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Archive for March, 2017

Captain Middle America: Uncivil War

Friday, March 31st, 2017

Another Bad Choice from the Clueless Rightt

I guess I’m behind the curve again, because I just heard about Based Stickman.

If you are blessedly ignorant of the Based Stickman phenomenon, here is a spoiler to protect you: I am about to tell you what I know. If you would rather not hear about it, move on.

Leftists in this country have become very violent. They have a dismal, consistent record of vandalism and battery. They have completely lost the ability to separate concepts such as “protest,” “civil disobedience,”, “riot,” and “lynching.” They don’t think it terms of sit-ins or peaceful marches. They think that every political loss justifies putting on masks and beating innocent people. They no longer understand civil disobedience, which, itself, should always be a last resort. These days, they go to Defcon 1 immediately, and their disobedience, by default, is uncivil.

Conservative activists aren’t completely pure, but anyone who can use Google can confirm that the protest-related craziness that is sweeping the country is, overwhelmingly, a leftist phenomenon.

Black Lives Matter nuts burn stores and shoot cops. They even go after journalists, who are probably their best friends on earth. Anti-Trump people show up at Trump rallies in gangs, wearing masks, and they attack people who are simply speaking and waving signs. On Youtube, you can find all sorts of security videos of leftists stealing Trump signs from people’s yards. It’s hard to find similarly incriminating material featuring right-wing criminals, because by and large, conservatives are more peaceful and respectful of the law.

Liberals make fun of Trump for having a sparsely attended inauguration, and for issuing blatant exaggerations of the crowd’s size. Well, think about it. Washington is a black city. It’s not a little black; it is overwhelmingly black. When people decided whether to attend the event, they had to decide whether to face the high risk of violence, in a violent town populated by people who hate their kind. No wonder people stayed home. And sure enough, conservatives were physically attacked.

The goal of liberal violence (strange term) is to keep conservatives from gathering and speaking. If you can shut people up and keep them off the streets, you can create the illusion that their numbers are small, and that leads others to dismiss them and join the other side.

It’s a bad time to be a conservative at a public event, and naturally, some conservatives have decided the smart move is to respond to violence with violence. This, I believe, is the reason for the existence of Based Stickman.

“Based” is clumsy slang for “emotionally and mentally anchored.” “Stickman” just means “guy with a stick.” Based Stickman is a conservative who shows up at events, holding a stick, refusing to be pushed around by leftists criminals. He carries a wooden shield with a flag on it, along with a baseball helmet, knee pads, and what looks like a Home Depot respirator.

One of the big problems with Based Stickman (Can I call him “BS” for short? No, I think I’ll go with “Mr. S.”) is that he gives dishonest leftists a nail to upon which to hang their ridiculous “Conservatives are violent” canard. Unlike most leftists who get physical at events, Mr. S. doesn’t hide his identity, and he doesn’t try to blend into the crowd. Unlike leftists, he doesn’t intend to commit crimes, so he has revealed himself. As a result, he’s like a big, conspicuous officer leading a patrol in the Battle of the Bulge. He’s a great target for pot shots.

Propaganda stories are popping up, using the scary Mr. S. to decry the obvious (yet nearly nonexistent) wave of conservative violence.

Earlier this month, Mr. S. was involved in a scuffle. Leftist criminals wearing masks were going after conservative activists, and one rushed Mr. S. at high speed. Mr. S. cracked him on the head with a stick, breaking it on the skull’s narrow point. There was an arrest, but Mr. S. was not charged.

Of course, liberals are calling for his re-arrest, prosecution, deportation, dismemberment…whatever they can get. They don’t seem to have a big problem with the guy who attacked. They are using Mr. S. as a brush to paint us all with guilt. There is a good chance it will work. It will definitely work among simpletons, and let’s face it: the simpleton bloc is a big chunk of our population.

Here’s another, probably worse, problem with Mr. S.: he is convincing other conservatives that they need to get costumes of their own and beat up the criminals sent to beat conservatives up.

I completely understand the desire and need to protect protesters, even if the police don’t. I can even understand taking a shield, a stick, and a helmet to rallies. As defensive tools, they can save lives and discourage attacks. What I don’t like is the notion that we should to go rallies hoping or intending to commit acts of violence. Liberals do that as a matter of policy, and it makes them morally inferior. We should not completely abandon the moral high ground.

Once we start doing adopting liberal shock-troop tactics, there will no longer be such a thing as a pro-Trump rally. There will only be gang rumbles, and everyone involved will look like a moron. The natural consequence of a situation like that is a state in which the US is simply a battleground where political opponents mass and try to kill each other. I don’t think it could turn into a bona fide civil war, but we could end up with a pointless, endless guerilla war, resulting in martial law and an even greater destruction of personal liberty. The violence would certainly spill out of rallies and protests and into our daily lives.

