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Archive for the ‘God’ Category

Suddenly Helen Thomas Looks Mature

Monday, November 27th, 2017

Press Corps Journalist Wages Fact-Free Pie Jihad

Is it funny when deranged leftists attack the president’s press secretary because they think she took credit for someone else’s pie?

I suppose it is, but it also highlights a disturbing trend: Satan is teaching Americans the truth doesn’t matter.

Sarah Huckabee Sanders baked a pie. She put a photo on Twitter. The URL for the photo has the letters “pbs” in it, but the photo has nothing to do with public broadcasting. The “pbs” is just a string that occurs in the URL of a Twitter server. The pie was a chocolate pecan pie made with what appears to be a store-bought crust. Such pies are extremely easy to make. You mix the ingredients, dump them in the crust, add pecans from a bag, and bake.

This is all the background you need.

A leftist journalist (but I repeat myself) named April Ryan accused Sanders of lying. She did not believe Sanders herself baked the pie.

It is not clear why Ryan thinks Sanders didn’t bake the pie. One guess: Ryan can’t cook. A person who can’t cook might think baking a pecan pie is a big deal. Ryan probably gets most of her food from delis, vending machines, grocery story freezers, and big plastic bags marked “Lays.”

It doesn’t help that the pie had a near-perfect crust, or that the background of the photo was pure white, as you might expect in a shot by a professional photographer.

Sanders baked the pie. Her relatives confirm it. She has a long history of baking pecan pies for gatherings. No rational person seriously thinks she stole a pie photo. It’s possible to upload a photo to Google and search to see where it appears on the Internet, and when you do that with the Sanders photo, nothing comes up. Also, there are 170 million people in the United States who would love to embarrass Sanders, and none of them has come up with the original source of the photo. No photographer. No one who runs a stock photo service. No one.


Nonetheless, even now, if you look at Twitter, you’ll see Ryan and the flying monkeys high-fiving each other, as though they had “TAKEN DOWN” or “SHUT DOWN” (trendy, annoying leftist Internet cliches) the press secretary. And they think it’s important.

We should be taking their infantile, tone-deaf antics seriously, because they show how America has changed. Even during the Bush Derangement Syndrome years, it would have been very unusual for a professional journalist from the White House press pool to gin up a blood libel like this, about a matter completely unrelated to a press secretary’s job, on a holiday when we are supposed to be unified in reverence, peace, and gratitude. It would not have been necessary for conservatives to complain. Even liberals would have ridiculed the journalist.

Today liberals who seem to agree that Ryan was mistaken are attacking Sanders for provoking Ryan. By working for Trump. As always, conservatives must be put on the defensive. If your nutty leftist neighbor attacks you from behind and breaks six of your ribs, it’s your fault for not letting him tell you how to landscape.

In 2017 America, childishness and dishonesty are acceptable for leftist journalists. No one notices the lack of dignity and professionalism.

The left is in a state of frenzy. It’s a sort of cold riot. George Orwell, who predicted a lot of what we are currently experiencing, coined the term “cold war” to describe a state in which nations live in great tension, under the threat of war, while not engaging in full-blown combat. What we have now are hundreds of millions of disgruntled, pouting leftists who are not (always) out in the streets burning cars, yet who fester with rage and look for every opportunity to direct harassing fire at conservatives and Christians.

Ms. Ryan can’t march up to Mrs. Sanders’ podium, shove a spear through her heart, and announce that Antifa and BLM are now in charge. We haven’t reached that stage yet. But she can use Twitter to launch a ridiculous and very personal attack on Mrs. Sanders’ credibility and then stir up and encourage the idiots who buy into it. It’s the Internet equivalent of slashing tires and egging houses. And it’s bullying.

I don’t know if Mrs. Sanders lies or not. It doesn’t matter. If she lied constantly, it would not justify perpetrating a fanciful and sophomoric canard, and the ensuing campaign of ridicule and persecution, based on the origin of a pie. And what about failing to admit fault when the pie attacks were proven wrong? It will never happen. It will be like the Dan Rather forgery case. “We lied, but we did it for a good reason, so it’s okay.”

Rioters don’t think. They show up believing they’re right and that everything they do is justified. They are like kindling waiting for a match. They don’t question themselves. They see their victims as the aggressors. That’s why they’re able to beat people to death and set fire to buildings. Self-examination and accountability aren’t on the table. Neither is truth.

We should not be surprised. Reason tends to debunk leftism, so decades ago, many leftists adopted the position that logic itself was a Eurocentric, male-imposed construct intended to disempower women and minorities. Look it up. I’m not making it up. Robert Bork wrote about it.

It you can’t allow yourself to be proven wrong, you can’t change. This is why the left’s abandonment of reason is so dangerous. A person who can’t be corrected is depraved, and the depraved are beyond redemption. Depravity is why hell exists. The Bible refers to this condition as a seared conscience. Nothing penetrates. There are some beings who can’t be fixed, so they have to be confined eternally in order to protect the redeemed from their presence.

Satan is bringing hell up through its ceiling, onto our streets. He is bringing hell’s culture up onto the earth’s surface. It’s a marvel.

No wonder the Bible says God will return to purge the earth. The infection has won. Gangrene has taken over. There is nothing we can do to fix it. Only God himself can set things straight, and he will have to do it by binding and eliminating his enemies. He will have to use force. They have made themselves too stupid to change.

I feel bad for the Trumps. They will never have peace on this earth. Trump will leave office in 2021 0r 2025, and he and his family will still have to live on this planet. They will be under attack until they die, and the people who are out to destroy them will never relent, because they can’t be reasoned with. Barron Trump’s grandchildren, if he has any, will have to have their own professional security people. No President has ever been hated this much.

The leftists will eventually win, and when they do, they’ll bring out their lists. They will remember everyone who offended them, and they will punish. Remember the Cambodian killing fields? That same hatred exists here. I hope Trump dies of old age before they get their hands on him. I don’t even like to think about the imaginative torments they would impose. It would be worse than what happened to Mussolini and Khaddafi.

Totalitarianism is on the way. There aren’t enough Americans who serve God to prevent it. Most American Christians have no roots in the Holy Spirit. They will do whatever Satan tells them to do. He is already getting them conditioned.

I don’t think there is anywhere we can go. America is the last big country that’s safe for Christians and Jews. Europe is out. Asia is out. Africa is out. A last stand is inevitable.

I hope I’m not here to see it. I would rather die this year than live under unfettered leftists. I’m not alone. There is a reason why Cubans put their families on rafts. There is a reason why a man would let himself be shot several times, running away from North Korea.

April Ryan is a fool, but she has a lot of power behind her. We can laugh at her right now, but we should take the spirits that empower her very seriously.

Robot Finally Working

Sunday, November 26th, 2017

CNC Lathe Next

My friend Amanda has a son who has some cognitive issues. Oddly, in some cases, people with his problem turn out to be unusually well suited to the trade of CNC machining. Mental characteristics that cause problems in many areas of life can be assets in machining. There’s a dude in California who runs a school that trains such people.

I learned about this from a TV show called Titans of CNC. A man named Titan Gilroy was convicted of a violent crime, and when he got out of prison, he learned CNC and started a big, successful shop. Now he teaches inmates at San Quentin. He has a son with Asperger’s, and he discovered that his son was very good at CNC. Now he works with the guy who runs the school.

I mentioned this to Amanda a few weeks back, and I said I had some interest in CNC and robotics. We showed her son some Youtubes, and he seemed interested. That’s good, but it’s also a problem. I have only one CNC tool, and it’s a home-built adaptation which I haven’t perfected. Not counting my vacuum cleaner, I have only one robot, and when I bought it and assembled it, I was not able to make it work.

Since showing her son the videos, I have retrieved my CNC lathe from Miami, and I am ready to see if I can make it work. Last night, I took the robot out of the box I had tossed it in, and after an hour or so of reprogramming and researching, I figured out what was wrong with it. Now it’s working.

The robot is a B-robot, from a company called JJ Robots. It’s a two-wheeled balancing robot a little bigger than a box of Pop Tarts. It’s based on an Arduino Leonardo board.

Here’s how it works. It has a tiny board containing circuitry that measures the robot’s vertical orientation. This shouldn’t amaze anyone. Cell phones have circuits that tell them whether they’re level or not. The robot checks the board’s output, and then it accelerates in the direction of the tilt, bringing it back to vertical again. In other words, when the robot starts to fall in a certain direction, it takes off in that direction, bringing itself back under its top. It can do this so often it appears nearly stable.

I found I had installed the orientation board sideways, so the robot was sensing angular deviation along the wrong axis. The robot can’t fall from side to side, so the board’s input was useless. I reinstalled it according to the directions.

The robot still refused to stand. I took a look at what it was doing. It was accelerating away from the direction of fall, making the fall worse. I then turned the board 180 degrees, and everything worked.

Now I have a self-balancing robot.

I had some other problems with it, and they’re even more boring, so I don’t want to get into them too much. I found I could not upload programming to the Arduino. Somewhere on the web, someone said I had to press the board’s reset button immediately before uploading. Not exciting, unless you’re a nerd.

The robot has wi-fi. When you turn it on, you connect your phone to the robot’s network, and then you use an app to steer the robot. Obviously, it needs an onboard camera, like a drone, so you can see what the robot sees as it moves. Maybe I can figure that out some day.

Anyway, next time Amanda brings her son around, I can show him the robot and see if he has any interest. Maybe in a week or two, I can get the lathe working better.

It’s a little strange that I decided to buy and assemble a robot, but the whole exercise has turned out to have a purpose I could not have anticipated. That’s God for you.

Robotics and CNC are not the same thing, but it’s basically the same skill set, applied in different ways. Programming, boards, and servos or steppers. My guess is that a person who has CNC aptitude also has robotics aptitude. The question is which one he will like well enough to stick with.

Her other two sons are interested in music, but the instruction opportunities are limited. I suggested Adventus Piano software for one and Justinguitar.com for the other. Justinguitar.com is a teaching site run by, as you might guess, a guitarist named Justin. It has lots of exercises and videos. It’s not a teacher, but it’s a whole lot better than nothing.

The hard thing will be to get them to learn to sight-read. This is much more important than learning to play. Any idiot can learn to play songs by memorizing them. Ask me how I know. A real musician can read music, and he must also understand theory. A singer who can sight-sing and who understands theory is a better musician than an untrained pianist who plays extremely well.

Math, languages, and music. You have to learn while you’re young. After you’re seven or eight years old, your aptitude drops off, and as far as I know, you can’t get it back.

It’s hard to tell when you’ve scored a point with her kids. Other kids get excited. Hers just sit and think, and sometimes they want to know how soon you’ll be finished so they can do something else. She says it’s working, though.

Sooner or later, if they want to get anywhere with music, they’ll have to find people they can play with.

The robot is interesting to me because the concept doesn’t have to be limited to a tiny machine. The stuff that tells it what to do could be installed on a robot the size of a building. I could yank the guts out of it, find a way to make it run bigger steppers, and make a robot big enough to run around the yard. Jam a lithium battery in there, and it could run for an hour. Not sure what accessories I could add to it to make it useful. Anyway, it doesn’t have to be a small toy. Could it ever be useful for anything? That’s a hard question. I would have to come up with a function for it.

