A flock, it is not. There will never be a revolution in America.
More like, when I say jump . . .
Kinda like Bugs Bunny getting his feet shot at while Yosemite Sam demands he ‘Dance!’. . .
It’s a relationship.
Americans will never revolt. They will never rebel. I’m not talking our military here, I’m talking the people, the masses, who will gladly vote for war if they are commanded by their team, but who will never en masse lift a finger in inconvenience to support it. A placard, perhaps. But not a pinky finger otherwise.
Why? This man nails it and it’s so spot on I fear reposting it. Truth bombs this huge are usually dropped by assets. Even listening can get you on a list, I’m sure. Because, America is so damn free.
But this murdering convert to Islam is correct nonetheless. Our guns can’t save us from, or in, this battle. We have already lost. We were conquered from within long before this current administration. We do not have the heart to rebel because rebellion and revolution require artists, the kind of artists, and warriors, who cannot be bought. We don’t have that, we haven’t had that for a long time now. We have conformity, collusion, corruption and therefore we’ve got what we deserve. Politics is downstream from culture.
Start at the 1:15 mark, it’s only about 10 minutes, and it’s brutal. Not for the feight of heart, I’m afraid, but absolutely the truth as I see it. Listen and weep, or not.
Back to this unpleasant subject again. It’s been a very long loop; I haven’t considered it much since first attempting to barter goods from the wee homestead.
It’s something we really do take for granted in our modern economy, whether one takes that as an inherent good or evil.
The good part is that it’s comfortable and I prefer it, on the surface. I hate bartering. I SO suck at it. I suck at it for reasons that are so deeply-seated (seeded?) that no logic can ever possibly be applied.
On travels to some countries barter was the norm and I was told to keep practicing as I’d get better at it. Some seem to enjoy it. These sorts always baffled me. They say, “Treat it like a game!” But that is really stupid, isn’t it, because I did not go out shopping in order to play a game. I already don’t like shopping much, to think I’d like it more by making it game-like is to make it ever closer to hellish.
So while it may not sound like it, this is the good side of money. It took me a long time to learn that. Not until I had to consider such exchanges as, which was of better or equal value, the handcrafted Top bar beehive, or the wormy, bossy, but still a good milker, Summer, a 7-year old goat?
Money, in partnership with “the Market”, make such exchanges far more simple. Since none of us has a crystal ball, and I have no idea how long Summer will live and there are no guarantees, and my friend has no idea if she’ll enjoy beekeeping, or be able to keep bees alive in our chemskies and YoYo climate, our exchange is made more simple by imagining what would be the ‘market value’ of each of our offerings.
The dark side of money it seems to me relates quite easily to the dark side of most things—like religion, or science, or even education—it provides, by its very nature, an endless potential for ‘middlemen’. It becomes a profession, then a vast sea of professions, then an institution, then an institution ‘too big to fail’.
It’s convenient and comfortable, no doubt about it. It’s easy enough for a child to use, but complex enough to build empires upon. Try to imagine living without it.
Do we really consider how we, as individuals, would place value upon goods and services anymore?
What about once money is replaced with tokens. It’s pretty much the same thing already, right? Tokens as a medium of value exchange—your massage is worth 2 dozen yard eggs. Right?
Well, the market value of your massage today is 20 tokens, but the value of my eggs is 10 tokens, today, and 15 tokens last week, and is projected to be 25 tokens tomorrow. That’s the real problem with the market, right? For you and I, as individuals deciding value between us, the eggs and massage exchange didn’t fluctuate vastly over a matter of days, or even weeks. It’s pretty steady, really. You use 2 dozen eggs per week, I like 1 massage per week, stable value exchange.
But I’ll bet you 5 economists in the room with us would tell us 50 ways it’s not really a stable value exchange. And, why be stable at all if there might be a profit to make? Then a dozen lawyers will tell us why those economists are right. And a nation full of universities will continue to produce a fat muffin top of middlemen to stuff between every simple interpersonal transaction in every tiny hamlet around the world.
