Adaptive Curmudgeon

The Forty-Five has an interesting observation:

”I have learned silence because I have come to accept the twin facts that I have no power to change a person’s mind and that events are much farther along the path than what people believe them to be.”

I too have had such a change in my demeanor. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one. I’m not perfect. I fail to keep quiet at times (I’m a blogger after all) but I’ve generally intended to do so.

For example, earlier eras on my blog included discussion of economic issues which interested me. Now, years later, I see vignettes of brewing coffee by a campfire as more “important”. Why? Because the die is cast. The choice is in the rear view mirror and all that’s left is to adapt to the inevitable effects. If adaptation takes the form of a grouse hunt or campfire coffee who is to say that’s the incorrect path?

Thus, it’s the second part of Forty-Five’s observation that resonates with me. There was a time when this or that policy threatened bad outcomes. That time is over. The policy has been done. What “might” result from unwise potential choices now “must” result from unwise concrete actions.

There’s no point bemoaning the inevitable, unavoidable, obvious,  clear, deserved results at hand. Faffing about in 2021 that shortages or inflation “might” be an “unexpected” occurrence is just displaying one’s deliberate (and often feigned) ignorance. Folks that somehow missed the cause are either unreceptive to a discussion about causes or absolutely livid at the suggestion we make our own fate.

Shortages and whatnot were more or less intentionally created. They’re already in evidence. Why discuss it with folks that are still trying to deny that which they created?

That is not to say we’re all doomed. Only that it’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Do the right thing for your soul and those you love, even if the world burns. I hope to emphasize camping and squirrel stories in the future. It seems so much saner than emulating CNN or Facebook as they fret over newly discovered reasons why shelves are “unexpectedly” empty.

Cliffs Notes Version: Hollywood Didn’t Fuck Up: The new Dune movie is good. I know! I’m as surprised at you! I didn’t expect anything good from the wretched hive of scum and villainy (or woke and stupid) that Hollywood has become.

Somehow a miracle happened. Hollywood pulled it’s head out of its ass! It managed to make a movie that wasn’t stupid, trite, preachy, woke, repetitive, or retarded. Honestly, I’m shocked. I’d resigned myself to never seeing decent movies as an art form ever again. Dune rekindled a bit of hope. It’s the first Hollywood production in years that didn’t leave me feeling intellectually insulted and almost violated in it’s failure to deliver.

It’s a good movie. It’s actually a great movie. It’s art. It was nice to see art again!

Slightly Longer Version: The Source Material Is Superlative: Frank Herbert’s Dune is one of my favorite books. It’s excellent! I read the book back when normal people (or at least nerds like me) read books. This summer, I read it again. It had all the magic it had before. A timeless book, well written, by an author who knew his craft.

Dune is so good that it would never get published in our current dipshit world. In case you haven’t noticed, science fiction went full retard decades ago. Censored, trite, woke, groupthink held the entire genre underwater until it stopped kicking. Then it took a shit on the corpse. All that remains is stupid derivative insulting shit. Even as I reflect on the spectacular success that is this new movie, I see that its excellence is because it closely followed a book written in 1965. That’s 56 years ago! Are there equally excellent books in 2021? NO!

Like all good books, it’s a better book than a movie… and always will be. Why? Because books are better than movies. You may have a different opinion. If so, you’re wrong.

If you haven’t read the book, drop what you’re doing and read it. Yes, read. It won’t hurt you. It might do you some good. As the wise man said, “Read a book, read a book, read a  motherfucking book!”

Here’s the link to the book. >>>READ THIS BOOK<<< (Amazon requires me to point out that I get a haypenny if you buy from the link. They might think my link to a 56 year old book is part of my clever plan for massive financial gain through duplicity? Now that  you’ve been informed of my fiscal biases, you can evaluate if I’m recommending it as a great book or because I’m a shitty marketer.)

