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Something New to be Bad at

March 26th, 2017

TIG!

I am finally a TIG welder. The results so far are pretty hilarious.

TIG, for people who, unlike me, are not experts, is Tungsten Inert Gas welding. Without getting into a boring description, I will just say that it’s probably the coolest type of welding outside of bizarre things they only do at NASA. TIG produces very controlled, good-looking welds, and unlike MIG, it works very well on tiny objects.

I got myself a Chinese TIG machine because the company that makes them had a crazy sale, and I could not resist. I couldn’t find a good deal on a used American job, and I figured if the Chinese one blew up, there was a 75% chance I could fix it with my gnarly electronics skills.

The welder sat around for three weeks or so because I was scared of it. You can teach someone how to MIG (badly) in fifteen minutes. TIG is way more complicated, and it’s somewhat harder to do. It took me three days just to get the machine put together. I suppose it would have been more like an hour if I had stuck with it, but every time I figured some part of it out, I felt like I needed a day to rest and get over it.

When you TIG, generally, you will do three things at once. Your foot will regulate the heat you shoot into the weld. Your right hand will direct the arc from the torch to the workpiece. Your left hand will feed a rod of filler metal into the weld. This takes practice.

Yesterday I decided to use the torch without filler, just to see if I could guide the arc correctly on flat steel and make a molten puddle suitable for a weld. I was just learning to use the foot pedal and torch.

I had read that TIG produced more UV light than MIG. That’s not quite correct (of course, it’s more complicated than that), so I took pains to get advice on protective gear. I usually MIG in shorts and a T-shirt, which is a BAD BAD idea, but TIG scares me, so I asked around. I ended up wearing a helmet, safety glasses, a dress shirt, a T-shirt, gloves…and shorts. Come on. Change is hard.

When you MIG, you can weld metal that’s only fairly clean. You remove the paint and crap, and you hit it with a knot wheel to make sure there is no rust or scale on it, and you’re okay. TIG metal has to be cleaner. You have to get every trace of rust and scale off, and you have to wipe it down with a powerful solvent like acetone. If you stop welding and come back the next day, you will have to clean it again before you start. If you weld aluminum, you even have to worry about the invisible layer of oxide that forms the instant you expose new metal to the air.

I decided to use a crappy old piece of angle iron, which is a lumpy product that comes covered with scale that seems as hard as rubies. I had to use the belt grinder to get it clean.

I put all my protective junk on and started TIGing. It was so easy! I was liquifying the metal and pulling the torch along, and it was almost like I knew what I was doing. I figured I would be a TIG prodigy. Then I saw the bright light coming in under my helmet.

With all the neurotic effort to protect myself, I had still forgotten to close the helmet tightly against my chest, so reflected UV was bouncing off of my shirt. And of course, I looked right at it, which was pretty dumb.

I stopped TIGing instantly, went and sat on the couch, and whimpered a lot. I wondered if I had burned my corneas.

When you let welding UV hit your eyeballs, even if the UV is reflected off of walls and such, you may burn your eyes. It doesn’t cause permanent damage, but for a day or so, you feel like someone threw sand in your eyes. This is something I dread. I have never “flashed myself,” as the expression goes, but I’m absent-minded, so I live in fear of the day when I start to weld without closing my helmet.

If you flash yourself, you start to feel it after a few hours. I never felt anything. Maybe the safety glasses saved me. Maybe the light wasn’t that intense. Anyway, I was really happy about that.

Today I started over. I prepared two pieces of angle iron and clamped them at 90 degrees to each other so I could do a couple of fillet welds. A fillet weld unites two pieces of metal which are perpendicular to each other. You have to weld down in the corner.

I had high hopes, based on my success with the puddle, but things went very badly. When you TIG into a corner (I now know), it can be hard to get the arc to go where you need it to go. Both pieces of metal try to pull the arc toward them and away from the corner. I think. Anyhow, the arc kept moving around. When I concentrated on the arc, I forgot the pedal, and the amps dropped off to where I was just tickling the steel. When I thought about the arc and the pedal, I forgot about the filler and rammed it into the tungsten (part of the torch that makes the arc).

In about fifteen minutes of welding, I had to grind a new tip on the tungsten three times, so now I’m an expert at that.

The welds were horrific. I’ll post a photo. It looks like a string of poops from a steel mouse with dysentery.

Since creating this masterpiece, I’ve realized you don’t begin your TIG efforts with fillet welds. I’ll try a butt or lap weld next time. Or an autogenous (no filler) fillet weld. That’s supposed to be good for beginners. And I won’t use angle iron. I’ll find something better somewhere.

I quit after a short time because I wanted to see how the protective gear had worked. I think I was protected well enough, but if not, I would rather have 15 minutes’ worth of burns than an hour’s worth.

In spite of this disaster, I’m very upbeat about TIG. Once I can control all three parts of the apparatus at once, I’ll be able to do welding which is much more precise than MIG. Also, for reasons I do not understand, I can see what I’m doing much better than I do when I MIG. With MIG, all I see is a giant red blob.

I like the machine a lot. It looks very nice by Chinese standards, and everything (except me) works. I should be able to get years of use out of it.

Here’s my guess: if you want to weld fast, get stick or MIG, but if you want to weld really well, get a TIG. But get ready for a learning curve.

I’ll keep the world posted on my bad welding. I should be back at it tomorrow or Tuesday.

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Green Acres

March 24th, 2017

Now I Need a Hungarian Wife

Today I started to write something negative about the way the entitlement mindset has driven fast food companies to replace people with machines, but I think instead I’ll write about the presence of God.

This week I hired an appraiser to check out a property my dad and I looked it. It’s one of the farms we visited in Marion County. I wrote about it and posted a photo before. I will repost it here.

A short time ago I was very excited about the possibility that I might end up in Broward County (Ft. Lauderdale’s county) on two acres. Now I’m comparing properties that have ten to twenty acres, much farther north. It’s a wonderful change.

We visited seven or eight places. Several were very nice. Some were hopeless. When it was over, I had three real possibilities. I didn’t know how to choose. I wanted God to help me, because I knew that if I let my flesh make the decision, I would end up in the wrong place.

Finding God’s guidance is a real challenge for me. In America, a man is expected to lift himself up by his own bootstraps, make a plan, and force it to come to pass. To refuse to do that is to court shame and criticism. People will accuse you of cowardice and laziness. For the last few years, I’ve had to sit back and do what seems like nothing, while I’ve waited for guidance. Sometimes I’ve wondered if I was in denial. I wondered if I was destroying my life through passivity.

After we looked at properties, I refused to choose one. I waited for guidance and confirmation. Sometimes I couldn’t help worrying that the best one might get away while I fooled around. I prayed to be led, and I waited.

The other day, I took the photo above and made it my PC desktop. I wanted to think about the pleasant future, not the stress of being in Miami. When I saw the picture blown up to 55″, I was shocked. Peace swept over me.

Every time I look at the desktop, I feel a sudden burst of peace. I don’t know how else to put it. It’s as if a peace bomb had gone off on the screen, and the shock wave had crossed the room and hit me.

At first, I dismissed it, thinking any picture of a rural property would do that to me. I was wrong, though. There is something about that picture. I found myself sitting and staring at it. I couldn’t tear myself away. It was as if the strength left my body.

My friend Mike came down to visit. He slept in the room where I keep the computer. He started telling me how he couldn’t stop looking at the picture. We both sat here like idiots, staring at it.

My friend Travis came over for a prayer session. He felt the same thing.

When I pray by myself, I use the computer to play Christian music, and of course, I leave the desktop on. It’s mesmerizing. The presence of God is so strong here now. I feel his presence so quickly when I’m looking at the picture. It’s bizarre.

Yesterday I was thinking about my choices, and I realized something. There are other properties that seem like they would be more suitable after a lot of work, but this one is pretty much turnkey. I’ve had to struggle here to get the house that used to belong to my sister ready to be rented, and I’m working to get my dad’s poorly maintained house ready. I don’t need another project! Simply moving will be hard enough. Maybe that’s why this property is right for me.

I hired an appraiser to look at the place in the photo, and once I get his report, we’ll make an offer or move on to something else.

I felt tremendous peace when I was on the property. There was no noise at all. No traffic sounds. Just birds, bugs, and the breeze. It was wonderful. I felt good on the other properties, too, but not as good. Maybe God is telling me something.

The presence of God is now much stronger for me than it was before, and I am able to receive it more quickly and more often. I believe we are supposed to live in God’s presence as much as we can. We are always in the presence of spirits, and they’re either good or bad. It makes no sense to put up with the bad ones all the time and make no effort to be with God.

I believe that when God is with me, he does things for me. He breaks down walls and shows me paths. He destroys my problems and gives me peace. I don’t think he would simply sit here with me and make me feel good while my problems increase. In the Bible he says, “The Lord said to my Lord, ‘Sit at My right hand, Till I make Your enemies Your footstool.'” To me, that says that merely being with God brings us protection and victory.

That makes sense, because the Bible never tells us to earn anything. It tells us to humble ourselves and let God do the work.

Miami always feels like it’s under a dirty, moldy blanket of spiritual oppression. The air here smells like sweat and fungus. On the farm, everything felt clean and fresh. I wonder if that would be true after I had been there a year, as well as on the first visit.

I don’t know where I’ll end up, but even if I don’t get that farm, I’m keeping that picture!

I’m going to post this and look at my desktop for a bit. I really need it.

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The Search for Eden Continues

March 21st, 2017

Right Idea; Wrong Planet

I am still waiting for God’s clear guidance on where I should move.

Yesterday, a complication was introduced. I started thinking about places farther north than Marion County, Florida.

