With Christian Brothers Like These, who Needs Pagans?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really?

Is heaven a mental ward?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus didn’t do any half-healings.

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

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

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

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

I think she’s against it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope your Sunday is going well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Know How Don Quixote’s Windmills Felt

In the past, I wondered how it was possible for the Nazis to brainwash the Austrians and Germans and convince them of things that were untrue and even absurd. Now I’m seeing the same thing happening here in America. Leftists are in a state of delusional euphoria over Robert Mueller’s “proof” that Donald Trump colluded illegally with the Russian government in order to get elected. There is no evidence of that, whatsoever, but leftists are all over the web saying idiotic things like “smoking gun” and “treason.”

Paul Manafort has been indicted for activities that had nothing to do with the presidential election. Apparently he violated some relatively obscure laws regarding registering as a foreign agent, and he may be guilty of some sort of highly technical tax violations which may have been inadvertent. According to Alan Dershowitz, who is only a former Harvard law professor, the general policy of the United States government is to refrain from investigating and prosecuting such offenses, if they are offenses, but Mueller is exercising his discretion to single Manafort out in order to pressure him and other Trump associates to sing.

Look at it this way. I have bought a lot of Cuban cigars. That’s illegal. No one has ever bothered me about it. No one ever will. When the government finds out a box of Cuban cigars is on its way to your house, they confiscate it and send you a letter, and that’s it. They don’t subpoena American Express to find out if you ordered them. They don’t sift through your emails in order to find evidence that you knew you were buying illegal cigars. There is no indictment. There is no fine. They don’t care. It’s trivial, and the embargo was an embarrassing joke to them. But what if Robert Mueller had been after someone I practiced law with? If he had found out about the cigars, and the statute of limitations hadn’t run, he would have done his best to indict me. It’s the closest thing to torture a prosecutor can do, so he would have done it.

It wouldn’t mean I was a bad person or that my associate was guilty of anything.

The government doesn’t care about the things Manafort did, and he probably won’t be convicted of anything, but by ruining his life and forcing him to bankrupt himself paying lawyers, Mueller may be able to coerce him into incriminating other people. Mueller may get some scared people to tell the truth or even to tell useful lies which would enable him to issue subpoenas and go fishing in ponds that would otherwise be off limits to him.

When I was in law school, they taught me that a prosecutor has a responsibility to a defendant. He is obligated to protect the defendant’s rights and make sure the defendant is not treated unfairly. I don’t know if Mueller cares about that. Ginning up Rube Goldberg charges to destroy the reputations and livelihoods of law-abiding people doesn’t seem consistent with a desire to protect the rights of the innocent.

Anyway, Manafort’s “crimes” are unrelated to the election, but liberals don’t care. I saw one genius on the Internet claim that Manafort had been charged with “conspiracy against the United States” because he was working with the Russians to get Trump elected. No, bright boy. No. “Conspiracy against the United States” relates to the obscure “violations” involving his taxes and foreign agent status. It has no connection to the election.

As for Papadapoulos, whom I never heard of until this week, he is charged with lying to the FBI. This is something prosecutors love. You find an innocent person, you scare the crap out of him, you ask him questions, and while he’s under pressure, he tells a self-serving lie he thinks you can’t disprove. Then you disprove it. Now it doesn’t matter that he was innocent before you went after him. Now he is truly a criminal. That’s how they got Scooter Libby. It comes close to entrapment. It turns people who would otherwise have gone their entire lives without being charged with anything into bona fide lawbreakers who can be destroyed by criminal courts.

The pundits say Papadapoulos is guilty. Maybe he is, but lying to the FBI is not illegal collusion with the Russians. Liberals don’t care. It proves Trump must be impeached!

Papadapoulos hasn’t committed any other crimes. Had he done so, you can be sure he would have been charged.

It’s scary how little leftists care about the truth. One day we will not have a conservative president and congress, along with a conservative-dominated Supreme Court. When that day comes, the garbage we’re hearing from people of limited power will be coming from people who run the country. It’s like the line from Schindler’s List: “That’s not just good old-fashioned Jew-hating talk. It’s policy now.”

When the Nazis ran Germany and Austria, idiots and losers who had been marginalized before Hitler suddenly had nice uniforms and unlimited power. You had to take them seriously. You had to bow and scrape. If they felt like carting your kids away for medical experiments, you had to stand by and watch. We may laugh at our idiots and losers now, but in a few years, they’ll be riding around in black limos and SUV’s, and Americans will be terrified of them.

In a hostile interview with non-lawyer George Stephanopoulos, Jay Sekulow had to point out something obvious: there is no crime called “collusion.” If it turned out Trump ate blintzes with Putin every morning, and they plotted Hillary’s downfall, it would not be a criminal offense. It wouldn’t even ground impeachment. Liberals don’t care. Treason! Impeachment! Execution!

Think what our lives would be like right now if these nuts ran things. Man. And that’s our future! If I weren’t a Christian, I’d advise people to buy cyanide capsules.

I don’t recall other special prosecutors acting this way. Did they? I can’t say I’m an authority. I don’t recall Ken Starr or Archibald Cox charging people with obscure demi-crimes in order to torture them into playing ball. Maybe they did, but I can’t help thinking I would remember it.

Some pundit–maybe it was Dershowitz–claims that special prosecutors go after lame indictments like these in order to justify their appointments and their budgets. That would not surprise me. Egotists are capable of anything. How many prosecutors are humble and honest enough to say, “We spent a few million dollars, and I didn’t find any problems”? People in law enforcement tend to measure their success in terms of arrests and prosecutions, which is stupid, because proving a suspect is innocent is much more important than proving one is guilty. That’s not just my opinion. That’s a fundamental principal on which our criminal justice system is based. Convicting the guilty is not as important as refraining from tormenting the innocent.

It may be that Dershowitz is wrong about the nature of Manafort’s offenses. It may be that a renowned Harvard law professor made no effort whatsoever to research the law before giving an opinion, and maybe he doesn’t care if law students and hack lawyers all over the US make him look like a fool this week. My guess is that this is not the case. I think he did his homework.

Trump will not be impeached. Liberals need to quit whipping that horse. The only way he will be impeached is if he, like Papadapoulos, does something stupid in response to being investigated over nothing.

Compared to what’s coming, these are the salad days. Enjoy them if you can.

Oh, the Irony

I am procrastinating. Shame on me. I should be doing bookkeeping or moving downed trees, but today I made myself pancakes with grade B syrup and several “bacon steaks” from the meat lab at the University of Florida, and I am still enjoying the afterglow too much to work.

The Ocala assimilation process continues to flow seamlessly. Yesterday I received some new duds I ordered, and my wardrobe is coming together. I got some Wrangler chambray work shirts, a Carhartt belt, and two more pairs of Carhartt jeans. Today I’m wearing the jeans and belt with Keen work boots and Wigwam El-pine wool socks, and I wonder why people aren’t born wearing these things.

I’m not sure, but I think my last two belts were from Old Navy, which means they were made from Chinese dogs. They were okay for Miami, but up here I wear heavier pants that exert more pull. Cheap belts stretch and deform. The Carhartt belt is very hard and tough, so it ought to last longer and work better. I got a 34, and I have a few empty notches on it, so if I lose more weight, I should still be able to wear it.

It will look better than a cheap belt. A belt which is stretched and distorted looks sloppy.

As for the jeans, I’m not sure why anyone wears anything but Carhartt. They have triple seams and six (not four) belt loops, and the waistband is at the waist, not just above the crotch. Very comfortable.

I like the Keen boots. I think Danners are a little better. My Danners are some comfortable I hate to take them off. But the Keens have a cut-resistant toe cap thing on them, which is good when you’re cutting trees.

I have not ironed the Wrangler shirts yet. I never wear a shirt until I’ve washed it. Brand new clothes smell funny and make me itch. I don’t know if I’ll like the snaps, but it was hard to find a simple chambray work shirt, and Wrangler makes them, so I’m trying them.

My second Carhartt jacket should be here tomorrow. I don’t know if I really needed it. The one I have seems to be comfortable in 60-degree weather. It’s not too warm when I’m sitting around. But I’m afraid it will be too hot in mild weather if I exert myself in it.

I wore a fleece jacket the other day. I don’t like it. Not for outdoor work. Things catch on it, and it won’t stand up to abrasion. It will also tear easily, and it absorbs water very quickly. Fleece is overrated.

Well-made work clothes are vastly superior to crap from Old Navy, Timberland, and The Gap, and the cost is roughly the same. I should have started wearing this stuff 30 years ago.

A tree guy came by today to look at the giant, unstable branches I need to have removed. He wasn’t a jerk about it. He only wants $300 per tree. He won’t be back for two weeks, so let’s hope no one dies in the meantime.