I wish I could make it paint the fence or kill squirrels.

Now that the major crises of moving are abating, I feel like I’m getting my life back. I had time to work on the robot. I’m anxious to get my machine tools up here. Next year, life should be less hectic, and I should be able to get more done. Maybe I’ll be able to make some knives. Right now I can’t run my big grinder without a gas generator and an adaptor (which I don’t have), so knife-making is not possible.

I’m giving up on tree removal. The trees that cause problems will be moved. The rest will be ignored until it’s convenient to do something. It’s just too much work. Surrendering will give me more free time.

Guess I’ll go check out robot accessories. If I can find one a kid could use to drive his brothers nuts, I think it will be a hit.

No Wait Time and Zero Copayment

Friday, November 24th, 2017

My Doctor is Better Than Yours

I have a new testimony. I guess no one will be surprised to read that.

I got some neat healings after moving to Ocala. I burned myself twice, and twice I attacked the problems supernaturally. In both cases, the blisters went away and didn’t come back. I can’t tell you how happy I was. What’s worse than a painful burn on a finger? Every time you do anything, you apply pressure to it, and pain shoots through you. I was spared that.

Last week I injured myself in a brand new way. I always make fun of the warnings on Q-Tip boxes, because Q-Tips are useless if you can’t stick them in your ears. And what kind of idiot hurts himself by shoving a Q-Tip in too far? That was what I asked myself. Now I know the answer. I poked myself in the left ear, and it started to bleed. I had to remove dried blood from my ear canal.

Over the next few days, I started feeling more pain, not less. And I continued finding blood in my ear.

Last night, I woke up, and there was pain in my ear and my left jaw. It was pretty bad. Like a serious earache. I was not happy. I wondered if I was going to have to go to the doctor with a problem caused by ineptitude. And what if the Q-Tip wasn’t the problem? What if I had a giant tumor or something in there, and the Q-Tip simply brought it to light?

Of course, I thought of the burns, and I got to work, after taking some ibuprofen. I asked God to heal me, and over and over, I thanked him in the name of Jesus and gave him the glory, saying I was healed.

I would say I kept doing this for an hour. I had nothing else to do. Then I fell asleep. The pain had abated considerably. Was it the ibuprofen? I didn’t know. Generally, I have found that OTC painkillers don’t do a whole lot. Aspirin is completely useless, and comparing ibuprofen to opioid painkillers that actually work is like comparing a cup of tea to two lines of cocaine.

The best thing about this approach is that when I do it, I start to feel God’s presence, and I am able to remain in it. That’s better than the healing. God’s presence is beautiful, and besides, it brings you authority as well as peace.

In the morning, I had almost no pain at all. I can find the pain if I look for it and move my jaw the right (i.e. wrong) way, but most of the time, it’s not there. I still have some congestion in the ear, but I don’t need a doctor any more. I plan to sit down from time to time and have more sessions with God to complete the healing.

Many of us believe in healing but wrongly assume that if it isn’t instantaneous, it’s not coming. That’s not correct. Even Jesus took several tries to heal a man. Healing may be instantaneous, but it can also be a process, like toasting a piece of bread. You don’t pull your toast out after ten seconds and claim the toaster doesn’t work.

Here’s another thing to think about. When you get natural healing, you don’t expect it to be instantaneous. No one takes an antibiotic and then complains because he’s still sick five minutes later. When a doctor puts a new hip joint in you, you don’t get up off the table and try to dance. God took a week to create the world, and when he ended the drought for Elijah, the miracle started with one tiny cloud, but we expect him to heal us in the blink of an eye.

I hate going to doctors, because I love God’s healing. When a doctor fixes you, God gets no glory, and it does nothing to help you grow spiritually. Also, doctors charge a lot, they do procedures which are painful and humiliating, they make a lot of mistakes, and they can only fix a small percentage of our problems. When they do fix us, much of the time, the fixes are limited, temporary, or accompanied by new problems.

My sister got lung cancer. She was treated with radiation and chemotherapy. The cancer went into remission, but now her brain is fried. She has a head start on dementia. Personally, I would have chosen death. Set me up in a comfy bed, give me Dilaudid on demand, and come get me when I stop breathing. My aunt also lost her mind from cancer treatment. A radiation technician burned my mother’s esophagus so badly she starved. My dad’s dementia may have been caused by his atrial fibrillation and/or blood pressure medications, and you don’t want to know what he went through after he was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Bobby Riggs got prostate cancer. His doctors castrated him, and he died anyway. That’s what I call defeat. Pain, impotence, incontinence, death…and public humiliation.

I could sit here and list medical failures all day, but God’s healing never fails. He heals correctly, without side effects. He doesn’t make you take insulin every day for the rest of your life. He doesn’t make you sit down for dialysis several times a week. He doesn’t make you take poisonous drugs to keep you from rejecting your new heart.

Medical science is a lot better than nothing, but it can’t come close to the success of the real thing. I prefer to stay away from doctors unless I have no choice. God’s healing is something we should be pursuing, but most people don’t believe it exists, and most of the people who do believe do it wrong, so we’re discouraged. We don’t try very hard to get it.

I can’t promise you my ear problem won’t flare up and send me to the ER, but I got a healing last night, so I’m reporting it. I have no reason to doubt that I will continue to receive healing. I’ll be honest if I have to get treatment.

The last time I got burned and healed, I was worried that I might have to come here and retract my testimony, but it didn’t happen.

I believe the approach I took works for everything, not just healing. I’m trying to use it to get things that are more important. I have been asking God to increase my love and faith. These are things that would be highly useful to me. More useful than a healed blister. I feel that I should ask for things that will build my roots, not just my leaves. If the roots are strong, the leaves and fruit will take care of themselves. When you ask God for a car or an acquittal or some other superficial benefit, you don’t address the foundational issues that put you in a position where you had problems in the superficial realm. Why were you poor to begin with? Why were you on trial? The more screwed up your roots are, the more problems you will have.

God approved of Solomon because Solomon asked him for wisdom, not money or power. Wisdom is better than money or power. Similarly, love and faith are better than many of the other things I want. If I have love and faith, my life will go better, and I will fall into fewer traps and dilemmas.

I remember the comedian Marsha Warfield describing her main activity in church as “asking for stuff.” She was right on the money. “Give me this. Give me that.” We should be asking for inner change first.

I will keep you informed about my ear problem. I hope what I wrote will help you get God’s power flowing in you.

Conched Out

Thursday, November 23rd, 2017

Turkey Vanquished; Lit. Hum. Defeated

Thanksgiving dinner has come and gone. Could have been worse. My friend Amanda came by with her kids, and we shared the load. The turkey came out great, and Amanda supplied pies.

I nearly got a hall pass this year. This morning, a huge blob of thunderstorms went through my area, and I lost electricity. You don’t want to be without power on Thanksgiving morning. I couldn’t cook, bathe, or even wash my hands. Possible down side: highly screwed-up Thanksgiving for two families. Possible up side: no cooking.

The juice returned after maybe 90 minutes, leaving me still obligated yet behind schedule. I did the best I could, and we ended up eating later than I had hoped.

I learned something new this year. Cracker Barrel stays open on Thanksgiving. I called them, told them my power was out, and asked if they were open. The lady told me to come on down and not to worry. I love the people here. She really felt bad about my power outage.

While I waited for the power to come back on, I killed time reading the last of Lord of the Flies. This is the last book on my version of the Columbia College Literature Humanties reading list. I have finally done all the reading. I should look my old professor up and tell him. I really annoyed him. If I went to his office today and told him I had finished my reading, he would probably punch me in the face. He would still remember me; the king of wasted potential.

My conclusion, after putting myself through this ordeal: books that were great for their time are not always great books. Some are very bad. Crime and Punishment comes to mind. Also, Columbia College includes a number of overrated writers in their curriculum for the sake of political correctness, and they don’t mind sacrificing their students’ time or their students’ parents’ money on the altar of diversity.

When you consider what Columbia charges parents, the only reasonable position to take is that every single word a student reads should be important. Jamming Alice Walker down someone’s throat in a course that costs $4000 should be illegal.

Academics are quite possibly the single most likely group to see the emperor’s clothes when they’re not there. Academics are herd creatures, and they are incapable of independent thought. If an academic thinks other academics think Virginia Woolf’s wretched, inept To the Lighthouse is a great book, that academic is certain to agree. Students are forced to read a lot of overrated crap, simply because college professors are incapable of dissent.

It makes sense that professors are afraid to have dissenting opinions. Generally, they are mediocre intellects. They are fungible. Fire one, and you can find a dozen to replace him the next day. When your product is a commodity, not a franchise, you have to be very careful not to make anyone mad, because you are expendable. On the other hand, if, say, a top-flight professional athlete feels like saying what’s on his mind, people will put up with it, because such athletes are hard to replace.

When I was at Columbia, a baseball player named Chris got the idea that someone was after his ex-girlfriend, Carolyn. Chris was maybe 6’5″ tall. Strong guy. He walked up behind the other man, who was much smaller and wearing glasses, and he attacked from the rear, giving him a severe beating. Nothing of significance happened to Chris. He was hard to replace. If a random history professor had done that, he would have been fired.

Carolyn was a babe, incidentally. Really beautiful. She took me aside at a party one night and started talking to me. Good thing I had no game whatsoever, or I could have ended up with a concussion.

I just Googled her, out of curiosity. She died suddenly in 2010. Sad.

Not really interested in what happened to Chris. I hope the guy he beat doesn’t have dementia from it.

Some of the Lit. Hum. books I read were bad, yet important historically or advanced for their times. Virginia Woolf was just bad. For any era. Awful.

Vogon-poetry awful.

I’m glad I did the reading. I learned a few things. I got a clearer understanding of the development of western literature and culture. Nonetheless, I suffered considerably.

As for Lord of the Flies, I read it in a few days, whereas other Lit. Hum. books took weeks. The reason is this: it wasn’t as painful to read. It had a plot. It had action. The characters, though shallow and unappealing, had distinct personalities. Some did, anyway. It was nice to get into a book without dreading the battle to get back out.

If you haven’t read the book, stop reading, because there will be spoilers.

I’ll tell you how the book goes. There is a war. We are told almost nothing about it. A bunch of kids are put on a plane. The point seems to be to get them out of danger, but it’s not very clear. The plane crashes on a tropical island, and the adults on the plane die. The kids have to fend for themselves. They end up electing a leader. A violent rival takes the kids away from him. The rival’s new gang murders two kids and tries to kill a third (the first leader), but before they can get him, a boat shows up, and the kids are rescued by the British navy. Suddenly the scary gang that tried to kill the former leader looks like what it is: a bunch of little kids with pointed sticks.

The book has weaknesses. For one thing, Golding can’t describe anything. If he tried to describe a square cardboard box to you, you might think he was talking about a crystal chandelier. He tries to describe the island and other things, but you never get a clear idea what any of it looks like. You have to give up and not worry about it. You can’t even tell how many boys there are. Also, the characters are very thinly drawn. They don’t have interesting characteristics that make them stand out from each other.