If I want to live in Florida in an area which isn’t hideous scrub land, and where I’m less than 30 minutes from a grocery store, I am pretty much limited to 20 acres. I don’t feel comfortable going past the price level that tops out with that much acreage.

I would really like to be able to go for walks on my own land without having the neighbors wave at me from their front porch. I also want to be able to shoot high-powered rifles without hearing a lot of nonsense from neighbors. You can come close to these goals on less than 20 acres, but you can’t quite get there.

I started looking for stuff in the hilly areas of Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee. I like places in the mountains because the air is cooler and I wouldn’t be living on something resembling a pool table. At the same time, I would want a considerable amount of flat land, because you can’t do much with land that’s mostly vertical. Land is cheaper up there than it is in Florida.

One of the issues with moving to the area where Georgia, the Carolinas, and Tennessee come together is that some of the counties have become infested with Floridians. These people can’t drive; they go up and down hills at 20 mph with their brakes on, holding everyone up. They are rude. They are also likely to turn nice places into little copies of Doral and Hialeah (particularly unpleasant neighborhoods in Miami). I don’t want to move eight hundred miles to get away from Spanish and then hear it every time I try to buy something at the grocery store.

I don’t know how bad the Miamization of the Carolina mountains has become. Maybe it’s not too bad. I know I would not want to be anywhere near the North Carolina towns of Highlands and Cashiers. My parents had a place in Cashiers a long time ago, and the Florida people were already thick.

Here’s the other thing: given that I don’t want to be around Miamians, do I really want to be around Appalachian people?

I’m from Appalachia. My people come from Eastern Kentucky. I would never live in Eastern Kentucky, because of the racism and love of ignorance. I don’t want to hear the word “nigger” every time someone talks about a basketball game. When I’m around people who talk like that, even though they’re a lot like me (and may be related to me), I feel alone. I feel like a Jew passing for German among the Nazis, or a closeted Republican on a movie set in California. It makes me reluctant to get close to anyone new.

When we had our place in Cashiers, I learned that North Carolina hill people, though somewhat more responsible and capable than Eastern Kentucky people, were possibly even more bigoted. They really hated blacks. My dad made a friend of a deputy sheriff up there, and the things this man said about black people were horrendous. He was a public official, and I guess everyone approved of his mindset, because he didn’t get fired or sent off to sensitivity training (which didn’t exist yet).

I’m sure a lot of bad things happened to black people who were accosted by the cops in Jackson County. I remember the deputy saying something about running off a part-black prison road crew. I believe he expected trouble from the other locals.

I don’t want to live in a place where racial prejudice toward blacks is heavy. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to live in a primarily black area, because then I’d be the one suffering from racist persecution, and no one cares about victims of black racism. When it happens to you, you are on your own.

What if I had a choice between living in a place where blacks were treated badly or a place where whites were treated badly? Not a pleasant question. I would have to put my safety first.

Central and northern Florida are interesting, because they seem to be places where there is little racial friction. If you visit Ocala or Orlando, you’ll see a lot of black and white people sitting in restaurants together or walking together. That’s unusual in Miami. I’ve also seen a lot of mixed families in Orlando.

In Miami, you’ll see a lot of mixed people. You’ll see brown people who clearly have a lot of black blood. But you won’t see them sitting with black people. They sit with other brown people. It’s strange; many Cubans have black blood, and it shows, but they still have issues with black people.

Miami is full of racial tension, but people don’t talk about it, because most of it comes from Latins and blacks. If you’re white and you say anything about it, you’re automatically considered racist. A big percentage of Cubans do not like black people, and it’s very hard for blacks to get jobs in Latin-controlled Miami. Latins also treat each other better in commerce, and they are often hard on white people. Blacks have a lot of animosity toward whites and Latins. That seems to be true everywhere, and because no one talks about it, it won’t change any time soon.

There are some very good things about Appalachia. People there are polite. They are overwhelmingly Christian. They’re culturally similar to me in many respects. The land is beautiful. You can grow things there. Self-righteous, provincial bicoastal culture is less powerful there. You don’t have to worry about gay men having naked parades. Yet. The cost of living is low. People speak English. There isn’t much traffic. You can get away from humanity if you want to.

Another interesting thing about Appalachia is that construction is much better than it is here in Miami. No one here can do anything right. Walls are crooked, doors don’t fit, and so on. Miami contractors get very angry when you show them how bad their work is, and they blame you for being too picky. In Appalachia (and just about every other place outside South Florida), you can get a house that’s built correctly, and you can get repair people who aren’t completely inept and lazy.

I don’t think I’ll move to Appalachia. Marion County looks too good. The winters are a joke. The people are great. The county is dominated by conservatives. I think I’ll stick with the plan.

Maybe I shouldn’t air my inner thoughts as I deliberate, but I like shining sunlight on things. At least when I’m not the object of scrutiny!

I look forward to a better world, where I don’t have to weigh the impact of different types of foolishness and evil before making a move.

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Retreat

March 20th, 2017

This is What Defeat Looks Like

Every day I make the mistake of looking at the news, and today I saw something even more disturbing than usual. Comedian Tim Allen said he took his five-year-old to a parade in Santa Monica (part of greater L.A.), and they saw a fire truck covered with naked men.

I hadn’t thought about naked gay parades in quite some time, mercifully; this just brought the matter back to my attention. I don’t want to sound like I’m outraged about something new. This has been going on for a while.

I Googled and found all sorts of disturbing images.

Gays really do march stark naked in parades in major cities. I was thinking about putting up censored images to prove it, but I’m too lazy. Google “gay parade nudity” and click “Images.” If you have a strong stomach.

This stuff happens in L.A., San Francisco, New York, Key West, Toronto, and God knows where else.

“Who are they hurting?”, you may ask. If that’s your response, the hurt is already done, and you are probably beyond help. If you don’t see anything wrong with men showing their genitals to women and children, you are hopelessly jaded.

Christianity is a mess. We have been taught that it’s about obeying rules. We’ve been taught that God is like a slot machine that will pay off on rare occasions if we pray constantly. We have been taught that his help is rare. We have been taught that Satan and other evil spirits aren’t real. Imagine that. The Old Testament says they’re real. Jesus and the apostles said they were real. Christians pretend to believe Jesus is God. Somehow, we have decided God was wrong about a lot of things.

We don’t know God. We don’t understand the way spirits work. We don’t understand the very nature of the universe. We don’t realize we’re in the middle of a battle between spirits. It makes sense that we think sin is harmless. If God is just barely real, so are the consequences of ungodliness.

The problem with loving or even tolerating sin is that it cuts us off from God–the good spirit–and subjects us to the power of Satan, fallen angels, and demons. These are spirits that want to destroy us. We are supposed to live in God’s presence, through the Holy Spirit. We are supposed to be close to him, so we can be shaped by him. When we get into rebellion, it’s as if we build walls between him and ourselves. He stops answering our prayers. He stops pitying our suffering. We lose his help.

Simply by being exposed to outrageous sexual perversion, we are harmed. Some of us are tempted and then become subject to evil spirits. Some are simply discouraged and vexed and lose their peace and their faith that God is more powerful than his enemies. Some may fall into anger and malice. In any case, yes, it is harmful.

The Bible makes it clear that evil will win. The Tribulation and the second coming aren’t celebrations of the victories of God’s people. They will be punishment for the people who defeat us. Christians hate hearing that they’re going to lose; we are extremely arrogant, and we are unwilling to face our failures. But lose we will. In fact, lost we have.

We are already in the beginning stage of Nazi-style persecution in America. Gays and others who hate Christianity are closing Christian businesses, with the state and our new, unelected, unaccountable, Bill-of-Rights-exempt, tech-giant pseudo-government on their side. Simply saying you believe the Bible is enough to get you fired in many plances. We are being pushed out of commerce, just as the Jews were under Hitler. We have already been pushed out of education, just as the Jews were under Hitler. We are being pushed into smaller and smaller areas. It’s not subtle. It’s obvious, but people can’t see it because their minds are clouded supernaturally.

Some of us want to fight. That’s beyond stupid. If natural strength meant anything, we wouldn’t be in this position. We had numbers and wealth, and we still lost. It’s silly to claim we can win now that our numbers are shrinking and the state is against us. Christianity in America is drying up like a tumor after chemotherapy, and it will continue to dry up. Fighting with our natural strenght will only bring us humiliation, and it will make us look like hypocrites.

It’s nice that Trump is slowing the process down, but he won’t be around forever, and the overall trend in America is leftward. It’s true, we elect a lot of Republicans, but they’re not much help. They’re like the leftists of twenty years ago. It won’t be that long before our politicians move so far to the left it makes little difference who we vote for.

We’re supposed to know God personally. We’re supposed to live in his presence, without the help of preachers and priests. We’re supposed to get his help and become transformed internally, so we are aligned with him in our hearts and minds. It’s all supernatural, but because we love pretending to be able to help ourselves, we reject it. His charity is the only source of power and peace, but we don’t want it.

We hate God because we don’t know him. We believe the lies we’ve been told about him. We think he doesn’t care, or that all he wants is for us to follow rules we (in our great wisdom) find silly and unpleasant. We can’t get close enough to him to see him for ourselves and make the obvious decision. Our rebelliousness limits how close we can get to him, but it helps us get closer to the spirits that are against him.

I’m working on getting out of Miami, which is a hub of demon worship. I tend to feel like it’s an escape, but it’s not. It’s a retreat. God’s people lost Miami. We got thrashed. When an army gets beaten, it pulls back and regroups. That’s what’s happening in my life. My unit failed to take its objective, so now we’re on the run. The same thing is happening all over the country.