I keep learning about poison ivy. It appears likely that one of my troublesome trees has a poison ivy vine on it. I always thought poison ivy was a small plant, but it turns out it can grow into huge, woody vines so thick you can swing on them. The tipoff is tiny hairlike roots growing out of the sides of the vine. Even if you can’t see the leaves, those hairs prove you’re looking at poison ivy. I can deal with little plants I can kill with spray, but how do you kill a giant vine without contaminating your tools? A chainsaw won’t work. The sap will get into the chain.

I’m thinking I should use a hoe to scrape the vines open. Then I can spray Roundup into the cuts. Bark protects plants from Roundup, but if you can get it past the bark, the plants will die. A hoe blade is easy to wash.

I see the Hollywood sex mess is spreading. One of the good things about it is that it’s causing people to expose their complicity inadvertently. George Clooney and Matt Damon issued ridiculous, self-praising statements condemning Weinstein, and people jumped on them, saying they obviously knew what was going on and did nothing. Now Clooney and Damon are lying low and cancelling public appearances. Rosie O’Donnell attacked Kevin Spacey, saying “we all knew.” Intelligent people are pointing out that this means she helped Spacey commit more offenses. If she had said something, maybe he would have been stopped.

Eventually, if there is any common sense in the world at all, the public will come to realize that the majority of Hollywood performers and behind-the-scenes professionals who are not newcomers are fully aware that the system tolerates abuse, and the public will hold them accountable for shielding the predators with silence. It’s very simple. People in Hollywood are terrified of losing their coveted jobs, so they kept quiet about perverts and bullies. There is no other plausible explanation for the systematic abuse.

Hollywood is a funny place. They’re very gung-ho about the pro-homosexuality “anti-bullying” message, but they suck up to bullies who commit sexual crimes. Kevin Spacey is a bully. James Toback is a bully. The fact that sex was involved doesn’t turn bullying into something else. Will the anti-bullying people acknowledge this?

Abusers don’t just mistreat others. They force intimacy on them. Abusers are often exhibitionists. They touch people without permission. They don’t respect boundaries. It’s very natural that many of them should express themselves through sexual acts. Maybe they don’t respect boundaries because they don’t see other people as fully real. They don’t realize we feel and think. They’re too self-absorbed. It makes sense that bullies grope and rape, because bullying is very much like rape. It’s a violation.

We should all be examining ourselves and repenting, in the hope that God will judge us privately instead of hitting us over the head with public disgrace. But in Hollywood, that’s not an option, because Hollywood people hate God.

I wonder if the inquisition will extend into the past. CBS journalist Mike Wallace had a reputation for gross, arrogant, boundary-shattering behavior with female employees. Will he be outed? Bob Hope used to make crude remarks about Doris Day. Shirley Temple was abused. There are rumors that Kirk Douglas raped Natalie Wood. Will the bodies be exhumed, or will the crusaders be content to bring down the living? If Thomas Jefferson and George Washington aren’t safe, I guess Mike Wallace is fair game.

I’m glad I’m not famous and that my sins aren’t worse than they are.

I better fire up the golf cart and cut some wood. Those pancakes were great.

Hollywood Polarization in Our Future?

It’s shaping up to be a very weird day in Hollywood. Conspicuously weird. Not the usual weirdness.

Yesterday Kevin Spacey was accused of attacking a minor. The boy was 14. Spacey was 26. Spacey put him on a bed and lay down on top of him, against the boy’s will. The boy squirmed free. Since the accusation was made, Spacey has apologized. He does not deny that it happened.

What’s interesting here is Spacey’s defense. He says: a) he doesn’t remember the attack, b) he was very drunk when he did it, and c) he is a homosexual.

I think c is pretty obvious. When you lie down on top of another male for sexual purposes, you are clearly a homosexual.

In a court of law, a and b would not get him any traction. Drunkenness is not a defense in a criminal case, nor is amnesia. I think Spacey is trying to convince us that he wouldn’t do anything bad if he were sober, but the other side of the coin is that instead of appearing to be a gay predator rapist, he may be portrayed as a drunken gay predator rapist, which sounds worse.

Personally, I have more sympathy for people who do strange things when drunk, as long as those things are truly out of character. But I’m not a jury.

By the way, gay-friendly, celebrity-loving journalists are calling what Spacey did “harassment.” No, “harassment” means telling your secretary how much you love her behind. What Spacey did was battery. It may have been attempted rape.

Spacey appears to think that his sexual problem excuses the attack, and other homosexuals are not having it. Lesbian comedian Wanda Sykes says Spacey isn’t allowed to “hide under the rainbow,” and anti-Christian teen-abuse merchant Dan Savage took time off from insulting Christian high school students to tell Spacey his membership in the “gay community” is revoked.

Savage’s remarks are illuminating. They are examples of the gay conspiracy to disown all hostile homosexuals. Gays want us to think they’re all like Harvey Fierstein and the Fab Five. Cute, funny, harmless people. They tell us a man who rapes other men in prison isn’t gay. They say clergymen who assault teenage boys aren’t gay. Sorry, but that’s a crock. If anything, Spacey’s behavior secures and validates his membership. Gay rape is not rare at all, nor are gay efforts to have sexual relations with underage men.

Homosexual men have always preyed on young men. They do it so much, there is a very old name for a gay man who sodomizes teens: “chickenhawk.” And there is a huge gay teen prostitution business. A heterosexual john will gladly pay to play with a 40-year-old woman, but homosexuals like teens. Gay murderer Vester Flanagan was motivated partly by the rejection he experienced when he lost the bloom of youth. He was very bitter about it. He said it was “awful,” losing the ability to use his appearance to command the erotic attention of other men.

It’s hard to understand how anyone could take pleasure in the knowledge that other men wanted to sodomize him whenever they saw him enter a room, but that’s how he felt.

Without realizing it, Spacey has confessed more than he knows. He has confessed that homosexuality causes men to be attracted to boys who aren’t fully grown. It’s not pedophilia. A pedophile won’t touch anyone who has been through puberty. It’s just a powerful attraction to teens. Maybe it’s not universal, but it’s common.

Savage could not be more wrong. Gays are just as hostile as everyone else. They rape. They murder. When I was a kid, a gay man who lived across the street from me tied up his lover, castrated him, and killed him. He did not stop being gay when he did that, any more than Jeffrey Dahmer stopped being gay when he cut bodies up so he could use the parts as 3-D pornography.

One of the interesting things about leftists (my catch-all term for people in American who are against God) is that they don’t get along. Their beliefs and motivations are inconsistent. They have conflicts. When the Holy Spirit guides people, they agree, but Satan is a mutineer, and internal conflict is a hallmark of mutiny. The apocryphal text The Ascension of Isaiah says the spirits that follow Satan fight because they envy each other. I find that completely credible. Cut off the head, and the parts of the body have no unifying authority. Satan is not a proper head. He’s not strong enough or smart enough to keep his crew harmonized. It’s very natural that leftists would fight.

Now we have a situation in which the man-haters will be pitted against gays. Whatever else they may be, gays are still men. Like other men, they are sexually aggressive. They are sexually receptive all the time, not just during certain phases of a menstrual cycle. They are better able than women to have sex without emotional connection (or financial reward). Feminists are enjoying a period of attention and dominance right now. Everyone is afraid of them. Attacking men is in fashion. Now that the dam has burst, will gays be safe just because they’re not typical men?

The comment from Wanda Sykes makes me think they won’t be. There has always been tension between gays and lesbians, and anything that is put in tension is likely to snap. Their lifestyles are very different. Gays are about sex and drugs. Lesbians are about moving in together and creating little testosterone-free bubbles where they perceive themselves to be protected from the evil of masculinity, even while some of them mimic it to the point of absurdity. Gays envy women. Lesbians envy men. Hostility is one part of envy. The ingredients for large-scale friction are in place.

If you search the web, you will find discussions in which gays and lesbians acknowledge the fact that they don’t get along. I didn’t make it up.

My guess: new Spacey stories will come out, and then there will be stories about other gay entertainment figures. Maybe Bryan Singer will fall. Gays and lesbians will realize their disunity is a problem, and there will be turmoil as they try to cope without requiring feminists to put down the axe.

What will happen if show business becomes afraid of women? What will entertainment look like? Women in show business are as hypocritical as human beings can be. They behave like sluts, and at the same time, they demand respect and persecute men who treat them as sex objects. How can the post-2000 proud Hollywood slut coexist with post-Weinstein Hollywood misandry and self-righteousness? How can a rich, powerful slut who used her body to reach all of her goals be self-righteous about sex?

Somehow the leftist mind will make it work, at least temporarily. These are the same people who think homosexuality and so-called sexual transitioning are natural and heterosexuality is an artificial construct forced on us by society.

If masculinity is bad and forced, how can butch lesbians be normal and healthy? How can hyper-masculine “bear” gays be healthy? If masculinity is just an unhealthy pose, and we should abolish it for men, should we make Chaz Bono get breast implants and confront “his” feminine side?

I wonder about Hollywood’s future, but I don’t care what happens to show business. I don’t care if the industry collapses and people lose money. Show business is foolishness and waste, and it enables poisonous people and puts huge sums of money in their bloodstained hands.

