Monthly Archives: September 2019

The Basic College Girl, Redux

Behold, the most important voter demographic in America:

Parlaying a popular Instagram feed (and maybe also a YouTube channel) into a lucrative income is a matter of “branding,” and one of the most popular “brands” of recent years is a young woman named Caroline Calloway. She comes from money. Her parents sent her to an elite boarding school in New Hampshire, and she attended New York University ($69,984 a year, including room and board). In 2013, at age 21, she spent the summer traveling in Europe, meeting good-looking Italian guys, and posting what she hashtagged #adventuregram photos with long storytelling captions. and then in the fall, she went to Cambridge University in England, studying art history and — ZOOM! — she soared to Instagram superstardom.

That’s Stacy McCain, and RTWT — he gives her both barrels.  But then come back here, because I have lots of experience with this type of girl.  Not because I went to NYU, or Cambridge, or am involved in New York publishing or, God help us, am on Instagram (I’d rather have my fingernails ripped out by the Kempeitai’s most sadistic torturer than spend a second on Instagram).  I know this kind of girl well, quite simply, because she’s every single college girl in America.  I’m retired now, praise Buddha, but in my career I must’ve had ten thousand Caroline Calloways pass through my classroom.  It’s important that we get to know them, because they are, quite literally, our future.

And yeah, before you ask — they’re ALL like that.  Why do you think I took early retirement?

Before we begin, a disclaimer:  I might sound at times like I’m talking down to you, the Reader — over-explaining the obvious etc.  After all, I’m pretty sure that of our 14 readers, at least 13 of you are on the back nine of your lives.  Some of you are combat veterans; all of you are fairly successful.  Your experience of women is extensive, like your experience of life in general.  Heck, some of you are women, though how you can stand such an awful reactionary old fossil as myself is one of life’s enduring mysteries.  You probably feel you don’t need any lectures from the likes of me…

… but y’all, they’re DIFFERENT, these college girls, in ways that you can’t really fathom unless you’re around them a lot.

The nearest analogue I can come up with is that old movie Wall Street.  We all remember Michael Douglas as Gordon Gekko.  But Douglas actually didn’t get the bulk of the screen time.  Charlie Sheen did.  Wall Street was supposed to be an archetypal Corruption of the Innocent.  It didn’t work, partly because Sheen was miscast — he just doesn’t do earnest very well, which is also why Platoon was such a stinker — and partly because Douglas absolutely crushed his role.  But mostly it was the nature of the characters.  Every guy in the audience knows someone like Charlie Sheen’s character (it’s telling that I can’t even remember his name).  Crucially, we all think that kind of guy is a weasel.

Even guys who’ve made their pile — even other stockbrokers — feel that Sheen’s a weasel in that movie.  Guys admire ball-busting risk-takers.  Michael Douglas is an SJW in real life, and he’s been railing against Gordon Gekko for years.  So much toxic masculinity!  But that’s what men admire about Gekko — we like his style, even if we don’t condone his methods.  He wants what he wants, and he goes after it — ruthlessly, all the way, whatever it takes.

Sheen, on the other hand, is just a suck-up.  He doesn’t know what he wants, because he doesn’t know himself.  He thinks he wants what Gekko has, but he really wants what Gekko is.  Gekko rides around in limos and bangs Daryl Hannah because he’s Gordon Gekko — he’s himself, and the limo-riding and Hannah-banging are natural outgrowths of his fundamental nature.  Sheen also rides around in limos and bangs Daryl Hannah, but the Hannah-banging is only made possible by the limo-riding.  Gekko knows this about Sheen, but Sheen doesn’t know it about himself — which is why Gekko can use Sheen with such brutal efficiency.  The audience sees this, even if everyone who actually made the film doesn’t.

Everyone with me?  Wall Street works because it’s a Classical tragedy.  Sheen’s character is brought low through lack of self-knowledge.  He’s a cut-rate Reagan-era Oedipus.