I’m bothering to restate the obvious at this moment because I’m trying to re-assess the value of technology in my life. It started with the recurring headaches of social media many years ago, then moved to Smart phones, and lately it’s WordPress.
Then a cyber-friend shared a dream, which caused this spark of inquiry.
“Imagine if we could create an Agrarian world again, using technology as a tool to help us, but not control or surveil us.”
Can we make a more agrarian life through technology? Which I understand as, can technology help us to get back to basics? And by basics we mean an understanding of nature, an appreciation of its organic processes, a “re-enchantment” as I’ve heard it lovingly expressed, with the natural world. Working with our hands again, I presume, creating items of value to exchange with one another. A slower life perhaps, where we have the great luxury of time to enjoy our lives and our nature world to a greater degree than afforded to most in the modern world.
A ‘re-enchantment’ with nature, I like the sound of that.
An ‘agora’ that’s not corrupted by fiat, usury, taxes, violence and coercion, perhaps?
Technology in our private life here on the wee homestead has benefitted us in a few crucial ways—helping us to learn new skills has been the most significant. But keeping us from feeling terribly remote and unconnected and uninformed has also been very important. I’ve made a few good friends thanks to the internet and I’m very grateful for that. Feelings of isolation and loneliness can be significant spiritual hurdles for some of us living rural for the first time.
And I have seen promising shifts over the years. Homesteading is clearly a bonafide cultural movement at this time, I think primarily thanks to technology, as oxymoronic as that sounds. Herbalism has become more appealing as Pig Pharma breathes heavier down our necks. Pockets of interest and learning are all over the cyber world, every craft, trade or skill imaginable is available somewhere with a few clicks, I’m sure.
But I have seen and heard some really concerning trends lately, which makes me realize that the time to be re-assessing the value of the tech in our lives is reaching a crescendo.
For example, the young entrepreneurial types who are coming in to fill the needs of the rural communities with essentials like raw milk, homegrown veggies at the farmer’s market, small service businesses and the like, well they aren’t like us in some really fundamental ways.
They trust The Science, for the most part, evident in their willingness to vaccinate, medicate, use the latest supplements and vitamins, and not question any of it. They also love the tech and fully embrace the insane trifecta of the Global Grid: Surveillance cameras, Smart phones and digital payment systems.
How is that value assessed? Who is benefitting more?
My guess would be, more often than not, the middlemen. Like any pyramid scheme a few must be making good for anyone else to follow. For a while.
Seems to me these young entrepreneurs are setting themselves up for certain failure. I met one of these ambitious young women last week on my quest for raw milk, now that my goats are mostly gone. I really miss making cheese. The price of raw milk, not even organic, has gone through the roof as demand has perked up—$11/gallon around here. It’s too much for us to afford.
What did I learn from this experience? Her surveillance cameras everywhere tell me she doesn’t trust her customers or neighbors. Her vaccination schedule tells me she does not do her due diligence in caring for her animals. Her price and her preferred payment by QR code tells me she prefers dealing with middlemen over direct transactions and getting to know her clientele.
I will not be doing any business with her, that’s for sure.
So, while I still have a lot to learn about assessing value, there is a point to this rather rambling post: The goat is dead, no bees have yet to make that hive a home—but no one else profited or lost from that private exchange—and our relationship stayed in tact to trade another day despite these apparent failures. I think nations have gone to war for less.
And that’s something so far social media, Smart phones, WordPress, and indeed money, all fail to assess a proper value.
I’d love to hear any thoughts or ramblings about my cyber-friend’s dream, what do y’all think, is it possible? Would you want such a world?
“Imagine if we could create an Agrarian world again, using technology as a tool to help us, but not control or surveil us.”
How long before this field gets paved over for yet another Vape Shop, or Dollar Store, or Walgreens?
Is it considered an improvement if it’s a Smart Farm run from Brussels by robots?
The plot thickens, and twists. This time we learn from Wiki that after the Columbia Space Shuttle disintegrated re-entering Earth’s atmosphere, there were indeed body remains found after all. According to this source, the remains of all of the bodies of the astronauts were found. Someone should really share that info with Rich Husband’s people.