Time to sit back and watch the drama unfold. Cue Corey Feldman.

Bull Backfire

Rosie O’Donnell has jumped into the Twitter Spacey frenzy. She says, “we all knew.”

Here is the problem with that: you all knew, but you kept your traps shut while people were hurt. O’Donnell is trying to preach and seem morally superior, but she is implicitly confessing that she helped Spacey do evil.

What excuse does she have? She’s rich. Spacey can’t say a few words and put her in the poorhouse. Unsuccessful entertainers are vulnerable, but O’Donnell is not. What’s the explanation?

Look for the liberal press to not call her on her hypocrisy. She is a woman, and these days, that means she wears Teflon.

Thousands of people in Hollywood knew about the widespread sexual exploitation, but people kept quiet and fed the beast. Isn’t that the real scandal?

Toxic Femininity on the Rise

What an interesting night.

Drudge is linking to a story in which Kevin Spacey is accused of molesting a 14-year-old boy.

Why do I find that interesting? Because I have a friend who says he knows of two boys who supposedly received inappropriate attention from Spacey. My friend thinks Spacey is a pedophile. He mentioned these things to me, and I wondered whether there were rumors about Spacey and children on the web. I forgot all about it and forgot to look. I knew there was a story about Spacey getting caught in a British park, doing something that seemed like a Larry Craig impression.

I don’t know anyone in entertainment. I’m just an obscure person. Strange that I heard these things recently and then saw this story.

I’m not accusing Spacey of anything. Maybe it’s all innuendo and lies.

I suppose every male performer will be accused of something perverted before the year is out. It’s all the rage now.

I was thinking about this over the weekend. Here’s my guess: Satan used to protect sexual abusers. Now he has decided to remove that protection in order to advance his war on men.

Sexual harassment is very real, and it’s not a trivial thing. Being sexually abused makes you feel powerless and dirty. It’s as if someone has kicked your front door down and used your living room floor for a toilet while you sit and watch, unable to stop it. When I practiced employment law, I heard story after story about abusers. One male employee thought it was funny to tell a woman he had a check in his front pocket, and that she would have to fish for it. Things like that. Extremely common. It surprised me, because feminists have a victim mentality, and they love attention. They are extremely self-righteous, and they make things up. I was shocked to find out that there were so many true stories of abuse out there.

I was actively looking for racial discrimination cases during this time, and I never saw a single one, but sexual harassment was everywhere.

Anyway, how did abusers (I won’t say “men,” because women do it, too) get away with it for so long? Even powerful women kept quiet. Remember this: when something happens, and it doesn’t make any sense, there is a supernatural cause.

I believe Satan stifled victims so they could be abused. That served his purpose at the time. Now it’s more important for him to fight masculinity, because men are supposed to be Christian leaders who help others fight him. He wants to tear men down and give power to shrill, emasculating, attention-loving, man-hating harpies like Gloria Allred. If would be good if abuse were exposed and the toleration stopped, but we won’t stop there. The pendulum will swing too far, in the direction of persecution of men.

When women get power, they are often more cruel and ruthless than men. Strange thing, but it’s true. Women are very bad at forgiving, and they are very vindictive. I wonder what’s in our future.

In other news, Adam Sandler is being crucified for putting his hand on a woman’s knee on a talk show. All over the web, women are basically calling him a rapist and saying the “victim,” an actress named Claire Foy, was “obviously” upset. Foy, on the other hand, says she wasn’t offended at all. No matter. When toxic femininity is provoked, it shows no mercy until blood is shed, and then, if possible, it would reanimate its dead enemy and kill him again and again. Angry feminists are worse than MS-13.

My bet: Spacey is in real trouble, and it will not go away. And feminists will be after him, even though the alleged victim is male, because Spacey is a man. We’re all bad. We are the enemy. We are Goldstein.

Suddenly I feel glad I have been so unsuccessful with women. Success might have been fatal.

Long Pants Now an Option

I finally got the treat I was waiting for: WINTER!

“It’s fall,” you’re saying. But it was 57 degrees here this morning, and I came here from Miami, where 57 degrees means winter.

Why would anyone want winter? Because I’m sick of having 85-degree days and 80-degree nights…in December. I’m sick of having long-sleeved clothes I can’t wear. I’m sick of not being able to ride my motorcycles because the protective gear is too hot.

In Miami, the air always smells like warm, dirty laundry because of the heat and humidity, and you can’t enjoy yourself outdoors if you’re doing anything strenuous, because after five minutes, sweat soaks through your clothes and runs into your eyes.

Up here I spend a lot of time cutting trees and moving the wood with my tractor. Try that in 90-degree weather. No fun whatsoever. You take your shirt off at the end of the day, you drop it on the bathroom floor, and it goes, “PLOP.” Nasty. And the mosquitoes love hot, wet weather.

It’s after 10 a.m., and it’s still only 62 degrees. I look forward to not sweating or feeling miserable out there.

When you work in hot weather, you feel much more tired. Your body makes you feel tired, artificially, to prevent you from exerting yourself enough to overheat. When the weather cools down, you feel more physically fit even though you’re not. Your endurance and strength increase. You need that when you’re moving trees.

Most people don’t realize heat makes you tired. I figured it out during a summer move in the 1990’s. I had a box of Otter Pops in the freezer (similar to Kool Pops), and I noticed that my energy surged whenever I ate one. After that, I learned to take crushed ice with me to the gym. You eat it during cardiovascular workouts, and it lets you work much harder.

Ice is very hard to melt. It takes one calorie to heat one gram of water one degree Celsius. It takes 80 calories to melt one gram of ice. When you swallow ice at the gym, your body has to pump a huge amount of heat into it. That heat comes from your blood, and the heat in your blood comes from your muscles. Try it and see how much better you feel.

Anyway, I was suffering before the weather changed. Now I should be much more efficient, and the bugs should be dying off, as they deserve.

In other news, I am watching the Hollywood sex-abuse holocaust expand. It just moved to Washington. Some minor actress says Bush I groped her from his wheelchair, and he doesn’t deny it. She says a guy who was working security told her she shouldn’t have stood next to him. Can you imagine that? He’s so crazed with lust, it’s not safe to get within arm’s reach of his chair. Apparently, he’s like the crazy old priest from Father Ted. I never would have guessed.

It’s kind of funny, because the Bushes aren’t very conservative. For decades, people have whispered that the Bushes are liberals who run as conservatives because that’s the easiest way for them to get elected. Bush I is a big homosexuality supporter, and so is Bush II. Back in the 90’s, it was rumored that Bush I was pro-abortion and Bill Clinton was pro-life, but that they ignored their personal convictions in order to please the people who kept them in power. In any case, a Bush I scandal is more of a bruise to liberals than conservatives.

The Hollywood branch of the scandal is blossoming. About 200 women have accused a director named Toback of sexual crimes, and some guy who directed George Clooney is accused of sexual abuse, verbal abuse, and beating people. Supposedly, Clooney challenged him physically over picking on underlings, and they got in a tussle on a set. Guess who else is piping up? Surprise! Corey Feldman. Who didn’t see that coming. He says he’s going to shake the pedophile tree until everyone falls out.

The big problem with Feldman is credibility. He kissed up to Charlie Sheen during the tiger’s blood mess, and no one in his right mind thinks Charlie Sheen is innocent of, well, anything. One gets the impression that Feldman’s remarks about abuse have a lot to do with advancing his own career and very little to do with justice. Sheen was a big player, and Feldman rolled over and showed him his belly, at the worst possible time.

Maybe he really believes Sheen has been maligned, but I don’t trust Feldman, so I won’t believe anything he says unless there is some corroboration or the story seems sound on its own feet.

We haven’t heard much about pedophilia during these last few weeks, yet we all know it’s a big problem in Hollywood. Why are the abusers still protected? Maybe stage parents are hushing their kids up. Maybe older people who were abused as kids are ashamed to talk. Also, a lot of the rumored perpetrators are still very powerful. Consider Bryan Singer. He’s powerful AND homosexual, so God help anyone who says a word against him. He is more sacred than the Virgin Mary.

Hollywood will be a very interesting place if power shifts from lust-crazed, sociopathic men to shrill, attention-craving, narcissistic women with raging victim complexes. Imagine the horrible movies we’ll be subjected to. It will be an endless series of sorry spectacles in the vein of Fried Green Tomatoes, Steel Magnolias, The Turning Point, Terms of Endearment, and The Handmaid’s Tale. If that happens, you will need a skid steer to get men into a movie theater.

Maybe God is helping Christians by weakening the moneyed allies of the leftist political establishment, to slow down the encroachment of leftist totalitarianism. That would be nice, because one day this country will go full-throttle socialist, and not long after that, we’ll see the labor camps and killing fields, and it will be a very bad time to be white. Maybe God will bless me, and I’ll be dead when that happens. That would be great.