The enemy’s people will follow us. We will get some time to recover and serve God as well as we can, but they will come for us. They’ll actively look for us. They’ll come to the areas to which we’ve fled, for the purpose of tormenting and defeating us. It will be the wedding cake battle all over again. Gays don’t go to Christian bakers because they think those bakers are the best. They go to them because they’re Christians. They go to force confrontations, knowing the Christians will lose. Things may be less stressful in your rural community in the South or the West, but that won’t last. Towns and states can’t protect anyone. The federal government is all-powerful now. Any rest we get will be temporary.

We will be marginalized. Our property will be taken. We will be forced into servitude, like dhimmis in a caliphate. We will be driven off the airwaves and the Internet. We will be killed for our faith, with government approval. Things will eventually get so bad God will blow the whistle and remove us.

It’s astonishing, what has happened to America. How did so many get so filthy?

Naked men on a fire truck. In America. During a parade. In front of children. And it doesn’t even make the news! And if you criticize it, you’re evil!

We’re always told homosexuals are just like everyone else, except that they prefer homosexual relations. If that were true, pre-gay-revolution parades would have been full of nudity, bondage gear, and sex acts. They were not. Gay life is about sexual depravity. It revolves around fornication. They are obsessed with sex, to a much greater degree than the rest of us.

Christians caused this mess. We were selfish. We were proud. We didn’t care about other people. We didn’t seek correction. We just wanted God to make our own plans work out. We can’t help ourselves, so naturally, we were not able to help the men who now ride around on the fire truck. We blame them as though they’re the whole problem. What if we had done things God’s way? What if we had allowed God to become so powerful in us he could deliver people and help them find his love? Wouldn’t things be different?

They’re responsible for their own problems, but we are also to blame.

The history of the world, from creation up through the Tribulation, will look like this: God set us up for success, we threw it away, God set us up for success, we threw it away, God set us up for success, we threw it away, and then God had to come down and push the “reset” button. Adam failed. The Jews failed. We failed. We should be glad God is so close to putting an end to the spectacle.

It is no exaggeration to say that when he returns, he will be putting the world out of its misery.

I’m not trying to discourage anyone. I’m just trying to help people see America the way it is. If people can see the storm developing, they might prepare for it.

Get ready for what’s coming. You can’t say you didn’t know.

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Why I Hate Miami

March 17th, 2017

Frisbee-Throwing Room

I am praying about getting an appraiser for the property I like in Marion County. I don’t want to make the wrong decision, and the best way to do that is to go with my own instincts instead of getting God’s guidance.

Today I looked at a phone photo I took last week. I decided to put it on the blog.

That’s a shot of the house, barn, and workshop, from the far end of the lot. Across the fence to the right is some kind of farm, and by “farm,” I mean a real farm, not a hobby farm like the one I’m standing on. The grey thing on the left is on someone else’s land. It’s too close! I feel oppressed.

I also made the photo my PC background. That may have been a mistake. It hurts to look at it.

The farm is a long rectangle. I would rather have a squarish lot, because it would feel more secluded, but a long lot is not bad when one side is bare farmland.

The area where I’m standing is wooded. Looks like the brush needs to be taken out. A shaded area will be nice because it will cut the sameness.

I’m afraid the place doesn’t have closets in the two smaller bedrooms. I can’t recall seeing any. But who builds a bedroom without a closet? Surely they exist. I emailed the realtor to find out.

Hope it works out. In any case, I’m going SOMEWHERE.

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See Spot Run

March 16th, 2017

Bad Dreams are Not for Me

I feel like adding something to my previous post, which was about my progress with God (perhaps more accurately, the converse).

For a number of years, I’ve been having bad dreams every night. I don’t have nightmares; just dreams I hate. Very often, I’ve found myself back in Austin, Texas, in the apartment I lived in when I was trying to get a Ph.D. in physics. I find myself there with my tools and my junk. The groceries I left behind in 1997 are still there, fresh as the day I left. I wander around the apartment, aware that I’m supposed to be back in class. It’s like I’ve gotten a second chance, and I’ve already started blowing it.

I hate that dream. Giving up on physics was a huge defeat for me. Getting my undergrad degree and getting accepted by a major department was an astounding victory, and I thought it meant failure was behind me. Then I got burned out, and nothing I did fixed the problem. On top of that, there were a few snotty, maladjusted kids in the department who wanted to see me fail (for no reason whatsoever), and I had to watch them get their wish.

I could have been a physicist. Technically, I am a physicist. I have my undergrad degree. You can’t go from a vague knowledge of algebra to grad school in under four years without the natural ability to do the job. But I couldn’t make it work. I was in rebellion. I didn’t have God’s help. I didn’t know what my weapons were. Everyone who was against me won.

It’s bad enough to have failed. Going back and reliving it hundreds of times is too much.

Here’s another dream: I’m in a big airport, similar to DFW, walking around with my bags. I never get to the gate. I just walk, past Cinnabon stalls and bookstores. Travel is fun, if you actually get somewhere. All I do is tour the terminal.

Sometimes I dream I’ve signed up for courses at the University of Miami, but for some reason, class is in session, and I’m at home. It’s halfway through the semester, and suddenly I remember I quit going to several classes I signed up for. I forgot to drop them. I wonder if I can convince the deans to let me drop them now, or if I’ll be forced to receive failing grades for courses I didn’t know I was enrolled in.

I’ve also been waking up in the morning. Usually, it happened too late to go back to sleep but early enough to result in serious sleep deprivation. I hate that. If your alarm is set for 7:30 and you wake up at 6:00, you’re done sleeping for the night. When I don’t sleep, I feel bad all day.

Weeks ago, after I woke in the night, I heard a female voice say something like, “I’ll see you again soon.” I believe a spirit was ruining my sleep, and that it was taunting me about its future visits.

For many years, I’ve had another problem. I call it “morning sickness.” Often I wake up with a sense of dread, for no reason. I think about the things I’ve been planning to do, and I feel like they’re going to end disastrously. It makes me want to cancel my plans and take the safest route possible.

Since I’ve been commanding my spirit, I haven’t awakened early. I haven’t had a single bad dream. I haven’t had morning sickness. Whatever was after me has been dispersed. That’s a huge relief.

Our lives are controlled by the supernatural. We think we accomplish things through willpower and natural ability, but that’s just pride. Sometimes the things that happen in this world are consistent with our natural expectations, but often, events make no sense at all. That shows that the supernatural is involved. Surely no one believes Kim Kardashian is rich because she’s intelligent, talented, or hard-working. No intelligent person thinks Cher or Marisa Tomei deserved Oscars, or that Barack Obama deserved a Nobel.

We ignore the supernatural and focus on our own efforts. Even Christian leaders teach us this foolishness. Almost none of them understand how things work. The Bible reminds us over and over that it’s the blessed, not the industrious, who succeed, yet we don’t listen. Spirits control us, and part of that control manifests in our unwillingness to believe the truth.

If you don’t have God on your side, you’re just hoping for the best. You’re counting on random chance to save you from the horrible things that can happen in your life. That’s how I’ve lived for most of my time on earth.

My family was constantly under attack. I was cursed. I tried to fix it myself. I failed where people of less ability succeeded.

The more I work on the supernatural side of life, the better things get. This is how I plan to spend the rest of my time here. If it doesn’t pan out, I’ll go work at Burger King. But so far it was worked much better than struggling and striving.

Night before last, I found a blue spot on my calf. It didn’t look good. It seemed irregular, and it had thick skin over part of it. Having virtually no skin pigment and having grown up in Florida, I had disturbing thoughts. There are three common kinds of skin cancer. The first two can be cured in five seconds with a can of Dr. Scholl’s wart freezing medicine from the drugstore. The third one–the one that gives you thick blue spots with irregular shapes–usually kills you.

I pulled out the supernatural weapons. I cursed and prayed and so on. Then I went to sleep. I told myself that if I had melanoma, and I couldn’t get rid of it, I would use my medical insurance and spend my last months taking whatever drugs I needed to stay comfortable, and then I would die and be glad to be gone. I refused to worry about it.

I forgot about it yesterday, and then I looked at my calf last night. There’s a pink place on my leg where the blue spot was. The thick skin is gone. I have no idea what happened, but I don’t even have a wart.

I keep asking God to help me to use supernatural tools before panicking and using my own limited power. When you feel rushed or panicked or worried, that’s not God, and it’s not reality. It’s spirits and people who are working to destroy you, planting poison in your heart and mind. I don’t want any part of that. It’s a lie.

I look forward to continuing improvements. I believe I will eventually know what it is to have some semblance of a blessed life. Whether I can take anyone with me is another question, but I know I’ll be used to try to rescue people.

Peace is available. Remember that. Don’t give up on pursuing it. Worry and fear are neither normal nor mandatory.

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Every Business Needs a Manager

March 15th, 2017

Take Charge

Time to get back to writing about God.

I had a big development during the last few days. I’m always learning things about God, and when I apply them, things happen. Sometimes I learn things and then I forget them and learn other things. Then God reminds me of the things I forgot, and I apply them along with the new things. That creates a synergy, so I’m better off than before. It’s better to do several things right than one thing.

A few years back, I noticed that people in the Bible gave commands to their minds and spirits. They spoke to them as though they were servants. You can see this in the psalms. The authors will command their souls to do this or that. I believe the soul is the conscious mind. Also, the Bible says the spirits of prophets are subject to them, and Jesus sent his spirit to God when he died, implying he had authority over it.

I have started commanding my spirit when I pray. I command it to believe, to submit to God, to love, to forgive, and so on. The results are startling. I feel movement inside me. I hear groans coming from within me. It’s very strange. It’s overwhelming.

I find that it works. I have much more control over what I think about and what I feel. Since I’ve been doing it, things have gone more smoothly for me. It seems that I dont have to exert much effort in my natural strength, as long as I cover the bases in the supernatural.