Now: Have you ever wondered why, in this age of remakes and reboots and hell-for-leather 80s nostalgia, they’ve never remade Wall Street?  You’d think it’d be first on Hollywood’s list, no?  Gordon Gekko isn’t all Donald Trump, but there’s a very large, very obvious resemblance, so much so that when they made a direct-to-video sequel back in 2010, they actually tried to cast Trump in it.  Every over-the-hill Trump-hating actor in Hollywood — which, in 2019, means anyone over 25 who occasionally identifies as male — would be chomping at the bit to reprise Gordon Gekko…

And therein lies the rub.  It’s 2019.  Everything has to be gender-swapped, at minimum, to satisfy the SJWs.  Wall Street simply doesn’t work with a female protagonist.  Not because some girl can’t be found to say Michael Douglas’s lines, but because girls simply aren’t interested in the Charlie Sheen role.  It doesn’t make sense to them, on a fundamental level.  Charlie Sheen’s character thinks he wants status, which he will achieve by accumulating stuff.  What he really wants is a center — an identity — and neither status nor stuff will ever give it to him.  Basic College girls can’t grasp that, because umpteen years of very expensive “education” have beaten even the possibility of understanding it out of xhyzem.

Caroline Calloway (remember her? from up top?) is Charlie Sheen’s Character for Basic College Girls.  I’ve sent you to Stacy McCain; now I’m going to send you to Vox (the SJW snakepit, not Vox Day).  Yeah, I know, but even stopped clocks are right twice a day, and this one’s a wowzer.

In case you can’t be bothered to click, the upshot is: Caroline Calloway is a cute, rich girl who wasn’t satisfied with being cute and rich.  She wanted to be famous, too, and so she set about constructing an online identity for herself.

[Calloway] took a series of meetings with literary professionals who informed her that no one would buy a memoir from a girl with no claim to fame and no fan base. And so Caroline made one online, taking out ads designed to look like posts to promote her account and buying tens of thousands of followers.

At the time, she was something like 23 years old, fresh out of NYU and attending grad school (art history, natch) in Cambridge.  Twenty three years old, with no accomplishments to her name other than “going to college” and “using Twitter,” and she thinks that she’s got the goods to publish a memoir.  But that’s not the truly crazy part.  The truly crazy part is: She got into the conference room with publishing people.  Several times.  Not “a meeting” — something lots of truly accomplished people would kill for — but a series of meetings.

I never thought I’d say this, but I have real sympathy for those Manhattan publishing types.  I’ve sat through many a series of meetings with girls like this, where you rack your brain and torture the English language to find new ways of saying “No, you don’t get full credit because you’ve been trying sooo harrrrrrd!  In fact, you don’t get any credit, because you haven’t actually done anything but come into my office hours and whine.  In fact, if you’d spent the twelve hours you’ve spent bugging me actually working on the paper, it’d be done by now.”

Undeterred, our Basic College Girl turned to the Internet.  Lacking the talent to actually be a writer herself, she did what any BCG would do: Hired a ghostwriter, in this case another BCG with self-esteem issues who agreed to front “Caroline’s” Instagram-only “writing” in return for being allowed to bask in her “friend’s” reflected glory.  The friend, Natalie Beach, is a piece of BCG work in her own right:

“I believed Caroline and I were busting open the form of nonfiction,” she writes. “Instagram is memoir in real timeIt’s memoir without the act of rememberingIt’s collapsing the distance between writer and reader and critic, which is why it’s true feminist storytelling, I’d argue to Caroline, trying to convince her that a white girl learning to believe in herself could be the height of radicalism (convenient, as I too was a white girl learning to believe in herself).”

What’s that meme that goes around the Internet every time some intrepid Millennial takes to the pages of a news magazine?  Ah yes, “Millennial Discovers.”  In this case, it’s “Millennial discovers the postcard.”  Here’s a “memoir in real time” for you:

And the “busting open the form of nonfiction” version:

Which means that by the transitive property of equality, “smelling so funky that a flight attendant is compelled to say something to you” is “true feminist storytelling,” but out of basic human decency let’s avert our eyes.