The reason leftists have so much power over us isn’t that we’re not violent enough. It’s that we aren’t close to God. A people which is close to God will be dominant, without the need for brutality and bloodshed. Leftists are the enemies of God, so it makes sense for them to rely on pepper spray, cowardly masks, fists, and boots. Conservatives are closely identified with Christianity. We should be battling in prayer, and we’re not. If you go to God with your problems (preferably before they arise), you get help. If not, you should go get yourself a stick, and while you’re at it, change sides, because you’re not helping the team at all.

I always write about the hard times ahead. I tell people leftists are going to win. There are places where they aren’t completely in control, and we can retreat to them, but they will get there eventually. We’ll see naked people in gay pride parades in places like Idaho and northern Florida, and our guns will be taken away and melted down. It’s going to happen, and I am resigned to it. But I don’t tell people to fight it in the streets. That will never work.

A lot of conservatives think we can win. They think we’re doing really well. They point to the Trump victory, the high number of GOP governorships, and our control of Congress. They’re dreaming. We lost the popular vote, and the politicians we call conservative are actually moderate enemies of God. They are moderate socialists, enemies of the Jewish state, enemies of Christianity, and, generally, supporters of gay marriage and every type of sexual sin. How can people not see this?

When Trump tried to get rid of Obamacare–a socialist Ponzi scheme–he didn’t try to end it altogether. He tried to replace it with a different socialist scheme. Trump is more supportive of Israel than Obama (i.e. more supportive than Yassir Arafat), but he wants to divide the Jewish state and hand much of it over to Muslims. Trump has no problem with gay marriage, and he and Congress are doing nothing to protect women in locker rooms and restrooms. They are doing nothing to protect Christian businessmen from nuts who insist they work at events they find morally repugnant.

We’re at a party in our own end zone, hosted by the other team, and we think we made a touchdown. Come on. We already lost the game.

The delusion of conservative hegemony is strong even among liberals. What are they smoking? Well, we know the answer to that. But anyway, if they think they’re losing, they’re completely wrong. They beat us. We abandoned God, and he stopped fighting for us. Anyone can beat us now. Liberals should be dancing in the streets instead of moaning about Trump.

Leftists won, and they are in the process of swallowing and destroying us. Dressing up like Captain America will not help. It just shows how proud we are, thinking we can beat our enemies with our own strength. It makes things worse. God resists the proud, and he helps the humble. That’s what the Bible says. Relying on effort and violence will accelerate our defeat.

You should have guns in your houses, and you should get away from big concentrations of the cruel and entitled. That’s just common sense. They’re going to come for us, and we will need to protect ourselves as long as the government permits it. But thinking we can band together and crush them in the streets is insane and counterproductive.

It’s good that no one reads this blog any more, because if I had a big readership, I would attract all sorts of abuse from carnal conservatives. I remember how they swarmed me after I rightly criticized Ann Coulter, Ted Nugent, and PJ Media. The blather of the blind filled my comments, and they wrote ridiculous things about me on their own blogs. They’re gone, and I say “good riddance.” Talking to them was like taking goats and pigs to the Louvre.

Imagine the nonsense I would have to put up with if my former readers were here. I’d be getting death threats from junior stickmen.

I am not a fan of Based Stickman. I’m not even a fan of conservative demonstrators. I think it’s good for people to defend themselves, but maybe at this point, instead of going to demonstrations where we will be beaten, we should be having huge prayer rallies with security to keep liberal criminals outside.

In other news, I learned something surprising about my old church, Trinity in North Miami. According to the grapevine, they are circling the drain. For years, the business (“business”) has run on fumes, but it wasn’t until recently that the main pastor, Rich Wilkerson, stood up in front of the church and admitted the church had severe financial problems. Key people have been leaving for years, and I am told that the services have shrunk to the point where they don’t even use the overflow room that used to fill up during 11 a.m. services.

Here’s the thing: Trinity is a money church. It’s a prosperity gospel church. They teach that if you give God money (God needs money?), God will make you not just successful, but rich. They teach Steve Munsey’s ridiculous lies about God rewarding offerings given on Jewish holidays. If Munsey is right, then how could Trinity fail financially?

I am told Wilkerson admitted the church was in big trouble, but that he hasn’t mentioned the big elephant in the sanctuary. He hasn’t stood up and said, “I had been told the prosperity gospel was a crock, but I taught it anyway to get offerings, and God has just proven it does not work. So let’s repent, and please stop impoverishing yourselves to prop us up.”

Trinity is a corporation, so presumably, no one there who took a salary or other benefits will have to shoulder the church’s debts. I explained that to a friend of mine. I said the pastor’s family was probably protected from liability because of the corporate structure. Running an unsuccessful corporation can be a great way to get rich. You overpay yourself until the company fails, and then you keep what you took and tell the creditors to get lost. Call me cynical, but I dimly suspect prosperity preachers are aware of this.

Doesn’t the Bible say the blessed will give and lend instead of borrowing? Debt is a curse. It’s a form of slavery. When you take on debt, you agree to keep working to pay it off, even if you hate your job.