Some people think we can fight the left with guns and rallies, but those are natural tools, and our problems are supernatural. We aren’t humble. We love sin. We don’t pray. We have cut America’s ties to God’s protection. All the AK-47’s in the world can’t protect what God has exposed, and personally, I would rather go ahead and die than sit in my yard all day with a rifle. When it comes to that, there will be nothing worth fighting over. I’m not sure there is anything worth fighting over right now.

Take it, socialists. Take it all. Kill us off and send us to a better place, and enjoy the worthless, depreciating trinkets you stole from us as you age, wither, and die. You’ll wish you hadn’t, but that’s not our problem.

We would all be in heaven, and we would never have to hear the word “Antifa” or the phrase “global warming” again. We would never have to see another Gloria Allred press conference or read a news story about Kathy Griffin. No more toxic femininity, in our faces 24/7. That’s a win.

I don’t know what to think of the men who are being exposed. I’ve committed my share of sexual sins, and I don’t know how I would cope with seeing them exposed on major websites and on the TV news. I can’t help pitying people who are under the gun right now. On the other hand, sociopaths don’t feel shame, so their pain is nothing like what I would feel. They’re just upset over the loss of money, power, and admiration. Maybe there isn’t much suffering to pity.

To take one example, unless Harvey Weinstein goes to prison, the worst thing he’ll have to deal with is dying rich without a major role in the entertainment industry. That’s not much of a punishment. He won’t even have to give up fornication. He’ll just have to quit fornicating with actresses, and he’ll have to get consent.

Now that I think about it, conservatives have one major iron in the fire: Bill O’Reilly. At least he used to be major. Bill doesn’t need liberal enemies. He is destroying his legacy all by himself. He got Fox to pay Lis Wiehl $32 million for just one of his many harassment claims, and he still says the whole sex thing is a leftist smear. Worse, he invokes his kids, who are probably very humiliated. He says he made Fox pay in order to spare his kids embarrassment. That’s pretty clearly a lie. He also invoked Eric Bolling’s dead son, much to Mr. Bolling’s ire and disgust. The odds that Bill isn’t pretty much what his detractors say he is are just about nil, but he continues to blame the world, and he has even blamed God. He said, “You know, am I mad at God? Yeah, I’m mad at him. I wish I had more protection. I wish this stuff didn’t happen. I can’t explain it to you. Yeah, I’m mad at him.”

Not encouraging. God is not wrong, Bill. You are attacking the only person who can help you.

We hate terrorists who use kids as shields, and Bill knows that, but look what he’s doing. In his panic and what appears to be self-worshiping rage, he has lost all sense of decency. He has no idea how he looks to other people when he uses these contemptible defenses. When news of his defense tactics came out, champagne corks must have popped all over Manhattan.

I’ve seen two of Bill’s alleged victims, and maybe I should not say this, but I’m surprised by his taste in women. He went to work every day with Lauren Green, Kiran Chetry, Shannon Bream, and a host of other beauties, but look who got him in trouble: Andrea Mackris and Lis Wiehl.

I have to think about cool-weather work clothes, so I better quit procrastinating and get out there. I hope your day is as pleasant as mine.

Gloating is Dangerous

This morning I found myself thinking about the Harvey Weinstein conflagration, which is spreading far and wide in the liberal entertainment-politics establishment.

No one with any common sense believes men like George Clooney, Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, or Colin Firth when they say they didn’t know about Weinstein. Seth MacFarlane joked about his predation at the Oscars four years ago. That proves that everyone knew about Weinstein. They can say they didn’t know he raped anyone, but they can’t say they didn’t know he used his position to pressure women into sex. They can’t say it credibly, I mean. It would be possible for an exceptionally isolated or gullible person in Hollywood to be unaware, but I doubt there are any major stars who didn’t know.

Hollywood runs on connections and gossip. People make it their business to know things about other people. My best guess is that all of these men knew what was going on, and Weinstein surely had dozens or hundreds of female enablers, too.

It’s astonishing how many people have been touched by the spray from the burst pimple. It even reached Hillary Clinton. Now it’s reaching her aides, who are publicly attacking the boyfriend of an actress who claims Weinstein raped her. I can’t think of anyone except Jane Fonda who has admitted guilt or expressed shame.

While I was thinking about Weinstein, I thought about the expression “thin ice.” When a person is on thin ice, it means things are fine now, but he’s in danger of an abrupt fall into a very bad situation. Then I thought about it some more, and the image that came into my mind was Weinstein dancing on a thin scab over a deep abscess.

Through sin, we undermine the ground we walk on. We set traps for ourselves, and then we walk into them. We create and feed enemies who lurk just beneath the horizon, and eventually, if we don’t repent, they leap out unexpectedly and consume us. That’s what happened to Weinstein. He begged for this disaster all his life, and then when it hit, he was utterly amazed.

Christians don’t talk a lot about repentance these days. We talk about how we are required to endorse homosexuality regardless of what the Bible says. We talk about money. We like to talk about unity and spout nonsense about all religions being different paths to the same God. We don’t talk a lot about the importance of confessing our sins to God and begging for help before the fruit of our disobedience falls on our heads.

Years ago, God told me something. He said, “Anything you bury, you also plant.” When you become a Christian and go to a feel-good church and start claiming God is going to do a lot of things for you, and you don’t repent and confess, you’re planting the seeds of disaster and defeat, and they keep growing until you change your ways or you receive the nasty harvest for which you sowed.

A Christian who doesn’t repent is like a deep sore full of stinking pus, covered with a scab as thin as a playing card. While you’re talking about positive thinking, the prosperity gospel, the supposed nonexistence of hell, and the importance of endorsing sexual sin, the infection festers and grows more powerful. The power your enemies have over you grows. Eventually, if Satan’s plan works, a moment comes when you’re exposed. All your hopes shatter, along with your reputation.

In September, Weinstein was rich, and he was feared. It seemed like he had nothing to worry about. Virtually no one was willing to even discuss his faults. It’s October, and he is looking at the possibilty of multiple sexual battery charges. He has no job. No one wants to be near him.

He made a crazy remark after he was exposed. He said he was going to take advantage of his newfound leisure time to go after the NRA. He said he would “channel” his “anger” at them. What? Should he even be discussing anger? How about shame? And how is the NRA supposed to be afraid of an enemy who has no power? No one will take Weinstein’s phone calls, but somehow he’s going to use his connections to bring down the NRA.

Scientists say snakes don’t die immediately when you cut their heads off. They remain aware and capable of movement. That’s what Weinstein’s remark makes me think of. The head doesn’t know the body is gone.

I was thinking about all this, and I thought about the things I’ve planted. These days I try very hard to confess everything in my prayers. I do not want my enemies and problems to grow. I want God to show me mercy and get rid of them. Some day, I suppose, every disgusting word and act for which I am responsible will be known. I will never be able to say they didn’t happen, or that “that wasn’t who I was.” At best, I’ll be able to say God helped me confess, overcome, and cease.

It’s easy to gloat over the left while their fleet burns, but I decided I should pray for the people caught up in this mess. I prayed for God to try to reach them, help them repent, cut off the people and spirits that encourage them in sin, and help them to achieve salvation and become Spirit-led. I don’t want God turning his attention from them to me and saying, “While I’m at it…”

I will continue to be glad the left is being weakened. That’s always a blessing. But the humiliation and turmoil people will face while this scandal runs it course are things that should fill me with fear, not just relief, and certainly not glee.

It can’t be fun being exposed as contemptible. That is especially true for people who are almost literally worshiped, and it’s especially true for people who don’t have God to run to for help and comfort.

If we judge ourselves, maybe we can persuade God not to do it, and to prevent men from doing it.

Lust is an extremely powerful weapon in Satan’s war on masculinity. We have been taught that it’s good. We build it up in ourselves. We even buy pills to increase it, as if that were anything but a curse. Women have learned to be slutty and provocative, not just behind closed doors, but in public and at their jobs. Lust makes us puppets, and it destroys very powerful men who are nearly invulnerable apart from sexual sin.

Women don’t care, because they’re ignorant, and because they’re busy using sex to compete for our attention.

Men are not leaders now. If we were leaders, we would be trying to get women to help us to fight lust. Instead, we encourage them to tempt us. Satan leads them, and they lead us. It worked on Adam, and nothing has changed.

We have chosen to follow, not lead. Women have refused to follow. Instead, they lead, and they take us to defeat and helplessness, not victory and power.

I have done plenty of following and very little leading.

I think very, very few people in Hollywood will change because of our prayers, but no one is disposable, so if anyone changes, it’s worth the effort. And we are obligated to pray for our enemies, whether or not it works.

Satan knows it’s smarter to make your enemies your servants than to destroy them entirely. God knows that, too, but you wouldn’t know it, the way we treat unbelievers.

I do hope the scandal saps the power of the left. Satan’s children are eventually going to have complete control in America, so any delay is a blessing.

There is a Cure for Miami

I am enjoying Ocala to the point where I almost wonder if something is wrong with me.