The takeaway from all this is: “Self-knowledge” is a meaningless concept for the Basic College Girl, because there is no “self” to know.  It’s all just drama.  I’m sure you’re fairly nauseated by now, so I’ll just leave two other facts for you to peruse after a drink or six:

First, the sheer amount of money involved.  Calloway graduated from NYU — $70K per year all in — and went to grad school at Cambridge, which I hear costs a few shekels.  And then there’s the book deal: She lied about the publisher’s advance for her (never completed) “memoir,” but the numbers are still shocking: only $375,000, of which she actually received $100,000.  One hundred grand.  For a “memoir” by a nobody barely over the legal drinking age.

Now, publishers aren’t stupid.  They have a pretty good idea of what sells, and have a million ways to make things sell.  If they thought this goof was worth dropping more than a quarter-mil on, they were probably right.  But that’s not the worst, which is: Even after all this, Homegirl was still able to get people to pony up $165 a shot to attend her four-hour “creativity” seminar… at which she herself would only appear for three hours, except that she didn’t, because she did no legwork and had to cancel almost everything, except for the one time she had a roomful of dorky girls sitting around on the floor eating lettuce.  For $165 apiece.

The second, even more depressing fact: Not only is Caroline Calloway herself an industry, but she’s got another large, parasitic industry devoted to her.  I quote from Vox:

It’s as though, for the past nine months, all of New York media has been unable to look away from the sheer spectacle of Caroline Calloway, transfixed half in loathing and half in admiration. And it’s been unable to make up its collective mind about a single, fundamental question: Is Caroline Calloway a well-meaning but messed-up young person who just wanted to support herself through social media and got in way over her head? Or is she a malicious scammer who willfully exploited her fans’ good faith for some easy cash?

As incredible as this is, chicks care about this bullshit.  “Educated” women, with fancy degrees from big-league schools, writing for posh media outlets in the cultural capital of the world.  The rights and wrongs of it don’t matter, because the answer is: “Who cares?”  Whether she’s a lunatic scammer, or merely a lunatic, doesn’t matter at all.  She’s toxic, and any sane person would change zip codes to avoid her.

And yet, she’s “inescapable” on social media, because she’s a Basic College Girl, and for Basic College Girls — i.e. the persyns of gendertude who will be running our country in less than a decade — social media simply IS the real world.  They’re drama addicts, and Basic College Girls like Caroline Calloway make a very nice living supplying them with chick crack.


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Overturning Locke: Life

John Locke said that we form governments to secure our “life, liberty, and property.”  John Locke has been overtaken by events.

Let’s start where Locke did, with “life.”  We Postmoderns tend to think of this first, and so, we assume, did Locke — he listed it first, after all.  But back in the days writers built up to their conclusions, so the most important item was listed last.  E.g. the Founders, pledging their lives, fortunes, and sacred honor to the cause in the Declaration of Independence. Men like George Washington routinely hazarded their lives for the sake of their fortunes.  Not because they were greedy, but because they took the long view.  George might die in the attempt, but if he succeeded, his sons and grandsons would have much better chances in their lives.  George didn’t actually have sons, but he was unquestionably a Patriarch, which was the fortune for which he risked his life.

Locke held the same assumptions about life, because life was almost inconceivably cheap in his day.  Locke was born in 1632.  A person born then would have a decent shot at making it to age 50 if he survived until age 5… but only about half did.  And “a decent shot” needs to be understood blackjack-style.  Conventional wisdom says to hit if the dealer shows 16 and you’re holding 16 yourself — even though you’ve got a 62% chance of going bust, you’re all but certain to lose money if you stand.  Living to what we Postmoderns call “middle age” was, in Locke’s world, hitting on a 16.  We Postmoderns hear of a guy who dies at 50 and we assume he did it to himself — he was a grossly obese smoker with a drug problem or a race car driver or something.  In Locke’s world, they’d wonder what his secret was to have made it so long.

Locke’s Treatise, then, is in many ways a retcon — a retrospective justification for the observed fact that late 17th century Englishmen were quite prepared to risk their lives for liberty and property.  They’d done it once in Locke’s youth (the Civil War, 1642-51, in which Locke’s father fought briefly for Parliament), and were gearing up to do it again (the Treatise was published in 1689, one year after the Glorious Revolution, but was written 10 years earlier, during the Exclusion Crisis).  He wasn’t trying to establish some theoretical “right to revolution.”  The revolution had already happened, and was about to happen again.  Locke was justifying it.