Trinity used to meet in a smallish church on 125th Street. At some point around 2000, the pastors bought a big office building farther north, and they turned it into a church. I believe the price was something like $10 million. Anyway, it was expensive, and it was not suited for use as a church. They spent a ton of money remodeling it, and then they expected their low-income congregants to pay for it. They should have bought a modest warehouse somewhere. I suppose now they’re reaping what they sowed.

If God tells you to buy a building you can’t afford, then he will also bring the money to support your ministry. If you buy it without consulting God, it’s your baby, and God will not help you.

It is my belief that they knew their doctrine was fantasy, so I don’t feel sorry for them at all. It’s a shame they led so many people into discouragement and failure. It’s bad to harm the rich, but promising the poor help and then leaving them worse off is a greater offense.

Right now, if you look at their Facebook page, you’ll see them doing what they always do: fundraising. They have an Easter play called “Jesus of Nazareth,” and it’s always a huge production. They used to have free admission, but now they charge. They’re advertising the play on their Facebook page right now. That page has always been loaded with ads and promotion. There has never been much there about Christianity. Now that they’re in trouble, instead of using social media to repent and call for prayer, they’re doubling down on raising cash.

The inner circle folks viewed me as a disloyal and toxic person for my public criticism of the Munsey nonsense. Some people who merely attended the church agreed.

Who was right, and who was wrong?

I did my best to pass on the helpful things God told me. I know other people did, too. The inner circle should have listened.

Steve Munsey’s foreclosed church is known for the Starbucks Munsey put in the lobby. Trinity didn’t have a Starbucks, but under the Munsey influence, they tried to run a cafe. A friend of mine–I can’t believe she did this–accepted a position running it. I’m talking about a great person who ostensibly had a fine career with a good company. Now I’m being told the cafe isn’t being funded any more.

The better you do in your walk with God, the more you have to deal with seeing your friends and relatives suffer from bad decisions God could have prevented. I can almost hear Noah yelling, “PREACH!”

Trinity could have been a wonderful church. Oh well.

If you’re going to buy a big stick, don’t take it to rallies, and if you’re going to preach the prosperity gospel, make sure you incorporate first. That’s my advice for today.

Vindication!

Tuesday, March 28th, 2017

No one Cares, but Still!

An interesting story is in the news. Three armed criminals broke into a house in Oklahoma, and a young man who lived there shot all three dead with an AR-15. He didn’t just nick them. Two died in his kitchen, and one died after running outside.

The robbery was planned by a woman named Elizabeth Rodriguez. She drove the would-be assailants to the crime scene, and when she heard shots, she drove off. Then she did something remarkable: she went to the police and said she had “information” about the shooting.

Before too long, she had confessed. Guess what she’s charged with now. Accessory? Accomplice? How about this: three counts of first-degree murder.

I’m trying to figure her out. Why would she go to the police? Was she thinking she could get the victim in trouble for shooting her friends? That seems likely. I don’t think she would go just to turn herself in. She probably could have gotten away. I think she was angry because her friends were dead, and she was hoping to stick it to the victim by turning him in. She probably thought driving a car wasn’t a big crime. Like many criminals, she probably didn’t know she could be charged with murder in this situation.

If you assist with a crime, you can get in real trouble if someone dies, and it doesn’t necessarily matter who that person is. If a cop shoots your partner, you may get the needle.

I saw her mugshot. She looks miserable. That’s understandable. Imagine the feeling. Three of your friends just got shot to death. The killer is being praised as a hero. You’re charged with three counts of murder one. And you did it to yourself. You didn’t even Google the applicable law before getting in the car.

I don’t have any sympathy for her or the other criminals, but it’s still a sad story.

Apart from the mindset of the woman who informed on herself, the story is interesting because the victim used a semiautomatic rifle to defend himself. We’re always being told “assault rifles” aren’t legitimate self-defense tools. Even gun-loving “experts” say it. Here we have proof it’s not true.

The AR-15 is not an assault rifle, because it’s semiautomatic, but let’s not get bogged down with that. Gun-grabbers hate the AR-15 even more than other guns because it has a high capacity and it looks mean. They claim high-capacity, mean-looking rifles are no good for home defense.

For a long time, I’ve been saying pistols were not great for home defense. I’ll go farther than that. They STINK for home defense. If you can shoot a burglar over five feet away in a dark house with your hands shaking, you are probably in the top one percent of combat shooters. Most people will hit the wall, their own legs, their own feet, the ceiling, the toaster…anything…more often than they will hit a criminal. Pistols are hard to aim, and they’re even harder to bring back on target after a shot. On top of that, pistol ammunition is very weak, and pistols don’t hold many rounds.