Kalpana Chawla, our next look at astronaut lore, was also a music lover. She served as the shuttle’s flight engineer. She was married to Jean-Pierre Harrison, who has written a book about her and is the president of two dubious-looking companies for which I was able to find no information.
“Steve Morse of the band Deep Purple released the song “Contact Lost” in 2003 in memory of the Columbia disaster.[50] Chawla took three Deep Purple albums on STS-107, using their song “Space Truckin’” as a wakeup call. One of their albums was found in the shuttle’s wreckage.”
Wow, so an entire album was discovered, as well as a CD. She had room for 3 albums, and clearly must have had a player for those. These space shuttles must be roomier than a magic bus! I wonder if they ever had arguments over who got to choose the ‘wake-up’ music. I know that much Deep Purple and I’d definitely be wishing for some disintegration.
She was accused of screwing up during the previous mission, but was given a second chance. On a YT video of day 4 of that mission we learn that one of her colleague’s favorite songs is from a popular Japanese television show about puppets in space.
“Chawla first flew on Space Shuttle Columbia in 1997 as a mission specialist and robotic armoperator aboard STS-87. Her role in the flight caused some controversy due to the failed deployment of the Shuttle-Pointed Autonomous Research Tool for Astronomy (“Spartan”) module. Chawla’s second flight was in 2003 on STS-107, the final flight of Columbia.”
In an interview about her previous mission the reporter writes:
“We’d be very foolish if we tried to second-guess or tried to figure out what the actual turn of events were without having all the information… We’re six folks up here, we know what happened on our side, we’ll get together with the folks on the ground and we’ll put the whole story together and make sure it never happens again. Sure, we’re always a bit disappointed if we don’t get the full mission accomplished, but we did retrieve the satellite, and so the important thing is we’re bringing Spartan back down to Earth and it’ll get to fly another day.”
It’ll get to fly another day. And so will Chawla, but apparently just the one.
She is now in Zion, her final resting place being Zion National Park, Utah.
In our last post we took a look at Laurel Blair Salton Clark and learned that human bodies and space shuttles disintegrate at different laws of physics than CDs, which are now nearly lost to time, but apparently not to space.
Moving on to the hero of the story, we have Rich Husband, Commander of the mission. He had an illustrious career as a fighter pilot and astronaut and is accredited with a long list of honors and awards and even has a statue.
But what some may not know is he also was an actor. He played himself in a series called Our Jewish Roots in 2003. His wife, Evelyn, has also played herself in numerous programs. Unfortunately as miraculous as our cyber world is, I can’t find a way to view this episode; it doesn’t even seem to be available for purchase.
Rick Husband – IMDb
His also the subject of an episode about the failed Columbia mission, played by actor Brian David, born September 11, 1965 in Kansas City MO and appearing in 3 films in 2004, 2005, 2006 one quite popular. But he’s not in any recent films. Quite a handsome fellow, I wonder what happened to him.
The chem-filled skies continue into our Yo-Yo Season, formerly known as fall and winter.
I suppose art students are now learning to draw filth-filled skies as fine and normal the way we used to draw puffy clouds as kids before the 90s.
Scientists will be taught that aluminum, barium, strontium are all to be expected in our snow and rain and soil.
We’ve been talking about it for a decade, providing all the proof we could get our hands on, and the government put their blinders on like good little minions and the greedy scientists and corporate media spinners did as they were told in order to keep collecting their paychecks and pensions.
And now it’s all coming out. Officially, finally. “Conspiracy theory” is no longer an out for them. IT’S OFFICIAL!
IT’S NOT JUST CONSPIRACY CRAZIES POSTING PHOTOS OF CONTRAILS. WOW!
SO THESE REALLY AREN’T JUST BEAUTIFUL SUNSETS AND FUN CLOUD FORMATIONS MADE BY THE WEATHER GODS FOR OUR ENJOYMENT?