This is important, because Our Thing is almost exclusively backward-looking.  We’re looking for a (hypothetical, FBI goons, hypothetical) right to revolution, and Locke’s social contract seems to be the answer, just as it (seemed to be) for the Founders.  All the stuff George III did to the colonists, FedGov does to us, in spades.*  Our problem, though, is that to us, “liberty” and “property” are what “life” was to John Locke — a necessary precondition, sure, but nothing to get too worked up over.  They’d just stopped burning heretics in England twenty years before Locke’s birth, after all, and every day, in every port of the realm, sailors signed on for very likely death sentences on international voyages.  In a world where starving to death was still a very real possibility, in other words, convincing people to roll the dice with their lives was pretty easy.  It was the other two that were the toughies.

We Postmoderns, though, carry on like we’re in Auschwitz if Twitter goes down for a few hours.  We have no idea what “sacred honor” could possibly mean, but we’ll riot in the streets if our sportsball team wins a championship.  The Revolution (again, FBI goons, hypothetically) won’t come when they take away one more liberty.  It’ll come when the Obamaphone doesn’t have the latest version of Angry Birds.

We need to think long and hard about why that is, and what to do about it, because our John Locke is going to be a hard man indeed.



*Well, except that whole “refusing to encourage migrations hither” bit — FedGov is fucking aces at that.  But no historical analogy is perfect, alas.
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Form > Process > Outcome

If you want a three-word explanation of why American life is so messed up, there it is.

Academia’s a good example.  Whether completely divorcing form from outcome is a bug, or a feature, of academia’s Cultural Marxism infection is a chicken-or-egg?-type question at this point.  However we got here, we’re wedded to both of them, and they’re opposites — hence all the brain-bending contortions of “intersectionality.”

The outcome is a given: No Child Left Behind in grade school; Don’t Fail the Diversity in college.  Which would be child’s play to achieve, if we weren’t constrained by the form of a “traditional liberal arts education.”  So ed biz wonks are forced to endlessly tweak the “standards,” without ever appearing to tweak the standards.  This is why font choice and margin size end up being worth 75% of your term paper.  They’re completely objective, yet totally meaningless, and best of all plausibly deniable — the kid would’ve used 12-point Times New Roman, but alas, he sent it in an incompatible file format.  Full marks!

The problem, of course, is that in Senile America everything works this way.

If it’s to work at all, representative government has to be representative.  That is, it must be consented to by the governed.  But not only did we not consent to be ruled this way, we couldn’t.  Just to take the most obvious problem: We have no idea who our rulers actually are.

Hawaiian judges are our kakistocracy‘s public face, but all the decisions that matter are made long before the hacks in black get involved.  As we know, we Americans commit, on average, three felonies a day.  If, when, and how these come to the State’s attention are almost completely random.  This is true for any law, actually, and because it is, it’s not really an exaggeration to say that your livelihood, and often your actual freedom, depends on what side of the bed the cop got up on this morning.

If The Authorities notice you when they’re in a good mood, you skate.  If The Authorities are in a bad mood, though — tired, hung over, had a fight with the spouse, whatever — you’re screwed.  What actually happens to you depends on the lawyers, a.k.a the most incestuous little fraternity on the planet.  Whether they choose to prosecute or not, and for what, and what deals they make over a drink or seven determine what happens to you once you get in front of hizzoner… who, of course, is also butt-buddies with all the lawyers who appear in his chambers, since he was one of them not too long ago and they remain his entire social circle.

Who in his right mind could possibly agree to this?  No, forget “right mind” — it’s simply not possible for anyone, not even someone as far out on reality’s fringes as the SJWs, to consent to this.  Those “people” (in the strict biological sense) think houseplants have human rights, but not even they would agree to have their life’s course determined by two dimbulbs with great hair and ugly neckties cutting deals with each other in a dive bar.