When I moved here, the movers screwed up badly. My dad insisted on going for a drive and got lost on the day of the move. My dad overdosed on pills he was supposed to let me measure out for him, and he ended up in the hospital for several days. Hurricane Irma hit me with tropical storm winds and knocked over lots of big trees on the farm. The power went out. I had to bathe in buckets of pool water. The main AC unit in the house died, and we had to fork out $6800. A tenant broke a lease in Miami, and we had to pay $5000 to fix the apartment. Hurricane Irma messed up a yacht I really needed to sell.

Plus it was ungodly hot during the day, and the mosquitoes were so big and numerous they practically lifted me off the ground when I went outside.

It was a bad start.

Now I have a lot of my stuff here. I made a trip to Miami, and a friend also went down and brought things back. The boat sold for more than I expected. I have three chain saws, and I’ve learned how to move a lot of wood in a hurry. The air is drying up, and the weather is cooler. The bugs are going away.

Finally I can enjoy this place.

When you join a moronic street gang, they “jump you in” and “jump you out.” That means they give you a beating when you join, and if you leave, you get another beating. Satan seems to work the same way. Simply moving back to Miami in 1997 was a beating. This year I left again, and the God of Losers came at me again. That’s how I see it.

Whatever. The suffering I endured doesn’t really compare to the eternal roasting my enemy is going to get.

Today I went out to the shop to start my day of hurricane mess recovery, and I felt the cool breeze hit me as I stood on the porch (My shop has a porch!) and opened the door. A crazy wave of pleasure hit me. I was overcome. It’s gross and trite to compare everyday pleasures to sex, but that’s what I thought of. Something went through me and left me a little dizzy.

Today I lit up the burn pile again. I also sharpened the pole saw and made my way into the middle of my woods. I have a bunch of big downed trees in there. I’ve been reluctant to take them on because of the bugs, heat, and standing water. Today was the right day.

I found out a neighbor had cleared away 90% of a big oak that had fallen on a fence. That was nice. I don’t have access to the DMZ between our fences, so I was dreading looking him up and asking how I could get in. Evidently he did not consider me accountable for my tree’s behavior. All I have to deal with is the stump.

I found several trees which fell near each other. Some were on top of each other. I took out the pole saw and got to work. I put in around 3 hours. I murdered those trees. Because the pole saw is so safe to use, and because it can reach things several feet away and things that are over my head, I had access to all sorts of branches that would have been a problem for a chain saw. I cut the crap out of the trees and made a giant pile of limbs and logs.

I had my trusty timberjack with me. What a great tool. It makes short work of heavy logs I could not have dealt with a week ago. They used to be a real pain. Now they’re a joke.

Within a week or two, I should have a clear path to the gate on the highway. Once that happens, I’ll be able to use the tractor to take wood out through the gate and dump it for the county to pick up. I won’t have to burn it!

I’m sad that I lost trees, but just about all of them were worthless oaks. I can plant pecans or something.

Maybe I should do something with that lot. I don’t know how many desirable trees are on it. I like the woods, but maybe I should consider a plan with fewer trees and more grass. Maybe there are pecans and other trees there that I could assist by cutting oaks, and then I could thin out the brush and put in grass.

I do not like seeing the neighbors. I’ve read that bamboo will grow up and form a thick hedge in a year or two. Maybe I should plant a couple hundred feet along the fence line. Bamboo looks really nice, and on top of that, the canes are useful for certain things.

While I was hacking away at a tree, I hit something and knocked the chain off the pole saw bar. It was time to quit anyway, so I headed back to the shop. I had two bottles of cold water from the Rockstar fridge, a Pellegrino orange soda, and an egg cream. It’s amazing how much water you sweat out while using the saws. I sat in one of the shop’s entrances in a plastic Adirondack chair, facing the woods, enjoying my beverages. The breeze blew through the shop and kept me cool. Too much. I loved it.

I goofed off. I texted and called friends. The only thing missing was a smoker with a few ribs in it.

I was so right about this place. That tells me the idea came from God. When I have my trees cleaned up and my bamboo installed, I’ll be the big daddy king of all eccentric hermits.

Some day this will be a place for prayer meetings and God knows what else. Until then I’ll enjoy myself getting it ready.

I just can’t hate Miami enough.

Sorry for not taking photos. I was too engrossed. Maybe next time.

Maybe Miami was Just a Bad Dream

Ocala is just too much.

Today I finished looking after my dad’s business, and I put my boots on and headed for the workshop. I sharpened up Big Bad Mama, the 20″ Echo chainsaw, and I put it in the E-Z-GO along with my new Woodchuck timberjack. I cruised over to the big live oak that tried to crush my chicken house, and I went to work sawing it up.

Before I got to the oak, I went off my property and grabbed a gigantic ball of live oak limbs and Spanish moss from my neighbor’s swale and carted it to my burn pile. Good neighbors don’t leave hurricane junk on each other’s swales. I scooped it up with the tractor forks and dumped it on the pile.

I cut little limbs and moved them until I had access to the bigger bits of the tree, and then I went at it. I cut the tree into manageable pieces, and then I used the tractor and a strap to yank it around into a position where I could buck the last big branch.

The timberjack is wonderful. You can grab a hundred-pound limb with it and yank it into cutting position with about as much effort as it takes to flip a pancake. I had no problem cutting big limbs up with it.

The tree had one huge limb which could be considered the trunk. Hard to say. After I moved things around with the tractor, that limb was off the ground. Using my brain, I put the tractor forks under it and then cut it off. It fell on the forks. I didn’t have to roll it onto them. I ran it over to the burn pile and dumped it on.

Because I use the right tools, I got a whole lot of work done in a short time. It was a pleasure. Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll go out and hit the pile with my plumber’s torch, and it will go up like Mt. Saint Helens.

When I was done, I moved everything back to the shop, got a chair, and drank several beverages, ending with a lovely Sierra Nevada Torpedo. Occasionally I drink beer to blow out kidney stones.

The air was cool. The bugs were not biting. It was quiet. No one was yammering at me in a foreign language. Exquisite.

This place gets better and better. Why didn’t I move 20 years ago? Oh, right. I was out of God’s will. I would not have fit in.

I’m in the workshop now. A nice breeze is blowing through. I hate to leave.

I’ll post a few photos.

Man, I hate Miami.

FYI, my dad’s boat is sold, and the money is in the checking account. A major headache, GONE!

I think I’ll buy some pie.

Sensitive Hollywood Hunks and Their Gigantic Blind Spot

Yesterday I learned something surprising. There is an epidemic of blindness and deafness in Hollywood, and it has been raging since at least the 90’s. Harvey Weinstein apparently molested or tried to molest nearly every woman he ever met, and not one male star noticed!

Three big names have taken torpedo hits: Russell Crowe, Matt Damon, and Ben Affleck. Crowe is hardly worth mentioning, because he has a reputation for being a jerk, but Damon and Affleck promote themselves as warm, fuzzy, feminist idols. It doesn’t look good for them.

Crowe and Damon are accused of helping kill a story about a man who worked for The Weinstein Co. in Italy. Supposedly he was nothing but a procurer. Damon’s response, in a nutshell, sounds a lot like, “I wasn’t paying attention, and I know nothing.” He says he made a very short phone call in which he simply vouched for the employee’s authenticity. We have not heard from Crowe yet.

A fourth star made the mistake of speaking up: George Clooney. He could have weathered this out quietly in his palace in Italy, but (contain your surprise) he decided to reinforce his feminist credentials publicly. “Harvey WHO? Sexual misbehavior in HOLLYWOOD? I am SHOCKED!”

He hasn’t gotten significant blowback yet, but I think he will. George is 56 years old, and he seriously wants us to believe he had no idea what his good friend Harvey has been doing since before he met George. This means George is either stupid, utterly uninformed, or lying. Or some combination of those three alternatives.

I know the names of the professors who misbehaved sexually in my law school. I know the name of the girl who snorted coke off a male student’s privates. I know the guy and girl who performed two sex acts in an order so gross I can’t provide further description here. But George Clooney had no idea Harvey Weinstein, his personal friend, with whom he did business many times, was running around–for decades–like a moose in rut.

You can get away with nearly anything if you’re a leftist. Lots of people knew Bill Cosby was a rapist, but nothing was done. The women who have credibly accused him would literally fill a bus. As Hannibal Burress said before the scandal went nova, you could find out about it by Googling. Lots of people knew. But nothing happened to Bill until he started telling men to pull their pants up.

Here’s a surprising figure in the war against harassment: Jimmy Kimmel. Donald Trump, Jr., called him out for ignoring Weinstein, who was worse than ten Bill O’Reillys plus two. Kimmel’s weak response: a repost of the famous Donald Trump Billy Bush video.

Why is Kimmel so quiet? Here’s three words that might be relevant: Girls on Trampolines.