Golding tried to describe coconuts, and he said they looked like skulls. The only coconuts that look like skulls are husked coconuts. With the husks still on, as they would be found on an uninhabited island, they look nothing like skulls. It’s like Golding only saw coconuts on Gilligan’s Island, where they fell pre-husked.

Like most Lit. Hum. books, Lord of the Flies does not contain a single laugh. I’m not sure how anyone can write two hundred pages without saying anything funny or clever, but Homer did it, Virgil did it, Woolf did it, Dostoevsky did it…it’s remarkable, how many Lit. Hum. authors were not even slightly witty or inclined to humor. It’s like they shared a bizarre mental illness.

Cervantes made jokes, but they were cruel and stupid. Here’s the kind of thing Cervantes would have found amusing: a man tries to hit his servant in the face with a club, but he misses, falls, and knocks all of his front teeth out on a fence post.

Lord of the Flies has a plot, which is a nice thing for a book to have, but it’s not intricate, original, or clever. There are no brilliant twists or turns. Kids get marooned. Kids form violent factions. Kids kill other kids. Kids are rescued. I don’t think the plot is what makes the book.

One important character is a dead person. I’m referring to the Beast. Some of the kids think there is a big, hairy creature on the island, and that it may eventually kill them. They make expeditions to find it and kill it. Meanwhile, an aerial battle takes place above the island. A man parachutes out of a plane. His dead body lands on a mountain in a sitting position, with his parachute still attached. When the wind blows, he raises his head as though he’s looking at people. One of the kids sees him one night, and he decides he’s the Beast.

To flesh out the character of the Beast, a kid named Simon has a psychotic episode. A boy named Jack leads a group that kills a pig, and they leave the pig’s head on a stick as a sacrifice to the Beast. Simon looks at the head one day, and it starts speaking to him, saying it’s the Beast and that he’s not wanted on the island. Simon is the first boy the gang murders.

The Beast device taps into some pretty weird, primal notions, or at least it seems that way to me, a religious nut.

The Bible tells us a Christ-hating upstart called the Beast will rise up to try to take God’s place. Most eschatologists think the Beast will be a ruler; a man. My own suspicion is that the Beast is just the spirit that rules the carnal masses. Beasts are ruled by their flesh. Destructive, ignorant people are ruled by their flesh. The word “carnal” means “ruled by the flesh.” Maybe there will be a single man who personifies the Beast, but I think the Beast will be the masses. Think Antifa. Think BLM. Think Pol Pot.

In Lord of the Rings, a boy with common sense tries to lead the group. His name is Ralph. He’s a builder. He gets himself elected chief. He tries to make rules. He tries to make the kids keep a signal fire going. His enemy is Jack, and Jack is neither a builder nor a thinker. He’s a looter and destroyer. Jack leads a troop called the hunters. They kill pigs for everyone to eat. Jack is too dumb to think about signal fires. He is a populist. He appeals to the basest drives of his friends. He tells them they’ll hunt all day and “have fun.” He offers to do away with rules.

Ralph’s consiglieri is a fat kid nicknamed Piggy. In a violent book about kids, you don’t have to be told what will happen to Piggy. Piggy is very smart, and he gives excellent advice, but he is prime bully bait, so he can never be the chief. Piggy can barely see. He wears glasses. Jack attacks him, breaking one lens of his glasses, leaving Piggy half blind. Later in the book, he takes the glasses with the remaining lens, leaving Piggy to be led around like Homer.

Piggy is like a prophet. In the Bible, prophets were sighted, but in other traditions, they had vision problems. Tiresias was blind. The cyclopes gave up binocular vision for limited clairvoyance; they were able to see their own deaths. I’m too lazy to look up other blind prophets.

Like a prophet, Piggy sees the truth, and he is attacked and eventually killed for it. Weird.

The dead aviator is a good choice for the image of the Beast, because he’s all flesh, with the mind and spirit gone. He rots. Carnal people rot, figuratively. It takes effort and gumption to make people rise above hogs and monkeys, just as it takes energy for the body of a living person to fight off disease and decomposition. What do you see when you look at Antifa and BLM? Rot. Human beings acting like animals. New generations becoming less intelligent and less powerful than their predecessors.

The aviator has no power of his own. He moves, literally, with the wind. A beastly (carnal) leader is like that. They don’t really lead. They follow. The voice of the crowd blows them this way and that. Remember Obama? Interesting.

The word “spirit” literally means “breath,” which is a type of wind. We live because the breath of God is in us. The Beast of the Apocalypse will have the spirit of Satan in him, animating and empowering him like a wind in a parachute.

Simon is killed by Jack’s mob as he tries to tell them the Beast is a dead body. They don’t pay attention to anything he says. They’re in the grip of a bizarre, tribal bloodlust, like backward natives jumping up and down in Africa. After they kill him, a wind fills the aviator’s chute, lifts him off the mountain, and drags him over the site where Simon is killed. The aviator then plunges into the sea.

In the Bible, seas symbolize masses of beings. More specifically, they symbolize their combined voices. When a lot of people speak against you, it’s like sinking into a sea. When Peter looked only at Jesus, he was raised above the sea, and it became the platform that supported him. God promised Jesus he would make his enemies his footstool. When Peter stood on the sea, it was a picture of God’s children resting their feet on hostile humanity.

A leader who rose from a sea of carnal voices deserves to sink into a sea. Isn’t that Satan’s future? When he is exposed as a powerless manipulator, the beings he fooled will want some payback, and presumably, he will sink into their midst and be tormented without mercy.

The boys’ adventure made me think about fatherlessness. This is a fatherless world, because we reject the Father and his messengers. Wisdom and knowledge are treasures, and we are supposed to pass them on to new generations, but we reject God, throwing these treasures away. As a result, every generation has to start from scratch, and we never reach the heights we were designed for. The boys in the book had no fathers. They were alone. One adult could have provided them sufficient wisdom to bring them order and peace, but lacking an adult, they listened to Jack instead. They were like modern Americans. We don’t know God, so we listen to doomed imbeciles like Kanye West and the Kardashians. With every generation, we get weaker, not stronger.

When the naval officer showed up at the end of the book, he was like Jesus, returning to order the world. When he showed up, with true authority on his side, Jack suddenly looked very small and powerless. His power instantly vanished, and Ralph’s power reappeared. The Bible says people will marvel when Satan, who scared us so much, is revealed. We will be amazed at how puny he is.

I found these ideas interesting as I read the book. Lord of the Flies was the only Lit. Hum. book that stirred me on a spiritual level. It wasn’t illuminating, but it made me think about things I already believed.

My guess is that William Golding never considered any of these things. I would also guess that my take on the book is nothing like the interpretation promoted by the sheep of academia.

It was pleasant to read a book that wasn’t excruciatingly tedious and which gave me things to think about.

Should I go ahead and read the books on Columbia’s Contemporary Civilization list? I don’t know. They’re horrible. Hobbes. Locke. Macchiavelli. Plato. Yech. Besides, I probably did the reading for that course when I was at Columbia.

I never did Art Humanities (another core course). I believe I started and then dropped it. I don’t know how I would go about recreating that course on my own. It wasn’t just readings. There were a ton of slides. I love slide courses. Sit around in the dark, look at slides, write some BS on the exam, and get at least a B.

If I decide to do any more studying, you will read about it here, if you can stand it.

Hope I didn’t spoil the book for you, but if I did, it’s your own fault, because I warned you.

Happy Thanksgiving. Don’t mention Christmas to me.

Every Storm Starts With One Drop of Rain

Monday, November 20th, 2017

New Franken Accuser

We have seen the last of Al Franken. Probably.

The thing serial gropers/rapists/molesters never seem to think about is the folks who invariably follow up on the first abuse account. Most men never abuse anyone, but those who do are generally repeat offenders. If there is something so incredibly wrong with you that you think you have the right to put your hands on women, you will do it over and over until something (like a tweet and creepy photo) changes your mind.

Franken posed for a horrendous photo, in which he gleefully, proudly cupped his hands over the breasts of a sleeping Leeann Tweeden. Then he apologized (not really) and refused to resign. He went off and hid in Minnesota, using the imminent holiday for cover, just as Bill Clinton used weekends to kill negative news stories about himself. Unfortunately for Franken, before he managed to scurry into the shade, another accuser popped up. A married woman says he squeezed her buttock while posing for a photo with her in 2010.

The Tweeden photo stirred up a certain amount of throat-clearing among liberals. The far-left comedy show Saturday Night Live went after Franken (gently) this weekend, saying, ‚ÄúSure, this was taken before Franken ran for public office, but it was also taken after he was a sophomore in high school.” The writer of the Weekend Update item noted Franken’s age at the time of the offense: 55. They were trying to acknowledge Franken without really hurting his chances of staying in the Senate (as evinced by their immediate deflection to criticism of Donald Trump, who groped women consensually). Nonetheless, their jabs leave marks.

Franken is a disagreeable, aggressive, egotistical person of limited talent, and now it has become obvious that he has a serious maturity problem, as well as a surprising wealth of hostility toward women.

I think I understand him. He is a pillar of the black humor community. I was part of that trend, myself. I’ve made all sorts of disgusting, offensive jokes during my life. Under the influence of idiots like Franken, I worked diligently to soil my own heart, and it worked. I became jaded and cruel. Franken is probably fairly dead inside, as a result of giving himself over to black humor. His thought life must be a lot like “The Aristocrats.” My own thought life was ghastly until a few years back. I knew of no reason to limit it.

The Franken story is not uplifting, but at least we won’t have to worry about another Franken term or a Franken presidency. Thank God for that.

Is it must me, or are most of the famous abusers men who would have a hard time getting women without fame and power?

When I look at people like Brett Ratner, James Toback, Harvey Weinstein, Louis C.K., and Al Franken, the impression I get is that they were not babe magnets in high school. That, combined with excessively powerful sex drives, could explain their cruelty to women. “You wouldn’t go near me back then, but now you will submit or else.” That’s my guess. I think they’re punishing all women, to get even with the girls who refused to have sex with them in high school.

We’re not hearing a whole lot of abuse stories that revolve around handsome men.

It makes you wonder what dark fantasies bubble beneath the surface in high school chess clubs all across America.

Al Franken is 5’6″ tall. He was a math nerd and wrestler in high school. He wears thick glasses. He looks the way he looks. He succeeded late in life. Girls weren’t threatening to set themselves on fire if he didn’t take them to the prom.

Franken will probably try to rebound from the second accusation, like a weighted inflatable boxing toy coming back for another whack, but it is likely that he will be met on the way up with another fist to the face. That’s how these things work. Think of Kevin Spacey. He got accused. He put out a self-praising statement intended to put him on the side of the offended. Then, “BANG! BANG! BANG!,” the new accusers piled on. His career is dead, and he may end up in prison. I doubt Franken will take as many hits, but it would be odd if he didn’t take enough to keep him on the canvas.

If conservatives are conspiring against Franken (why wouldn’t they?), they may have their follow-up punch cued up already. Smart oppo merchants think like terrorist bombers, who follow bombs up with other bombs that target rescuers. First you hit Franken, and then when he thinks he’s clear, you hit him and his supporters again.

Look at James O’Keefe. He puts out a video. The left responds with a stack of hopeful lies. Then he puts out another video, to make them look even worse.