That makes sense to me, because the most blessed people in the Bible were not hard workers. The Bible doesn’t say Abraham was rewarded for his hard work. He was rewarded for faith. When Moses started working hard, it was not perceived as something to admire; it was a problem. God gave him helpers to fix it. Joseph wasn’t put in charge of Egypt because of hard work. His relationship with God did it. You can find example after example in the Bible, but you will never find anyone who won God’s favor by striving.

Over and over, in the Bible, hard work is equated with servitude and defeat. It was part of Adam’s curse. Samson was cursed with hard work. Esau’s sons were cursed with servitude. So were Canaan’s descendants. Freedom from hard work is shown as a blessing. One of the nicest things God promised people was that they would live in houses other people built and have wealth other people accumulated.

Some extremely odd and unlikely things have happened to me lately. Walls I thought would never come down crumbled so fast my biggest problem was adjusting. It’s hard to stay on your feet when you get a huge blessing.

I can give you some examples. Excuse me if I repeat things I’ve mentioned before.

Several years ago, I made a deal with my dad. I would not leave Miami without him, provided he bought a place somewhere else, big enough for both of us, and moved with me. All sorts of barriers rose up. We had problems with his real estate. We had to buy my sister out of the house he owned with her and renovate it. One contractor abandoned the job. The other was very slow and inept. The city held us up for months.

A few months back, my dad claimed he had never made any promise to me. I assume he forgot, due to his memory issues. I thought I was going to have to go alone and then have to deal with his problems and responsibilities from a long distance.

I don’t want to get into all the details, but since then, one by one, his objections have disappeared. I didn’t beg him or fight with him. His mind simply changed, overnight. He decided he would move, grudgingly. Then he decided he wanted to move, provided we got his Miami house renovated first, which was completely impractical. He started saying he couldn’t stand Miami any more. Then, very suddenly, he said we could buy a new place and move before fixing the house. On his own, he started feeling bad about making me work so hard to get this done.

I found places on the Internet. I thought small, because I didn’t want to shock him with a big expense. He asked if I was sure I didn’t want to get something nicer. He said I would inherit it, and if I got married I would want a nice place. I was amazed.

We looked at places in Marion County. The one I liked best seemed remote. I was concerned he might be bored. He was also concerned. He indicated he didn’t want to be so far out. I thought we would have to start looking again. Then out of the blue, he started saying he thought it was fine. He really liked it. He wasn’t worried about driving ten minutes to get to a drugstore or having a limited number of places to go to for lunch.

The game field keeps changing so fast I can’t steady myself well enough to plan firmly.

The place I’m considering has a 25-by-36-foot workshop with a concrete slab. It has never been used. It has a big three-car garage with a beautiful epoxy floor. It has ten acres of secluded, peaceful land. The shop contains a tractor, a bush hog, and a John Deere Gator that appear unused. It’s like someone prepared the place for me, knowing I was on the way.

Can I trust the blessings I’m getting? How do you cope with the change when you go from struggling and waiting to having things handed to you? I feel like one of the four lepers who looted the empty camp of the Syrians in 2 Kings 7. They must have looked around and said, “Is this really for us?”

I don’t know if I’ll get that place, but I’m getting out. That’s a done deal.

I feel very bad for the people I know from church. Just about all of them are stuck in the fake prosperity maelstrom. The Steve Munseys and Benny Hinns and Joel Osteens are bleeding them to death. They are either leaving church in disgust or staying and getting weaker and weaker. I wish everyone could come with me.

The things Jesus said about the crooked Jews of his time are true of Christian leaders today. They don’t know the way into the kingdom, and they keep other people out. They teach people poisonous garbage in order to turn them into slaves and get them to contribute obscene amounts of money, so the preachers can spend it on the kind of trinkets known to be appealing to common white trash.

In the battle for the Pacific, the Japanese came up with smart tactics. At first, they attacked Americans on the beaches of the islands they invaded. They sent waves of soldiers to charge American guns, and they lost thousands of men. Later they let our troops land with little opposition, and they hid in huge, bomb-proof cave complexes stuffed with food and ammunition. Our casualties went way up. This is why we dropped atomic bombs on Japan. They would have used the same strategy on a gigantic scale.

The money preachers are like the Japanese. Some of the devil’s sons go after people in porn theaters and casinos, where no one is even close to God. Other sons wait in their big concrete churches, and they let us come to them. Then they attack on their own turf. They wait for us like goaltenders in hockey goals. Churches are like choke points. A lot of seekers come in the doors, and preachers pick them off by the millions. They teach them lies and keep them weak. People fail just when they think they’re finally almost home.

If this move works out for me, it will be after a long period during which I haven’t given preachers one red cent. It will happen after I spent years of “touching God’s anointed,” criticizing the prosperity preachers and accusing them of serving the devil. What would they be able to say, presented with my testimony? “Just you wait. God is going to get you any minute now!” Right. Just like he’s always one service away from giving the slaves their thirtyfold, sixtyfold, and hundredfold financial windfall. I’ll be dead and living in heaven before they see that money.

Sometimes I almost wonder if it’s possible for anyone other than a preacher to get into hell, what with all the clergymen crowding their way in.

If you want to help, pray for God to guide me and help me end up where he wants. That would be a big favor. I can’t seem to do much for my friends, but maybe I can get out of here and put some space between me and the mess.

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Throwing Shade

March 14th, 2017

A Man has to Eat

The northern Florida dirt issue is getting more complicated.

First, I found out almost no land in Marion County is considered prime farmland. That hurt. Then I found out the property I liked was only about 30% “farmland of local importance.” Now I’m concerned about shade.

The three best acres of the property are next to a fence. Trees grow along the fence. The trees give shade. The fence runs north to south. I’m on the west side of the fence. That means the trees will kill at least some of the sun until maybe noon. They’re tall trees, so I suppose some sun will slip in under them, but it’s not ideal.

I looked at a list of vegetables that don’t need full sun, and it made me feel better. The list goes like this:

1. Everything except corn and tomatoes.

I guess that’s not really right, but a whole lot of things are on the list. Taters. Beans. Peas. Carrots. Anything related to cabbage, which means just about every type of greens.

Peppers need sun. I guess I could put a raised box with fake dirt in a sunny area.

I don’t know how good farmland has to be, in order to work. I grew a fine crop of beans in my sand yard in Miami. I had one 30-foot row, and I did pretty well until fungus killed everything.

Do I really need raised beds? Why not get a backhoe and dig a square pit about 20 feet on a side and a foot deep? I could fill it with composted horse manure, better dirt, pixie dust, and whatever else it takes to grow food. I guess there must be a reason why this is a stupid idea, because it seems so obvious and no one does it. Or maybe they do. Do they?

Sweet corn would appear to be an important thing to learn to grow. When the nutty left starts driving Christians out of grocery stores, you won’t be able to get by with just cabbage and tomatoes. I wonder if there’s a way to force sandy ground to produce corn.

Once you learn to grow stuff, you have to figure out how to preserve it. Root crops keep a long time. I can dry beans and turn them into shucky beans. Other stuff would have to be canned. That’s a drag. But I already have the equipment.

Fruit trees. Is there a fruit tree that will grow in sandy soil? I would love to have peaches.

The owners of the place I like killed all the trees on about seven acres of it. I can’t understand that. I guess they wanted the horses to be happy. What about the people? People like trees. How can you have a huge lot with no fruit trees? That’s insane.

I’ll get the answers. One way or another it will work.

3 Comments »

Defund the NSA

March 14th, 2017

We Get all our Info From Infowars and Huffpo

I haven’t written about the Trump wiretap kerfuffle since the weekend the story broke, because I don’t know what’s going on. My hope was that Trump would emerge with some amazing presidential inside poop proving his privacy was invaded, but so far that has not happened.

I hoped Trump would come forward with evidence, not so much because it would put heat on Obama, but because it would mean Trump was behaving responsibly and planning things in advance instead of shooting from the hip. It would also indicate that the government’s astounding obliteration of the Fourth Amendment might come under attack by the very branch of government which is primarily responsible for it.

I saw that Kellyanne Conway walked Trump’s comments back, saying Trump didn’t mean Obama personally ordered a wiretap job. That’s not credible, since Trump referred to Obama as a “sick” or “bad” guy. You wouldn’t say something like that if you didn’t think the person you were taking about was personally responsible.

It’s still too early to figure out what’s happening. Liberals are using the word “deadline” a lot, but as far as I know, such a date is a deadline primarily in their imaginations. They wanted to be able to go on the news the day after the deadline and say Trump lost because he didn’t produce the info on time.

The House Intelligence Committee asked for information, and they did provide a deadline, but it’s not like Trump is going to be put in front of a firing squad because he’s late. It looks like the big penalty is that the House could start sending subpoenas, which isn’t that big a deal. This isn’t the Watergate hearings. No one is going to be impeached.

I am still hoping Trump had some basis for his claims, other than a Breitbart news story. We would all like to think the president sees all sorts of classified information, and that he knows more than we do. A sad reality of life, however, is that the government is not very much like the slick, James-Bondy apparatus we see in the movies. Spies don’t really have watches with lasers in them, you can jump over the White House fence without being detected for a surprisingly long time, and even with the liberty-destroying intelligence-gathering toys our masters now have, the government still lacks a lot of important information, and it is much too stupid to know what to do with the information it has.

Remember Esteban Santiago, the Ft. Lauderdale airport gunman? He told the FBI he heard voices in his head, and that the CIA was forcing him to watch ISIS videos. He was in the military, which is a pretty good place to be if the government needs to know everything about you and control your movements. He informed the goverment of his problem, and they did virtually nothing. To the government, the first indication that action needed to be taken was a flurry of 911 calls indicating that individuals had been shot dead near a baggage carousel. That was the subtle clue that finally got them moving. After they let him check a pistol on a plane.