WOW!
So now what? What does it all mean? Trump’s here to fix it all, right?
No silly! Now comes the part where we get Global Governance, through more war and manufactured disasters blamed on nature. The big reveal, the book Behind the Green Mask was published 13 years ago.
Looks like it’s all happening right on schedule. With the exact same people hiding information for the last 50 years leading the show.
22 November 2024 | ZeroGeoengineering.com | Planning, development, and implementation of weather interventions and atmospheric experimentation are funded by Congress and directed by interagency groups including those in partnership with the U.S. Global Change Research Program (USGCRP).
The USGCRP was established by Congress in 1990 to coordinate ‘global change research’ and collaboration with international and federal agencies.
Ending USGCRP interventions will require repealing federal laws including but not limited to, the National Weather Modification Policy Act, the Global Change Research Act (GCRA) of 1990, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Authorization Act of 1992 and Trump’s Weather Research and Forecasting Innovation Act of 2017 (Public Law No. 115-25, Title IV, sec. 402, 15 U.S.C. § 8542.
I’m sure our crafty disaster capitalists will be filled with hope and solutions. Anti-radiation suits. Fancy new protective devices.
I’m sure the high fashion industry and the home and garden gurus will have plenty of new high-tech solutions to save us all. And the ‘detox’ solutions, of course. So many solutions! Don’t worry!
“Did you know radiation is a central component of weather control?
At the heart of weather experimentation is NEXRAD, or NEXt-generation RADar and the transmission of microwave radiation pollution. The cell phone you hold in your hand and the cell phone towers it’s communicating with are transmitting and receiving microwave radiation. Shown below, definitions of pollution and pollutants from Verizon and AT&T”
I will be accused of being hyperbolic. Melodramatic. Perhaps I complain too much. Might my standards be too high?
It’s not that bad, they will say, or think. You still have a house and a husband and a relatively stable life. Just think of those miserable folks in . . . And all those who . . . And don’t forget the starving children in . . .
All over the place. Like, seriously, all over the god-damned place, and still everywhere, also, simultaneously, I hear such minimizing, avoidance, redirecting, marginalizing ‘advice’ from those high on their horses.
So if my experience, this time, is not as hellish as the last time, or as his or her or their experiences, on our vast continuum of hellishness, I should just move on. Get over it.
No matter how hard it gets, the social contract requires you stay positive, hopeful, forever gazing over the rainbow at the future potential for success, and perpetually focused on the life lesson.
It’s not hard, it’s challenging. It’s not a problem, it’s an opportunity. It’s not theft, it’s redistribution. It’s not a real lie, it’s a lie of omission. It’s not a failure, it’s a stepping stone. You’re not beat, you’re regrouping.
I still get counseled from others, unwanted advice (well-meaning I’m sure in their own minds) on how to see the bright side.
As if I don’t know how to do it! I was born and raised painting a silver lining on every cloud. I’m American, we’ve written nearly every script on this bullshit.
But, I grew up and got over it.
I was also a teacher for 20 years and sometimes I was actually a good one. Ok, maybe only occasionally, but that counts.
When I was good it was because I was tough, but fair. Not nice. Not compromising. Not lenient or understanding. Not painting rosy pictures or being sweet and kind.
And in such moments of lucidity it became very obvious to me that most students fail due to one thing: unrealistic expectations.
Our culture is saturated with them. Because it’s really, really good for business.
Lots of students sincerely wanted to learn the foreign language I was trying to teach them, and certainly had the smarts to do so because it’s not difficult, even a child can do it. And almost always does!
But they bought the hype of some advertisement or second hand story from a braggart who swears anyone can learn a language in three months by listening to tapes on their work commute. They bought the expectation the process would be smooth sailing all the way.
They are a lot like these types who are constantly insisting everyone see the bright side of every situation. They’re all like mood police. Like moms who make kids ‘kiss and make up’ while they’re still seething inside. Emotional bullying based on unreasonable expectations. It reminds me of an awful photo I once saw of a child model posing for the camera with a forced smile on her face though her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
So, with all that out of the way, this summer has SUCKED for me.