But so long as we fetishize the form of “representative government,” it can’t be otherwise.  As folks in Our Thing never tire of pointing out, had The People ever been consulted about our preferences, at any time after 1963, we’d still be living in a White Christian nation with a solid manufacturing base and a minuscule military footprint.  If it were possible to throw the bums out, we would’ve thrown out every bum on every ballot since at least Calvin Coolidge.  But we can’t throw the bums out, because the process is rigged.

Our Side is really missing a trick here.  As Our Betters, the Liberals, constantly inform us, Hillary Clinton won the popular vote in 2016 — 62,523,126 to 61,201,031.

  • She won California 7,362,490 to 3,916,209, and
  • she won Los Angeles county 1,893,770 to 620,285.

I’m no mathematician, but it sure looks to me like Los Angeles alone all but gave Hillary Clinton her popular vote “victory” — she beat Trump overall by 1,322,095, with 1,273,485 of them coming just from LA.

So when Our Betters start going on about abolishing the Electoral College, we should agree with them!  Really rub the American public’s face in it.  Yes, it’s a damn shame that homeless winos and Hollywood bimbos of both sexes and all 37+ genders don’t get to set the agenda for the entire nation.  That’s not Democracy!!! Or, as Our Betters love to put it, That’s Not Who We Are (TM).  Why cling to the old, outdated form of the Electoral College, when the straight democratic voting process gets us everything we want?

Give the governed an opportunity to truly consent to their government.  I for one can’t wait to put Barbara Streisand and Leonardo DiCaprio and three shit-stained homeless heroin addicts in charge of our nuclear arsenal, not to mention our health care.  How about you?

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Organizational Behaviour in the Human Female

Work forced me to venture into the cesspool that is YouTube, where I was exposed to Lizzy Warren’s presidential campaign ads.  Ye gods, what a shrew!  I haven’t watched the tv with the sound on for years, so I’d forgotten how much her voice makes one long for the dulcet tones of an air raid siren…. or the whistle of a descending 500 pounder bringing the sweet release of death.  Freud was famously stumped by the question “What do women want?”, and for once I’m with the ol’ cokehead 100%.  Elizabeth Warren stories are what chupacabra parents tell around the campfire to scare their kids straight, and yet this woman is — somehow, someway — an aspirational figure for every short-haired, power-skirted, man-jawed cat lady in America….

Poli-sci types really miss a trick when it comes to (for lack of a better word) aesthetics.  Put as simply as I can: Except for the aforesaid cat ladies, every single person in America is put off by nagging, hectoring schoolmarms.  If only middle-aged White women voted, Hillary would’ve won 2016 with a Saddam-esque 99% of the ballot.  The rest of her “support” was Democrat diehards, GOP-E losers, and confused old people who still think that nice Mr. Roosevelt is the only thing keeping the bank from foreclosing on Pappy’s dirt farm.  Since Warren looks likeliest to be the last bozo standing when the Democrats’ primary circus folds up its tents, they must be counting on the bulk kitty litter purchasers to come out even more this time around.

That’s not the way I’d bet.  Yes, granted, every single xirl who pages through sperm bank brochures the way boys used to finger Victoria’s Secret catalogs is a guaranteed Warren vote.  But are younger women going to break that way?  In my not-inconsiderable experience of college age girls, they’re getting pretty fed up with feminism.  Not the platitudes, but the career opportunities.  They’ll still sing hosannas to “strong, confident wymyn” — college girls are nothing if not out-and-proud herd animals — but “catty” is a female-only adjective for a reason.  Elizabeth Warren is nothing if not a Boomer, and today’s college girls have spent their entire lives waiting for fossils like her to finally retire so they can have their moment in the sun….

From their perspective, Elizabeth Warren has won.  She played the girl card, and the Fake Indian card, with consummate skill.  She’s so good at Victim Poker, she ought to be nicknamed after a city.  She’s rich, famous, and gets to tell men what to do, all without visible accomplishment, and she did it with a college girl’s work ethic — that is, by working sooo haaarrrrrdddd! (vocal fry x1000) and tattling on anyone who made her feel bad.  In other words, to the Basic College Girl, Elizabeth Warren isn’t a shining example of Sisterhood is Powerful; she’s a Mean Girl bitch who needs to be taken down a few dozen pegs.