I use semiautomatic rifles for home defense. I’ve been recommending them for years. My rifles hold 31 rounds. The ammunition is to pistol ammunition as a diesel truck is to a Vespa. Rifles are easy to shoot accurately. You can even shoot through concealment with confidence. Drywall won’t save you from an AK-47, but it will slow a .38 down until it falls straight down when it exits a wall.

The National Review is backing my philosophy up. They just published an article praising rifles.

It’s funny how long it can take common sense to overcome old wives’ tales.

The article links to yet another article in which knowledgeable gun users list their favorite home defense guns. Rifles figure prominently in their lists. That seems like a new thing.

One or two of the people interviewed said overpenetration was an issue. That means they’re afraid of shooting friendlies through walls. That’s something to think about if you’re in an apartment building or a big house full of kids, but if you’re in a typical house with one or two other people, it’s not a problem. You know where your kids sleep. If you think you’re so good you can shoot a burglar with a pistol, you should also be confident you can avoid shooting into your son’s bedroom, right?

Overpenetration is a mushy topic, anyway. In the case of handguns, it’s a myth.

Overpenetration doesn’t just refer to going through walls. It also describes situations in which bullets exit bodies before they expand or break up, possibly hitting people behind the perps. It’s supposed to be bad, because failure to expand results in less damage, and premature exit endangers the innocent.

Expansion, yawing, and dispersion make wounds bigger. Handgun rounds–even the cutesy ones that come from manufacturers that brag about scientists and laboratories–don’t necessarily expand or break up much inside people (or at least they didn’t when I did my research;things change). Bullets don’t usually do those things unless they’re moving fast, and pistol rounds are slow. A .45 round goes about 850 feet per second. A round from a hunting rifle, which can be counted on to expand, goes about four times that fast.

When it comes to pistols, according to the FBI, what you want is the most penetration possible. Pistols cause damage by drilling long holes in people, and the longer those holes are, the more the damage they do. A lot of things can slow a pistol round down. Leather jackets. Heavy clothing. Hands. In a pistol, you want something that goes clean through, even if it’s dangerous to someone who has the incredible bad luck to be directly behind a criminal. For that reason, I don’t really care about pistol overpenetration.

I carry a 10mm pistol loaded with Speer Gold Dot “expanding” rounds that go about 1250 feet per second. I don’t know if they’ll really expand, but they have a very good chance of making very long wound channels. They have crazy muzzle energy.

Rifle ammunition is complicated. It comes in quite a few flavors. The one the military uses, which is called full metal jacket, can be ignored. It’s not very good. The military uses it because it’s bad. I believe the idea is that it’s cruel to use better ammunition. Something like that. International agreements or wounding instead of killing or something. You don’t want military-style FMJ in your house. You want something that gets the job done. I mean, seriously, the military can’t use poison gas, but if you have some in your garage, and you need to use it on a burglar, the law says go ahead. There is really no limit to what you can do to incapacitate a burglar. If a deep fryer is all you have, you’re allowed to use it.

I don’t know if there is such a thing as rifle ammunition that won’t go through walls, but I don’t care, either, because in my situation, it doesn’t matter. For that reason, all I care about, other than price, is causing damage. I decided to go with Tulammo hollow-point ammunition. It’s cheap Russian ammo. I looked at Wolf, which is another Russian brand, but shooters said it didn’t break up as well in tests. Tulammo performed better, so I bought a thousand rounds. I think this is a fine choice for a bedside rifle. When it hits a burglar, the core and jacket separate and go in different directions, and the bullet yaws pretty well. It’s not the best ammunition on earth, but it’s a whole lot better than a 9mm pistol. It’s on another level, entirely.

I’m looking around the web, and since I made my choice, people have tested Tulammo soft point and 8m3 ammunition. The latter is new to me. It’s hollow point ammunition with scoring inside the rounds to make them come apart or yaw or something. Evidently, the Russians used to sell it, and they quit, and now an American firm has gotten them to start up again. In gelatin tests (literally shooting big piles of unsweetened gelatin), the soft point ammunition performs very nicely, and the 8m3 looks even better. I may upgrade to it. It’s not expensive, which is nice.

Now that Trump is in office, it should be a lot easier to get firearms and decent ammunition at sane prices. BONUS!

To get back to the subject, I feel vindicated. I’m so used to being told I’m an idiot for using a rifle for home defense, it feels strange to see other people recommend it.

It’s pretty hard to come up with a perfect home-defense solution. You want velocity and energy, so you want a long barrel. You want to not go deaf, so you want a suppressor, which means a shorter barrel. You want maneuverability, so you want a short barrel. You want to be able to aim easily…back to a long barrel. You have to decide what makes sense. For me, that’s 31 rounds of very good rifle ammunition, a folding semiauto, and a big green laser so bright it bothers people on Mars.