Warning: Dune is meant for intelligent people. It has world building that’s epic and thoughtful. It has great arcs of time and space. It has character development. It grapples with everything from the nature of God to predestination. It’s more nuanced than “Fifty Shades of Harry Potter’s Hunger Games” or whatever other drivel publishers are currently excreting from their nether regions onto the virtual page.

Buy the book. Sit in a comfy chair. Read.

Some Minor Commentary About The Movie: Movie criticism is not my gig and I’m deliberately avoiding spoilers for those unfortunate souls who haven’t read the book (losers!). I’ll just mention a few things:

1. It’s slow: Not slow as in plodding but slow as in proper depth for a true work of art. It’s meant to be watched by thoughtful adults. It’s going to be a hill to climb for generations who’ve been warped into chimps with the attention span of a gnat. The main characters ponder their fate, they stare off into the gorgeous landscape, the plot is given time to unfold. It’s wonderful! It’s not a 90 minute “twits in tights” superhero retread. Adjust your expectations to bask in a movie that takes its time. (As a practical note, if you see it in the theaters, don’t drink a kidney buster extra large soda in the first few minutes.)
2. It demonstrates why CGI exists: I’m sick of special effects made for the purpose of making special effects. If I wanted to see a video game, I’d get a video game. It’s refreshing to see a movie that uses effects to enhance storytelling and not cover up the lack of plot.
3. You should have read the book but if you didn’t it’s OK: If you read the book, you’ll better appreciate the movie. However, the movie is perfectly understandable to a person who didn’t read the book. I’m impressed they managed that. One of many failings of the Lynch Dune movie of 1984 is that David Lynch tried to cover too much. I liked it well enough but viewers of the ignorant and sad variety who hadn’t read the source material (losers!) were completely baffled. They probably focused on Sting prancing around like a skinny gay weirdo and dismissed the rest. The modern effort benefits from years of Hollywood generating “series”. They took half the book and ditched it. Lynch didn’t have that option. Thus, the new movie has time to properly explore the first half rather than a race to check all the boxes in a very deep plot.
4. It just ends: The book is huge. It covers massive arcs or time, plot, worldbuilding, and thoughtfully staring at sand wondering what it all means. One movie to cover it all would be either abridged or confusing. (Sorry Lynch, you tried.) There’s no perfect place to stop, so they did their best. It’s fine. It couldn’t go on forever and I like where they stopped. It’s a bit jarring if you thought need a conclusion that wraps it all up with a bow. I like it. Life doesn’t wrap up with a bow either. Well done!
5. The soyboy did well: Paul Atreides is a young man still developing his skills but also a Duke’s son and a Bene Gesserit genetic timebomb. Destined, trained, and literally bred for a vicious society, he is an spiritual, physical, and mental warrior. Paul is written as if he can beat you at chess while sliding a knife in your back. He can kick your ass in a fight using the Weirding Way or simply because he was raised for a world where the son of a Duke may be assassinated on any given Tuesday. He can pilot a craft, manipulate minds, probe the future, and fight like a spell casting death machine. The plot foreshadows his ultimate fate as the Kwisatz Haderach; tragically destined to unleash war upon all living things. For this mighty role, they cast Timothée Hal Chalamet. Chalamet looks as imposing as a newborn kitten. I’ve taken shits that look tougher than that boy! I expected the worst. However, Mr. Chalamet somehow pulled it off. It had to be acting because it sure wasn’t physical presence. Well done sir! (Note: The movie doesn’t mention Paul’s Mentat abilities. A wise choice as it was unnecessary to the story in this form.)
6. Chani was miscast but didn’t ruin the movie: Keep a muzzle on her! Chani Kynes is supposed to be a fully realized Fremen; a night stalking, worm riding, desert dwelling, killer nomad. She’s meant to be so awesome that she can be the future concubine of the Kwisatz Haderach. For this weighty role, they cast some dipshit called Zendaya. Zendaya has one name; like Cher, or Oprah, or dogshit. She’s beautiful and can stare with smoky intensity… which is all she seems capable of doing. Thank God, they only gave her a few lines! Because she did so little, she was adequate. When they make Part 2, they need to hire a team of acting coaches and outfit Zendaya with a shock collar set on electrocute. By keeping keeping her screen time more on the level of a model than an actor, they kept the movie solid. For Part 2, they’ll have to stick with it. Zendaya won’t level up in screen presence. If they give her too much work she’s going to be a trash can painted in the background of the Mona Lisa.
7. Big screen? Meh: Everyone says “watch it on the big screen to experience the full glory”. I think they’re repeating an old wisdom that has faded. It made sense when people were trying to watch Laurence of Arabia on a 15″ RCA with color washout. Times have changed. Your household TV is better than what a millionaire would have in 1980. Also, you can pause to take a leak if you were dumb enough to drink a big gulp in the opening credits.
8. The score was excellent: It was weird and gorgeous. I have no idea who did the music but they went all out. It’s like they bred a bagpipe with a Theremin, fed an opera singer some LSD, and then dropped them both out of a plane. They probably recorded the whole thing backwards and underwater. It was eerie when it needed to be eerie, resplendent when it need to be resplendent, and imposing when it needed to smack the visuals down a bit. Perfect!
9. I have nothing more to say: Stop reading my dumb blog and go watch it. Also, READ THE BOOK!