Plus, she’s a professor.  Donald Trump needs no advice from me on how to skewer an opponent, but if you’re reading, Mr. President, hammer that for all it’s worth.  Basic College Girls don’t have mothers, they have day care providers.  Professors are just babysitters on steroids.  Nobody likes them, not even other professors, and Basic College Girls hate female professors most of all.  They’ll all say they’re behind the Woman’s Candidate 100%, but they’ll vote differently.

Last, but certainly not least, The Great Fuck You of 2016 continues apace, and has been dialed well past 11.  “Nagging, hectoring schoolmarms” describes everyone in The Media, of both sexes and all 37+ genders.  Most men, and a considerable number of women, voted for Donald Trump precisely because he told those nagging, hectoring schoolmarms to get bent.  As Elizabeth Warren is fully as reptilian as Hillary Clinton, but somehow even dumber and more shrewish, the same basic playbook should work wonders.  There’s no linguistic killshot like “Crooked Hillary” for her yet, but I’m sure Trump’s got one (it’d be stupid to pull it out now, when she’s not yet the nominee).

Along those same lines, Hillary had to run away from her many, many, many scandals; the Media spent the week after every debate instructing the electorate that all that stuff Trump brought up didn’t really happen, well ok it did, technically, but it doesn’t matter, and anyway he’s got orange skin and funny hair.  Being an accomplishment-free nonentity (rather than an obviously felonious accomplishment-free nonentity) is a formidable advantage for Warren.  But see above: Elizabeth Warren is stupid.  Seriously, bone-deep dumb, in the way only a tertiary-educated academic can be.  Hillary kept walking into punches; Lizzie will leap into them on a rocket-powered pogo stick.

This is not to say I’m sure Trump will win.  I think he’s pretty likely screwed, actually.  But he’s screwed structurally, largely as a result of his own cucking.  But if he’s going to pull it out, going after the Basic College Girl vote is, counterintuitively, a good way to do it.

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Socialized Medicine

Medicine doesn’t show up in the classic utopias.  If you think about it for a second, it’s striking, even shocking —  Campanella, More, et al, all the way up through Edward Bellamy and V.I. Lenin, describe their paradises in detail, and they always mention that disease has been overcome, but there’s never even the hint of a mechanism.  They just somehow assume that common property and communal living make illness a thing of the past.

Medicine didn’t show up in the Progressives’ political fantasies, either, though these were specifically designed to be (and, alas, all too often were) made law.  This is not, you can be sure, because of some weird vestigial respect for personal autonomy.  The Progressives, after all, thought that the State could and should run your sex life for you.  Medicine doesn’t show up in Socialist fantasies because medicine was, for all practical purposes, completely useless.

Historians of medicine (of which I’m not one) like to joke that if you somehow get sent back in time, and you get sick, you’d better stay the hell away from the doctor if you’ve landed anytime before 1920.  It turns out that physicians have the same joke, only they pick 1950 as the annus mirabilis.  In other words, “medicine” is so recent an invention that there are probably still a few guys in nursing homes somewhere whose professional medical practice was little better than voodoo.  The three great medical accomplishments of the late 19th century — germ theory, aseptic surgery, Koch’s postulates — laid the foundations for modern medicine, but without an effective broad-spectrum antibiotic, actual treatment remained all but medieval.*

The history of medicine highlights the deepest, most dangerous irony of “Progressivism:”  They must assume that what’s now is forever.  Progressivism is, at bottom, just organized envy.  If anyone, anywhere, possesses X, then there can never be justice until everyone, everywhere, possesses X.  That X might just be an accident, a historical hiccup, a blip of static on Time’s radar screen, never occurs to them.  It can’t.  Otherwise, they’d be praising the Gilded Age’s “universal access to healthcare,” since John D. Rockefeller’s kid was just as likely to die of some horrible infection as the poorest immigrant’s.  Same for Rockefeller himself — burst appendixes are no respecters of rank.

This locks “Progressives” into their categories, such that they can’t see the runaway freight train heading right at them.  Bernie Sanders is still on the campaign trail sounding like a refugee from the Wobblies, talking about poverty.  Poverty, fer chrissakes!  As if America’s “poor” people didn’t keel over from heart disease while fiddling with their Obamaphones in front of their HD tvs.  The real driver of social change isn’t poverty, it’s idleness.