Liberals are slut-shaming Leeann Tweeden now. They found a photo of her with her hand on a man’s behind, and they found another shot of her with one leg wrapped around a man. Tweeden is not a classy woman. She appeared in Playboy Magazine. But isn’t it revealing, watching liberals resort to a practice they condemn? They invented the ridiculous term “slut-shaming.” It infuriates them when other people criticize slutty women, but look at them go.

Isn’t this what they call “putting the victim on trial”?

Maybe they need to criticize the rest of us for “perv-shaming.” Instead of “Slut Walks,” which figure prominently among the signs of the Apocalypse, they can have “Perv Walks.” We’ll all dress up in C.K. beards and Cosby sweaters and walk up and down major traffic arteries, offering women Quaaludes. Then everyone will be immune to zombie harassment eruptions.

Franken will be gone in a week, or he will not go at all. Let’s see if he can hold on.

Wish You Weren’t Here

Sunday, November 19th, 2017

Enemies are More Powerful Than Friends

I had the funniest revelation today. I realized I think more about the people I cut out of my life than the people I miss. The satisfaction I get from the absence of jerks greatly outweighs the suffering I feel when I think about people I care for, who are not around.

I guess that makes sense. Pain tends to be sharper and more intense than pleasure. The drive to eliminate pain is much stronger than the drive to obtain pleasure. When an idiot makes you suffer all the time, it’s hard to stop thinking about it. When someone is good to you and brings you happiness, it’s easy to think about other things.


I cut the entire population of Dade County loose when I moved, and I feel great about it. I never think, “Wow, it would be great to visit South Beach/go fishing off Miami/have a Cuban sandwich/whatever.” It has been 15 years since I deliberately interacted with anyone I went to high school with. The longer I stay here, the more I hate Miami, and the more I wish I had left sooner! I wish I had never lived there at all. Miami was a curse to me. I’m going to have to go back more than once, and I hate the very thought of it.

There’s a Cuban restaurant near me, and I feel a pain in my stomach every time I see it.

I’m not saying there is no one there I would like to see, but I can count them on the fingers of one hand.

I do not miss my sister. She made me suffer all the time, even when she was not around, and I thank God often for her absence. I pray it continues. She made my dad miserable, and he made his unhappiness my problem, so good riddance.

I don’t miss the pastors of my former churches. They were cult leaders. They thought of me as a rebellious slave. They were not the brightest people on earth. They had no humility. They could not take advice. They wrecked marriages and friendships in order to keep their cults safe from dissent. I hope I never see any of them again.

Many of the people I went to church with were hopeless hypocrites. They were way out on the left. Jesus was the farthest thing from liberal. He hated jealousy, which is the foundation of leftism. He hated sexual sin. He hated homosexuality and abortion. I knew dozens of people who were under the spell of morons like Jesse Jackson and Maxine Waters. They will never grow, and trying to educate them was like trying to forge horseshoes with my face. I have warm feelings for them, but I can do without the frustration.

I had some very disappointing law school friends. To them, I say, “ta ta.” There are a couple of people I would not mind visiting, but I’m thrilled to know I will never see the users again. I cut off a couple of my closest college friends. Dead weight. Buh-bye.

People have limited potential to increase your happiness, but their potential to make you want to die knows no bounds. If you don’t believe that, marry a crazy vindictive woman who is great in bed. Having friends is much less important than getting rid of your enemies. That’s very sad, but it’s a fact.

Jesus spent a lot of time casting out demons and telling people to separate themselves from the world, but we don’t see him arranging marriages or putting friends together.

I’m always disappointed when I learn a person has lots of friends. It tells me they’re in denial. They’re gullible. No one has more than a few friends. If you think the 4000 people who call you “friend” on Facebook love you, you are hopelessly naive. If you have one friend, you’re luckier than most people. If you have five, you’re rich.

I’ll be disappointed if God doesn’t bring more nice people in my life, but what would really hurt would be if he stopped straining out the jerks. May they forget my name and lose my number.

Animal World

Friday, November 17th, 2017

Shock Humor has Shocking Consequences

Frankengate is not going away, and Bill Clinton may be dragged down in its wake.

Al Franken, a married man, posed for a photo of himself groping (or pretending to grope, like there’s a big difference) a sleeping woman, and the photographer made the cruel photo part of a souvenir CD. Liberals have had a day to decide whether Al Franken goes under the bus, and it looks like he’s going. Valerie Jarrett, one of the most unpleasant far-left bigwigs alive, went after Franken on the web. If Jarrett is willing to do that, people who are more moderate are sure to follow.

Is it principle? Probably not. Democrats want the Senate seat Roy Moore is trying to land. If they excuse Franken, they help Moore. If they torpedo Franken, they get to look righteous, and the worst thing that can happen is that they will get a new Democrat Senator for Minnesota. Democrats tend to jump at the short-end money. Franken can be replaced, Clinton is retired, Clinton’s wife is a drag on the party, and the Alabama Senate seat means a lot to them. They’re not thinking about the many Democrats who will be eaten by sex scandals in the near future. They are happily burning their ships on the beach, with no thought of the future need for redemption.

How do I know those soon-to-be-eaten Democrats exist? Because I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. There is a huge backlog of undiscovered harassment and rape cases out there. Count on it.

The Senate is going to have an ethics investigation. I would love to see Al Franken lose his seat, but I have to ask: does it make sense to investigate a member of Congress for actions performed before he took office? Murders, sure. But workplace harassment from a professional comedian and known jerk? I’m not sure. Minnesotans knew they were electing someone immature and inclined toward indecency, so I don’t know if they would want Franken removed.

Franken is part of the SNL/National Lampoon/Harvard Lampoon/Second City black humor movement. He rose to moderate fame among people who used the crutch of shock humor to become successful. You know them. Franken, Chevy Chase, Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis, John Belushi, John Hughes, Doug Kenney, Brian Doyle-Murray, John Landis, and the rest of the crew. You can’t expect such a person to respect time-honored morals. He made his living tearing them down.

I was heavily influenced by the black humor movement. I was a sensitive, inoffensive kid, and the world abused me, so my brilliant response was to become like my abusers. I fell under the spell of black humor.

In 1978, the misguided misanthropes at The National Lampoon changed the face of movie comedy. They created a film called Animal House. It’s about a fraternity full of losers, criminals, drug abusers, sex fiends, and sadists. If you haven’t seen it, good for you, but you must live in a burrow. The “heroes” of animal house made everyone else on campus miserable. They were as offensive as possible, and they punished a college for offering them an opportunity to better themselves and become affluent. Somehow, we were supposed to sympathize. And we did. That’s the incredible thing.

I had no common sense at all in 1977. I was the product of an abusive, dysfunctional family. I was a star underachiever. The world rejected me, probably for good reason. Naturally, I thought Animal House was extremely clever. I admired the staff of The National Lampoon.

Somehow, I got admitted to an Ivy League college, and like a lot of the idiots around me, I thought the purpose of my existence was to emulate John Belushi and Tim Matheson. I thought they were great role models. I spent a whole lot of time drunk. I performed a lot of pranks. I had no respect for most instructors. I thought the school’s administrators, who were simply trying to keep the place running smoothly, were just flying monkeys. Things went about as well as you would expect. When I was caught firing rockets out of a dorm window in the middle of the night, the deans decided I needed some time off.

I don’t know if I would have made it in the absence of bad role models. My family was poisonous. They made me miserable. They raised me very badly and did not prepare me to succeed at anything. But the black humor movement certainly did not help.

I failed. The movement succeeded. Stripes, Ghostbusters, Porky’s, Neighbors, Modern Problems, Caddyshack…movie humor changed permanently. Unlike me, Al Franken survived without repenting. His star waxed. It’s remarkable that he made it to Congress without anyone important saying, “Do we really want a shock comedian in Congress?”

Anyhow, he made it, and now, somehow, we’re surprised to see that a problem in his past brought him down.

I loved the Hornblower TV series, and I remember a powerful line uttered by the protagonist: “Each of us has a maggot in our past which will happily devour our future.” Franken finally met his maggot. Millions of other men are waiting to meet theirs. Zombie crises are waiting to pop out of the grave and pull people in.

Franken’s story is scary. If I had succeeded as a humorist, I might be right where he is today. I would think of myself as a crusader for righteousness, while propagating evil. Posing for a photo like the one Franken posed for would seem hilarious to me. I would be too jaded to see the problem.

Franken probably thinks he’s a fine human being. When you succeed, you are less likely to question yourself. He probably thinks he’s the victim of a right-wing operation, and maybe he is, but he should be blaming himself, not the enemies who threw his own filth back at him.

I don’t want to go out like that. I keep praying for God to judge and correct me privately so I don’t have to be humiliated publicly. I haven’t raped anyone or exposed myself to a coworker, but I am not in a position to cast the first stone.

Churches don’t talk much about repentance or accepting blame. They talk a lot about money. Some talk about “social justice.” Some are obsessed with getting us to condone sexual perversion. They don’t think about the primary purpose of life: we are supposed to become like God in our hearts. Accepting blame is the key. Until you admit fault, the door to freedom will remain locked, and you will continue to beat your head against it to no constructive end.

When did Jesus come? After John came and preached repentance. What does that tell you?

This stuff is important. God won’t necessarily chase you down and tell you what to do. You need to go after him, and if no one is teaching you, how will you know what to do?

I know a kid who is being bullied in school. It makes me think of my own childhood. Bad people defeated me all the time, and I had no idea what to do. I accepted it as my lot. God did not come to me and help.

You can’t tell your kids God will look after them, unless you have some reason to believe it. If the groundwork isn’t there, God may do little or nothing for them.

When I was a kid, I was tormented by demons all the time. They gave me nightmares, including nightmares that continued when I was awake. I felt their presence. I saw one. I had no one to defend me. Foul spirits visited me all the time, but I never heard from God. He didn’t come into my room to comfort me. He never spoke to me in an audible voice, saying, “Your parents let you down. They haven’t taught you. But I love you, so here I am to do their job.” I never got a visit from God until I was 24 years old! I could have died before that. I could have gone to prison. All sorts of bad things could have happened.

Am I criticizing God? Of course not. I’m pointing out that God doesn’t help everyone automatically. You have to look for him. He will let you suffer and die if you don’t make a move, and it will be your fault, not his.

This ruined world is very, very far from heaven. It is not God’s main concern. This world is one level above hell, and hell’s stink has soaked through the ceiling, into our midst. God is far away, in a clean and orderly place, surrounded by righteous beings. We can’t expect him to spend all his time here, in a place that stinks, any more than we can expect free people to spend their lives in filthy prisons. God is rejected here. He is contemned and insulted. He is under no obligation to live here. The crucifixion was a gift. He didn’t owe us anything.

God will let your children be abused, unless you get to know him. He will not prevent them from being raped or killed. We chose to ruin this world, and now we and our children have to live with the consequences. If you want things to work, you have to get with God’s program. There is a limit to what he will do for you when you’re out of his will. He already came to this disgusting placed and let us torture him to death. What more should we expect?

I don’t like this planet. I hate Miami because it’s a sleazy place full of vile people, and I’m very glad I’m in Ocala now, but it’s still part of the earth. The more I learn about God, the more I dislike the earth, and the more eager I am to leave. If a being as evil as I am hates this place, imagine how God feels.