Kimmel became famous co-hosting The Man Show, with Adam Carolla. The Man Show featured a troop of models called the Juggies. “Jug” means “breast,” in case you didn’t know. The show featured videos of these women jumping on a trampoline in their underwear. Spreading their legs in slow motion.

Kimmel can’t wade into this cesspool too deeply because he knows that if he does, someone will eventually remember The Man Show.

I wonder how far this kerfuffle will spread. Celebrities are very insecure and self-righteous, so they will want to get on the PC side of this thing as soon as possible, but for many, that won’t be possible. Consider this: virtually no prominent male musicians or athletes can get involved, because most of them fornicate like crazed rabbits. A rock star or NBA player can have sex with twenty new women per week if his body can stand it, and they do their best to put themselves to the test. How are they going to come forward, after defiling so many daughters, sisters, and wives?

Actors aren’t quite as bad, because they don’t perform regularly in big arenas full of slutty women, but they’re on the next level down.

I think this will be a big opportunity for attention-loving female celebrities to go full Nurse Ratched on their male colleagues, and the men will be way too scared to resist. They’ll fall all over themselves trying to get approval. Many of the ones who have screwed up the worst will suddenly see the light. Maybe they’ll do rehab. Weinstein is already checking in.

It’s very bad that men in Hollywood are predatory perverts, and it would be good to address the issue, but I’m sure Hollywood will handle it the wrong way, because Satan runs Hollywood. Satan doesn’t fix things. He just gives you new problems that look like solutions. Maybe the PC atmosphere in Hollywood will get even more intense than it is now, until whatever fun still exists in entertainment is completely gone. Maybe all new scripts will have to get by a panel composed of Lena Dunham, Sinead O’Connor, and Gloria Allred.

This will be turned into a front in the war on masculinity. Feminists don’t distinguish between predators and ordinary men with ordinary desires. We’re all bad. Like Nora Dunn said, “Women good, men bad.”

Weinstein will go away and come back. He will be a totally changed man. No, really. Damon and Affleck will look bad for a while. Damon will probably be allowed to stay famous, but Affleck has misbehaved a lot, so he may have a few lean years. Clooney will look like a lying idiot to people with common sense, but there aren’t many people like that, so I think he’ll be okay.

People will get even more nervous. Hollywood predation will continue, regardless.

These are my best guesses.

Should I even discuss Hillary Clinton’s bizarre, delated statement regarding the Weinstein matter? It was predictable. “I harbored a predator, defended him, and paid operatives to destroy his victims, but I still want to be seen as a champion of women and a protector of their dignity.” That’s what she’s really saying. Why is she still here? Why are people still pointing microphones and cameras at her? She is killing the appeal and credibility of her party, bit by bit. I suppose many people are still afraid of her and her husband. They’re afraid to go near the snakes until they stop twitching.

This flap makes me think about my own history. It would be great to say I’ve never said or done anything gross or repugnant in a sexual context, but that is not true. The best I can hope for is to continue being improved by God, to the point where, if my history comes to light, I can honestly say, “God changed me, and I behave a lot better now.” That’s better than denying the truth and thereby provoking the release of more evidence.

Hollywood has to choose between two favorite choices: the burning desire to hide evil in order to make money, and the burning desire to appear righteous and be admired by millions of dupes. I don’t think the industry can handle the tension. There will be chaos for a time, and we already know something about the outcome: reform will be meaningless, superficial, and fleeting.

Cliff Clavin Would be Proud

Life in Ocala is wonderful, although I still have challenges. My dad sometimes decides he doesn’t have dementia, which actually makes sense. Dementia screws up your judgment and makes you forget things, including your dementia diagnosis. I have also had more problems getting rid of my dad’s yacht.

My dad has gotten worse. Dementia never stands still. Over the last few days he has forgotten his diagnosis, and he has been telling me his mind is fine. I tell him he was diagnosed with vascular dementia, and he says he doesn’t remember anything like that. Then I remind him that this proves the diagnosis is right.

He wants to drive. I told him he can’t drive because he gets lost. Then he wants to know when he got lost. Then I have to remind him. Then he says he wants to drive with me in the car with him, which negates the whole purpose of driving. He says he wants to maintain the skill. This could be useful to me, because he could follow me when I need him to take me to get the car fixed. But it’s not worth it, because it will convince him he’s a safe driver.

In December, he will have to take a driving test. I suppose that will put an end to the controversy.

Supposedly, the stage of dementia he’s in lasts a couple of years, tops. It’s too bad he has a contrary attitude, because he only has a short stretch of relative clarity before him, and he would get more out of it if he didn’t fight the truth. One of these days, he will drop another notch, and it may be a big one. That’s how the disease progresses. It could be tomorrow or three months from now. He would be better off admitting the obvious and trying to get right with God.

He has delusions now. He thinks he used to ride motorcycles. He has no idea how to operate one. He told a friend we used to take his boat to Europe. He said we put drums of diesel on the deck to extend the boat’s range. Imagine trying to lift a 55-gallon drum of diesel on a rocking boat and then using it to pour fuel into an opening on the boat’s gunnel.

I knew another man with a problem like my dad’s, but he was a less argumentative person. He had always been calm, rational, warm-hearted, patient, generous, and cooperative. Even after he was unable to look after himself, he was clean, well-mannered, and very pleasant to deal with. Everyone loved him, and he wasn’t a burden to anyone except possibly his wife. Your preexisting personality can shape the experience you have when you become demented.

I had to get a second fridge because my dad’s food habits were too gross to tolerate. I hid it in a closet in the garage, and I put certain items in it so they wouldn’t be defiled or eaten as soon as they made it into the house. I don’t want to eat pickles after he has put his fingers in the jar. Imagine the things he would have on his fingers. I don’t want to use mustard from a greasy bottle with dried mustard all over it. I don’t want to eat Raisin Bran after he has sat in front of the TV and eaten most of the box with his fingers. I would like a chance to eat some cheese or an ice cream sandwich before they suddenly vanish.

These habits didn’t start when he became demented. It’s just how he has always been. Now that he’s demented, he can’t remember when I remind him he has to think about cleanliness and leave some food for me.

He rubs spit on things now. That’s new. He thinks he’s cleaning things. I have to keep Lysol wipes and a spray bottle of alcohol handy.

It’s a big relief, knowing I can have clean food and that if I buy a bag of miniature Snickers bars, it won’t disappear before I get the chance to open it. He ate a two-pound bag of peanut butter M&M’s the other day. Who does that?

He won’t find the fridge because he can’t find his way around the house all that well. He’s not sure where my bedroom is. He can find the kitchen, the garage, and his bedroom, and he can walk around the neighborhood without problems, but he will probably never know there’s a closet in the garage.

As for his boat, it has been a horrendous ordeal trying to get rid of it. When the insurance came up for renewal, the agent said there was no coverage for damage. Just liability. This was my dad’s idea. I decided to follow suit, because I was listing the boat with a broker. How likely was it that a hurricane would hit Miami in the two months it would be on the market? Yeah, okay.

Irma showed up. She tore up the boat’s canvas and did some other damage, and I thought I was going to take a big hit. I had a stressful week thinking about it. Then one day I started praying for God to get it sold, and I thanked him over and over and gave him glory, saying, “because it’s done.” A few minutes later, the broker said we had two offers for much more than I expected. We accepted one of them. Then the bilge pumps acted up. I wrote about that a few days ago. If you read about it, you know that “Carlos,” our dubious boat mechanic, installed a new pump. I thought the pump saga was over.

Carlos said water was coming from a rotted head hose. He said he couldn’t close the seacock to keep water out while he replaced it, because it was stuck, and if he applied pressure to it, he might break it and let in enough water to sink the boat. This is a lot of BS. You can replace a seacock on a docked boat by having someone go over the side and cover the opening with a toilet plunger while you work. I know this because Carlos has done it. I wrote about this earlier.

You can pound a stopper into a through-hull if the seacock breaks. Everyone knows this. It’s not like mankind has been sailing for thousands of years without coming up with a few solutions to simple problems. It’s not like every boat with a hole in it sinks. Human beings aren’t that stupid.

Anyway, I thought the problem was fixed, but the broker went over the next day, and Carlos’s pump wasn’t working. The broker got it running, closed the seacock, and got the water pumped out.

Thanks again, Carlos.

Why did the broker go over the next day? Because he’s a responsible adult who cares if the boat sinks. He’s not just thinking about getting a check and running off.

I texted Carlos just to have my low expectations confirmed. He did not disappoint. He gave me a bunch of Bart Simpson excuses, including, “It was working when I left.” He started saying he would go over and fix the rest of the wiring. Yes, instead of apologizing profusely, he decided to award himself another profitable job. No, that would not be necessary. The sale was supposed to close the next day, and I didn’t feel much like paying another Carlos bill. I told him not to bother.

I found out I could move the closing up by sending the required documents early, so I jumped on the chance. I got them notarized and sent them the fastest way I could. On Wednesday, I used the Postal Service (You can see where this is heading) to send them by two-day Express Mail. They were guaranteed to arrive by noon Friday.