The signature pathology of the 21st century is our utter lack of purpose.  Our inner cities aren’t vibrant because the people there are poor.  It’s because they’re bored.  They don’t lack jobs; they lack the very notion that anything they could possibly do might be meaningful for its own sake.  Likewise, people don’t jump the border for “economic opportunity.”  They jump the border because they want to loaf on the public dime.  Why else would all those hardworking immigrants, working 24 hours a day doing the jobs Americans won’t, end up acting exactly like our very own native-born ghetto bangers?

If you think it’s bad now, wait until the robots start taking over for real.  The consequences are obvious — so obvious that H.G. Wells, himself a moron Socialist, saw them back in 1895.   But that’s “progress” for you….   We should all thank God that medicine didn’t really get going until after the Progressives had shot their wad.  Otherwise your Obamacare doctor would want to bleed you fortnightly to release your bilious humours.


*For the record, the first effective, widely-available antibiotic was Salversan.  It came to market in 1910, and treated two conditions: Syphilis and trypanosomiasis (African Sleeping Sickness).  Feminists, natch, have been having a field day with that ever since — of course The Patriarchy would develop an STD cure right off the bat!  Which just goes to show that feminists know as much about chemistry and microbiology as they do about economics and logic, but whatever, the point is, there was no broad-spectrum drug until 1928, and the word “antibiotic” didn’t even make it into the dictionary until the 1940s.
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Reality is Oxygen

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

That’s the opener from Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House.  Stephen King calls it the best opening in horror literature, and I think he’s right.  Just three sentences, but you could write a small book about everything they accomplish — setting the scene, introducing the theme, foreshadowing the ending….

Note especially the contrast in the first two lines: “sanely” / “not sane.”  This suggests that “Hill House, not sane,” exists “under conditions of absolute reality.”  But Hill House is haunted — something walks there (though it walks alone).  Which suggests that were we not in some sense blinded by our sanity, we’d see the ghosts all around us….

Which is why I wrote “the best opening in horror literature.”  The Haunting of Hill House is a ghost story, yeah, but it’s art for all that, because it tells us something important about the human condition: “Sanity” — for lack of a better term — is a very recent, very contingent phenomenon.  Pick any random human from our species’s long, long history.  It’s ten million to one that this sample of homo sapiens takes the supernatural world for granted.  He sees the ghosts, in a way that Modern people simply can’t.  We’ve had it beaten out of us by 300 years of “the Enlightenment.”

Which means, perversely, that we’re less in tune with Reality, not more.  The Enlightened, scientific mindset seeks to reduce Reality to math.  We Moderns know incomparably more about that tiny slice of the Universe than our ancestors did, but at the cost of vast and growing ignorance of everything outside of it.  Our culture rests on a synecdoche — we cling to a tiny slice of the world, mistaking it for the whole.

This matters, because as our understanding of that tiny slice of Reality grows, we approach the dilemma of Hill House: How much of any given Reality can we handle while remaining sane?

Our ancestors’ Reality was much broader than ours.  Death, for us, is a remote, sterile thing.  It happens in hospitals, and when it’s over we reduce the dead man to a mawkish car window sticker, a Facebook page, a moment’s histrionic grief… then nothing.  Our ancestors, who knew Death intimately, had an elaborate ritual structure for dealing with grief.  The dead were gone, but never forgotten.  Death — the ultimate sanity — spawned the elaborate insanity of requiem masses, saints’ days, Heaven, Hell…

We Moderns know better.  Death is just one last chemical reaction, before all chemical reactions cease.  Consciousness can’t survive the body, because consciousness IS the body.  There is no Heaven, nor Hell.  Our threescore-and-ten is pointless agitation, because life itself is an accident, the random collision of atoms in a void.  That’s our Reality.  How sane are we?

To ask is to answer, and it’s the key to understanding the insanity of Postmodern life.  The Left, as Science’s BFFs, have committed themselves to the notion that life is colliding atoms.  It terrifies them, because it’s a psychological impossibility — it must be true, yet it can’t be true, because if it is, then what’s the point of anything?  Even Social Justice, if per impossibile it could be achieved, is meaningless.