I guess now I should blaspheme even more and resurrect another offensive suggestion I’ve made: the Thompson semiauto .45 ACP rifle, better known as the civilian version of the Tommy gun. It holds a huge amount of ammunition. Because it shoots pistol rounds, the recoil isn’t bad, and the penetration in homes is limited. It even comes with a forward grip. I think if you could get some big, reliable magazines, a Tommy gun would be excellent for spraying burglars. The .45 may be slow, but it’s also wide, and that’s helpful when you’re looking to incapacitate. Also, the longer barrel gives you more velocity than a 1911.

Anyway, do not use a pistol to defend your house. That’s my suggestion. And now I have friends.

His Name Are Legion

Tuesday, March 28th, 2017

Refer Madness

When I was a kid and I thought about evil, I pictured obvious things. I thought about murder, stealing, violence, genocide, and so on. It didn’t occur to me to think about sexual perversion or a general abandonment of reason.

I didn’t know much. For example, I didn’t know homosexuality was extremely common among career criminals, or that this was why rape was a big deal in prisons. Later in life, when I read books like The Onion Field and In Cold Blood, and when I found out the Birdman of Alcatraz (sanitized and glorified in a movie starring Burt Lancaster) was an unrepentant rapist of boys, I started to get a clue. I didn’t think of reason as a big threat to evil, though.

I suppose it should be obvious that reason works against evil. Good ought to make sense, after all. It would be a funny world if righteousness caused problems and evil fixed them.

In his book Slouching Towards Gomorrah, witch-hunt victim and brilliant judge Robert Bork wrote presciently about the coming age of irrationality. He wrote of liberals who promoted the insane notion that reason itself was a Eurocentric, patriarchal construct. It sounded a little nutty at the time, but…here we are. Bruce Jenner is a woman, and illegal aliens are “immigrants.” Craziness rules.

Leftism doesn’t work, so in order to promote it, you have to fight reason. Leftism conflicts with itself. For example, leftists have to be pro-union, pro-minimum-wage, AND pro-illegal-immigration, even though illegal immigrants bring wages down and erode unions. Leftists have to be pro-woman AND pro-perversion, even though letting male “women” compete with female athletes takes victories, records, and money away from women. Men keep outdoing women at traditionally female activities. Leftists have to be pro-expression, but they also have to be against “hate speech,” which is necessarily defined by small groups of people prone to bias. Leftists have to hate the objectification of women, but they also have to love pornography. They have to hate slavery and human trafficking, but they have to love “sex work,” which is generally slavery.

According to an Internet source, “Cognitive dissonance” means “the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes.” Without cognitive dissonance, the left can’t function, but because of the dissonance, the left will eventually fail. This is what Jesus was talking about when he predicted the eventual destruction of the kingdom of evil:

Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand. If Satan casts out Satan, he is divided against himself. How then will his kingdom stand?

Right now, a guy (ostensibly) named Pablo Gomez, Jr., is under indictment for killing three people in Berkeley. I don’t know if he’s gay or what. People say he is, but news stories omit mention of his sexuality. Here’s the really interesting thing: he insists on being referred to using plural pronouns. When you write about these guy (???), you have to say things like, “They were indicted on Tuesday.”

You would think leftists would wake up at this point and say, “Man, we look crazy. This is just one person. Calling him ‘them’ is grammatically wrong.” But that’s not what’s happening. They’re standing behind them. Those. “Ellos”? “Los Pablo”? They’re excoriating sane people for pointing out their insanity.

How much more deranged can people get? How can anyone defend this position? And what on earth does plurality have to do with being gay? If he is gay, I mean. Whatever he is.

Even if you’re the gayest man alive, you should have some understanding that language has to work. The need to communicate should outweigh the need to control other people’s words.

Think of the confusion we’re going to have in the coming years, as pronoun madness goes mainstream. How will we address each other? We’ll be afraid to talk. More than we already are, I mean. You’ll say something like, “That guy went downstairs,” and an angry person with female genitals, horns, and a full beard will start shrieking, “THEM FEMEN WENTED DOWNSTAIR, YOU PIGS!”

Think how hard it will be to fill out forms. Where there used to be one box, there will be fifteen. Then someone will sue, claiming having only fifteen boxes is a microaggression.

The Bible calls gender fluidity “confusion.” Years ago, I did not understand that. Now, I get it. I really get it.

I wonder what full-blown persecution is going to look like. Most Americans thought it was horrible when Hitler jailed or killed people for political or racial reasons. We thought it was irrational. What are Americans going to think when leftists are killing us for standing up for good grammar? I can answer that. Most Americans will think it’s fine, just as most Germans and Austrians thought Hitler’s crimes were fine. Most Americans will suffer from the victim delusion, and they (he?) will see killing Christians as justice or self-defense.

The anti-Christian and anti-Semitic outrages of prophecy can’t come true until delusion becomes normal and widespread. That has to happen. We’re seeing it now.

Yesterday, I thought about my blogging, and I spoke of it as writing “things that will be used against me at my trial when they decide to kill me.” I was trying to be funny, but I believed what I said. The devil has no statute of limitations. The inquisition is coming, and the Internet is preserving our heresies.