Filthie (who I read every day and you should too) recently mentioned his desire for a coffee percolator. This is one of my favorite topics! I’m sick of bullshit and pearl clutching Covid ninnies, so I decided to riff off of Filthie’s coffee meanderings. I hope he doesn’t mind.

I have a percolator so my life is complete. You can have one too. Here’s the Curmudgeon way to find your coffee happy place.

Step 1: Completely abandon society.

Just say “fuck it”. Take a good look at every dumb thing out there and mutter “not my circus, not my monkeys”.

Then fire up whatever vehicle you’ve got and go to where you need to be. Trucks, motorcycles, ATVs, horses, snowmobiles, reindeer, hovercraft, boats, canoes, and teleportation are all reasonable ways to get there. Walk if you have to.

It’s a proven fact. Coffee tastes better while camping.

Step 2: Gather wood.

This is recreation coffee! This is not “slurp it on your way to the rat race” coffee. Therefore, it must be heated on something that puts soot on the percolator. That means “no propane, no electricity”. Say it with the tone Leon uses to say “no women, no kids.”

Ideally, use a Sequoia you felled with a stone axe. In the interest of reasonableness we must allow exceptions. If I’m in a State Park, I use pallet wood. I always carry a trash can of pallet wood in my truck. I’m that classy!

Step 3: Light (and contain!) a fire.

Ideally you’d make a 6′ diameter bonfire surrounded by a self built mini-Stonehenge. However, campgrounds frown on it. Also this whole summer had ridiculously high fire danger and nuking nature through carelessness is poor form.

I use and recommend a Redcamp Wood Burning Folding Camp Stove. (The cretins at Amazon require I explicitly state that I get a tiny kickback if you buy from this link. I have no idea how any human made it this far without knowing how Amazon links work but it is what it is. Yes, I get a tuppence if you buy from the link. However, it’s a product I like and recommend because I’ve used the hell out of mine and been pleased. I also promise to squander my massive theoretical profits on more campouts.)

Ideally the folding firebox got there while strapped to the front of a motorcycle. I’m a reasonable man, so a Dodge will do in a pinch.

Step 4: Spend hours relaxing.

Park your ass in nature and enjoy. Pretend that coating the percolator in soot is your calling in life. (Maybe it is!) Brew several pots of coffee. If possible, mix it with whiskey. (Skip that last step if you’re going to be sailing, hunting, trail riding, or doing advanced math in the near future.)

Here’s a photo from a campout this summer. Is that not a vision of heaven?