The Universe might actually be nothing but atoms colliding in a void, but no one can live as if it is — not for one single second.  The Left know this better than anyone, because they’ve spent the most time staring into that void.  Thus the Left’s peculiar insanity, which insists that though everything is just a social construction, everyone who doesn’t move in lockstep with the social construction of the moment should be hounded out of society.

The key to deprogramming the Left, then, isn’t to get them back in touch with Reality.  They’ve seen Reality — their little slice of it, anyway, which is the only one that matters to them — and it has driven them insane.  Reality is like oxygen: Necessary in small doses; lethally corrosive in larger.  The only way to fix them is to manage their insanity, to get it more in line with ours.

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Real Personal Evil

If I were building a #RealResistance — an intellectual resistance only, government goons, and anyway this is all hypothetical — I’d bring back the notion of real personal evil.  Yes, I’m talking about Satan, loose in the world, always prowling the night in search of souls to corrupt.

This has two huge advantages.  First, literally Satanic is a good way to describe Liberals’ behavior.  Honestly, ask yourselves:  If we got the Prince of Darkness himself on a conference call, and asked him for instructions, what exactly would he tell us to do differently?  Sacrifice some babies?  Planned Parenthood has us covered, and they’re orders of magnitude more efficient than any coven could ever even dream of.  Deny Christ more openly?  The combination of Marxism, Freudianism, and Postmodernism — hereafter, the poz — has convinced everyone in the West that the Seven Deadlies are actually the highest virtues.  Modern people don’t even have to bother with actual blasphemy — it’s wasted effort.

The second, crucial advantage to describing Liberal behavior this way is: It gives them — the Liberals — an out.  We’ve all read our Festinger here; we know that drastic disconfirmation of a belief system only causes people to dig in more deeply, because otherwise they’d have to admit that they’re idiots.  Heaven’s Gate types — which all SJWs fundamentally are — would rather die than admit they were wrong.  Note, please: That they were wrong.  That is, that they were presented with the full catalog of sub-Scientology stupidity and said, of their own free will and after due consideration: “Yeah, sounds right.”

But if the Devil literally made them do it?  Different story.  A rigorous rite of exorcism and repentance can bring them back into the fold… and as we all know, there’s no one more zealous for your cause than a recent convert.

Now I suppose you’re saying “But that’s all superstitious hooey!”  Perhaps…. perhaps.   But it works.  Come up with something better, and I’ll be happy to listen… but 100+ years of the Left going from triumph to triumph says that whatever you come up with has already been tried, and it comprehensively failed.

Of course, the real reason we’re afraid to break out the supernatural isn’t contingent falsity, it’s the fear of mockery.  The Left have spent no inconsiderable time, in the 100+ years they’ve been setting the agenda, in establishing themselves as Science’s BFFs.  “Undermining religious belief through relentless mockery” was the Left’s main thing before there even was a Left — Diderot was doing it back in the 1740s; Hobbes was doing the nudge-nudge, wink-wink routine at the stupidities of organized religion a hundred years earlier.

All you have to do to refute this is recall the 3nd Law of SJW: SJWs always project.  Again, since we’re being completely honest with ourselves, which is easier to swallow:  A creation narrative, or the Big Bang?  “First there was nothing…. which exploded.”  SJWs will tell you that “nothingness exploding” can’t possibly be a willful act, because shut up, that’s why, but in our heart of hearts we know better.  How could it be otherwise?

And, of course, the Left have always been the truest of True Believers.  Indeed that’s how they won — the notion of blank-slate equalism, from which all Leftism derives, is so bizarre, so cattywampus to observable reality, so easily refuted by literally every singe thing in human history, that for two hundred years or more we’ve had no other response than Dr. Johnson’s: “I refute it thus!”  Which worked out so well that we now have Leftoids telling us it’s a scientific fact that men can have periods and women can have penises.

What could that possibly be, other than actual, personal demonic influence?

Even if you don’t believe this, act like you do, and watch what happens.

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