Yards away from the area where Santiago was shooting whoever he wanted, TSA agents responsible for our safety were calmly handling the genitals of innocent passengers who had not told the government anything at all about ISIS videos and whom no sane government would ever have considered to be security risks.

The government has always been real stupid. We need to accept that as a premise of life.

Crazy as it sounds, presidents often learn things they should already know…from watching the news. It may well be that Trump got excited about something he read at Breitbart over breakfast.

If that’s the case, I am disappointed in Trump, and I hope he comes to understand that a president needs to aim before he fires.

Still, we don’t know the truth yet. Maybe Trump is polishing up a bombshell. Maybe we should read Breitbart regularly to keep informed.

I don’t read Breitbart because Andrew Breitbart and I did not like each other, and because I always found the site boring. I don’t think Breitbart was a good person at all, and based on the bizarre comments which are typical of a disturbing percentage of his readers, it looks like he attracts a very unsavory crowd largely worthy of the “Nazi” and “white supremacist” labels the left is throwing around.

I thought it was creepy, the way Breitbart kissed up to Drudge so he could turn Drudge into a creek that powered Breitbart.com’s water wheel with a flow of hits. Remember how Drudge, under Breitbart’s control, used to link to Breitbart.com about ten times per page?

Remember how Breitbart jumped ship, without hesitation, to help former-fake-conservative Arianna Huffington start her awful, loathsome website? This is not a man whose face I want on my T-shirts. I think all he cared about was getting rich.

Breitbart, Coulter, Nugent. To me, they look like a trinity of figureheads raised up to bring shame and embarrassment to conservatives. But most people are too team-oriented to criticize these rusty icons.

If Trump is wrong, and he really is as irresponsible as that would make him look, I still would not regret voting for him. What choice did I have? I would have voted for just about anyone other than Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton. I considered making a T-shirt with “TRUMP 2016” on it, over a photo of Hillary.

A moderately irresponsible, recently converted conservative is much better than someone who would persecute Christians, destroy Israel much faster, step up the murder of the unborn, and turn not being gay into a third-degree felony.

I thought Trump had something up his sleeve. Maybe he does. But at this point, I think the most likely thing is that he was just angry about the Breitbart article. Why he was looking at it at five in the morning, I can’t even guess. The time of day was one of the things that made me think he had evidence. Who looks at blogs at five a.m.? I figured he had been up late conferring with associates and raising hell about evidence that came from other channels.

I figured I should write about it, since it’s a bit cowardly to say you think Trump is probably on solid ground and then shut up when it starts to look like you guessed wrong.

Maybe I’ll get to write a third piece in which I gladly announce that I was wrong to think I was wrong. That would be nice.

3 Comments »

My New Field of Study: Dirt

March 11th, 2017

Like This Wasn’t Complicated Enough

The home-shopping experience is getting more complicated, which should not be a surprise. I know very little about buying houses (even though I should), I know even less about buying farms, and I overthink everything I buy. When I buy a pair of pliers on the web, I have to look at a hundred websites to make sure they’re the best pliers on earth. Imagine how bad it is trying to buy a house.

I did not know soil varies greatly over small distances. I figured you would have one kind of soil in one part of a county and maybe another kind in another part. I didn’t think different kinds of soil would be swirled around and mixed so every single farm in a county would have to be examined separately.

I found out about soil variations today. There’s a government website called Web Soil Survey, and you can use it to find out what kind of soil you have under you. You can look at very small areas, like 15 acres.

I found a nice farm with a green house. I checked the soil. Only about 30% of it is nice enough for the government to consider it farmland. The other part…who knows? The government divides things into “prime farmland,” “locally important farmland,” and…crap, I guess.

If I understand the soil report, I can grow 20000 pounds of tomatoes per acre per year, but it looks like I can only plant an acre or two. Hmm…I probably won’t need more than 3000 pounds for personal use, so maybe that’s okay.

I can grow 60 bushels of corn per acre per year. Whoopee.

I can’t grow watermelons very well, according to the government’s pessimistic report. Suddenly I really want those watermelons.

How do I figure out how the land itself affects the value of the property? I guess this is where appraisers come in.

I’m not interested in becoming a farmer, but what if that changes? What if I find out there is huge money in growing exotic artichokes or something? What if our economy tanks? What about the inevitable day when leftists exclude Christians from buying and selling?

I don’t know if I can accomplish anything with two or three acres of tillable land.

Can I grow anything on the remainder of the property? Search me. It’s something called “Arredondo sand.” Sounds like a paint color. What if I make the property a free dumping ground for horse manure for a year? Will that help?

The property next door is sitting on a pile of Kendrick loamy sand, which extends slightly into the lot I’m looking at. This extension is the fertile part of the lot. I can’t believe that guy got 100% Kendrick loamy sand! Lucky so-and-so.

For fun, I looked up the 300-acre farm my grandfather owned in Kentucky. Virtually all of it is prime farmland, which means plants grow like crazy. I didn’t appreciate it when I was a kid.

Sooner or later I’ll get the answer. It’s too complicated for me, but surely prayer will get the job done.

10 Comments »

Bugging Out

March 10th, 2017

Make Sure you Pack the Skillets and the AK-47

It has been a hard week. I spent two days in Ocala, looking at houses with my dad and my old friend Mike.

I would have blogged the trip from Ocala, but trip blogging is just an oblique way of begging thieves to rob your empty house, so I kept quiet.

For several weeks, I’ve been digging up properties online and talking to a realtor. I ran into some obstacles. First of all, Florida contains a whole lot of extremely ugly houses. I’m not picky, but there is such a thing as a house too ugly to live in. I found a number of places I could not stomach. Very sad, because sometimes great properties have bad houses.

I had another problem: a surprising number of people put two-bedroom houses or trailers on nice farms. I can’t figure that out. I suppose some of the smaller homes used to be caretaker shacks on larger farms, and once the farms were cut up, the main houses went with other parcels.

Third thing: some of these places were just too remote. I’m all for breathing room, but half an hour is too long for a drive to the nearest drugstore. Also, my dad will be with me, and I don’t think he would be thrilled about living in a place where there are only three or four decent restaurants within a half-hour’s drive. And if he needs medical care, it would be best to be fairly close in.

One place had a shop building that almost made me faint. It was maybe sixty feet long and thirty feet wide. I was told it was an RV barn. Think what I could do with that.

I found a couple of places that stood out. One is a mint-green farmhouse a rich couple used as a vacation home. They fixed it up perfectly, and then they rarely used it. It has a small barn, a beautiful shop with a concrete slab, and the nicest house I have ever been in. They even bought a new tractor and a small four-wheel drive utility vehicle. The machinery still has tags on it. It has never been used.

The mint color is odd, but I can fix that myself for a few hundred bucks.

I’ve never seen construction to equal that house. Everything fits perfectly. The woodwork is finished to perfection. The garage has a brand-new epoxy floor. It’s stunning. It would be impossible to build such a house in Miami, because no one here could do it even if they wanted to. People here have no skill.

I don’t know how they did it.

You could put a dirt berm up behind this place and shoot rifles all day. How sweet would that be?

Unfortunately, it’s pretty far out, and I don’t think the price is realistic. The owners got hammered, paying $100,000 more than what it’s probably worth now.

It’s not in the high-rent area of the county, but they’re asking a high price, and I doubt it will appreciate quickly.

The other place I like is a frame house on 16 acres of woods. I don’t want that many trees, but you can have your land timbered selectively, and because the wood is useful, you make money on the process. I could mark the trees I want gone and open it up without destroying the privacy.

The house has no outbuildings (bad), but it does have a nice 3-car garage with a gun room built into the side of it. The gun room has a heavy steel door. A smart person could open it up in a few minutes with an angle grinder, but most thieves are stupid and in a hurry.

Can’t hurt.

We would have to add a shop building. That would take time. I suppose my stuff would fit in the garage until then.

This house is closer in. No issues with distance.

I think the second house is best, but man, that first house is something. It’s magnificent. It’s like someone knew I was coming and built it for me. “Here’s your unused shop, complete with electricity and concrete slab. Here is your new tractor. Here is your huge garage. Here is your steel gate. Here is your emergency generator. Did we forget anything?”

It was wonderful to not be in Miami. The people in Marion County were great. Everyone was polite, and I only heard one conversation in Spanish.

Mike used to live in Ocala. His parents had a thoroughbred farm there, and after that, he and his wife lived near the city. He was a great resource. He knew where the best soil was. He knew what different areas of the county were like. On top of that, he’s an incredile schmooze, so he got people to open up and tell us about the properties we looked at. One lady operated a soap company out of her home. She made him take free soap and tried to get a date. She said he was cute.

Not to be outdone, I also attracted attention from females. While we were walking around the soap lady’s farm, a white horse noticed me and trotted over to the fence like she couldn’t believe I had finally arrived. She was thrilled to see me. She stuck her head over the fence and tried to get me to come over. When I walked around a barn and reappeared on the other side, she saw me, and she ran over to flirt some more.

I tried to take a dignified photo of her from the side, but she lunged at me, and this is what I got:

Mike was not happy. He has been around horses for most of his life, and she didn’t give him the time of day.

I have to decide what to do. Try to buy one of these places, or wait for something new?

There are worse problems to have. I could be upside-down on a Miami mortgage, forced to rot here until I pay it off.

8 Comments »

Why Melania Won’t Move to Washington

March 6th, 2017

Nip-Slip Media Goes After CINC

I get tired of being proven right when I don’t want to be.