I wander our beautiful world. I often go alone. I don’t always follow paths. When it suits me, I make my own. Thus, I get where I’m meant to go.

When you’re alone, it’s easy to get lost. The naïve might cling to their GPS… hoping technology will save them. The more experienced are not in the forest so much as they are of the forest. One of their skills is to recognize terrain. They strive to understand the overall nature of their environment. It’s important not to get distracted by minor obstacles and focus on the big picture.

My current path is daunting. The hills are steep and the footing unclear. Everyone crowds the valley, penned into a box canyon. I scale the scree slope seeking to rise above. They leer and chant. “It’s useless. Don’t be a fool. It will never get better. Lower your expectations for this is the only option available.” It takes confidence to work your way to a new place.

If you scale a mountain, you walk alone. Fortunately, you are never truly alone. As you rise, your horizon broadens. From there you can see further than the packed sardines so far below.

From where I am I can see the future and it’s an echo of the past. As soon as I look, I recognize this terrain. I have been here before. I remember what it is like. I have walked out of this place and into better places. What I’ve done once, I can do again.

Amusingly, I see the avatar of failure that made my youth so cold and foreboding. He’s still there. He never left.

Formerly, the worst president of my lifetime.

Jimmy Baby, I never thought I’d see your homeland again. Yet that’s where we are. Drift fences slowly nudged the herd from the vote farms into the corral. They’ve branded themselves for easy identification. From there, the exits are numbered. Cattle cars are positioned for ultimate use.

Bless your heart Jimmy, you weren’t the only one who could drive a nation into the wall. We have found another. A second to renew the task. A walking source of inflation, economic stagnation, intellectual poverty, and foreign policy disaster. He lacks your soul, reeks of corruption, and yet remakes the nation just as you did. I remember the cold winters. The upcoming winter will be just as cold.

From my view, as I approach the canyon rim, I can see you and your cardigan; beckoning the masses. “Join me! Wallow in malaise and helplessness. Tie ribbons on trees and blame others for the fates each man chose for himself.” The nation is one OPEC embargo and a hostage crisis from joining you on that 55 mph slow ride to nowhere.

Meanwhile, I remember something else from that time. I’d almost forgotten it. There was resistance then too. I will now sing the song of my people:

I never mention my work on my blog. They are different and separate parts of life. They should remain separate. Work should not interfere with the personal. The personal should not interfere with work.

I did not break that rule. My employer did. So I share this with you.

Today I told my supervisor I have not gotten the vaccine and that I will not get the vaccine.

The discussion should never have happened. My employer shouldn’t have been involved in that part of my life. It isn’t their business. Personal medical decisions are between me and God.

Regardless, I did not submit.

The wheels of bureaucracy turn slow but they do turn. Today nothing happened. Tomorrow may be different. I’ve no idea if I’ll have a job by Christmas.

I’m at peace. I acted according to my morals. What better thing can a man do?

You may be in the same situation. If you’re like me, it feels like the media, every bureaucracy, and the whole world is arrayed against you. Maybe they are.

Yet there’s hope. You are not alone. You know what’s right for you.

I walked the path. You’re walking it too… or not. Millions of us are either walking our path or not walking it. Such is life.

Even if you feel all alone, you will know what you did and how it feels. If you made the right decision for yourself you will know. If you failed yourself you will know. In your heart you will always know what you did when a choice was necessary.

Take heart. There are worse fates. We may all be fine. A job is just a job.

I hope everyone does the best they can. Good luck.

In my last post I wandered all over the place. Now I’m going further afield. Please enjoy a parable from my life:

Once upon a time, through chance alone, I wound up in a big deal tournament. It wasn’t the Podunk level where I belonged. I was paired against a guy half my age, twice my size, and (this is the important part) with skills that made mine a rounding error. I was among the cannon fodder high end guys wade through before they meet in later rounds.

I was terrified! I was also doomed.

