power movies. Hence the topic of today’s post…

There are two myths floating around the secret world of men with respect to “marrying up”. One is an old myth and, to be honest, I’m not sure it governs any minds other than my own or those of a handful of strapping antique-European lads. The other is ubiquitous throughout American pop-culture and is ingrained in the minds of every youngster, male and female.

Imagine a noble woman. She’s beautiful, young, and looking for marriage.

In typical Hollywood fashion, her father is a grumpy protector, looking to marry her off for dispassionate political reasons. Her chosen husband is always distasteful. She always rebels, running off with some street-urchin beneath her in status, class, and bearing. Nevertheless, “true love” wins the day, and the two are whisked off into happy oblivion.

This “trope” (if you will), is expressed many times and in many different ways. It amounts to an attack on hierarchy. Now, maybe this attack is motivated by an American sense of gritty equality, but more likely, it’s motivated by Marxism and Jacobinism, which make “equality” a sort of religious virtue and must always be championed at the expense of the virtue of some beautiful white woman. (This is especially the case when her chosen miscreant is a negro).

The screen-writers endow their hero with inexplicable virtue that, in reality, is far from any member of his class. He’s a brilliant fighter, a brilliant thinker, or superior to all the noble characters in some crucial virtue. Conversely, all the noble characters are endowed with clear vices and foibles. They’re shown to be absolute buffoons, unworthy of the high social status they’ve attained accidentally. The young girl is given clarity of vision and seeks to overturn the entire system by eloping with her heroic miscreant.

“Her daddy says, he ain’t worth a lick.
When it comes to brains, he’s got the short end of the stick!
But Katie’s young and, man, she just don’t care!
She’d follow Tommy, anywhere!
She’s in looooove with the booooy…”

I had to deal with this with my own sister who, being a lunatic like all young women, encouraged the advances of a white-trash degenerate. Accordingly, playing her part well, she rebuffed the attempts of my father and I to discourage the boy’s affections, openly defying us in many cases. I was young and couldn’t clearly express what I was feeling. My father always had half a foot in liberaldom. The result was, my sister and mother – swimming in the seas of pop-culture – won out, and predictably, it ended tragically.

Those who think this trope is “beautiful” never heard all the nights my sister spent crying alone in her bedroom…

Now let’s examine the other trope; the unpopular, yet virtuous and time-honored, way to go about marrying a noblewoman (or, that is: any woman who’s higher than we are in class).

In this scenario, there’s an honorable king with a beautiful young daughter. This unfortunate king has a major problem. His kingdom is haunted by a dragon or some towering monster. His knights have either been defeated or have run in fear. So in a desperate attempt, he makes the decree: “My daughter’s hand to the man who kills this dragon!”

Here, we ask the important question: how does a man attain “nobility” in the first place?

Well, he slays the dragon! That’s how.

To “marry up” requires a feat of heroism, bravery, and hard work on behalf of the man. He must prove himself. Moreover, if he truly does have the virtue of a nobleman, he ought to realize this to begin with. He knows how presumptuous it would be to look at the noble woman with an eye towards marriage. He knows he’s not good enough for her. He’d join with the father in protecting her virtue, even from the likes of men of his own class and status. Even should the noblewoman express her affection for him, he’d rebuff her and challenge her to remember her position.

(This has practical implications, even for women who don’t realize or appreciate their status. For example, I’ve had a group of people suggest we ought to sleep in the same hotel room to save money and didn’t understand why I’d object to a mixed company in the same room. “It wouldn’t look right,” I said. We want to protect even the appearance of virtue in our female friends, if we can).

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with recognizing how desirable a noble-woman is, as long we treat her fairly in our estimation, and realize the size of the dragon we’d have to slay to deserve her…

The Verdict…

~ If you can’t clothe yourself in the skin of the lion, put on that of the fox … ~

The mistake you’re all making is to suggest this verdict was forced onto a weak-willed jury by an angry mob. This wasn’t the doing of a mob.

The verdict was a religious verdict. It would have been the same even had there been no mob. This will be the root of the Liberals’ Great Inquisition, to rid themselves of all white, Christian, men (and to put our women into prostitution).

We have to stop them.

I once attended an ostensibly “pro-white” conference, where suit-n-tie-clad white boys gathered to sip wine and congregate in little groups, guffawing over dinner conversation and movement gossip. Direct action is taboo for this sort, though some were surreptitiously sending financial support to those pro-white groups involved in ongoing courtroom “battles.”

I suggested a…well, er… a different strategy.

Those at my table looked uncomfortable and the conversation lulled. One man took me seriously enough to suggest my approach was doomed to fail, given the overwhelming “power” arrayed against me. He went on, in his lecturing tone of voice, to explain that our best strategy was “in the courts! Always the courts!” I replied that doing it my way had a better chance of success than he could ever get with the courts. He called me insane. He said it with a smile, so I didn’t challenge him to a duel or anything, but still. It was upsetting.

Why was my suggestion lunacy, but his, sane?

I forgive my readers for allowing the Satanic news media to dictate the content of my blog. I’m not the man who usually allows “news” to run my train of thought. But this is a turning point. The entire farce of Biden’s election was a turning point.

Ought these institutions have power over our consciences any longer?