Today CNN has a story. President Trump had a screaming, knock-down, chair-throwing fight with insiders Steve Bannon and Reince Priebus. And how do they know that? BECAUSE THEY SHOT GRAINY, INCONCLUSIVE VIDEO THROUGH THE WHITE HOUSE WINDOWS WITH A TELEPHOTO LENS.

This is how crazy the left has gotten. They are literally stalking the president.

Raise your hand if you remember all those times the American press made voyeur videos of Obama and then blew them up all over the Internet.

Me, neither.

Go watch the video. I did. Here’s what I saw: some figures are in the White House, talking. Bannon’s face is visible. You can see a guy who looks like Jared Kushner. You can see the back of a blonde woman’s head. Bannon seems a little excited. For a few seconds.

If you can see anything more than that, I credit you on your exceptional eyesight or, in the case of CNN, imagination.

CNN’s talking head claims Reince Priebus is in the video, but I can’t see him. If I recall correctly from personal experience, Reince is about 5’2″ tall, so he would not be that easy to spot.

I went to college with Barack Obama and law school with Reince Priebus. Unexpected difference: people I know actually remember Reince.

Bill Clinton held Dick Morris down and choked him. Why was there no kerfuffle? No one cared. No one in the press was out to get Clinton. CNN never got exiled to the sidewalk during the Clinton years.

When I think about Trump, I always think of the expression “to damn with faint praise.” You know what it means. Andy Griffith provided a famous example: “You don’t sweat much for a fat girl.” The other side of the coin is praising with faint damnation. The press makes Trump look good by hammering him over insignificant or imaginary faults.

Trump got mad! We think! IMPEACH! IMPEACH!

Seriously?

I’d be mad, too, if I just found out my business was wiretapped. Actually, I am mad, because I did find out I was wiretapped. We’re all wiretapped. All of our communications go into government servers, in a violation of the Fourth Amendment no judge seems brave enough to call out. I found that out quite some time ago. The conspiracy nuts were right. How can that happen?

Digression.

Rush Limbaugh calls the MSM “the Drive-By Media.” Maybe we should call them “the Taxi Driver Media,” or “the Fatal Attraction Media.”

I hope Baron Trump doesn’t have any pet rabbits.

Here’s a nutty idea: how about covering things that actually happened, instead of things you really hope happened?

Trump and journalists share a common flaw: the inability to admit fault. Trump rarely, if ever, says he made a mistake. When Trump rightly says people don’t trust the press, only a tiny handful of journalists discusses the possibility that there is a reason for their unpopularity.

Trump didn’t create the notion that the press is unfair. The public figured that out a long time ago. The only novel thing about Trump is that he talks about it while serving as president. The press has been crazy-biased for decades, and they refuse to admit it. How can you expect someone to take you seriously as an institution that gathers and reports facts, when you think you’re immune to bias? It’s patently insane.

The press is trying to tell us Trump threw Priebus and Bannon off Air Force One. They said he told them they couldn’t fly to Florida with him. Sounds juicy! Oops…it turns out he said they should stay in Washington and work, because a lot of things are going on right now. Not really the same thing, is it?

What is wrong with these people? Can’t they even try to be fair?

The devil’s people hate Trump because he’s helpful to Christians and Israel. That’s the bottom line. Trump is not a man of God, but what’s happening to him is still religious persecution, because the primary motivation behind the left’s rage is hatred of Christians and Jews. What we’re seeing now is the reeking blossom of a new age of open persecution from respected institutions.

If you think it’s bad now, wait a few years.

I have a new level of empathy for illegal aliens. I wish I could emigrate to heaven. This place is completely out of hand. Unfortunately, God’s border patrol has a perfect record. I will have to wait here, south of the border, as my asylum claim gets better and better.

I’m glad I’m as old as I am. I would hate to be 20 and have maybe 70 years of this craziness stretching out before me. I don’t know how the apostles dealt with it.

Poor President Trump. Wiretaps at home, and peeping toms at the office. The first paparazzi president. I should quit looking at Fox and CNN. From now on, I’ll just check TMZ. Maybe Trump will get out of his limo carelessly and show CNN his underwear. “GOP ROCKED BY REINCE PRIEBUS SEX TAPE!!!”

When is checkout time? My bags are just about packed.

2 Comments »

Taps

March 4th, 2017

“Living Dead” Shadow Co-President Accused of Spying on Trump

What a strange presidency we have.

When Trump got elected, I predicted two things: 1) whatever Trump did, he would do better than politicians, because he’s an extremely competent businessman who knows how to accomplish things, and 2) his presidency would be very, very entertaining. As of today, I think prediction 2 has been proven right. Trump just accused Obama–personally–of wiretapping Trump Tower during the 2016 campaign.

Since I’m making two-item lists today, I’ll continue. There are two possible outcomes here: 1) Trump will be proven mainly right, and it will be a big embarrassment for Obama and the left, or 2) Trump will be found to be overreacting to a Breitbart story that came from Mark Levin, and it will be a big embarrassment for Trump and the Republicans.

I feel like making a guess.

My guess is that Trump will be proven mainly right.

Here’s how I see it: as president, Trump has deep access to classified information, and he has lots of power to force bureaucrats to do research and answer questions for him. Maybe he was motivated by the Levin story, but that was yesterday, and he didn’t make his wiretapping tweet until today, so he has had ample time to get on the phone and scream at people. It may well be that he has been up all night dragging people into the Oval Office and forcing them to give him briefings.

Trump made his announcements at around 5:30 a.m. today. That suggests he didn’t sleep last night. There is no reason for a president to be up in the middle of the night on a random Saturday, so if he tweeted at 5:30, he had probably been awake for quite some time, and the most likely explanation is that he was digging into the wiretap story. I don’t think he woke up at 5:15 to use the toilet and said to himself, “What a great night’s sleep I had. I think I’ll say something completely insane on Twitter, which could destabilize my administration.”

Trump said “Just found out.” It could mean he was up before 5:30, for some trivial reason, and some aide or other came up to him and said, “Hey, did you read Levin’s story?” It could also mean he had been putting the screws on people all night, and he got his solid evidence not long before 5:30. That’s the most likely explanation, because if he was simply responding to Levin’s emotionalism, it would be uncharacteristically impulsive, even for Donald Trump, who loves to talk off the top of his head. It would also be very foolish; too foolish to be likely.

It’s as though Trump learned something shocking, and it enraged him, and he decided to stay up all night and make some heads roll.

If Trump is wrong about Obama, he can be sued successfully for libel. He’s not an imbecile; he is aware of the existence of tort lawyers. I don’t think he would expose himself to a lawsuit unnecessarily. Obama would love to hinder the Trump administration by dragging a sitting president into court. I can’t see Trump opening himself to that move.

Weird as it sounds, the most likely explanation, given the facts I have now, is that Trump has the goods on Obama. Maybe he’s exaggerating things a little, and maybe the “wiretaps” he has mentioned aren’t the simple phone bugs the rest of us think of when we hear that word, but Obama probably collected intelligence, using wires (email, Internet feeds, whatever), and if it wasn’t illegal, it was probably ethically questionable.

Obama is the first zombie president. When a president leaves office, the classy, patriotic, and traditional thing is to go away and be quiet for at least two terms. Obama is setting up headquarters in DC, and he plans to make life miserable for Trump. What a strange man he is. It reminds me of the silly fake presidential seal he used to use before he was elected. He was like a little kid, playing cowboys and Indians, wearing a plastic sheriff’s badge.

He pretended to be president before he had standing, and now it looks like he’s going to pretend to be president after becoming unemployed. I think he wants to condition the press to listen to Trump and then rush across town to see what The Other President says.

This is a remarkable confrontation. Neither Trump nor Obama can continue without taking steps to resolve this. Trump has to prove his accusations, or Obama has to disprove them. If Obama disproves them, Trump will look like a real idiot, and he may face a painful lawsuit. He could even be pressured into resigning simply because a president can’t run around accusing his predecessors of wiretapping. If Trump proves them, Obama will be disgraced, and he could even face felony charges, along with a number of other people in his administration.

Obviously, I prefer the latter alternative. I support Trump, and whatever his faults may be, I want him (or some other Republican) in the White House when Ruth Ginsberg dies.

An interesting thing about this kerfuffle is that Obama has a plausible path to prison here, but Trump’s worst-case path leads only to financial pain and forced retirement.

I just don’t think Trump is crazy enough to make these accusations without checking his legal footing. Trump is a weird guy, and he tends to think out loud instead of waiting for corroboration, but he’s not a complete moron. He’s very, very sharp.

My best guess, and a guess is all it is, is that people who jump for Obama surveilled Trump, and Trump can prove it.

Now, what will happen when Trump proves Obama’s people spied on him?

My opinion can be discerned from my use of the phrase “Obama’s people.” Obama isn’t an utter idiot (I assume), any more than Trump is. He’s naive, gullible, feckless, and incredibly conceited, but he has a normal instinct for self-preservation. If Obama spied on Trump, he used layers of surrogates. If wrongdoing is proven, there will be a whole squad of potential Scooter Libbys waiting to receive the skewer in Obama’s stead.

If Obama is behind this, and he didn’t take great pains to insulate himself from responsibility, then his arrogance is even worse than we thought, and that would be remarkable.

It’s possible. Obama has been careless before, and he tends to screw up and then wait for the press to save him. He seems to have delusions of invulnerability. He seems to see himself as The Chosen One, and a lot of his fans agree. I wonder if he’s crazy enough to wiretap a presidential candidate. Hmm. Nixon was smarter than Obama, and…

We don’t have to consider the possibility that Obama is morally above something like this. We know him better than that.

I suppose there is a third possibility. Deep State intelligence people hate Trump, and they like sandbagging him and setting him up. A really sharp, unpatriotic, and unscrupulous group of spooks could harm Trump very badly by feeding him false information and leading him to accuse Obama wrongly. I wonder if they could pull that off.