I reasoned “it’s safe” but that didn’t help. A guy from the round before was sent to the hospital. There’s degrees of safe. One of those degrees bled all over the ring.

Could I do this? I didn’t know. I just sat there, watching them mop up blood. It wasn’t much but it took forever to clean it up! It was the longest wait in my life.

My name was called.

I stood up and entered the arena…

I’m still proud of that. I entered the arena.

Life has a thousand spectators for each one that’ll step up. Everyone thinks they can enter the arena. They dream about it. They imagine it. They tell themselves they could do it if they wanted.

They can’t. If they could, they’d be there.

With the ability, comes the desire. If you can, you want to.

You’re wondering how I did? I lost.

I was always going to lose. Real life ‘aint a movie plot. The power of “main character” doesn’t defeat a superior adversary. Everyone knew I was doomed the minute I started.

Regardless, the contest was a good one. I went at him with hammer and tongs. I tried to catch his timing and went for the kill. When his footing was off, I went full howler monkey on a kick that came ever so close to a full win. Some other moves were blocked, but it was always close. Then, I got through! Past his block and landed it. Yay me! Meanwhile, his attacks came at me like a nightmare. Experienced highly skilled people are a whole different dimension of speed and power. You have to see it to believe it. Even so, I blocked just enough to stay in. I did not dominate, but I was not dominated. Eventually he got through; but it was just barely. I was still in the competition! Then, after a few more exchanges, I blocked but a half second too late. The judge called it. I’d lost. At least he’d had to work to defeat me.

It was a good experience. The second they called my name, my jitters vanished. I didn’t have fear. I had joy. I did all my skills and body could do. It took him a while to put me down.

What more could a man want? I walked in of my own free will. I fought honorably. I walked back out.

It was one of the best days of my life.

Until I did that, I simply didn’t know if I could.

If you haven’t done it, you don’t know either.

Since then, I’ve noticed something. I hear barflies and students and dumbasses and politicians talk about “fighting”. For most of them I instantly know they’re talking shit. It’s an automatic assessment. I feel it in my bones. There’s no hesitation. I know.

Maybe I used to think they had something. Now I know better. They don’t have spine. They don’t have balls. They don’t have heart. They’re not quite adults and never will be.

President Potato is exactly the kind of hollow man I’m talking about. A fifty year politician from a State nobody cares about. A life so bereft of heart that he has to tell made up stories from odd jobs as a teenager.

He’s your drunk Uncle explaining how he’d do better than the quarterback at a football game. He really imagines himself out there. He couldn’t make it to that arena. He’s not even allowed to try. Put him on the field and he’d be dead on the first play. But in his mind, he’d have thrown a better pass than the guy who’s really doing it.

Biden himself picked a fight with 80 million citizens. His whole administration teeters at the mere thought that the system might have to back up his blustering rant. Being a weak poser himself, he imagined 80 million limp noodles. Were starting to find out how wrong he was.

He’s angry and frustrated. We don’t respect him and he senses it. The guy that beat me in the tournament; I respected him. Afterwards, I bought him a beer. He bought the second round. We had a great time drinking at the bar. Neither one of us would piss on Biden if he were on fire.

Biden screwed up when he threatened people who are mostly better than him. Many know he’s talking shit. The ones that don’t are sensing it from those who do. Bluster is all he’s got. He doesn’t belong in the big chair and everyone knows it.

Biden might be the perfect representative of the giant army of mediocrity that made “before times” a reference to 2019.  Unfocused, inept, insecure, losers; they are many but they are weak. Unaccomplished desk jockeys. Paper pushing irrelevancies. Ineffectual Walter Mitty dreamers. Clueless lackeys. Window licking morons. “Revolutionaries” that have never had an original idea. Box wine guzzling harpies; faces frozen by Botox and furious to have naught but a cat for companionship.

