Amen

A short comment by MGE that merits its own post:

I hate when weak people are the ones ruling over me. It doesn’t feel natural.

I hate people who make me repeat the lies that legitimize their power over me. It’s humiliating.

I hate the little suck up useful idiots that derive social status not from their own accomplishments, but by thought policing their peers.

I want the truth to come out like a cleansing fire and burn away all the dead wood.

I want to see our anemic, enervated elite torn down and replaced with those with vigor and a will to live by truth.

Remember The Greaseman?

If you lived in the DC area during the 1980s, I don’t need to tell you who Doug Tracht was, better known as The Greaseman. He was a hugely popular morning DJ on DC-101 (WWDC-FM), a Washington rock station. He took over Howard Stern’s morning slot in 1982. Our middle school bus driver in 1983 and ’84 played the age-inappropriate Greaseman show every morning, to our delight. That he didn’t run off the road laughing is testament to his professionalism.

Here is one of Greaseman’s classics, Daughter’s First Date:

The right stuff

The Greaseman wasn’t a liberal. Though his show was mostly apolitical, he made asides about Bill Clinton during the early 1990s, calling him Adolf Clinton in one of his segments. He was popular with the police and military. Finding out that a local Marine Corps base banned his show over sexism, he made a serious monologue, written here from memory:  “I am ruefully looking at the USMC. Not the Marines themselves, they love me and I love them. I’m shaking my head ruefully [that phrase is almost verbatim right, my memory is good] at the leadership of the Marine Corps and I ask them to let these fine military men listen to my show.”

The Greaseman’s fall

You can read about his “controversies” under the Infogalactic link above. In 1986 on Martin Luther King Day he said on air: “Why don’t we plug four more and get the whole week off?” Then in 1999 when James Byrd killers’ trial was in the news, he played a Lauryn Hill rap song and said, “No wonder people drag them behind trucks.” The proper bounds of on-air humor is a subject for another time. Unfortunately — echoing the previous post about Megyn Kelly’s abject apology over nothing — The Greaseman went on an apology tour like no other. You can read about it on Infogalactic. Very sad.

Greaseman faded into obscurity after he left DC-101 for syndication in 1993. According to a friend of mine who heard the interview, Greaseman reflected on his rise and fall, paraphrased here second-hand: “Things changed in the ’90s. It got more personal, more mean. My style of humor fell out of favor.”

Howard Stern had this to say, also paraphrasing from memory: “Look, I said much worse things. The reason Greaseman was canned is because his ratings sucked.” Unrelated: as far as I can tell, Doug Tracht isn’t Jewish, and neither is Anthony Cumia.

Selections from The Greaseman Show

There are Greaseman clips on YouTube if you are interested. One I listened to for the first time is The Deliverance his Asian version. Back when you could goof on foreign accents because all things Asian were still foreign:

Take off your kimono. Untie? No words please just action. Untie kimono! I beg pardon but I’m not sure what to make of all this. You know, you look just like a panda. Can you bellow like panda?

He was a master of melodramatic sound effects accompanying his monologues. As one example, his Estelle bit is about an on-the-rocks couple that tries partner-swapping to reignite the passion. (The video is fan-made).

And then there were the recurring characters or running gags:

  • West Virginia (all in good fun, such were the ’80s.) Only he could make banjo sounds with his mouth that sounded more real than a banjo.
  • SGT Fury, the ‘Nam vet with flashbacks
  • Ladies man Nino Greasemanelli
  • The Lawman, cracking skulls and much, much more
  • His regular guest John Riggins, the great White running back. If you were a fanatical Redskins fan during the (first) Joe Gibbs era, you’d understand.

Coda and my high school memory

Thank you for the laughs, Greaseman. This short post does your genius no justice.