I might get hammered for this (by one of the two people who read this unimportant blog), but it seems like there is a common pattern in which a black person or group of blacks crosses a threshold of power that had previously been an impregnable stronghold, and then they blow it. Bill Cosby is an example. So is Michael Vick. The first black player on the University of Kentucky basketball team, which was coached by a ferocious racist, turned out to be a rapist. For some reason, black people tend to gain control of things that are already in decline or headed for disaster. It must be a supernatural thing. I wonder if it’s at play here.

It’s not uncommon for prominent black people to end up in trouble with the law. It’s very strange. Ray Nagin. Al Sharpton. Kwame Kilpatrick. O.J. Simpson. Wesley Snipes, Lauryn Hill, James Brown, Jesse Jackson Jr. and his wife…

Imagine the outcry we would hear if Obama were indicted. “They won’t let a black man win.” Black Lives Matter would go nuclear. We would never hear the end of it.

As for the outcome of the wiretap fuss, I’m just guessing for entertainment purposes. I’m not pretending to be a pundit. Guessing is fun. The older you get, the more you know about human nature, and the better you get at predicting people’s behavior. I like exercising that skill. Wrong or right, I enjoy it. I do pretty well.

I won’t enjoy it if Trump gets the worst of this. I voted as well as I could, and I prayed for Hillary to fail. That was all I could do. I can’t control the world. I’m not going to eat my liver over it.

Now, let’s make the popcorn.

More

I can’t stop thinking about this story.

Think about this: when you and I go to the airport, and we are sexually violated by the TSA, no one cares. The government now monitors all of our car travel via electronic toll devices, cameras, license plate scanners, and roadside sensors. I didn’t read about that somewhere. I figured it out by looking out the car window. The government looks for us in public places using facial recognition. The government collects our emails and phone calls, and that goes for all of us, not just radicalized Muslims.

No one cares. We’re nobodies. The Constitution is dead, except for the imaginary parts that permit homosexual “marriage” and let women kill their own babies. Our outrage and pain don’t matter, even though insult and personal outrage are the very reasons the Bill of Rights was written.

Now, suddenly, a PRESIDENT may have been violated, by another president! Finally, someone who matters is suffering. How about that? What will happen now?

Will the spooks and hacks sit Trump down and convince him we have no choice but to abandon the Constitution? The spooks will say life with no rights is better than being blown up by Muslims. The hacks will say life with no rights is better than having terrorist attacks on Trump’s watch, which could cost him the next election. Will Trump listen?

Most voters don’t care about their rights. The legendary American love of liberty is a complete myth. Americans don’t really love liberty, except when it comes to vices. Tell an American he can’t smoke weed or look at pornography, and he’ll get very upset. Tell him you’re recording all of his phone calls even though he has nothing to do with terrorists, and he’ll bless you for it.

Here’s a funny thing about human nature: people in authority don’t care at all about injustice, but they lose their minds when people insult their dignity or power.

If you call a cop because someone stole your bicycle, he won’t look for it. You will never see it again; I guarantee it. Have you ever known anyone who got their stolen goods back through police action? Me, neither. Give a cop the finger, which is completely legal, and he will make you his number one case. He will find a way to cite you or arrest you. As a matter of fact, that happened to a cousin of mine.

One of the best ways to get a judge to stomp your adversary is to make the judge think he, himself, has been insulted. It has worked for me. Cite the judge’s own holy words, show him opposing counsel has blasphemed him, and he will drop the whole courthouse on your opponent’s head. Citing your own problems and your adversary’s misdeeds may not even wake a judge up. Judges are lazy, and so are their clerks. They just want you out of their hair.

Human nature. Look at it objectively, and you will rarely come to the wrong conclusion.

If Obama wiretapped Trump illegally or unethically, or even if he did it legally and simply made Trump mad, Trump may look for ways to attack our Orwellian captivity, simply to avenge what happened to him.

That’s interesting, to say the very least.

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Finally, Obama has finished polishing up his response. Through a spokesman, here it is:

A cardinal rule of the Obama administration was that no White House official ever interfered with any independent investigation led by the Department of Justice. As part of that practice, neither President Obama nor any White House official ever ordered surveillance on any U.S. citizen. Any suggestion otherwise is simply false.

Okay, let’s put on our special cynicism goggles and look for the real meaning.

“No White House official ever interfered.” Notice it says “White House official,” not “administration official” or “surrogate” or “executive department personnel.” If Obama had been able to say, “It never happened,” why didn’t he say it? He’s just deflecting blame from his inner circle, which is one of the possibilities I predicted. A lot of people who worked for Obama could have wiretapped Trump, and only a small percentage worked in the White House.

Obama was the head of the executive branch, so if anyone in that branch wiretapped Trump, it’s Obama’s baby and he has to breastfeed it.

He says no White House official interfered with an independent DOJ investigation. Let’s see. Are there investigations that aren’t independent? Nixon’s investigations of his political enemies were not exactly independent. Are there investigations that aren’t handled by the DOJ? The CIA isn’t part of the DOJ. Neither is DHS.

What we have here is a carefully worded non-denial that took several hours to draw up. Obama may be setting some underling up for a spell at Club Fed. On the other hand, if Trump is completely wrong, maybe Obama is trying to bait him into parsing his flak’s words, just as I am right now. Obama baited the birthers, including Trump, by postponing the release of his long-form birth certificate, and they looked bad when it came out, even though the official who signed it was named Ukulele.

Here is my guess: Trump is right, and Obama will throw a lackey under the bus. Obama’s bus can hardly move for the bodies stuck to the undercarriage, so this would be a continuation of SOP. George Bush probably has a furnished apartment under that bus.

If I’m right, there is a there, there, and Obama is trying to move there to somewhere else.

The press is all over this. They’re 100% in the tank for Obama, even though they haven’t had time to investigate. They are risking humiliation by covering this story as if Trump has already been proven wrong. Many are leading with the statement that Trump misspelled “taps” on Twitter, as if that were the real news here. That’s about as brazenly biased as a journalist can get without wearing a ball cap with the words “I am Lying” emblazoned on the front.

This could be a major time bomb in the laps of the MSM. Trump makes true accusation. Press crucifies Trump without checking the facts. Trump produces proof he’s right. That would be a real nitroglycerin enema.

If Trump is wrong, things will be pretty bad for the GOP for a month.

Wonder what will happen next.

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Background Radiation

March 1st, 2017

Eating Clean for the Mind

I finished Philip K. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle. I enjoyed it. I knocked it off in three or four days, which shows the difference between reading things you enjoy and things you only read out of duty. I’ve been suffering while reading relatively small passages from the books on the Columbia College Lit. Hum. syllabus. Reading 50 pages of Philip K. Dick in one day is a pleasure. Reading 20 pages of Cervantes is a chore.

Dick is very clever, but I don’t think he’s all that deep. Here’s one thing you notice about him right away: all of his characters sound the same. It’s as if one person is talking all through the book. In that respect, he resembles Ayn Rand. Maybe Rand wrote that way because her books involved two opposing sets of characters, and the characters in each set shared the same mind. Dagney Taggart and Hank Rearden were pretty much the same person.

Perhaps, like most people who write science fiction, he was more interested in the physical world than in human beings and their personalities.

When I put his book down, I finally got to open Helmet for My Pillow, the first-person World War Two chronicle written by marine Robert Leckie. His book, along with one by fellow marine Eugene Sledge, was used as a basis for the Band of Brothers companion series, The Pacific.

While I’ve been reading Leckie’s book, I’ve continued watching the Ken Burns series, The War, which also covers World War Two.

I had a disturbing revelation last night, after watching the show. The War followed the story of a soldier named Corado Ciarli, who died as part of the invasion force that landed at Anzio. The Anzio invasion and the ensuing campaign have been criticized as incompetent and very wasteful of human life. General Mark Clark took too long preparing to attack the Germans, and by the time he felt ready, they, too, were prepared. They spent weeks showering the Allies with bullets and artillery rounds from high ground, and there was very little cover on the ground below.

The soldiers in the invasion suffered terribly. Ciarlo wrote home very often, and guess what he told his family? Nothing. He said he was in great health. He bragged about how much he ate. He kept telling them he wished them the best. Meanwhile, he was living in a hole, waiting to die.

He had two brothers, a sister, and a mother back in Waterbury, Connecticut. He could have vented to them in order to reduce his own stress. Instead he kept it light. Because he loved them so much, he put their welfare first.

Here’s the revelation: my life has been pretty twisted. I grew up in a city where people are nasty and aggressive. I don’t know what it feels like to have a sibling I can write to the way Ciarlo wrote to his. I can’t imagine filling letters home full of expressions of love and praise. My family was not like that.

My neighbors had screwed-up families, too. A gay man across the street tied his lover up and murdered him, castrating him in the process. The family across 10th Avenue lost a son to a heroin overdose; one night, an ambulance appeared at the house, and the next day one of the kids told my sister, “My brother died,” as if he were talking about a visit from a TV repairman. The lady next door had a heroin-addict son who slapped her around, and her release was vodka, which she chugged from water tumblers.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a healthy environment. I lived in Texas for a few years, but I was a graduate student in a physics department, so I was exposed to a lot of dysfunctional people. Texas was my best shot at normal life, and it didn’t work out.

I watched the war shows and learned about the veterans, and I realized their outlook on life was far superior to mine. Their values were much healthier. They grew up before Saturday Night Live, The National Lampoon, South Park, The Family Guy, and M*A*S*H (book, movie, and series). They weren’t constantly bombarded with filthy, counterproductive entertainment. It’s no wonder they were nicer people than I am.