Collectively they can destroy. There’s proof; our economy is in shambles, gas costs a fortune, and grocery stores are empty. Yet none of those losers can build back anything. Each day is their newest failure. They’ve been at it less than a year and they can barely keep the lights on.

President Corn Pop, who talked about wrapping chain around his knuckles, couldn’t handle press questions about Afghanistan. Nobody asked him to fly a helicopter or fire a rifle. He couldn’t even talk. “Stand at this podium and explain what you’re doing.” It’s a basic skill of any politician. Public Speaking 101, the elective even retards pass. It was too much for Biden. He was given a test. He blew it.

I was given a test. I passed.

That’s why I’m vaguely optimistic. Almost everyone, including President Geritol, is pushing to create violence… but they’re complete zeros. Their will to rule by iron fist feels a lot we’re like getting nibbled to death by ducks.

Biden’s a man who never stepped into the arena. He’s leading a gaggle of losers who never stepped in the arena. They can’t think the real world into submission. Nobody can. That’s why, Biden looks more like a marketing failure than the boss. He’s New Coke. A one man shambling Impossible Burger. We chant mockery at him… because we should.

What a chump. Soon (I hope) we’ll know how strongly reality reasserts itself. I’m a big fan of reality. I have no idea what’ll happen next but at least the wait is over.

A.C.

P.S. I highly recommend the speech by Teddy Roosevelt called “The Arena“. This is the section I love the most:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

“How did you go bankrupt?” Bill asked.

“Two ways,” Mike said. “Gradually and then suddenly.”

(Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises, 1926)

“Economies and societies fall apart slowly, then a bit more, then all at once. We seem to be in the middle period of this trajectory.” Samizdata, Quote of the Day.

I’ve been writing mostly about motorcycle expeditions and bird hunting. Why? Because writing about what’s obvious to everyone isn’t my gig. You already know what’s happening. The gradual part is over. The sudden part is upon us.

I want to talk about the shift from gradual to cascading. It fills me with a feeling of… change. I’m not sure how to describe it. I’m not awash with optimism but I’m not without it either. I’m happy the long wait is over. Maybe I’m relieved? Do you feel the same?

Black pills and bitter hearts come from clinging to what’s already dead. It sucks that the world I knew is dead but I didn’t kill it and neither did you. So let it go. The before times will always be “before”. We will forever live in “after”. Most of society is catching up with this. They’re done with the overacted death throes; “’tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church-door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. (Damn good pun there Shakespeare! Dude’s a boss!)

Reality and people’s inner constructs diverged. Slowly at first and faster as the process built; they stopped checking with reality and went too far. Now comes the part where they come up for air and ask “what have I done”? I’ll be there to greet them. “No need wondering when the shit will hit the fan. It has.”

I was never sure what thing would be my life’s Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man; nuclear war, acid rain, overpopulation, GMO cornflakes, starvation, Johnny can’t read, cities on fire, cities on fire again but this time it’s “peaceful protest”, thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from, peak oil, green shoots, “unexpectedly the reports had to be adjusted”, fiat currency, global warming, crack, meth, what the hell is fentanyl, sketchy politics, sketchy elections, elections that break records and bend statistics, national debt, personal debt, the greatest debt ever amassed in human history, pay no attention to the debt behind the curtain…

It’s been interesting. I’ll admit to that. The greatest show on earth!

For the medical version of death by imagination, there were a half dozen false starts; AIDS, Lyme, Zika, West Nile, Ebola, Swine flu, SARS. If 2020 didn’t do it they’d have tried again in 2025.

Regardless of what events future historians settle on as the cause, it’s clear that it’s a done deal. Pick your favorite version of minty fresh destruction and enjoy it.

Don’t wonder why the tinder was so dry; Boomers aging, Social media driving monkeys crazy, the completion of a long march through the institutions, age of Empires, people be crazy… It doesn’t matter why. The thing is… it happened.