I’ll leave things with Greaseman’s rendition of Against Her Chin, which he sings to Bob Seger’s Against the Wind. Alas, that piece is not on YouTube. I have it as an MP3, transcribed below. Play the Seger original I helpfully linked and sing along:

It seems like yesterday, but it was long ago
Velma was lovely, she was the queen of my nights
Snarlin’ in the car, with the radio playing low
And the doo-dads that she squeezed
The nodules that she noshed

Gobblin’ like a wildfire out of control
Till there was nothing left to splat
And nothing left to gag…

And I remember what she said to me
How she swore that it would never end
I remember how she held me, oh so tight
I wish I didn’t know now
What I didn’t know then

REFRAIN:
Against her chin
They were slappin’ against her chin

We were young and strong
And I had doo-dads against her chin

My head lolled side to side
And the courtesy light was on

A cop pulled up and he glanced inside
His eyes bug-wide

When he saw what’s going on
So he got out and dropped-trou
Grinnin’ all the while

That part always reminds me of back in high school. She (a beauty) and I parked late in the evening in my car by the closed gate of a state park. I picked that spot to assure privacy and soon we were undressed. The windows were heavily fogged up. That’s not a metaphor, they really do that when you make out in a car.

A middle-aged cop startles us with a knock on my window. How long he was staring at her breasts before knocking, I have no idea. We cover ourselves and I roll down the window. Cop voice: “Did you see all those No Parking sings? You’re trespassing on state property.” “No sorry officer, I didn’t see them but we’ll leave right now.” He gives me a stern speech of which I remember not one word.

And then just before turning to go he asks my date: “Ma’am, are you here because you want to?” Those were late 1980s. Date rape hysteria was just coming into its own. She earnestly nodded her head, clutching some fabric up to her neck: “Yes!”

We found a different parking spot, behind an elementary school. As the temperatures rose again, she said with a devilish gleam in her eye, “What if I had said ‘No’ to that policeman?”

He said “Son, when you get done
You can just leave her here

The midnight watch can be lonely and cold”
I said “Officer, you’ll find it so sublime 
There ain’t no chrome on my trailer hitch”
And soon I felt that bubblin’ tide 
There in the front seat I began to twitch

[REFRAIN]

Spoken during the instrumental: “One of my more tender songs. And now my left hand, and left hand only, I play the piano. Yeah, you probably think back a long time ago to the drive-in that’s no longer there. To the lovers lane that’s been paved over for condos.” Sotto voce: “And you remember.” 

“Happy as you are, you wonder what happended to the pffftfffh-receptacles of yesteryear. You hope that they found the joy that you found. You shake your head and you wonder, God, how did we get away with that stuff!”

Are Public Figures Coerced Into Making Abject Apologies?

“Megyn Kelly looks like a hostage instructed to read out an apology. It’s so obvious that she is genuinely afraid. We are in the age of Orwell’s 1984. Deep in the middle of the PC tyranny.” — from Twitter

She wasn’t blinking T-O-R-T-U-R-E but her delivery and posture were unnaturally stiff. Her eyes showed fear. Maybe she is unaccustomed to humbling herself. Or maybe someone threatened her into making that statement.

She is apologizing for implicitly endorsing blackface consumes in an earlier appearance in which she shrugged off a question about people dressing up as characters of another race. “As long as it was respectful and part of a Halloween costume, it seemed okay.” she said a day earlier.

Trent Lott went on a groveling apology tour in 2002 after making a toast on Strom Thurmond’s 100th birthday. His quip was spun as endorsement of segregation. In hindsight at this point, the first thing that comes to mind is that the offender is blackmailed over his past financial or sexual indiscretion (or worse) to deliver a series of humiliating apologies, vote contrary to expectations, and so on.

What if there was nothing that such a cabal had on Megyn Kelly. After all, she didn’t look guilty. She looked terrified.

The Caravan Crisis And Leadership

For the sake of clarity let’s make it an either-or.

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The migrant caravan has grown exponentially. It stretches as far as the eye can see. Perhaps 20 thousand or more. What is our military for if not to defend our country and its sovereign borders. This is a critical moment for President Trump and our country… Do not fail us, Mr. President. – from Gab

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Check out the invaders wearing new shirts with feminist propaganda on them. It’s almost as if this is a carefully choreographed push to get women to side with third-world invaders, and to create more controversy when they have to be stopped by force. Whoever is behind this is hoping scores of them will be killed while cameras roll. All in time for the election. – from Gab

The either-or: Is it better that Trump orders a napalm sortie against that caravan or lets them cross the U.S. border?

The emotionally satisfying answer is easy to choose. And what is the objectively best course of action? Immigration is turning former nation-states into hell on Earth. A government for, of, and by its people will do what is necessary to repel any foreign invasion and remove the aliens already within its borders. Nothing else matters.