There, I’ve said it. I haven’t written a Homestead Happenings in months in order to avoid having to try to make it palatable for readers. I know how to paint the silver lining on it. But, it also irritates me that those are the only kinds of stories we’re allowed to tell in mixed company. If there’s not some triumph over adversity, keep it to yourself.
If there’s not gratitude somewhere for the gift of life, no one wants to hear it. Stop whining. Get over it. Make lemonade.
Sometimes it takes 20+ years to learn the lesson of one moment.
“Jste zdrava?!”
“Are you quite well?!” (Lost in translation.)
It was not a friendly inquiry. So naturally, I was immediately put off. My Czech was mediocre and I was confused, I took it more literally.
Am I healthy? Why on earth is she asking me that? Why is she shouting and waving her arm?
I understand now she meant that facetiously. Like an Old Southern Belle might drawl from her wraparound porch, “You from around here, Darlin’?” Right before she pulled a shotgun from behind her skirts.
Maybe I should consider myself lucky she couldn’t possibly have a shotgun when and where she was living in Prague.
Her home looked very much like an antebellum plantation home, not so different from the one above, but only a quarter of one, and with just two pillars. With a large front and back yard, and beautiful fruit trees full of plums, which stuck out even in this neighborhood of nicer homes compared to the typical panelock housing found just a block away.
Soviet era ‘panelock’ housing
That I’d be inclined to take a photo should be logical, at least that’s how it seemed to me at the time.
Should I have told her I was perfectly healthy, 25, in my prime, one might say.
Me, always curious, at a pub in Jihlava, Moravia, current day Czech Republic, 1994
“No taking pictures here!” More hollering and waving.
Now that time I did understand without any additional effort. I put down my camera, I apologized, and I moved on to the next house, where I took more pictures unencumbered by any screaming women.
Prague in 1999 was already transformed from that of 1992, at least I could see it clearly.
Of course it’s different if you live there, even rapid change can seem incremental when one is concerned with the quotidian. Foreigners have a different perspective.
I looked like a spy to her, I get that now. It’s not that I wasn’t used to paranoia, it was permeating the place, always.
It’s just I didn’t recognize what paranoia like that would feel like until decades later, in my own country.
Yes, the United States, where we are told we are free. Of course you can take a photo of my beautiful house, I take great pride in it!
Adjusting to insanity. That’s what that woman had done. The more one is required to adjust to insanity, the more paranoid one becomes.
She saw me as a spy, not as a clueless and curious American interested in architecture.
“Are you quite well?” Was most likely a candid and covert admission that she was in possession of illegally inherited property. Or if not illegally obtained, then certainly not conforming to the current and always shifting proper codes.
Under Soviet governance no one was allowed a large house without subdividing, everywhere, not just in the large cities. There was a housing crisis. Everywhere. Even country estates and cottages had to be confiscated. Collectivized, euphemistically speaking. Then, Privatized, once again. The hand that washes the back . . .
Repatriated? Potato-Potato. Musical chairs?
You really think it’s different here now? Don’t dig too deep.
In fact, you’re not allowed to be a curious American in America either. Little did I realize. Try talking about the weather. Ask a few questions. Don’t stop when you get the first rebuff of redirection and discomfort. Press on.
You want to see how much America TODAY is like the Soviet Union?
Why is it 99 degrees in mid October in East Texas? Why hasn’t it rained for 2 months?
Climate Change is a scam? I agree.
Why are there hurricanes in the mountains of Southern Appalachia? Climate change is a scam? I agree.
Why are there so-called Northern Lights in the south?
Climate change is a scam. I know.
Where do you think this is going? What do you think they are up to? Why don’t you ask some questions? What are you so afraid of?
Press on. I dare you. Do we own our air space? Who has taken over our atmosphere? Who is complicit?
I hear social criticism on occasion that the problem with cultures in the West today is a lack of moral courage among the people. We have traded our ethics and morality for comfort and convenience. And I think this is a very valid criticism.