It’s good that everyone is figuring it out. The wait is over! Not even the Kool-Aid huffing Karens at the HOA think the toothpaste can go back into the tube. Normies and muggles finally figured it out.

I hope the frightened, unthinking, human livestock don’t do something they regret. They’re herding up, looking for an amoral bastard to tell them which way the wind blows so they can stampede off a cliff. What will be their scapegoat? Seventy years ago it was Jews. This year it’s things that don’t exist. The FBI creates crimes so they can solve them. Media whores scour the world looking for a white racist. Such beings were more or less hunted to extinction 50 years ago but so they invent phantoms to meet the supply. Much of the government used up their racist freak-out indulging Saint George Floyd’s arsonist minions. Following it with NASCAR garage doors seemed silly but nothing is too silly for the unserious. At a loss for the new year, they sought something even weaker to fear. Now they’re hyperventilating about soccer moms at school board meetings. The (recently) most powerful nation on earth is screaming like a little girl. It’s afraid of soccer moms and garage doors and FBI stooges. They’re a soccer player taking a dive and clinging an ankle. Hopefully the ref will give a free cookie but everyone watching is saying “dude tripped over his own feet, fuck him”. Soon CNN will announce the Pentagon was defeated by two mimes with a whiffle bat.

President Potato, seeking a scapegoat of his very own, went the other way. He picked 80 million Americans and insulted every single one personally. His patience with 1/3 of the nation has worn thin. What’s the matter? Couldn’t find a larger group? No time to have a fistfight with the moon? Next time he’ll pick a fight with gravity?

Regardless, President Paperwork claims your failure to wear a life vest is making him drown… and he’ll burn the world down if he has to. Which is why he’s less popular than chlamydia.

The search for witches exposes the minds of the weak. Why do you burn a witch? So a mob can attack an individual? Because only death can stop death?

Speaking of death, we’re two years into perma-panic and nobody thought to stock the place with piles of dead bodies. That would have helped me buy in to their plotline. CNN just imagines them; a form of verbal CGI. “Eleventy zillion new ‘cases’ in Flyover-ville. A ‘case’ is as real as a ‘corpse’. Don’t ask any questions!” Without stacks of dead bodies, it seems a bit weird to me. You might be sick but not know it, so you need a test to tell if you’re sick, because the virus is killing everyone, which wouldn’t happen to vaccinated people, who are sick because you didn’t wear a mask. I live on earth. I can’t follow their logic.

For two years they’re talked about death which is always menacing from the back of the room and never clearly focused. Where are the corpses stacked like cordwood? Are nurses heroes, dead from Covid, dancing on Tik Tok, or fired because they’re unnecessary without the shot that all of intelligent people are delighted to take? It’s a two year long fable about this one time at band camp when this guy who was my friend’s buddy had a girlfriend from Canada…

I’m told people who vote properly are superior humans. If they get a virus it’s caused not by a virus but by bad behavior. All bad behavior is done by the wrong sort of people. The plebs are always dying but never dead. Every biker in Sturgis, every person at every football game, everyone who votes wrong, and the entirety of Nebraska. They’re all dead. If you’re standing in Nebraska and it looks exactly like it always looked, you’re not allowed to ask what the heck they’re talking about. The question means you’re a misinformation terrorist who’s been blocked from commenting for the good of society. The best way to know something is true is to crush any questions, obscure the numbers, and scream loudly while doing it.

The girlfriend from Canada was hot. Trust me.

CNN’s fake bajillions dead is bad for the mind but I like the absence of actual death. Stalin, bless his cruel heart, wouldn’t have left that box unchecked. I don’t knows how long it will take for that phase… or if it ever will get traction. American witches seem to get pissed when you try to burn them.

All is not lost. People lost their shit and now life has changed. What was, is gone but something new is gained. Eventually. Maybe. I hope it’s good, or at least OK.

I’m strangely optimistic without knowing why. The optimism, and a short personal story, will be in the next post…

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