Idle Thoughts On Pop Songs And The Seasons

strong men create good times
good times create weak men
weak men create bad times
bad times create strong men

Summer

June Carter, He Don’t Love Me Anymore. What’s alien in that c. 1955 video is the everyday on-air interaction between the good-natured host and his firecracker starlet guest, the young June Carter. If you imagine having a country of your own in which your public space — in this case television airwaves — belongs to you, you might envision something a bit like that exchange in which he introduces her and they pick on each other a bit.

America was a house with many rooms. One of those rooms was Appalachian hillbilly culture, perhaps one closest to my heart on account of the melodious regional accent. It’s no wonder that this is where Tom Wolfe looked for inspiration in creating the Charlotte Simmons character. And it’s no wonder that Johnny Cash fell in love with June. I once said:

[She] is a vision. Like just about every young woman, she has those little imperfections that modesty makes irresistible… That thing I said earlier about modest attire amplifying a cute girl’s attractiveness…

The decade, with its relaxed ways, was America’s summer. But every summer has its storm clouds. Vivian Liberto, first wife of then-drug addled Johnny Cash and mother of his four daughters, writes about a confrontation in which June said to her, “Vivian, he will be mine.” The rest of the story is Johnny and June growing old together. Do you believe in love?


Autumn

Angelo Badalamenti, Laura Palmer’s Theme. It’s simple and reminiscent of Erik Satie’s compositions. A bright moment happens at 1:00, a key change. Brett Favre, in the twilight of his career, was asked about his favorite football memories. He said that it’s not the championships or the victories, it’s those times just having fun with the guys in the locker room or wherever. That answer rang true with me. And there is a flip side to that — you also remember those quiet moments alone.

One such inexplicably indelible moment for me was during Army training in San Antonio, Texas in the early 1990s. Our platoon slept in a large bay with two rows of bunk beds. Listening to a local radio station on my Walkman before drifting off to sleep after lights-out, I heard a song from the Twin Peaks soundtrack. It was “Falling” with Julee Cruise.

The early 1990s was a supernova burst of American creativity, all of it animated by the dream of a world that had flickered just out of reach and then disappeared forever. Autumn is elegiac and it is the one season I’d never give away.


Winter

George Michael, Praying for Time. It would be nice if the great song were written and performed by a godly man, but that’s not what happened. It was created by a faggot who got busted at an airport toilet stall. It’s a lesson in humility for everyone, but also in hope, when a man so flawed he makes you look clean teaches you something. “Listen without prejudice” means that it’s okay to judge after listening.

Whether you’re Georgios Panayiotou or someone less cursed, you have your cross to bear. He had his, homosexuality. I have mine, a light one. The pretty girl I used to know who was diagnosed with an awful illness at 21 had hers. Maybe you have yours.

Listen to the song’s despairing, nihilistic lyrics. Keep what works for you, discard what doesn’t. Whatever George Michael was thinking of when he wrote it in 1989, it speaks to me now.

It’s hard to love, there’s so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above say it’s much too late
Well, maybe we should all be praying for time

The girl I mentioned, she told me about the diagnosis that took place a few years earlier and I told her that we all have our cross to bear. After all of that, I met with her dad. He looked like a wreck. He said, “So you’re the ‘PA’ that she talked so much about.” It was a sad moment when I handed him her stuff. He signed a couple of forms where I told him I need his signature.


Spring

Johnny Cash, Children, Go Where I Send TheeWalk The Line (2005) lied about two things. One, the movie blamed Vivian for the failure of her and Johnny’s marriage. Two, it was silent on the greatest part of Johnny’s career, his Christian music. Yet the film had several good moments, the best one being when Johnny’s disgusted father Ray Cash says:

You’re sittin’ on a high horse, boy. I never had talent, I did the best I could with what I had. Can you say that? Mister big shot, mister pill poppin’ rock star. Who are you to judge, you ain’t got nothin’, big empty house, nothin’, children you don’t see, nothin’, big ol’ expensive tractor stuck in the mud, nothin’.

In the movie, that was Johnny’s rock bottom moment after which he changed his life. “Children, Go Where I Send Thee” is the best interpretation of the American Evangelical spirit in popular music. Johnny would have made a fine Marine Corps drill instructor calling cadence. It’s a fantastic performance, featuring an older June Carter and the other Carter family ladies, the Statler Brothers, and Carl Perkins. Under their captain’s command, they sing like victors.