Satan didn’t create hell. God did. Satan doesn’t put people in hell. God does. God is love, but he is also justice. You have to keep that in mind. There is a lot at stake, and you may not get help unless you apply.

God’s justice is no joke. It is the hardest rock in existence.

American values are revolting and toxic. We sin so much, we can’t recognize sin when we see it. We have no idea what righteousness looks like. All this is true, but we still have the brass to say things like, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Who are these good people? I don’t know any. The earth is a ghetto full of fatherless ignoramuses. No one has taught us how to live, so we flounder in failure and foolishness.

When you call yourself good, you tell God, “Stop helping me,” and he obeys. You’re taking the cake out of the oven before it’s done.

I don’t want to provoke God by rejoicing in the downfall of people like Franken and Harvey Weinstein. Their problems are not gifts to me. They are warnings regarding my own faults.

My advice is to deemphasize asking God for favors. Start asking him to help you confess to him and repent. Remember that your primary obligation is to be changed. God created us in order to reproduce. Pride is like thalidomide. It keeps us stunted.

When we change, we’re not doing God a favor. He doesn’t need anything from us. He doesn’t need us, period. It’s all for us. It’s all selfish. You will never make him owe you.

I guess I’ll sit back and see who falls next. I hope it’s not me.

Somewhere O’Reilly is Smiling

Thursday, November 16th, 2017

Killing Stuart Smalley

Al Franken. Why am I not surprised?

I guess if you read my blog, you probably saw the story already. I attract conservatives, and the story was mentioned on The Drudge Report, a conservative site. If you haven’t seen it, I’ll bring you up to speed. Former glamour model Leeann Tweeden produced a photo of a leering Al Franken, mugging for the camera as he gropes her chest. To make things worse, Tweeden is asleep in the photo. It was taken during a USO tour.

Franken posed with his hands over Tweeden’s breasts. It’s not clear whether he is making contact (it appears that his right hand did not), but what he is doing, were the victim conscious, would fully qualify as assault in a criminal court. Assault does not require physical contact. Whether it would be a misdemeanor or a felony, I can’t say. I would guess that in many jurisdictions, the sexual nature of the assault would move it into the felony category.

Tweeden also says Franken grabbed her and forced his lips against hers and pushed his tongue into her mouth. That’s battery.

Were Franken a Republican, I would say he was all washed up. No Republican could recover from this. But Democrats get away with things. Even now, I’m sure excuses are being manufactured. Tweeden is being accused. Maybe Whoopi Goldberg is telling someone, “It wasn’t a GROPE grope.”

I’m checking Internet comments, and yes, liberals are saying what Franken did was fine. They say his hands aren’t touching Tweeden’s breasts in the photo. Funny, they don’t mention the tongue attack. And how would they feel if Franken held his hands over their mothers’ breasts? Would it still be okay?

Not to pile on with those who blame Tweeden, but I have to say that this photo tells me I didn’t think about one aspect of the sexual harassment hysteria. It didn’t occur to me that past offenses would be dredged up and weaponized for political purposes. It looks like that’s what’s happening here.

I should have anticipated it, and I should have made the connection after reading about Roy Moore, but Moore’s story, like those surrounding Clinton, seems like it would have come out eventually, even without the help of political operatives. The Moore litany seems very legitimate, even if Democrats are taking advantage of it, and even if the liberal journalists propagating the tales chose their timing deliberately in order to take the Senate away from Republicans. Tweeden’s story, though valid, seems more calculated and opportunistic. One gets the impression that someone called her and said, “Hey, remember that story you told me about Al Franken? Do you have the photo?” I don’t think we’d be hearing about it but for the current “me too” frenzy.

I’m just guessing, and regardless of the reason Tweeden spoke up, she has every right to toss Franken in the frying pan.

One of the sleaziest things about the picture is that Tweeden was not aware that it had been taken, until she received a souvenir CD of the USO trip. She found out about the picture when she looked at the CD. Nice. Imagine how that feels. And where were the other men on the plane when this happened? Did Franken drug them and put them in the lavatory? Why didn’t someone do something?

The CD was given to her by the photographer. Where was his brain when he took the photo, decided to include it in the album, and then decided to send it to the victim? Photographers have to worry about ethics. It’s an important part of the job. Looks like someone didn’t get the memo.

Photographers tend to be a little creepy. When I was in high school we had a photography buff named Lloyd. When we had pep rallies in the assembly hall, Lloyd would get down on his knees in front of the stage, and when the girls jumped up in their short skirts and spread their legs, Lloyd would point the camera upward and shoot photos. For some reason, no one ever stopped him. He must have had a huge collection of pictures. He probably still has them. If you carry a camera and you like women, you can get away with a lot. Photography attracts freaks.

The feminist excuses will be a real spectacle. Right now, all over the US, women who claim to stand up for their sisters are sitting around tables coming up with rationalizations to help Franken, and they are looking for excuses to crucify Tweeden.

They can’t call her a slut, referring to her Playboy appearance. These days, “slut” is a compliment. Thanks to feminists. So much for saying she asked for it.

Who will suffer most in the purge? Democrats or Republicans? Democrats behave somewhat worse, but the press covers up for them, so maybe Republicans will take the most heat.

It’s remarkable how Satan works. He ramped up sexual temptation over the last half-century. He taught women to be entitled, brainless temptresses who shame anyone who tries to correct them. He made sexually provocative photos more widely available than ever before. Then he sprang the trap, and now the people who are caught in it–mostly men–are being removed from positions of leadership.

The sex drive is just about impossible to control completely. Even the angels are susceptible. The Bible tells us angels fell because they lusted after women. What hope is there for Al Franken or Jimmy Swaggart if an angel can’t resist temptation?

Things will get worse. Instead of helping, women will become more provocative. Men and boys will continue to fall. The world needs male leaders, but they can’t lead if they’re constantly taken down by a force they can’t overcome.

Guess I’ll look at the Internet later and see what Al has to say. I suspect it will be an attack on Tweeden instead of an apology.

May I Cole You Down on the Panny Sty?

Monday, November 13th, 2017

Sometimes Consent Doesn’t Help

Louis C.K.

Seriously? Louis C.K.?

Why, in the midst of the harassment apocalypse, are we not seeing the obvious names? Eddie Murphy. David Lee Roth. Frank Sinatra. Andrew “Dice” Clay. Sean Penn. Chris Penn. Russell Crowe. Kanye West. I’m pulling names out of a hat, here. I’m just thinking of celebrities you would pretty much expect to expose themselves or try to rape women. How did we end up with a real-life list that included Kevin Spacey and Dustin Hoffman, and not all that many well-known jerks?

Bill Cosby has always been a jerk. Ben Affleck has been fairly jerky. A number of the others don’t have that reputation.

I always thought C.K. was depressing and unfunny (except for the cult film Pootie Tang), but he never came across as an agressive pervert or bully.

More surprising than the multiple accusations: the confession. He says all of the stories are true. When I read that, I felt like giving him partial credit for manning up, but the more I think about it, the more I think his confession is just another sexual performance. I strongly suspect he got off sexually by admitting guilt.

Louis C.K. didn’t say, “I’m so ashamed I want to die. It is humiliating for people to know that I, a grown man, exposed my genitals to my coworkers. I can barely stand to discuss it. Please leave me alone with my pain.” He described what he did as showing women his principle organ of copulation, and he didn’t use a medical term to describe that particular item. He used a slang term. It was as if he was choosing the most arousing term he could. Like a man having phone sex. When you have phone sex, you don’t say, “I want to disrobe and engage in relations with you.” You use dirty language to heighten the excitement. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Shut up. Anyway, the confession reads a little bit like phone sex. I think writing it turned him on.

At least one female celeb tweeter is rejecting his statement. As she correctly notes, it was not a real apology. He just wrote about what he did and then said he was going to be quiet and listen to responses, as if he were asking for suggestions on improving a fallen souffle. I guess the lack of shame bothers her, as it does me.

Louis C.K. says the disparity of power between him and the women he abused made it unfair for him to ask if he could show them his member, as he describes his much-more-energetic actions. The tacit implication seems to be that there are circumstances under which it is perfectly fine to ask women you’re not married to if you can show that object to them and then gratify yourselve with it while they watch.

Am I out of touch? Is it normal, when you’re hanging around with female acquaintances who are your social and professional equals, to strip completely naked, grab yourself, and go to work in front of them? C.K. Seems to think his problem is that he doesn’t know the “right” way to do that. Is there a right way? Even if a man is not a Christian, I would think that even normal godless American morals would rule C.K.’s behavior out. Am I wrong? Is this something I should have been back before I turned back to God? Is this why I did so badly with women?

I’m a bad person. I have a lot of sexual sins on my record. I have done some crass and even gross things. Nonetheless, I feel that what C.K. did was insane and freakish. If a man did this to consenting women, I would think it was creepy and abnormal. I would think it was indicative of mental illness and a complete lack of social skills, such as you might expect in a person who was severely autistic.

Deep in our hearts, we all have shameful thoughts and desires (or maybe it’s just me), but most of us know they’re not healthy. C.K.’s bizarre statement makes me wonder if he’s a sociopath. They say sociopaths lack normal human emotions (like shame), but they learn to imitate them in order to get along with the rest of us. Maybe C.K. does not understand why his revolting actions disturb people. It’s not just the lack of consent, although that’s the main problem. It’s the fact that he would want to do what he did, with women he was not even dating, in the first place. Fantasizing about it…fine. There are some thoughts we can’t help having. But actually doing it? That’s a couple of standard deviations outside the pale.

“Excuse me; thanks for inviting me to your garage sale. Hey, would it be okay if I stripped naked right now and engaged in a frenzy of Onanism in front of you, or would you prefer I didn’t? I don’t want to do it if it offends you, so just say the word, and I’ll let it drop. No? Okay. Glad things didn’t get weird! Would you take five bucks for this tackle box?”

That would not be okay, even if the victim were a female billionaire with nothing to fear from C.K.

The other thing that surprises me is C.K.’s power. Former power. I think of this guy as a minor comedian. One tier below Ricky Gervais, who is two or three tiers below Woody Allen. In fact, C.K. had a relatively minor role in a Gervais movie that didn’t do all that well. Apparently, I’m wrong. They say people fear C.K., and I don’t just mean they fear he will turn their social events into soul-blistering traumas that will result in their having to have their carpets and furniture professionally cleaned. I mean he’s so successful, he can kill careers. He sells out Madison Square Garden. If he’s that powerful, how powerful is Jimmy Kimmel, a real household name with a huge TV franchise? He must be a sort of demigod.

Who’s next? Steve Buscemi? Michael J. Fox?

This thing is going to keep going forever. The gold will not run out, because male and female abusers have been filling the mine for eons. Kirk Douglas is a hundred years old, and there are stories about him which may still erupt, so that tells you about the shelf life of tales of abuse. We may be hearing about Ashton Kutcher and Ryan Gosling forty years from now.

I hope the disclosures will not convince us the actions and words of the abusers are normal. C.K. seems to feel that way already. If he pulls the rest of us around to his way of thinking, America will be even more disgusting than it is now.