Well and good. When things get that bad, I will look forward to death. Maybe I’m saying that, not to whoever reads this blog today, but to the loons who will be in charge of me years from now. “On March 28, 2017, you yourself admitted you preferred to die!” Make whatever you want of it, ladies and/or hermaphrodites of the tribunal. You can’t take anything away unless God puts it in your hands.

What are English classes in elementary schools like now? “Johnny, use pronouns correctly in a sentence about your dog.” “Us throws the ball for my dogs Rover, and then they goes and fetches them.” “That is correct. Here is their participation prize.”

Maybe I have a bad attitude about the rest of my sentence here on earth. Every time I read about a Christian who just died, I have the same thought, instantaneously: “Man, that must be great.” No hate, no disease, no taxes, no jerks, no death, no work…that’s for me. I guess I’m okay, though, because Jesus said, “He who loves his life will lose it.”

It sounds nutty to look forward to dying, but here’s what’s really nutty: being highly excited about a life which ends, after a short time, with the loss of everything you have. Human life ends with slow physical and mental deterioration. You lose your talents and abilities. You lose your looks. You fall apart. People start to ignore you. Then you lose everything. At best, you have about 50 reasonably good years, and those years pass quickly. After 40, they seem to fly by. Then you’re all done. If you haven’t lived for God, what have you invested in? Your retirement account is empty. Living for that future is not rational at all, so if people contemn my values and desires, I contemn theirs right back. In fifty years, they’ll be just as dead as me, and we’ll see if their contempt mattered.

When I think about the foolishness of clinging to earthly life, I always think about Madonna and Cher. They got everything they wanted on earth, and then they lost their looks. As old women go, they look okay, but to be frank about it, compared to women years younger, they are not merely faded but completely unattractive. They built their lives around youth and sex appeal. Now those things are gone from them, forever, and they’re ignored. When Madonna exposed herself thirty years ago, boys got excited. Now they make faces and say, “Ewwwww!”

Madonna is very upset about her new situation. She’s very bitter. She keeps exposing herself, which is gross even to fans, and she keeps complaining because her audience is shrinking. She thinks people owe it to her to lust after her and admire her. Think how bad it will be in fifteen years, when she doesn’t even look good from a distance in a grainy photo. She’ll be climbing the walls.

Cher and Madonna have had so much plastic surgery they no longer look like normal human beings. They look sort of like accident victims who have had extensive reconstruction with limited success. It bespeaks desperation and denial.

Things are only going to get worse for Madonna. She’s going crazy over aging now, but this is as good as things will ever be for her. What kind of life is that? She spent her years corrupting people in exchange for money and attention, and the only things that make her happy are things she will never have again.

Me, I see death as an escape and a new birth. I see it as redemption and a chance to start over, doing good things that will last forever. Whenever I feel anything funny going on in my chest, I always say the same thing: “I am ready to go!” The haters and the rebellious can have this place. It was worn out anyway.

I read a book by a lady who said she visited hell. In hell, she saw a woman who had been dead for hundreds of years. The woman was in a cell, in a chair. She was very beautiful. Over and over, her flesh deteriorated, rotted, and fell off, and then it regrew. Over the course of a few seconds, she went through what Madonna is going through now. She was a big deal on earth, and she led people in idolatry for her master, but in hell, Satan tormented and ridiculed her for believing him. I can’t swear the book is true, but the punishment makes a lot of sense. Aging is very painful for shallow, attractive women who misuse their looks. Aging over and over again would be a terrible torture for such a person.

I wonder how crazy people will get. I am tempted to say, “Maybe they’ll worship the devil openly,” but they already do that. We already have witch celebrities. Madonna and Beyonce use demonic imagery in TV appearances. Katie Perry is a witch. Dan Aykroyd–the kindly, roly-poly son from Driving Miss Daisy, has said he was sending “hell energy” to people. I suppose celebrities who worship devils are not as open or confrontational as they will be in the future, though.

For the sake of the people who will be persecuted, I hope we’re not far from the end.

This morning I read about Lot. He lived in Sodom, and he was burned out from the filthy ways and speech of the people around him. God decided to destroy the city, but Abraham got him to agree to spare it if God could find ten righteous people there.

Two angels went Sodom to look for the righteous, and Lot invited them to his house for their protection. The people of Sodom and Gomorrah were famous for abusing travelers. Homosexuals gathered in the street outside and demanded that the angels be brought out so they could rape them. Lot was so mortified, he offered to give them his daughters instead. The response? The homosexuals said they would do worse things to Lot than to the angels. They intended to rape him, too.

It was a lot like a modern prison riot. Prisons and wars are little pictures of hell.

The angels pulled Lot inside and blinded the homosexuals. Then Lot tried to get his family to leave the city. His sons-in-law, as blind as the gay mob, thought he was joking, so he had to leave with only his wife and two daughters.