MM: “That’s why I’m a Democrat”

If you see a grey rectangle below, it means that the latest Murdoch Murdoch video was shoah’d from YouTube. However, they are all archived on CheekyVideos.net.

What great art will the Great Replacement produce?

Human being hunger for the truth as much as they do for air and clean water. When it comes to the stories of trying events, it’s man’s lot to wade through murk of enemy’s version of the events. Or through a complete blackout on their story. Truth always wins though, even if it takes decades or generations.

Europeans under Communism had to wait a generation before their historic tragedies of WWII and under Soviet occupation were expressed in uncensored art during intermittent political thaws. Vietnam veterans had their moment twice, when they were no longer baby-killers: with the Vietnam Memorial Wall in 1982 and with Oliver Stone’s “Platoon” in 1986.

The highest art of the Great Replacement, as we’re in the midst of the drama, is Murdoch Murdoch videos. My favorite is “The Wanderer’s Choice.”

The ending to this new one is horrific and sublime.

An Antebellum Update

When the cat’s away, the mice come out and play.

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What makes this ideological conflict unusual: White liberals NPCs* are pushing for their own demise. If they lose, they lose. If they win, they still lose. If we can even call it “ideological,” given their irrationality. And for the non-Whites in the liberal coalition it’s not about ideology. It’s straightforwardly racial.

[* “Non-Player Character” meme]

MGE points to current examples of anti-White hatred. The remainder of the post is his comment:

And the newest generation of media writers/reporters at places like the NYT no longer even bothers to conceal their progressive politics.

They gave up their pretense of political neutrality awhile ago. Now they aren’t even hiding their anti-white male race hate. Prior to Trump, Sarah Jeong’s years of anti-white twitter screeds (there are hundreds of them, and twitter has allowed them to stay up) would have excluded her from any newspaper job, but these days they are a feather in her cap landing her an editorial gig at the NYT.

I’m sure you have all seen this, (((Christine Fair))), a professor at Georgetown tweeted this during the Kavanaugh hearings

“Look at [this] chorus of entitled white men justifying a serial rapist’s arrogated entitlement,All of them deserve miserable deaths while feminists laugh as they take their last gasps. Bonus: we castrate their corpses and feed them to swine? Yes.”

Twitter refused to remove the tweet until they caved under pressure when it was featured on Tucker Carlson’s show. She still has her job at Georgetown btw.

Bottom line, the left (whatever that means anymore) has gone full on anti-white and I wonder if they will be able to put that genie back in the bottle. It seems every day I read an anti-white screed in some leftist rag. Here is one recent example in the Nation:

White Men Have Good Reason to Be Scared
We’re coming for their power.

So no wonder these white men thrash and howl with defensive rage. Good. Let them be afraid. Because it’s true: We are coming for them, and for their power, too.

[Link]

Camlost said awhile back that blacks have this magical mindset that white people’s power just dropped from the sky and they hoarded it all, instead of it coming from millennia of patriarchal cultivation and breeding. It is telling that in current year pop culture afro-mythology, the power of Wakanda is derived from a magical mineral called vibranium, which the Wakandans hoard to themselves. I wonder what the author of the aforementioned anti-white screed thinks will happen once he seizes this magic white power? Will the result somehow be different than what we see anywhere else in the world run by black people? If Kai Wright and his ilk are so threatened by white people’s exercise of power, why are they so threatened when we want to just go our separate ways?

At the rate we are going, these are questions that they will have to confront head on. Right now people like Kai Wright feel safe poking the bear with impunity because they are protected by the progressive media establishment that dutifully upholds our post-reconstruction racial taboos. But those shibboleths are being chipped away rapidly and will crumble, that is unless Google the “Good Censor” can put a stop to it.

“A Mattress Built For Two”

Just the other day, I thought about last year’s Ode to Thot by Lucius Somesuch. As telepathy would have it, he now penned another fine one:

A MATTRESS BUILT FOR TWO

— Lucius Somesuch

A cup of hot chocolate and a good talking-too,
Oh Emma, I can see that you’re ready:
It’s time for me to make my move–
I could see us going steady.

Yes, you’re a liar and you need sorting out
But everyone’s a bit complicated,
And I can’t deny you’re truly my style
(Who hasn’t to you masturbated?).

Your trail of texts, compiled for the court
Reads like a great love story,
And though your record we can’t abort
I think I could make you a Tory.