But . . .
That does not strike the problem at the root. It is another effect, not a cause. Because in order to manifest moral courage there first must be moral indignation.
Where has that gone?
Those who I’ve witnessed as model-worthy examples of moral courage started off with anger, outrage even, against the injustices they were witnessing around them, in their institutions, their governments, their families.
They didn’t wait for orders from above. They didn’t look on their social media feeds for what should be outraging them. They looked around themselves, in their own lives, where they personally experienced the unfair treatment, or lack of concern, or outrageous injustice, or someone close to them experienced it, igniting in them the blue flame of anger, the righteous indignation, that is the sustaining fuel that feeds moral courage.
Several such individuals come to mind from the last years:
“In early 2020, the Canadian biostatistician Christine Massey realised that something was wrong with the COVID-19 story. She was motivated to commence investigations into virology and the claimed evidence for the existence of ‘SARS-CoV-2’. This led to the development of the Freedom of Information Act project that revealed more than 200 health and science institutions being unable to cite any valid scientific evidence for the alleged “virus”.
Over time the project has expanded to include other alleged “viruses” as well as evidence that any microbes, including bacteria, have been shown to be pathogenic in controlled scientific experiments. The conclusions from Christine’s research are clear: virology is based on pseudoscience and germ “theory” has been falsified. Her work has caught the attention of the establishment media and she even earned a typically-disingenuous “fact check” article recently.”
Moral outrage does not have to look or sound like a crazy woman screaming at the crowd, or making obscene gestures, or behaving like a scary lunatic.
It can be as calm and straightforward as Christine Massey and the Bailey doctors. It can strike at the lies in measured tones and with legal methods. It can be inspiring to others even as you work from the comfort of your bed while sipping tea.
Yet relatively few bother.
It’s remarkable to me that there are so many even now whose moral indignation is never sparked by the mess of the world around them. It’s never fueled by concern for others or for the future. It is as if they are comfortably numb.
It is indeed frustrating to have to live among so many such people. For every Christine Massey there are probably 10,000 soulless deadbeats. Maybe more.
That might sound pretty depressing, but on the bright side, that means just lifting a pinky finger to do the right thing is looking pretty heroic in comparison.
What do you think? Have you had a personal experience of transformation through art?
I wrote my Master’s thesis on social engineering in 90s, before I had any idea what social engineering was. I didn’t know at the time that’s what I was writing about. The thesis was about women writers of francophone West Africa using their novels as a means to catalyze social change. Liberation through literature, I called it, where practices like polygamy, female genital mutilation, and lack of educational opportunities were voiced in fictional form by the otherwise voiceless.
Certainly it is not at all uncommon for writers to use their works toward such ends. And yet, something about the timing of my thesis, or perhaps the content, resonated less with others than I expected.
I found that instead ‘Art for art’s sake’ had become the more popular mode of the times and works that were considered to be ‘too pedantic’ (which seemed to mean any fictional work with a purpose other than sheer entertainment) were heavily criticized.
I tried for years to pitch similar ideas for publishing to various entities and could find no interest and quite a lot of criticism. Folks wanted to be entertained, not taught. If they had to learn something, they wanted it tightly obscured in a bubble of excitement, like a Dan Brown novel.
But times seem to have changed again and authors and artists with a serious message, with deep societal concerns, seem to be able to find, or are perhaps themselves creating, a growing audience hungry for their transformational content.
It reminds me of some of the criticisms I heard in the 90s—art is not meant to transform or educate, but rather has the sole purpose to simply express the subjective worldview of the creator. Any feelings of universality in a work of art is essentially meaningless coincidence. Art should not be held in the clutches of meaning-making. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Art cannot be personally or socially transformative, except to the artist himself, that is an establishment myth of conformity.
I even had an artist friend, with an art degree, who assisted at a gallery, try to insist to me that the glass flask full of the artist’s excrement (I’m not joking) was to be considered art just as much as any old famous painting.