What happened to Lot is a picture of what’s coming to the world. God will permit people who know him to suffer a certain amount of abuse, but at some point he will draw a line and remove us. After that, there will be no good people on earth to motivate God to show restraint, and his anger will fall like burning sulfur.

God is the worst enemy you can have. When he decides to punish you, there is nowhere to hide. No weapon or ally can save you.

How well a Christian will do toward the end will depend on his closeness to God. If you’re a worshiper of Benny Hinn and Joel Osteen and the other “prosperity Christians,” you won’t have much power to look after yourself. The same thing goes for people who go to churches that deny the Holy Spirit. That’s why Jesus said, “But woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing babies in those days!” He was talking about weak Christians who are like unweaned babies. A man can swing a sword. A baby, not so much.

These are interesting times, as the well-known curse puts it.

I will keep an eye on the pronoun front. I’m sure something even weirder will happen shortly.

Hear Him Roar

Monday, March 27th, 2017

The Upcoming Obsolescence of Female Athletes

A few years back, before Americans completely lost the ability to tell male from female, I wrote about the upcoming destruction of female sports. Women and girls of exceptional ability were demanding to be allowed to compete with men, and of course, leftists were all for it. They don’t think; they just ask themselves what seems most PC, and they go with it. They don’t concern themselves with consequences and contradictions.

I pointed out that the results for women’s sports (something I care nothing about) would be disastrous. First of all, the women who competed with men would never excel. They would be among the worst competitors in their chosen realm. Second, women’s sports would lose its top performers; they would move to men’s sports. Women’s sports would become even more boring (which is saying a lot), and the women who continued competing with females would end up with illegitimate, asterisked records. If you didn’t compete with the best, your record is a consolation prize.

I don’t believe I thought much about the problem of men competing in women’s events. I guess I assumed feminists wouldn’t have it. Their victimhood complex is at the center of their lives. To let mean, non-diverse, meat-eating, non-yoga-practicing men who use plastic grocery bags enter their midst would undo decades of assiduous man-bashing. It would also pretty much kill the careers of most female athletes.

Now I see that I misgauged things. I didn’t realize men would eventually be allowed to compete with women, because they would claim to BE women.

The sad yet also–forgive me–hilarious outcome of our extraordinary gender confusion crisis is that now any man who feels like competing with female athletes can do so, and he doesn’t even have to have surgery!

I just read about a “woman” athlete who is actually a man, who won a major weightlifting competition, the Australian International. His name is now Laurel Hubbard, but it used to be Gavin Hubbard. He lifted a grand total of 268 KG. The second-place finisher, an actual woman from Samoa, lifted 249 KG. You should see the photos. He’s a very manly looking man with a receding hairline. I haven’t seen closeups, but from a distance, he simply looks like a man standing among women. Maybe he has a ponytail or lipstick to set himself apart from other males. I couldn’t tell.

This is a confusing topic. Athletes used to complain because other athletes used drugs to win. Then everyone started using drugs and beating the tests, so that fuss abated considerably. Drugs are accepted. Now women who use drugs to win events are upset because they’re competing with men. Who probably use drugs. Cheating has a new and unanticipated level.

I could not care less about sports. They work against Christian values. They teach people to value worthless, fleeting abilities. Judaism and Christianity have always had problems with persecution directed through professional athletics. Aside from all that, I get bored watching other people play. I enjoyed playing sports when I was a kid, but I never had much interest in watching. I don’t care if professional sports get more screwed up; I would welcome it. I’m just commenting as an outsider fascinated by what’s happening.

One great thing about shemale inclusion is that it will allow mediocre and even bad male athletes to get rich in jobs they’re not good enough to do alongside their genetic peers. That will open doors to a lot of frustrated, bitter people.

My phys. ed. coach at Miami Shores Elementary was a physically abusive little guy named Gary. He was handsome. He was muscular and lean. He had chiseled, masculine features and a gruff, manly voice. He was very athletic. He was also about 5’5″ tall. Gary was not big enough to play pro sports, and he ended up working at an elementary school, pushing kids around. Maybe if he had been allowed to play women’s tennis, he wouldn’t have been a teacher, and I would never have seen him pick an 80-pound kid up by the neck and throw him on the ground for complaining to his mom about his bullying.

If Gary had had an opportunity to use his male muscles to humiliate female athletes, maybe he wouldn’t have found himself lining kids up in squads and making them watch him shoot free throws on the kiddie baskets.

A long time ago, there was a male athlete who tried to compete with women, but at least he had the integrity to get the surgery and give up the parts that made his muscles strong. He called himself Renee Richards. As a man, he was a low-ranking tennis pro. As a woman, even in middle age without the benefit of testosterone produced by male organs, he was in the top 20. Here is what he said about it: “Having lived for the past 30 years, I know if I’d had surgery at the age of 22, and then at 24 went on the tour, no genetic woman in the world would have been able to come close to me. And so I’ve reconsidered my opinion.”