26 Hours of Pain to Go

Saturday, November 11th, 2017

Snorkeling in the Sewer

Last night I blogged about my horrifying visit to Miami. I am here to do some work on a condo and bring home some things the movers left here. I think I went a little overboard in my post. Visiting Miami is more traumatic than you would think. Once you get away, the thought of going back is nauseating.

I may delete that post. I was carried away.

The county is still messed up from Hurricane Irma. That surprises me. I went through a number of storms with tropical-storm-force winds here, and they weren’t a big deal. I suppose Irma’s tropical-storm-force winds were a little stronger.

There are a lot of mangled trees beside the roads, and I saw a FEMA truck roll by. These trucks have huge trailers, and they have cranes and claws to pick up trees. They’re still here, two months after the blow.

Our properties did’t suffer much, but the post-storm work bonanza made it very hard to hire people to fix things. I was quoted $2000 to paint a small condo and replace several $60 doors. I am hoping I can do 80% of the work today, in a few hours. Hope I’m not underestimating the job, but I used to paint that condo for my parents, and it was a half-day ordeal back then.

I can’t stand being around the people here. Waiting in line at McDonald’s was very unpleasant. Everyone was rude and/or ghetto. When I say “ghetto,” I don’t mean they were economically disadvantaged or that all people from poor neighborhoods are trashy. I mean they had that angry vibe you get from people in rap videos. I’ve known lots of great people who lived in bad areas, but they rose above their environment.

The “me first” school of roadway navigation has already gotten to me. I’ve had people cut in front of me more times than I can remember. No one has given me the finger yet, but I have a whole day to wait for that to happen.

In Miami, the motto is, “Get the other guy before he gets you.” If you think I’m making that up, let me tell you that I’ve known hundreds of Cubans, and I’ve heard them express that sentiment more than once. It’s the opposite of, “Go the extra mile.” When two people go the extra mile, each does his own work plus a little bit of the other one’s job, and the net result is that everyone is better off than they would be had everyone done only what he had to. When you do things the Miami way, one person does a little, the other does a little, and you end up with a big responsibility gap. When it’s over, at least one party has been mistreated and let down, and the things that needed to be done are unfinished.

In Ocala, a storm came, and my neighbors sneaked onto my property to remove a tree that had fallen across my driveway. That’s the difference between Ocala and Miami.

God, I can’t wait to go back. I feel something related to claustrophobia. I want to move out from under it.

The sad thing is that Miamians think they have it good. Most of them stay here all their lives, and they have no idea how decent people behave. If you’ve never eaten anything but dog food, you can’t imagine steak. Miamians get very angry if you knock the place, but they have no idea what they’re talking about.

There is such a thing as a person who can’t be blessed. In fact, that describes most people, since most people reject Jesus and go to hell. You can’t be blessed unless you are willing to acknowledge the need to be blessed. You will reject or discard every good thing offered to you. Miami-lovers reject better ways of life. You can’t get them to move. That’s a good thing, because if they moved to places like Ocala, they would ruin things for everyone else.

Miami is a demonic stronghold. A big percentage of the people here literally worship demons. They practice Cuban voodoo, Haitian voodoo, and other types of voodoo from other islands and Latin American nations. This place must be under a cloud of powerful demons. No wonder it’s so nasty. You would have to be nuts to want to live here.

A lot of people love evil, so Miami fits them very well. People tend to end up where they belong, on earth and in the hereafter.

Ocala is better than Miami. What’s better than a place like Ocala? Heaven. As nice as Ocala is, it’s still a flawed area on a cursed planet full of pain, decay, terror, and despair. I used to think how wonderful it would be to leave Miami for Ocala. I was right, but I’m still on earth. These days I think how wonderful it will be to die and be done with this miserable planet. No aging. No disease. No idiots. No reading glasses. No polarization; in heaven, no one thinks debate is healthy. Debate is a manifestation of God’s curse on the earth. Christians should agree on everything. Our disagreements expose our poor connection to the Holy Spirit, who resolves all disputes. God tells everyone the same things. Period.

I have to go to Home Depot now. I hope this effort pans out. I wish I could leave Miami right now.

If you live in a big city with a lot of creepy people, you need to move. Unless it suits you. Then by all means, stay. Don’t ruin the nice places by moving there.

Hope I’m not a Pillar of Salt

Friday, November 10th, 2017

The Stink of Miami Surrounds Me Again

I am in Miami. I can’t believe it. I feel dirty. The air smells like fungus. The people have the manners of rats.

I had to come down here to look after a rental property. I am staying in a house we have to sell. I thought my friend Mike would be with me, but I had to drive down alone. Another friend of mine is house-sitting, so I won’t be alone all weekend.

Tomorrow I have to get up and try to get a condominium painted. After that, I plan to do my best to pack up a significant fraction of the many items the movers failed to…move.

While the time to drive to Miami was drawing near, I started to think of a series of scenes from Schindler’s List. Schindler thought he was moving his Jewish charges to safety in Czechoslovakia, but there was a railroad screwup, and the women ended up on a train to Auschwitz. I keep thinking about that. Of course, I would rather drive to Miami every day than be put in a death camp, but while the degree of discomfort is not comparable, the quality of the sensation is surely similar. I thought I had escaped this! Here I am, back in the place I hate.

In Ocala, I go to restaurants. It’s wonderful. Yes, you have to weed out the many slow and dirty places, but the people’s manners…it’s better than going for a massage. Everyone is polite. Everyone seems happy to see you. It’s hard to get in and out of restaurants because people get tangled up, trying to hold the door for each other.

Because it was late when I got into the house, tonight I decided to go to the Wendy’s from hell, at the intersection of South Dixie Highway and Red Road in Coral Gables. I have been visiting this snakepit on rare occasions since the 1980’s. It’s the reason I stopped going to Wendy’s. They ignore you. They snap at you. They usually get your order wrong. One genius at the drive-thru asked me what I DIDN’T want on my sandwich. I knew what I was in for, but I was willing to go anyway, because I was in a hurry.

A little lady who spoke poor English asked me what I wanted while looking at someone else and standing two feet from the register. She was doing some job or other, and I guess she just figured she would remember what I ordered. After living in Ocala for two months, I fully expected to be called “sweetheart” or “honey,” but I didn’t even get “sir.” As for “thank you,” well, if you think there was any chance of that, you haven’t been to Miami. She looked like a scared rat, and she worked like she was trying to finish and leave before ICE raided the place.

While she was taking my order, a familiar smell wafted over me. A bittersweet reunion was about to occur. It was my old friend, the one-eyed bum who goes into Taco Rico and screams until they let him fill his filthy cup with soda! We didn’t hug or anything. He and the counter lady had an exchange which I did not understand, and like the benighted workers at Taco Rico, she waited on him instead of calling the cops. I got to enjoy his pungent bouquet the whole time I was waiting for my order. Just the thing to sharpen the old appetite.

While I was waiting, I looked at the restaurant. In the old days, they used to decorate it nicely, even though it was a horrible place to eat. It used to look like a typical Wendy’s, with decor meeting the standards handed down from headquarters. Now it looks like it was furnished from the dump. The tables and chairs are cheap, and for some reason, there is a huge empty space with no furniture. On a Friday night that should have been busy, they had ten customers, including the bum.

I keep thinking this must be a corporate store, owned by Wendy’s itself. It must be a social experiment. My theory is that they find the most off-putting, obnoxious employees they can, from the worst neighborhoods imaginable, and then give them jobs in order to puff up their philanthropic credentials. I can’t think of any other reason why this place is permitted to exist.

Anyway, it was the cherry on the top of my Miami evening.


Tomorrow I’ll get up, do whatever I can to the condo, and come back and pack. I’ll put whatever I can in my truck, and on Sunday, I…am…out.

Eventually I’ll return with a U-Haul and pick up every useful item which remains.

I am going to get this town out of my life. Count on that.

I prayed in tongues the whole way here. My jaws are sore from it. I feel like I didn’t do it enough.

Now I will inflate my bed and try to sleep. I am counting the seconds until I can leave.

Prophet and Loss

Tuesday, November 7th, 2017

Celebrities Openly Insult God on Twitter

This is just a quick post to document my amazement at the way leftists are succeeding in demonizing Christians and turning Christianity into the religion of hate.

A liberal atheist named Devin Kelley killed a large number of innocent people attending a church service. One victim was an 18-month-old baby. As always, people around the world responded by saying they were praying for the victims. Guess how leftists are responding. I’ll save you the trouble. They’re abusing Christians (and other people who believe in God) for praying.

Former (let’s be honest) actor Wil Wheaton put up a profane Twitter post claiming prayer doesn’t work, essentially attacking Christianity and Christians at a time when sane people would be showing us sympathy and some sort of solidarity. Keith Olbermann, the soul of compassion and quiet reason, said Paul Ryan should shove his prayers up his rear end. I guess we know where this liberal blasphemer stands on the God issue. Wheaton and Olbermann are not alone. Lots of other bigots are chiming in.

Isn’t this remarkable? Christians are murdered, and while the wounds are still open, how do leftists respond? By tormenting Christians! Maybe they should respond to the news about gay predator Kevin Spacey by castigating teenage boys.

What times we live in. It won’t be long before a big percentage of Americans start treating the Bible the way they treat the Confederate flag. They’ll throw fits and file lawsuits, claiming the sight of a Bible makes them feel threatened.

There is no point in lying about it; the Bible is anti-homosexuality. If being against homosexuality is hate, then Christianity is just as bad as belonging to the Klan or the Nazi party. If we, as a people, decide homosexuality is a good thing, then there is no honest way for us to approve of the God of Christians.

We are in the process of turning a corner, and around that corner lies a region in which God is generally considered evil.

Once we fall into the abyss of pervasive and open hatred of God, what reason will he have to continue looking out for us? He does look out for us, by the way. This is a fallen world, in which every person above the age of accountability deserves to be in hell. The world is full of pain and misfortune, but if God were not merciful and proactive, it would be much worse. If things seem bad now, wait till he abandons us completely. When that happens, we’ll understand how patient he used to be.

Leftists need to come out and admit it: they hate Christianity. They love homosexuality, and anything that gets in the way of that love must, in their view, be abolished. Leftists are too gutless to speak the truth. Eventually, they’ll realize they have more earthly power than we do, and then they’ll say what they really think.

The body of Christ is just like Israel and Jewry. There are problems the left thinks will go away if we cease to exist. Jews have to be killed in order for the left’s dream of a world without Jewry-related tension to exist. Christians could be considered somewhat luckier. It’s possible for us to renounce our faith and accept damnation, so it’s not necessary to exterminate all of us. Only the tough nuts who won’t crack will have to be done away with.

What I write will sound crazy to many people, but I would have sounded crazy in 2007 if I had said celebrities would soon be saying filthy, anti-Christian things to Christians in the wake of a massacre of Christians. What sounds crazy one day is taken for granted the next.

Can the people who are saying these disgusting things hold onto their coveted jobs now that they’ve exposed themselves? I don’t see why not. The journalism and entertainment industries are against God. I doubt Keith Olbermann will have any career problems (beyond those he already has) as a result of telling Paul Ryan to shove prayers–a human being’s sacred communications with God–up his anus. It’s not as Olbermann he did anything really bad. It’s not like he quietly went to a Bible-believing church on his own time or did a commercial for Chick-fil-A. It’s not like he tried to get a job at a tech company after saying he didn’t support gay marriage.