So I’m very pleased to see this more recent ‘re-formation’ to art with purpose. But, I wonder, can it actually be transformative? Or were all those critical voices in the 90s correct?
What do y’all think?
Here’s a couple of amazing pieces which might have such power. Do you know of others to share? If so, please do link below!
In Shadow: A Modern Odyssey
Kingdom
These works are both by: Lubomir Arsov and you can find an excellent interview with him here:
The Hate spewed in this tirade is not politically motivated, nor is it the result of biases toward any ethnic group, nor gender-oriented ideology nor philosophy, nor tribe, nor nation, nor social collective, market, herd, country, continent, school of thought or fish, sea or sea-adjacent, corporation, cooperative, nor any other type of group, at any time in past or present or future.
This will be Hate directed squarely at specific individuals, mostly for their overarching idiocy, blind obedience, gaslighting or other dainty bullshit* and general full-fledged and undeniable assholery. These would be individuals for whom my disdain and contempt has been building, decades in some instances, seconds in others.
This is not your average rant or shitposting. Therefore it will be organized in proper form, beginning with Silver level Hatred, then proceeding to Bronze level, and ending with Platinum.
In no way can my Hateful Epic Tirade be confused with a real Hate Crime, of the variety of famous (or infamous, depending on his audience), Mr. CJ Hopkins, currently awaiting his second trial in New Normal Berlin. That’s because real Hate Crimes are against groups, particularly those groups with a shitload of power.
Mr. Hopkins deserves his prosecution for so hatefully opposing many such VIP groups. Too many to count surely, but most certainly he is an enemy of the totalitarian State by any measure. He made a grave mistake of criticizing it repeatedly on various public forums and a great many suffered for his actions, so there must be strict punishment.
Besides, any satirist worth his salt should spend time in prison, it’s like a rite of passage. It will ultimately improve his work, so I hope he understands it will be worth it. That is, if he lives long enough to get out. And even if not, great satirists often get even funnier after they’re dead. It’s mystical or something.
But I do not like the idea of spending heaps of sums (which I don’t have) on attorneys, or the threat of a ruined career (too late) and jail time (been there too) by being hateful to any group, powerful or otherwise.
Therefore I’m focusing my Hate directly on the individuals who engendered that hatred by their own actions, or lack thereof.
Before proceeding I’d also like to clarify that my hatred does not extend to violence, nor to the threat of violence. I want to make it perfectly clear that while, yes, I am indeed armed, I am not dangerous.
Furthermore, I’m a terrible shot and get frightfully nervous and shaky when alarmed, and I probably couldn’t manage to shoot a pair of balls at close range, eyeballs or otherwise.
So, to get on with it!
The Silver Level Hatred is awarded to my neighbor, Herr Blackheart. His crime is being a belligerent idiot. Idiocy is one thing, we all have to tolerate it regularly, this is part of the invisible social contract no one signed.
Belligerent idiocy is common as well, but it’s far more dangerous. Herr Blackheart is bullying and condescending and adolescent and has the social graces of a shanked hog.
And he has the infuriating gall to go on and on about the pristine air quality of our skies!
I can only assume he means in comparison to the slums of New Delhi in winter. Otherwise he might have earned a Bronze or even a Platinum award for the level of Hatred he was able to inspire in me.
A man so willfully blind he laughs out loud as he yells about his army of friends in the aviation industry, who all (shockingly) tow the company lines: Chemtrails are a conspiracy theory! Geoengineering is not real! You are a crazy lady! Stop bothering us!
And furthermore, weather modification is awesome, so there!
Some day we will control the weather and he who controls the weather will control the world!
YEEHAW!
Moving on.
The Bronze Level Hatred is awarded to my former dentist in Arizona, a total Jackass of epic proportion, who is really lucky I can’t remember his name.
Jackass was forced on me by my insurance plan and I had to suffer his arrogant used car salesman tactics for a year before I could switch. He employed all the well-worn tricks to get me to purchase every product and procedure available at his Uber High-Tech office with an unusally large staff of all young and beautiful female assitants. My teeth aren’t white enough, straight enough, clean enough, my gums are receding, I need a root canal, and maybe another.