There’s something so longful and dewily girlsome
In your bemusedly belligerent air
And who would not dream of running his hands
Through your cropped atom-blue hair?

If Sarah Jeong should rock a thong, she might
Come to surpass you.
And, to be sure, her gook blood is pure
While yours is already half-Jew.

However, she’s old, and obviously sold
On being dominated by elder White dudes,
While you seem more of a challenge to score
With, unless Roman’s bringing the Quaaludes.

Oh Emma! Each day rises brand new, and ours
Dawns so bright, our eyes are dim:
I wonder now if the bush matches the roof
And do you wear hoop rings in your quim?

Making A Feminist Cry

It’s from 2013. Brazil’s current presidential candidate Jair Bolsonaro is accosted by a hostile female journalist. He tells her: “A few days ago you called me a rapist, in the Green Room. And I said I wouldn’t rape you because you’re not worthy of it.”

There are two kinds of women. Arrange your life so that it includes solely ones who never bait men into violence and thus you are never put into a position of having to clean up their mess.

She escalates. Bolsonaro effectively calls her ugly and sticks his finger in her face. She says that she’d slap him and enters his personal space. He fires back: “Slap me and I will slap you.” He pushes her back and calls her a slut. She melts down at this point, repeating the same phrase something like twenty times in a row.

As goes the saying: when the cat’s away, the mice come out and play. Liberal politics have devolved into post-Obama absurdities which I wouldn’t call “Hard Left.” Hard Left was Lenin and Che Guevara. What today is manifested as the hard edge of Leftism — pronoun etiquette, Antifa, anti-racism, transgender consciousness, and belligerent feminism — is certainly financed by the same actors who funded Lenin, it destroys innocent lives (which liberals high-five each other over), and it most definitely has the potential to develop into a hard political force. But it’s not there now. It’s larval stage of Left wing revolution: poking harder at traditional White societies because we looked weak when they poked softly. Much of this apparent weakness is our side’s refusal to engage — the cat ignoring the mice, which therefore get bolder and nastier.

Decades of Republican cuckservatism relied on such a misguided magnanimity. Go along with the MLK myth, nominate Bob Dole, give blacks what they demand, suffer the feminists, decline to articulate the collective interest of Whites as such. The result was the two Obama terms. Everything changed when Donald Trump batted the mouse with “Only Rosie O’Donnell.”

The feminist is fearless, she juts her chin onto male zone of aggression and publicly challenges Bolsonaro’s honor because she expects impunity. Doing so, she forfeit the protection of chivalry beyond the prohibition on full-power strikes.

Natalism for your people: what you get when you have a country of your own

There are fancy residential developments in European cities that are planned to encourage family-formation, but in the end it’s a row of empty swing sets. Family-friendly facilities alone aren’t going to get our young people to have kids. White natalism requires these three things:

  • Economic incentive; or at the very least, freedom from economic disincentives: “we can’t afford a neighborhood with good schools”
  • Cohesive demographics: Diversity + Proximity + Police Enforced Antiracism = bad money drives out good.
  • A sense of having a future: the feeling that you own your public space, writ-large, goes a long way toward that.

I am omitting cultural aspects of modernity such as feminism and birth control because they are more or less constant across Europe and her diaspora. Apparently, all that it takes to stay a step ahead of modernity is to have your own government:

More than 402,000 children were born in Poland in 2017, the highest number in “many years”, the country’s family and social policy minister said on Friday. Poland’s socially conservative Law and Justice party, which came to power in late 2015, aims to ease the burdens of child rearing by giving families with two or more children a handout of [tax-free] PLN 500 (USD 134, EUR 116) a month per child. Poorer families receive the allowance even if they have just one child. 

The banner art on Polish government’s social services web site:

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Over here in America, we break our backs so that black single moms and illegal-alien mestizas can roll up to the register and pay nothing for a $200 cart of groceries. Frankly, what’s a government that tweets about record-low African-American and Hispanic unemployment — while never, ever, saying one goddamned time that White People (or Heritage Americans, or Americans of European Stock, or White Anglo-Saxon Protestants, or Pre-1965 Whites, or Descendants of 1776 Revolutionary Colonists, or Real Americans) so much as exist. A government that denies you while effusing love for your ethnic rivals.

One challenge is scale. The United States of America is big, geographically. It’s become a bilingual, multi-racial bureaucracy spanning a continent.