A prophet is a person who sounds crazy until his words come true. Satan gets a lot of mileage out of that truth. He can do a lot to a truthful person before everyone else realizes that person was right. Look whom religious Jews revere: a bunch of people they themselves murdered.

I’m not calling myself a prophet, but like a prophet, I’m predicting things that are going to come to pass, and the things I say would enrage the people I’m speaking honestly about, if they read my blog.

This world is completely nuts. America is so corrupted and deceived, it’s barely worth it to remain alive here. Christians have to keep moving to smaller and smaller areas and getting farther away from mainstream employment in order to avoid persecution. Maybe one day we’ll all be in one big pen in Montana, working for Chick-fil-A and Hobby Lobby while we wait to be gassed. We’ll be like the body thetans of Scientology, waiting for Xenu to nuke us into the next life.

I don’t think we’ll ever be concentrated in one little area. I was deliberately being absurd. But now that I write it, it doesn’t look as improbable as it did when I conceived the idea. Genocide tends to funnel and concentrate people.

I’m so glad I have someplace better to go. By the time they’re crazy enough, mad enough, and powerful enough to come after me, I will be happy to surrender so I can finally leave.


Monday, November 6th, 2017

Liberal Murderer’s Facebook Page Evaporates Instantly

Question: why did Facebook immediately delete the page of Devin Patrick Kelley, the Texas church killer? They have allowed the pages of other murderers to stay online. I know that because I’ve dug up those pages out of curiosity.

Possible answer: they did it because the murderer was a leftist lowlife whom they did not want to help expose. Here are some things he endorsed or named as causes on social media sites: atheism, CNN, a psychic medium, environmentalism, animal rights, “Arts and Culture,” and “Civil Rights and Social Action.”

How many conservatives are proud atheists? Not a big percentage. How many would “like” CNN on Facebook? Pretty much none. Are conservatives known for their interest in the occult? No. They are known for their opposition to it. Animal rights are a huge concern to leftists. Conservatives don’t play them up much; we keep it in proper perspective. We’re not the ones trying to ban goldfish ownership. Environmentalism…in its current extreme form, this is one of the things we hate the most.

To many leftists, “Civil Rights and Social Action” means rioting, harming people and businesses while using “social justice” as an excuse, and stealing things from stores whose employees can’t cope with violent mobs. It would be very odd for a conservative to list “Civil Rights and Social Action” as one of his big concerns in life.

We have not read anything indicating that Kelley “liked” any conservative pages or causes.

So why did Facebook move so quickly to get rid of Kelley’s page? Did Kelley say bad things about Trump? We already know he disparaged Christians.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Kelley’s wife deleted the page. I’m relying on reports from the MSM, and we all know their record for veracity and fact-checking.

One thing is certain. The MSM hive has been digging furiously for information linking Kelley to conservatism, Trump, Christianity, and white supremacy. When they don’t find it, what will they do? My best guess: they will let this story die fairly quickly instead of capitalizing on the bloodshed to attack our civil rights as strongly as possible.

Remember the black BLM mass murderer who shot a bunch of cops in 2016? I do; barely. We never hear about him these days, but we still hear a lot about the Sandy Hook massacre, which was performed four years EARLIER by the son of a white gun rights enthusiast.

This story is not good material for the MSM anti-civil-rights machine. The killer was very clearly not conservative. He was clearly not a Christian. He liked the occult, which is more or less owned by leftists. He was apparently a liberal nut. And he was killed not by the police, but by a private citizen who did not turn the situation into a “shooting gallery” or make things worse. Kelley was killed by hero Stephen Willeford, a plumber. Willeford did not shoot haphazardly and kill the innocent. The coward Kelley was wearing body armor as he shot women and children, so Willeford used a rifle to shoot between the armor panels and send a round tearing through Kelley’s guts. That’s not cop-grade shooting. That’s the real thing. And another hero, Johnnie Langedorff, helped him pursue the mortally wounded murderer.

When did the cops show up? We don’t even know. They were so late they weren’t a factor. And that’s TYPICAL. Cops only show up to help at a tiny percentage of active crime scenes. God bless the cops, but 90% of their work is sweeping up and collecting evidence.

Good guys with guns DO make a difference, over and over, every day. Some gun owners shoot after the violence starts, but most discourage crimes passively. Their presence scares criminals and keeps them away. It’s too bad we can’t measure the number of crimes gun owners prevent simply by existing, but criminals think about us a lot when they make their plans, and they work to avoid us.

Leftists will push for more gun laws. Problem: it appears that liberal Kelley was already precluded from possessing firearms. Like many cowards, he was a domestic violence offender. He beat his wife and baby. He was discharged from the Air Force over it. Background checks are performed by the feds, and the Air Force is part of the federal government. Uncle Sam blew it.

It’s starting to look like this was an Antifa-inspired massacre, and since Antifa is an ad hoc movement which does not have official membership rolls, that would very nearly make it an Antifa massacre. The killer wore black. He was clearly strongly opposed to conservative values. He shot up a church, and Antifa has a history of hostility toward Christianity; they used force to shut down a speaker at a church in Canada. If he wasn’t Antifa, he was basically on their side.

I saw a great meme today. It said that 90% of gun violence would go away if liberals gave up their guns. That’s true or nearly true. The vast, vast majority of violent criminals are leftists. Yet somehow conservative white Christian males are the big threat. In reality, if people like me were disarmed, the people who habitually murder, steal, and rape would keep their guns, and crime would skyrocket.

The idiot in our latest story probably thought what he was doing was “civil disobedience.” Antifa and BLM are in love with civil disobedience, and they’re too stupid to realize that rioting and other forms of violence don’t fit under that heading. It’s civil disobedience if you hold a sit-in. Putting on masks and throwing bottles at the cops is just battery and attempted murder. Burning things is just arson. The modern left is too stupid and violent to work or coexist with. The only answer is to move away from their gangrenous strongholds. You can’t get along in places like Baltimore and Berkeley. You can only live with abuse or get out.

I think this story will not stink as long as the Las Vegas shooting. It’s just not as appetizing to the gun control vultures. I will watch with interest over the next few days.

In the House of my Friends

Sunday, November 5th, 2017

With Christian Brothers Like These, who Needs Pagans?

It is Sunday morning, and I am not at church. Praise the Lord.

I suppose I sound cynical. In reality, I would like to attend church. I’ve been looking around online. I say, “Praise the Lord,” because I’ve been part of two cults in a row, and I’m glad I’m not currently being mistreated and milked by any preachers.

Marion County is filled with churches. It seems like everyone I meet is a Christian. That’s the reason the people here are so nice. I’m surrounded by churches, which is good, but I still have to be careful. I can’t just flop down in a chair in the first church I see, because I run the risk of being pumped full of greed-based Joel Osteen/T.D. Jakes/Benny Hinn/Paula White nonsense. Did I mention enough preachers by name? I want to offend as many people as I can.

I look at websites. I rule out all the websites that say, “We believe every individual is filled with the Holy Spirit at the moment he accepts Jesus.” That’s code for, “We can’t get the baptism with the Holy Spirit, so we pretend it doesn’t exist.” I rule out the “Jesus is cool” churches. If I wanted to go to church with confused non-black kids who dress and act like rappers, I’d go back to Miami. And tattoo preachers…no. If you got tattoos before you were saved, and now you can’t afford to remove them, fine, but if you seriously believe God wants you to look like the funny papers, you are way out of God’s will, and if I get around you, I will expect to be taught lies and possibly chastised for not “sanctioning your buffoonery” (to steal a line from Tommy Lee Jones).

I reject all churches that say members have to tithe. Tithing is for Jews, not Christians. Any church that gets excited about tithing is run by a pastor who is a) afraid God will let him go broke, or b) obsessed with money.

I saw a church with a site that advertised the importance of keeping the Sabbath. Not for me. The Sabbath is Saturday, not Sunday, and Gentiles have never been required to observe it. It’s a Jewish thing. It’s great to set aside a day for God, but pretending it’s the Sabbath, or claiming we are required to do it, is legalism and possibly replacement theology.

My plan, as I have said before, is to sit in the back, give just enough money to pull my weight, and be quiet. No volunteering. No church office for me. I want to meet Christians, but I don’t want to get into any more squabbles with carnal preachers and their spoiled wives or kids. I never want to feel that I can’t go home at a moment’s notice, or that I have to refrain from speaking the truth in order to avoid offending a preacher who is driven by greed or pride.

I saw a place that doesn’t look too bad, but they had a video of a lady screaming and waving her arms because…Holy Spirit. That’s not how it works. God doesn’t take away your self-control. The devil does. Self-control is listed in the Bible as a fruit of the Spirit. If you’ve ever been “slain in the Spirit” and rolled on the floor at church, you need to know that God didn’t make you do it.

I just had a thought. Imagine visiting heaven. Suppose God takes you up and shows you what happens there. You look out over the host of angels and the saved human beings…and they’re all screaming like monkeys, waving their arms and legs, and rolling on the ground.


Is heaven a mental ward?

If you wave your arms and scream in church, it’s not God. You’re just that kind of person.

Prayer in tongues sounds silly, and it’s normal to react to God’s presence with some odd facial expressions and semi-involuntary sounds. That ought to suffice. You don’t need to do the gator.

In all likelihood, I will not find a church that doesn’t have significant problems. I do hope God leads me to one that isn’t completely nuts.

Things are going well between God and me here at home. God keeps showing me things. And he does some impressive deeds. Remember how I burned myself and then had the blister disappear? It appears to be happening again. I keep finding new ways to burn myself on chainsaws. Yesterday I learned that you can burn yourself on the chain. I started a saw and ran it a little bit to warm it up, and then I tried to sharpen it. I grabbed the chain to move it forward, and a searing, inexplicable pain shot up my thumb. I let go and looked. My thumb was burned. Dang it. How do you prevent injuries when you don’t know they can happen in the first place? I didn’t know saw chains could get hot.

I work very hard to protect myself. I study tool safety. I read up on poison ivy. I wear pretty decent protective clothing and gear. When I cut trees, I do my best to figure out which way they’ll go after they’re severed, and I prepare. Then I burn myself on a saw chain. Come on. Is that even fair?

Anyhow, I kept working, and I prayed and commanded my flesh to be healed and so on. I kept thanking God. Over the day, the pain decreased. By the time I went to bed, the burned area seemed flatter and less messed up. I checked it just now, and I had to look for it. I am hoping the healing continues.

I am not satisfied to leave it as it is. Should I grovel and drool and stop praying? Should I say I’m so grateful for what I have, I should be ashamed to ask for more? In short, no. If I did that, the primary reasons would be laziness and lack of faith. I don’t want to spend the day praying and thanking and so on, because I’m lazy, and I’m afraid God won’t finish the job, because I lack faith. The thing to do is to keep going forward and see that God gets as much glory as possible, even if I’m perfectly content with what has already happened.

Jesus didn’t do any half-healings.