Hallelujah! Problem solved! The sale would be final on Friday! Not my boat, not my problem!

Then Friday came, and the delivery confirmation text didn’t come.

The Postal Service didn’t deliver the envelope in time. I spent over $80 for nothing, and I was facing two more days with a leaky boat on my hands.

I tried to log into the USPS site to get information. The site said my account was disabled. It referred me to a page to fix it. That page told me to create a new account, which had nothing to do with the problem. I called. The robot said the wait was at least 20 minutes. I tried their email contact page. I filled it out and clicked, and I got a page saying it wasn’t working.

Today I got my dad in the car, and we sent more documents using UPS. This is a real company that occasionally delivers things on time. We spent $91, and then we sat down at Bob Evans for breakfast. Ten minutes later, I got a text. The Postal Service had delivered the documents.

Okay.

The boat has to remain afloat until Monday morning, when the closer signs off on everything and has the money wired to my dad. I have around 40 hours of prayer ahead of me. After that, if it sinks, it’s the buyer’s baby. They had it surveyed. They have a mechanic. They know it has issues. Their responsibility.

Hurricane Irma knocked the boat around. The broker has messed with the wires. Carlos has puttered around with the wires. The buyer’s mechanic has been on the boat. It’s not an ideal situation.

My dad says the boat is in “tip top shape.”

I contacted friends for prayer. I don’t want to take chances. I need this boat gone.

I got an amazing answer to prayer when the offer arrived. Then I had all these problems. Am I getting resistance from Satan? Sure seems that way. But he’s the little one who loses, and God is the big one who always wins. I have to remember that.

I might shoot again tomorrow. Today I got an opportunity to set fire to our huge burn pile, so next week I’ll have an opportunity to clear more wood. Tomorrow it will be hot, so I think I’ll just shoot. Today Amanda and her sons came over, and I made pizza and garlic rolls.

If you have a minute, please pray the boat stays afloat until it gets to the Cayman Islands and that the sale goes through on Monday. I would be very grateful.

Things are going to get better. The current hurricane is headed somewhere where I don’t have land, my dad is not in the hospital, I have sanitary food, and sooner or later the hairs I burned off my legs have to grow back.

Here’s a photo of the burn pile.

Manly Activities Bring Joy

It seems like there is nothing you can’t do with chainsaws, a tow strap, and a tractor.

I have been putting off tackling a particularly dangerous fallen oak. It snapped about 15 feet off the ground and fell into the crotch of another oak so it was suspended horizontally. A major branch extended about 30 degrees off the fallen oak, toward the ground. This made things worse, because the big branch was bent against the ground, storing up energy so it could spring loose and kill me or drop the main trunk on me when I cut it.

You can’t cut the main trunk on a tree like this, because there’s a good chance the fallen part will come down and crush your skull. You never fell a tree with a rotten or broken part above your head. I had to work on it from the top end.

I didn’t even consider cutting this tree until I had a pole saw. Most of it was above shoulder height, to put it mildly. You don’t use a chainsaw for jobs like that. A pole saw is okay for high cuts under certain circumstances, i.e., when the wood you cut off won’t fall on your head.

I had to cut off the top of the fallen oak, which extended past the crotch of the host tree, as I choose to call it. The top had branches going every which way, and some were bent against the ground. My hope was to snub it off at the host tree’s trunk so I could then cut the fallen oak on the other side of the trunk, allowing it to fall downward with the fallen tree’s trunk acting like a hinge.

Cutting the top of the fallen oak got difficult as I cut higher and higher. Eventually, I had to climb on a ladder to cut. By the way, do not buy a long Climbtek ladder like mine. They’re really heavy, and they can swing shut on your hands while you adjust them. They’re strong and versatile, but 99% of the time, you’ll be better off with a sliding extension ladder and a regular step ladder.

If you need the versatility, then I highly recommend Climbtek. This ladder can do almost anything. Just don’t complain about the weight.

You should never climb a ladder with a chainsaw, but a pole saw is different, because if you fall, you’ll land seven feet from the chain. That’s my theory, at least.

I trimmed the top of the fallen tree as much as I could, but as I went higher, I got to the point where I was cutting nearly straight over my head. The last piece I cut took a fall path about four feet from me in the horizontal direction, and that was close enough. Now what? I stared at it for a long time.

I remembered I had a tractor and a 30-foot strap. I had also trimmed a lot off the fallen oak’s big branch. I realized I could put the strap on the end of the branch and use the branch as a lever to twist the fallen oak and make it fall off its stump. I had to get on the ladder to attach the strap to the branch, right under the horizontal part of the tree. That made me wish I were wearing diapers, but nothing happened.

I attached the strap and started pulling with the tractor. I pulled and backed up and pulled and backed up and pulled. I didn’t want to pull too hard and store too much energy in the tree and strap. I didn’t want anything coming loose and flying my way. After two or three repetitions, the fallen oak tore off its stump and fell. This was one of the great moments of my life. I’m ashamed to say I faced the oak and made a gesture I’ve seen a lot of Italians make in movies.

The big branch was hanging in the air now, so I used the pole saw to buck it into little chunks. You’re not supposed to buck logs with pole saws, but I was too tired to walk and get a big saw. Took me two minutes.

Now the tree is utterly defeated. Tomorrow I can get the big mama saw out and buck it for removal to the burn pile or the side of the road. I’ll get to use my new timberjack!

“What’s a timberjack?”, you wonder. It’s an amazing tool for bucking logs. It has a hook like a peavey on it. It has two legs on the other side. You use the hook to roll logs over so the legs hold them up. This gives you clearance to cut the logs in pieces without sawing into the dirt.

Sawing into the dirt is fun, but it’s a bad idea. Like a lot of fun things.

I should post photos of the timberjack when I finish that tree.

As far as I know, I will be able to cut and move every tree on the property without professional help. It’s just a matter of nibbling away at the unsafe bits until you have something safe. The tractor is a phenomenal tool. I can move wood with it, and that’s obvious, but I can also yank trees around and make them safer to cut.

I spent about $1200 on saws, plus another three hundred or so on things like a hard hat, gloves, the timberjack, and wedges. That’s bad, but it’s a whole lot less than a bunch of slackers with a crane would charge. I’ll want to hire slackers if I ever want to fell big trees near the house, but I’m not shelling out 10 grand for them to move trees that are already on the ground, especially when I can burn them or shove them onto the right of way for nothing.

I spent some money, but I have something to show for it other than huge bills and a Wimp of the Year trophy. The tools will be waiting in the shop for the next crisis. On a farm, there will always be tree issues, so I had to get these things anyway. I may never again have to deal with a dozen or so trees that fell over simultaneously, but trees will fall from time to time, because THEY’RE ALL ROTTEN HERE. This place produces the scabbiest, most scrofulous oaks in the world. It’s amazing they allow the filthy things to grow, when they could plant pecans or something.

Speaking of Wimp of the Year trophies, this whole ordeal has me thinking about Satan’s successful attacks on American masculinity. We raise ladies of both sexes now. What has happened to our men? They wear makeup and tights. Half of them are insisting we pretend they’re women. Is masculinity really that repellant to men? Is it possible they actually find it distasteful?

I love man stuff. I love my Danner boots, my diesel pickup, my tractor, my welders, my machine tools, my guns, and my tractors. I love going out there in a $4.99 Tractor Supply hat and wreaking havoc. I love shooting. I used to love fishing until it became a giant burden. What’s with our fruity modern males? How can they not like these things?

I can’t understand little sissies who don’t like setting things on fire, blowing things up, or ripping things up with power tools. I’m pretty far from a man’s man (even though Acidman called me that), but I’m doing a lot better than a lot of guys I see these days. I still feel gay every time I put gel in my hair.

I’ve started wearing my Tractor Supply hat into restaurants. I didn’t see that coming. I feel strange leaving the house without it.

Amanda got me a high-visibility Rural King hat, so I have variety. I kind of hate to sweat up a gift, though.

Hurricane Irma and these trees can kiss my big white Christian conservative male rear end. I didn’t move here so I could take estrogen and do yoga while my neighbors had all the fun. I will keep putting these trees in their place until they wish they had never germinated.

When I have my machine tools here, I’ll be the most annoying Southerner on earth. If I’m not already. Almost everything that causes me problems can be dealt with by cutting it, dragging it, welding it, machining it, or shooting it. When I have machining covered, I will be insufferable. I plan to, anyway.

Hope you enjoy the photos. If not, quit reading this blog, because I will never stop posting this kind of stuff.

More

I feel like writing some more. Another benefit of living in Ocala is that I’m in better shape. I can’t seem to gain weight here. I had to move to a smaller belt, even though I’ve been patronizing Sonny’s barbecue pretty heavily. On top of that, apart from a short hurricane-related lapse, I’ve been maintaining my HIIT workout schedule, and everything is firming up and improving. I would go so far as to describe myself as semi-muscular. I looked in the mirror the other day and saw something that almost resembled abs.