I’m super surprised he never tried to send me to his 2nd cousin in Albequerque for a boob job.
And, I’d bet the farm he was on drugs, amphetamines of some sort. He would hit nerves I didn’t even know I had, and then claim I was being too sensitive.
Too sensitive, eh? Perhaps I didn’t have the same degree of drugged blood necessary as to render me as insensitive as being in his presence required. (Perhaps because he and his staff were sniffing off the top a little too much?)
Too bad I can’t invite him to sit in my magic chair of torture and drill into his brain, just a little. With an entourage of uniformed pretty boys gazing on.
Don’t let the bland eyes and penciled-in eyebrows fool you, this is one mean career Tyrant standing here!
The Platinum level Hate goes to Frau Ines Karl, the Hate-Crime Commissar of New Normal Berlin.
This is my personal gift, since I can’t afford a financial donation, on behalf of the Hate Crimes trials of Mr. CJ Hopkins. I know, that’s mighty white of me, as the saying goes. I will avoid taking a bow for humility’s sake.
I just think he needs some solidarity at the moment and even though he has been terribly Hateful to many VIP groups, he has been far too kind to the garden variety Tyrants he’s been exposed to on a daily basis for quite some time.
I know he’s a very courageous individual, but he’s hardly in a position to put any Hate down on any one person, especially if said person has the power to put him in prison for three years. Or more. Or less. Her whim, I suppose.
Not that he doesn’t deserve to be in prison, that’s been established in the previous paragraph: All good satirists deserve to go to prison. It enriches their work. Really, she’d be doing him, as well as his international audience, a great service.
But since I know that’s not her motivation, she gets the full reward of my individualized Hate.
I know some of you are probably thinking she doesn’t deserve that, from me certainly, who has never even met her, or heard her name spoken before this day. Hate, well-tended, does tend to come on suddenly, and be transferable. It’s mystical or something.
While you may be right about that, it’s beside the point. I stand with Mr. Hopkins. He is not able to Hate on her, maybe he doesn’t even hate her at all, so clearly, it’s up to me.
Right here you can see he’s being far too kind to this career Tyrant.
“I don’t want to impugn her competence as a Senior Public Hate-Crime Prosecutor or in any way suggest that the “lengthy review process” of her understanding of the law (including the concept of “the rule of law” in non-totalitarian societies) conducted by the Judges’ Election Committee and the Office for the Protection of the Constitution prior to turning her loose on the public following the collapse of the GDR was … well, anything less than adequate, but, if Germany is going to continue to claim that it has any respect for basic democratic principles — not to mention its own constitution — someone might want to take Ines Karl aside and explain that political dissent is not a crime.
Or, on second thought, maybe it is now. In which case, it would helpful if the German authorities would drop the “Germany is a democratic state under the rule of law” crap and just go openly totalitarian. It would certainly be less confusing.”
Tyrants, please have mercy on Mr. Hopkins, just look how sad and confused he is!
You see, he’s confused. I get it! I just want to help.
This Tyrant has made a long and successful career out of prosecuting Haters, so being a Hater myself, I feel justified to a bit of long-distance revenge.
“Senior Public Hate-Crime Prosecutor Ines Karl began her distinguished prosecutorial career back in the GDR, i.e., the German Democratic Republic, the judiciary of which convicted roughly 200,000 people of political crimes during its 40-year existence.”
I’ve reserved a special Hate-On Voodoo Supreme Package I learned deep in the swamps of Plaquemines Parish before the arrival of the Great Hurricane Katrina of the Raytheon Empire. This ritual can only be performed on the Sabbath of the 56th year of the Holy Birth of the Phantom Shelle.
And it just so happens that’s coming up at the end of this month!
Prepare for a Major Hate Flow coming your way Frau Karl of New Normal Berlin!
*Dainty bullshit, is the popular expression attributed to shitposting professional, Decker, of the esteemed blog: Dispatches from the Asylum.