Interesting thing…I told my friend Amanda about the other blister that healed, and not long after that, she burned herself. She fought it supernaturally, and it went away. No mark. No blister. How about that?

My character is still disappointing. That’s to be expected. I made self-corruption my special project for half a century, and I did a great job. God has definitely improved me, however, and I look forward to being substantially less contemptible.

My friend Mike is coming down tomorrow to spend a few days. I look forward to that because Mike knows a lot about construction, and I want him to fix my chicken house for nothing he’s a good friend, and I haven’t seen him in a while. He lived near Ocala for a long time. He and his dad raised racehorses. He loves this place and wants to move back. He’ll be beside himself the whole time he’s here. He’ll get to have Krystals and Sonny’s BBQ. He’ll get to go to Rural King. Maybe I’ll let him drive the tractor. No, I think I’ll just let him sit in the seat with the ignition off and go “VROOM VROOM.”

Along with Amanda, Mike has been very helpful with my turbulent Ocala transition. They disagree on one issue, however, and that is the goat question. I would like to have a couple of goats here to eat weeds. Mike thinks it’s a good idea. When I mention it to Amanda, her head spins 720 degrees and flames shoot out of her eye sockets.

I think she’s against it.

We will agree on a few things, however. Sonny’s. Krystal. Rural King. Sonic. Carhartt. Mike-Sell’s Puffcorn Delites. We agree that Miami is a swollen can of pus.

Next weekend, I am virtually certain to be in Miami. Disgusting. Has to be done, however. Miami, like a colonoscopy, is one of those things that has to be confronted head-on. So to speak. I hope I’m not there long enough to let the stink rub off on me.

I have to paint a rental condo. If things go really badly, this is a six-hour job. I know that from experience. The materials cost eighty bucks. Possibly a hundred, if I need primer. The slackjaws in Miami want $2000 for this service. Unacceptable. I’ve painted many condos, and I can’t stomach that price. I figure I’ll paint as much of it as I can, and then even if I have to pay someone to finish it, they’ll be ashamed to charge me a lot.

Well, let’s be serious. It’s hard to shame a slackjaw.

The tree removal work is going well here, but I can see that I’m not going to get the county to move much of the debris. It would take me months to get it to the highway, and I have only weeks.

Yesterday I cut a couple of big oaks that fell by my fence. I cut one section about seven feet long and two feet thick. I tried to roll it onto the timberjack so I could cut it in pieces that might be small enough for the tractor to carry, but I couldn’t do it. I’ll be more accurate here: I could not do it at a level of exertion I considered safe. I refuse to exert myself hard enough to injure myself. I push to something like 75% of my capacity, and after that, I figure it’s time for a helper or a new tool. I don’t want artificial hips or knees, and I don’t want a bad back.

I have a number of oaks just as heavy as the one I worked on yesterday, so progress will be slow. Maybe there’s a better machine for the job. I could rent something once I have all the wood cut up. I should look into that.

I think it’s time to consider the unthinkable: serious exercise. I may get some weights. I don’t want to be so flubbery and soft I get hurt easily. My current workout is paying off about a hundred times as well as expected. I operate one exercise bike with my hands and another with my feet, for a weekly total of about half an hour. Unlike the rest of humanity, I am treated to a full view of myself in the bathroom mirror as I get into and out of the shower, and I am not the same person I was three months ago. But weights would be much better for strength.

I have a Bowflex, which is a fine machine for lazy people who are happy with moderate improvement (me), but I don’t know if it’s possible to get real strength out of it. I have not tried lately. I need to move it out of the garage. I forgot to have the movers (slackjaws par excellence) do it.

In the past, I refused to think about resuming weight training because I was so lazy I knew I would not persist. Now, however, I am getting used to a higher level of mandatory activity, and lifting weights a few times a week would not be much of an increase.

I have to move logs. I have to lift full fuel containers and hold them while I fuel machinery. A little extra strength would be helpful.

When I was in law school, I was pretty sturdy. I maxed out all the machines at the University of Miami Wellness Center. Now I feel like it’s a victory when it only takes me three tries to get out of a chair.

One great thing about exercise equipment is that it’s cheap. Very few people buy it and the use it. Generally, it ends up being used to hold clothing on hangers. I should be able to do quite well on Craigslist for a couple of hundred bucks.

I better get with it. The day is slipping away, in spite of the death of Daylight Saving Time.

Hope your Sunday is going well.


Thursday, November 2nd, 2017

But You Can Still Smell my Feet for Old Times’ Sake

Halloween has, mercifully, passed once again, and I barely noticed it. For some reason, in his old age, my dad decided he liked kids and was obligated to hand out candy, so he has been passing out treats for years, but I want nothing to do with the holiday, so I’m glad to be done with it. I’m not a kid person, and aside from that, this holiday does not appeal to me.

In Miami, you have to hide your car on Halloween to keep the egg patrol from damaging it, and you are better off not driving. If you don’t pass out candy, you could be inviting vandalism from punks. Here, no one can get onto my property without scaling a fence (essentially forfeiting their lives), and aside from that, the people are less trashy, so trick-or-treating and vandalism are not realistic options. I am totally safe. Go, me!

When I was a little kid, Halloween was a lot of fun. Then when I was maybe ten, we started hearing stories about LSD in candy and razor blades in apples. I doubt these things actually happened, but by the time I was in high school, Halloween was making people nervous. Since then, the fun has gone completely out of it.

When I was in the sixth grade, I could go out after sundown (alone), trick-or-treat at every house for blocks around, stay out until ten, wear any costume I liked, and not worry too much about what would happen to me. Now parents do the unthinkable. They drive their kids around in minivans, to houses they’ve already cleared. The process starts right after school, and by sundown, it’s pretty much over. And God help you if you get your kid a costume which is homophobic, dismissive of global warming, upsetting to midgets, sexist (unless you’re woman dressing like a slut), equipped with a toy gun or sword, related to any ethnicity other than your own, or which indicates that at some point in your life, you might have eaten meat. Am I forgetting anything?

Halloween is now a big, long, leftist lecture which takes place under the cloud of the threat of pedophilia. Maybe kids should dress as Kevin Spacey. Who is not, technically, a pedophile. But leave me alone. I’m on a roll.

I’m complaining about Halloween, but I’m glad it’s dead, because it’s a huge Satanic holiday. Witches and other pagans get together and perform sick rituals to mark the occasion. It’s not a joke to them. They take holidays like Halloween and May Day very, very seriously. No wonder so many antisocial, destructive acts are performed on Halloween. It’s like the devil’s Christmas.

A lot of people think people like me are uptight for criticizing Halloween, but then they’re not hard core Christians. They don’t see anything wrong with celebrating demons and other evil spirits, because they don’t really believe they exist. I’ve seen demons, so I would feel stupid and disloyal taking part in their big day. Jesus visited me on two occasions. Can you blame me for taking spirits seriously?

Imagine you could see Jesus and Satan. Say you’re sitting in your living room with Jesus, feeling horrified by all the bad things you’ve done and thanking him for saving you. Then Satan knocks on the door and asks if you want to celebrate Halloween. What would you say? The fact that you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not real, or that your debt to Jesus is imaginary. Why would you even think of celebrating the spirit that played the most prominent role in getting Jesus tortured to death?

There are churches which try to capitalize on Halloween. Some have Halloween celebrations, which is kind of sick. Here’s a wild idea: how about if people just abandon the holiday without trying to fill the void? Life will go on without Halloween. We have more holidays than ever before. It’s a wonder anyone gets anything done at work. Why not dump Halloween and put more energy into Thanksgiving? Or go out on Halloween night and have some magnificent rib eyes at a high-end steakhouse. You won’t be home listening to the doorbell, and you won’t be dragged into a holiday you find repugnant. And it will be very easy to get reservations.

I did absolutely nothing for Halloween, and I feel okay. I don’t think I harmed myself.

I don’t owe strangers’ kids candy. There, I said it! There’s nothing wrong with sitting inside with the lights on and refusing to come out. The obligation only exists in other people’s minds. That doesn’t make it real. Thank God we’re not expected to hand things out on other holidays. What if your neighbors decided to create a holiday where they knock on your door and you give them jewelry?

This year I read something really upsetting about Halloween. Idiot parents load their kids into vehicles and drive them to better neighborhoods where they expect to get more candy. Really? Who decided that was okay? Your kids, who I don’t know from Adam’s housecat, are at my door trying to guilt me into giving them Butterfingers, and you’re looking around my yard to see if I leave my lawnmower out where you can steal it. No. This is unacceptable. There are limits even during this orgy of entitlement. If I felt like giving out candy at all, I would only want it to go to local kids. I would not load up on candy to feed trashy invaders.

I think I’ve finally escaped Halloween. I’m hoping I never feel pressured to deal with it again. I’m also down on large birthday and Christmas presents as well as forced Valentine’s Day expenditures. If your wife has to have a special holiday in order to feel loved, roses and an expensive dinner aren’t the solution. You’ve been blowing it all year. You can’t fix it in one day. And where is the romance in being jammed into a restaurant with two hundred other sheep who can’t think for themselves? There is no such thing as herd romance.

Romance is supposed to be spontaneous and, at the same time, routine. Romantic gestures should occur throughout the year, and your spouse shouldn’t see them coming because they happen on certain preordained days. What could be less romantic than a gift you’re required to give? If you have to give it, it’s not a gift. You’re paying a bill.

The IRS has a Valentine’s Day of its own: April 15. On February 14, you have to give your wife roses and food. On April 15, you have to give the IRS your taxes. Both payments are equally grounded in love.

Anyway, the lack of Halloween hassles is one more reason to love Ocala. It’s like a Hurricane just hit another state.

My escape is not without interludes of pain. I may have to go to Miami this weekend, to move some junk up here and deal with some real estate hassles. I think I’d rather stay here and have a painful, embarrassing, expensive medical procedure. I dread the traffic, the Spanish, the rudeness, and the heat. But sometimes you have to do things you don’t like.

The other day I was thinking about how I feel when I think about visiting Miami, and I wondered if heavenly spirits feel the same way about visiting the earth. If I were in heaven, you could not drag me back to this rotten place unless the alternative was damnation. It must be very unpleasant for God and the angels to spend time here. Similarly, Miami is a step backward for me. It will be like visiting prison after a year on parole. I hate that place more every day.

I already look forward to leaving Miami again. What a rathole. I wish such places did not exist. The more I experience the warm, gentle people of northern Florida, the more contempt I have for Miami morals and manners. It’s not a matter of taste. Cities like Miami and New York are, objectively, inferior places to live, and the cultures are inferior.

I’m sitting here trying to think of something Miami has that will redeem the trip. “At least I’ll be able to get this. At least I’ll be able to get that.” No; it’s not coming. There is no restaurant, no store, no park, no church, no natural feature, no nothing that I miss. New York is disgusting, but at least I could look forward to the food. Not that it would justify the trip.

I’m also going to miss New Year’s Day! That will be great. No explosions. No drunks. Man. That will be a welcome experience.

I hope your cars and houses were not egged, and that your kids didn’t make you get them Harry Potter costumes. If you gave in this year, you can always turn it around in 2018.

Dang. I better get out of here. CVS probably has chocolate on sale.