Last night it occurred to me that reading Leckie’s book and watching these war shows was good for me. It was exposure to a frame of mind I didn’t know much about, even at my age.

Now, what about Lit. Hum.?

I’ve been thinking about the books I’ve read so far. Homer, Plato, Boccaccio, Virgil, Cervantes, and so on. For the most part, they’re not helpful. They’re morally corrosive.

Homer and Virgil lionized immature, lustful, greedy, sadistic morons who actually preferred war to peace. Plato praised a lifestyle in which homosexual predators “helped” young boys by having depraved relationships with them. Boccaccio is cynical and sexually amoral. Cervantes comes across as a sociopath who doesn’t know it when his sadism crosses the line and offends readers.

Ovid was full of whining. It’s like his book was written by the Cathy Bates character from Misery, or Glenn Close’s famous attention-starved would-be murderess. One bitter, unforgiving female stalker after another. A churning sea of daddy issues.

Herodotus and Thucydides weren’t too bad, but they were hardly uplifting.

Shakespeare stands out. King Lear promotes moral standards I can agree with. Fathers should stand up and be fathers. Children should love and honor their parents. Kings should be kings, not hosts of traveling debauches. Men in power should listen to good advice from people of proven character. Shakespeare is a good influence. But one robin doesn’t make a spring.

My social environment is bad. Much of the entertainment and study I’ve chosen during my life has been harmful to me. I have let these factors shape me into a person for whom my respect is necessarily limited.

What should I do?

Leaving Miami seems more important than ever. This place is just no good. No matter what I do to try to improve myself when I’m on my own, I find myself being pushed backward when I’m among people. That wouldn’t happen everywhere. The other day, when I was in Orlando (not a city known for the kindness of its residents), I felt that my interactions with people improved me. I was embarrassed when I dealt with them, because it was so obvious to me that they were nicer than I was.

Living here is bad. Belonging here is worse!

It’s interesting to me that generations of academics have chosen morally destructive works to put before their students. Maybe it was inevitable. I suppose that during the Middle Ages, with the limited supply of works to choose from, it would have been hard to justify keeping Homer and Plato out of curricula. Nonetheless, the truth is the truth: academics have a long history of corrupting the young.

I wonder now: should I keep reading this stuff?

Here’s what I have left: Milton, Jane Austen, Dostoevsky, Virginia Woolf, and William Golding. I substituted Golding for Toni Morrison. I read her book a long time ago, and I’m not interested in reading it again. I see her as an overrated affirmative-action pick.

If I quit reading, I’m abandoning a project, and that’s poor discipline. On the other hand…man, this stuff is nasty.

Crime and Punishment is 692 pages. I wish I had not looked that up.

You can make yourself spiritually ill by feeding yourself poison, but you can also feed yourself good things that make you stronger. I could read more nonfiction. Of course, I read the Bible.

I’m grateful for one thing: I’m not sitting here writing about how going back over this material has opened my eyes and shown me that liberal academics and non-Christian (or weak Christian) authors have all the answers. An awful lot of kids come out of college thinking they finally know the truth: God is dead, morality is a destructive fantasy, cynicism is the highest virtue, and so forth. I never felt that way, except maybe about cynicism. Even when I was young and stupid, I had a tiny seed of common sense that told me there were a lot of silly people working at Columbia.

I didn’t swallow all of the Kool-Aid at Columbia, but a whole lot of people have fooled me during my life. I have chosen many toxic influences.

America is very, very sick now. Our culture of cruelty, pride, lust, pleasure, and greed reached critical mass long ago. The chain reaction has been triggered, and we can’t overcome it. I wish I had turned from it sooner. Most people will not turn.

Good news for me, I guess. Bad for other people.

Maybe someone else will read this and realize they, too, have been poisoned.

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Russian to Judgment

February 27th, 2017

The USSR Started World War Two

I try not to do anything important on weekends. In my creaky old age, I have come to understand that compartmentalization and boundaries are very important. Working during your leisure time can be just as big a vice as goofing off at your job.

It sounds lazy, and to some degree, it is, but it’s also correct. For the most part, two types of people work during their leisure hours: workaholics and the irresponsible. I’ve noticed that irresponsible people are always rushed. They are never at peace. They never know when they’re supposed to work and when they’re supposed to rest. Responsible people make plans and schedules, and they have peace.

That being said, I find it a lot easier to refuse to work when I shouldn’t than to make myself work when I should!

Over the weekend, I tried not to do anything useful, and I treated myself to a movie and a documentary. The movie was Battle for Sevastopol, the “true story” (Is any movie really a true story?) of Lyudmila Pavlichenko, a Russian sniper who had 309 confirmed kills in World War Two. The documentary was The War, a treatment of World War Two by Ken Burns.

If you don’t know who Ken Burns is, he’s the man who made the documentary Jazz.

The sniper movie was quite interesting. It was made by Russians. Because it was made by Russians, the perspective on World War Two was very different from what we see in movies made by people in other nations that fought the Germans. We emphasize the huge contribution we made to the defeat of the Nazis. We generally ignore the huge Soviet contribution.

The Russians lost something like 20 million people in the war. Millions of them were Jewish Holocaust victims. Many were soldiers and non-Jewish civilians killed by the Nazis. Many were killed by Stalin and his underlings. Overall, the Russians had a very bad time during the war.

Americans didn’t join the war in Europe until shortly after the Pearl Harbor attack in late 1941. By then the war was over two years old. It started with the invasion of Poland. France fell in 1940, and by the time we got involved as combatants, Germany had occupied all of western Europe except for Switzerland.

Americans helped invade Italy in 1943, and we also flew suicidal bombing missions over Europe. We began fighting in Africa in 1942. Our ground troops didn’t go after the heart of Nazi Europe, farther north, until D-Day, which was June 6, 1944.

Russia’s ground war with Germany started in June of 1941.

For a long time, Russians were nearly alone against the Nazis in the north and east.

To watch the movie, you would think Americans hid in their closets while brave, principled Russians died. Pavlichenko made a fundraising tour in the US after she became unable to fight, and she asked American men if they hadn’t hidden behind her long enough.

Here’s the thing the movie doesn’t tell you: the Russians brought their problems on themselves. It was 100% their fault. The Russians started World War Two, by invading Poland!

You’re thinking that’s not right. The Germans invaded Poland. Well, you’re half correct. The Russians invaded Poland beside the Germans.

In August of 1939, Stalin and the Nazis signed a “nonaggression” pact, which was not “nonaggressive” at all. They planned to be very aggressive to the rest of Europe, but they agreed not to fight each other. They divided Europe up in advance, agreeing to cede certain conquered nations to each other.

Funny how that’s not in the film.

Less than two years after the pact was signed, the Germans attacked Russia. Suddenly, Russians were the victims! They needed our help!

Please. Their hands were wet with blood.

Would the Germans have invaded Poland in 1939 if the Russians hadn’t agreed to help? Doubtful.

The Russians were sleazy traitors to the rest of the world. They made it possible for Germany to occupy western Europe. If we were unable to put troops on the ground until mid-1944, the Russians should have blamed themselves. Before the Nazis could occupy France, they had to get through Poland with Russia’s help.

Clearly, we did not hide from battle. Our young men were already preparing to die in battle when Pavlichenko made her ridiculous accusation; they just couldn’t get into France. Europe was a fortress Russia helped build. To expect us to march in under an iron dome of Nazi air superiority made possible by Russian collaboration would have been insane. Much better to let the burden fall on the people who created it.

Russians like to say they won the war (which they started) for everyone else. Guess who supplied their planes, trucks, food, ammunition, and supplies? We did. Russia’s industrial capacity was tiny, due to the ravages of leftism. They depended on us. Without our help, they would have had an even worse time expelling the Nazis.

They fought bravely. But think about it…they had no choice. The Nazis were on their soil. The Russians weren’t fighting for Europe, which they had just tried to conquer along with Hitler. They were fighting to save themselves. Even a rat will do that. It’s not praiseworthy. They picked up a snake, and they got bitten. Then they asked us to pick it up, too, and we did.

America didn’t win the war by itself. True. And we do tend to minimize the Soviet contribution. But it’s libelous to say we didn’t do our part, and it’s disgusting and cowardly to omit mention of the fact that Russia started the war along with Germany.

Why is it so few people talk about Russia’s responsibility for the war? It’s obvious. It must be the usual leftist revisionism. We learn about history from academics, journalists, and entertainers, and guess which way they lean?

It seems inconsistent for entertainers to ignore Russia’s guilt while playing down Russia’s help. I think I understand, though, at least when it comes to show business. When you make movies for Americans, you usually have American writers and directors, and you want to reach an American audience. You want to make money. It’s easier to make money here when you praise American heroes.

Some people give Russia credit for saving Jews from the Nazis. Hmm…how many Polish Jews died as a result of Russian and German aggression? Answer: three million.

So much for that canard. If you’re responsible for the deaths of half of the victims of the Holocaust, you can’t really claim you protected the Jews.

If Russia is so nice to the Jews, why have Russian Jews spent an entire century trying to get out?

I like Russia. I like Russians. It’s a different country now. I hope they succeed and improve. But come on. The USSR did tremendous evil, and America’s contribution to ending the war was essential. As for the Japanese defeat, well, we pretty much own that. We produced atom bombs no one else could make, and we supplied our naval might. We worked with the Chinese and British, mainly. The Russians got involved in August of 1945, after Nagasaki. They didn’t even agree to help until February of 1945.

Even the British weren’t around at the battle of Midway, which was the turning point in the Pacific war. That was all us.

It’s amazing how people twist the truth.

If you’re feeling bad about the way we downplay Russia’s part in the war, now you can start feeling better.

The sniper movie is very good. Just make sure you don’t pay any attention to Pavlichenko’s ridiculous insult.

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