He finally admits being a man would have helped. It took him decades to see through the PC haze. Amazing.

I wonder how many people remember tennis’s “Battle of the Sexes.” An aging male pro named Bobby Riggs challenged the top female player in the world, and he won easily. Her name was Margaret Court. She was 30, and he was 55. Her loss drew another professional, Billie Jean King, who played Riggs and won by a smaller margin. Decades later, evidence came out suggesting Riggs threw the match in order to help his bookie creditors profit from betting on King. The difference between male and female athletic abilities is that big.

Nature is what it is. Maybe that won’t be true five years from now, but I can say it now. Mixing the sexes in sports will never work, as long as human beings remain sexually dimorphic.

The most interesting part of this issue is the supernatural blindness that has fallen on people. Those who call Bruce Jenner a woman are completely serious. The fact that he has male genitals and a male physique means absolutely nothing to them. When you say he’s a man, they think it’s not only wrong, but ridiculous.

Because of increasing demonic influence, there is no limit to the craziness of the things people can believe. God is the only barrier between us and insanity, and we don’t like God, so we removed him.

The smart thing to do now is to look to the future and try to make predictions based on the current situation. Here’s a question: if people can believe a man is a woman, why can’t they believe a man is a goat or a tree or a toaster? What if a small child somewhere starts telling his parents he’s a motorcycle? Who is to challenge that?

Right now we have parents denying male children puberty simply because the kids think they’re female. They are receiving treatment to prevent their bodies from developing as male. What a horror. Imagine being 23 and a recipient of this treatment, and then changing your mind. What a mess you would be. What if future parents indulge kids who want lion claws or hooves? These days, many deaf people are convinced deafness sets them apart as a sort of race; they don’t see it as a defect that should be fixed. What if a three-year-old starts jamming things in his ears and telling mom and dad he identifies as deaf? Should they pay a doctor to cut out his eardrums?

I sound like I’m tossing out absurd examples of future deviations. I am! But Bruce Jenner’s case is absurd, too. People just can’t see it. What seems right today was correctly viewed as preposterous fifty years ago. What seems preposterous today–precious little of it that there is–will seem right and normal in the near future.

I once saw an interview featuring a “man” who had had at least two sex-change surgeries. It may have been three, but I think it was two. He’s not the only one, either. Somehow, this person went through the vetting process, which sanctimonious leftists tell us is beyond challenge, at least twice. Assuming it was only two surgeries, he convinced a board of brilliant medical professionals he was really a woman, and they operated, and then he convinced another infallible board he was definitely a man, and they operated again.

Think about that. We’re supposed to think the whole gender-confusion enterprise is scientific and progressive, but the people doing the surgery have definitively, dispositively stated that it’s guesswork. They’ve stated it through their actions every time they’ve done a second or third “reassignment” (When did sexuality become an “assignment”?). If they’re not sure they’ve been wrong, then it would be unethical and possibly criminal to perform consecutive surgeries, so by doing the surgeries, they are testifying against their own conclusions.

Maybe horses can become convinced they’re people. If so, it would be wrong to deny them the right to fulfill their dreams of competing in the Olympics. Any other position would be speciesist.

I’m starting to make myself ill.

Let me suggest something: you are what you are, not what you “feel” you are at the moment. You’re not a person of the opposite sex. You’re not a stuffed animal. You’re not a leopard. You’re definitely not a comic book character created by Nazi scientists experimenting with supersoldier serums (See the video below). People get strange ideas from time to time. We don’t have to build our lives around them. Usually, they pass.

If you’re a female athlete (a real one), you have an interesting path ahead of you. Maybe it’s best to stick to skill sports and leave power and speed to the men and steroid junkies.

Something New to be Bad at

Sunday, March 26th, 2017

TIG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Green Acres

Friday, March 24th, 2017

Now I Need a Hungarian Wife

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Search for Eden Continues

Tuesday, March 21st, 2017

Right Idea; Wrong Planet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Retreat

Monday, March 20th, 2017

This is What Defeat Looks Like

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

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

I Googled and found all sorts of disturbing images.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why I Hate Miami

Friday, March 17th, 2017

Frisbee-Throwing Room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See Spot Run

Thursday, March 16th, 2017

Bad Dreams are Not for Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every Business Needs a Manager

Wednesday, March 15th, 2017

Take Charge

Time to get back to writing about God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Throwing Shade

Tuesday, March 14th, 2017

A Man has to Eat

The northern Florida dirt issue is getting more complicated.

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

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

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

1. Everything except corn and tomatoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Defund the NSA

Tuesday, March 14th, 2017

We Get all our Info From Infowars and Huffpo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My New Field of Study: Dirt

Saturday, March 11th, 2017

Like This Wasn’t Complicated Enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bugging Out

Friday, March 10th, 2017

Make Sure you Pack the Skillets and the AK-47

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t know how they did it.

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

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

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

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

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

Can’t hurt.

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

This house is closer in. No issues with distance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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