I’m excited about being in shape. I may even get some weights. Ordinarily, it’s hard to make myself lift, but I do so much work here, lifting will just be noise on the graph.

It would be neat to go back to 47 chest/33 waist.

I guess I’m the only person on earth who pushes exercise bike pedals with his hands, but I won’t apologize. It works. The resistance knob on the bike broke (again), so instead of fixing it, I put an adjustable clamp on the calipers that apply pressure to the bike’s wheel. Now I get lots of resistance. It’s having an effect. If you’re too lazy to lift, this will tone your upper body and even add some bulk, and if you ever have to do strenuous work, you’ll be ready for it.

This place rocks. I hate Miami more every second.

Vegas Slaughter Grounds Overt Anti-Caucasian Racism

It’s crazy how America is being transformed by Satan.

Last night a maniac opened fire on concertgoers with an automatic weapon, killing at least fifty. Who are Internet leftists blaming? The murderer? Mental illness? No, they’re blaming white people. Many are more specific: they blame conservative Christian white men.

There is a myth out there which says only white men commit mass murderers, and that only white men become serial killers. John Muhammad’s murder spree did nothing to change the minds of the faithful. They didn’t pay any attention to him, Wayne Williams, Colin Ferguson, Lee Malvo, Syed Farook, Omar Mateen, the 911 killers, or Christopher Dorner. They don’t even know who Charles Ng is. They hear a myth that confirms their preexisting bigotry, and they choose not to question it.

I include dark-skinned Muslims among non-white killers. They’re Caucasian, but “Caucasian” and “white” aren’t synonyms.

Here’s an interesting fact: white people aren’t that violent. According to government statistics, Asians commit the least violent crime in the US. After that, white people. Then you get a big bump in the statistics, and you come to Hispanics, who are much more violent than whites or Asians (largely because of the huge number of violent crimes committed by illegal aliens). Next on the list: black males. They commit MOST murders in America; a little over 50%. But somehow leftists have decided white men are our biggest terrorist threat.

The bizarre racist comments now appearing on the web seem to be coordinated by a central authority. A tremendous number of people have simultaneously appeared on the Internet, like a flash mob, spouting very similar hateful comments about white men. How can that be? Do they get together on the dark web and pass out talking points? Maybe some of them do, but the real explanation has to be supernatural. When a big percentage of a nation’s people start parroting the same hateful lies at the same time, Satan has to be behind it, just as he was behind the anti-Jewish lies of the Nazis.

In 1910, Germany and Austria were countries that welcomed Jews and allowed them to take part in every facet of society. Twenty years later, it was time for Jews to get out. Hatred had appeared out of nowhere, very suddenly, and it was about to get much worse. In 1997, anyone who blamed white Christian Americans for our nation’s terrorism issues would have been laughed into submission, rightfully. In 2017, white-hating bigots are mainstream. Colleges can have days when white people are forced to stay home.

I don’t believe white people are the master race or that minorities cause all of America’s problems, but you would have to be blind not to notice that we commit less crime than blacks and Hispanics. Where would you rather walk alone at night? Compton or Salt Lake City? Be serious.

It would be wrong to say that white people don’t commit violent crime, but to make the claim that we’re a bigger threat than Muslims, blacks, and illegals is asinine. It’s facially absurd. Yet somehow this is what we’re being told.

The Las Vegas murderer, Stephen Paddock, has been claimed by ISIS. That won’t change his whiteness, but if true, it takes him out of the white/male/conservative/Christian category into which the left is working furiously to jam him. ISIS says he converted to Islam months ago. Leftists are falling all over themselves, trying to refute this claim. In reality, we don’t know whether it’s true or not, and a lot of people are going to look stupid when we learn the truth.

I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s probably true, for two reasons. First of all, ISIS has a news agency, and they want to be taken seriously. They wouldn’t want to make a false claim that would be taken down in hours or minutes. Second, Paddock opened fire at a country music performance which he knew would be full of conservatives and Christians. If Paddock were a conservative avenger, he would have shot up a different type of event.

People say he used to be registered as a Democrat, so at the moment, the evil white male narrative is a bit shaky.

If ISIS is wrong, the overwhelming likelihood is that Paddock was a bitter, entitled old nut who had a beef with the management of the Mandalay Bay casino, and he didn’t care what type of people were in the crowd.

I saw someone say he couldn’t be a Muslim, because he was known to consume alcohol. Wrong. The 911 killers had no qualms about drinking. Their religion says Allah forgives drinking and fornication as long as you die killing non-Muslims. If anything, prior sins gave Paddock more motivation to kill. He may have done a lot of drinking and fornicating in his life, and under Islam’s rules, you can’t count on forgiveness and salvation unless you die waging jihad. The Las Vegas rampage may have been his insurance policy.

It’s very disturbing, seeing so much hate directed at white Christian males. It’s open season. How can such a thing happen in America? On the one hand, we are being overwhelmed with exhortations to love, tolerate, and forgive. The word “inclusive” now has far more moral weight than the word “holy.” On the other hand, the same people promoting love and peace are working feverishly to promote open hatred and persecution of white Christian males. And no one seems to see the obvious hypocrisy.

I don’t believe in slavery. I don’t believe in subjugating non-whites or trampling on their rights or their dignity. How did I end up in the crosshairs? Where did all these seething, murderous enemies come from? There are millions of people in my country who are quite literally ready to murder me as soon as they get permission. Over myths and lies. And many of them are as white as I am! They want to purge their white guilt by persecuting their own. I hate to break the news to them, but when anti-white racism is truly unleashed, no one will care about your self-hatred. You’ll be in just as much danger as the rest of us, even if you’re a kapo.

What if they manage to get rid of us eventually? What do they think will happen? Have they ever looked at places where blacks and Latins are in charge? Will they enjoy America more if it turns into Mexico, Venezuela, Honduras, Sudan, Somalia, Rwanda, or Zimbabwe? I doubt it very much. Life in Latin America and Africa is miserable, and it has nothing to do with white people. Life in Africa is so bad, people there wish they could move to India.

Try and name a few black and Latin countries where life is good. It’s not easy. We may be missed.

If you had told me 20 years ago that I would ever feel the need to discourage people from hating whites, I would have said you were dreaming. I can’t believe it has come to this.

I’m sorry to say it, but I’m very glad I live a good distance from the nearest minority strongholds. I have no desire whatsoever to bother them, but I have ample reason to think many of them will be coming after people like me in the relatively near future. I would not want to live within five miles of a ghetto these days.

I don’t know what movitated Stephen Paddock to kill. Maybe he’s a far-right Christian who wears Confederate flag pajamas to bed. I do know that it’s not right to blame my race for his crimes. Our track record over the last fifty years proves it makes no sense. There is no such thing as coordinated Christian terrorism or white terrorism in the United States. There will always be a few fringe nuts, but hey, there are also Chinese muggers. They don’t all go to dental school and medical school. A few robins don’t make a spring. Muslim terror, on the other hand, is raging all over the world, and American minority neighborhoods are war zones where whites and Asians are the preferred targets.

Guess I’ll sit back and see what news comes to light. I almost feel like praying Paddock turns out to be a Muslim.

We must be doing a few things right, for Satan to be working so hard to destroy us.

More

This is interesting. Leftist organ The Atlantic has published a piece saying false ISIS claims are “rare.”

My Chicken House has Been Liberated

People were giving me suggestions on moving the big oak that fell on my chicken house. Here’s a photo showing what has happened to it.

I used the pole saw to clean up the top of the oak as much as I could, and then I sawed through the base. After that, I put a strap on the trunk and pulled on it until it fell off the maple the oak was trying to kill.

I am sick of oaks. They’re worthless, and they choke out better trees.

Now I have to start moving wood to the side of the county road, where it will be picked up free of charge. The problem with this plan is that my property has a ditch paralleling the road. To put the wood down, I have to drive the tractor along the side of the ditch. It leans over. Supposedly, you can lean a tractor 20 degrees without killing yourself, but I am new at this, so I don’t like any lean at all. I keep the front end loader low, but it still feels unsafe.

The pole saw made all this possible. A regular chainsaw is a vastly inferior tool. My advice to anyone who has to clear up fallen crap is to get a pole saw, even if you can’t get a regular chainsaw to go with it. The pole saw will do most of what the chainsaw will do, but the chainsaw will only do a little of what the pole saw can do.

I cut 12″ limbs with the 12″ pole saw with no problems. It was slow, but it beat getting up next to them and being killed when they broke free.

Things are looking up, and I’m still FREE OF MIAMI!

Man, I hate Miami. What a miserable city. I pity every decent person who lives there. I miss nothing, nothing, nothing about Miami. Moving out of Miami is like being healed of cancer.

My house sitter keeps telling me all the godly people he knows are moving out, and he thinks disaster will come when enough of them leave. Whatever. I can’t save the world. I’m just glad I’m in a better place, among much better people.