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.

One Day Mansion, the Next Day Flames

Hugh Hefner is dead.

I was disturbed when I read about his death. What a contrast there must be, between yesterday and today. Yesterday his life was a succession of group sex romps with beautiful twentyish women who were willing to do anything to please him. Today, in all likelihood, he’s burning in hell, with no hope of escape. Yesterday, he was wealthy, and oddly, respected. Today, most likely, he has nothing but pain and derision.

I can’t say for sure that Hefner is in hell, but what are the odds that he accepted Jesus and repented before he died?

Most people don’t know what his life was like, but insiders have revealed things. One young lady described his bizarre sex life. Playmates would show up in his bedroom, partially undressed, and Hefner would lie on the bed, under the influence of a male enhancement drug. Hefner would call the dance, and all the women who had decided to have sex with him that night would do his bidding.

Obviously, the women were under pressure to have sex. It’s odd that he was never sued for harassment.

Hefner was completely depraved. His existence was just a series of bestial debauches. He did nothing but satisfy his flesh. He might as well have been a goat or a rat.

The crazy thing is that we liked and respected him. We thought it was fine when he appeared in TV shows and in movies, as a sort of avuncular sage.

I remember watching him on The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Remember that show? It was about a young man who was moved from Philadelphia to Los Angeles to escape bad influences. He was taken in by relatives who supposedly had a wholesome and productive way of life. His uncle was a respected judge, and they lived in a mansion. The show was held out to promote solid values.

In one episode, Will and Carlton visited the Playboy mansion during a party. They were surrounded by nearly naked girls. The American public didn’t rise up and ask why a TV network was giving a free 30-minute ad to a pornography company. Why not? How did we get so numb?

Most people don’t consider Playboy pornography. It features naked women (and sometimes men) in erotic poses. That’s pornography. Somehow, we have raised the bar and decided it isn’t. We think pornography has to be more extreme in order to count. That’s insane. You don’t have to have donkeys or bullwhips to have pornography. When did we decide Playboy was something else? Sure, it had some well-written articles. So what? What if peep shows posted articles in their lobbies? They would still be what they are.

In 1987, Eddie Murphy went to a Playboy mansion party in the movie Beverly Hills Cop II. He said all sorts of filthy things at the party. When he finally ran into Hefner, he let him know some of his guests were criminals. Hefner was portrayed as moral authority. He talked down to the criminals, with an air of supreme righteousness and confidence, telling them they had to leave the party. There was no Hannibal Burress moment. No one said, “Yeah, but you’re a pornography kingpin and pretty much a human trafficker, so…”

Playboy is filthy pornography, and Hefner was a vile degenerate and a lost soul. Playboy is not cute. It’s not okay. America has lost its bearings. We can’t see the obvious. No wonder this country is so screwed up. No wonder our enemies have so much power over us now. We think we know everything. We’ve decided sexual sin is virtue. We’ve cut off God’s help.

I’m not a great advocate for sexual purity. I don’t have a great passion for it. But I know someone who does. His name is Hugh Hefner. If he could speak to us from hell right now, he would beg us to clean up. The thought of other souls joining him in eternal agony and humiliation because of his idiotic influence would tear his heart apart. His guilt is already more than he can bear, and the knowledge that he is still helping other people follow him into the flames surely makes it worse.

I’m sorry I did so much to contribute to our casual attitude toward sexual sin. I am partly responsible for the success of losers like Hugh Hefner. I went along with the program. I didn’t think.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe God managed to reach him.

Not likely.

This Place Rocks

Things are settling down here. I am learning new things in prayer, and I am trying to apply them. The unexpected financial drains are easing, the hurricane cleanup is getting easier, and I am starting to feel at home on the tractors.

Speaking of feeling at home, Ocala is suiting me better and better. It’s the craziest thing; I wanted some acreage, and I have it. I wanted tools and machinery, and I have them. I wanted to be around people whose mindset was more like mine, and I’m among them.

Back in Coral Gables, I used to get up and throw on Carhartt work pants and sneakers, grab my carry piece and my folding knife, and go about my day. I do those same things here, but because this isn’t Coral Gables, these things don’t make me weird. No one says, “Wow, you have a truck.” Everyone dresses pretty much like I do. I’m amassing a collection of ball caps (because you can’t wear bluetooth hearing protectors with a cowboy hat), and now I look like every other ball-cap-wearing Southerner in the county. The only thing missing is a can of Skoal, making a round bulge in a back pocket.

Come to think of it, people don’t seem to dip snuff here. Good for them. The spit is disgusting, and when you get Skoal cancer, they remove your face from the nose to the neck.

It’s very strange, being able to go outside without feeling I’m under scrutiny. Most of the time, people can’t see me when I’m outdoors here. I don’t have to worry about Jehovah’s Witnesses, blacktop gypsies, or fake Omaha Steaks drivers. The only leaf blower I ever hear is my own. I never hear a three-minute ear-splitting blast from a roach coach horn. I never hear the sound of my neighbors dragging their lawn waste onto my property.

If it weren’t for the ravenous bugs, I would be able to relax completely here. Irma produced a mosquito tsunami, and it will be a while before it subsides. Today I surrendered and Off’d myself before leaving the house.

Yesterday I went outside and shot 50 or so rounds without alerting anyone, calling the Sheriff, or asking my neighbors’ permission. It feels so natural. It’s how things worked when I lived in Kentucky. I hate suburban life.

Now that my feet are starting to touch bottom, it won’t be long before I start visiting churches. The feeling of fitting in will surely increase. I won’t drink the prosperity Kool-Aid, but I’m sure I’ll meet people who think it’s perfectly normal to wake up on a Monday morning and spend three hours in prayer.

Wow, I just got a big break. I received two offers on my dad’s yacht. I have been dying to get rid of it. We tied a lot of cash up when we bought this house, and we need to dump the excess baggage. On top of that, we could use the slip rent. I was starting to think the boat would never sell.

We offered it for a certain price, and nothing happened. We put it up for sale near the beginning of August, and nothing happens in Miami in August. We got one bad offer. Then Irma hit. She tore up the boat’s ancient canvas and messed up the tuna door, and we had no hull insurance. My dad didn’t carry it, and when I found that out, I decided not to renew it. We were going to be rid of it in a few weeks. What were the odds a storm would come through?

I thought we were going to get around $20000 less than the figure I originally wanted, but today the broker called and said someone is offering $2900 more than what I expected to clear. I said, “Take it. Take it. Take it.” I am not going to be greedy. I want that boat gone, I want the slip rented, and I want to sell it for a 1031 exchange next year. Or maybe I’ll just continue renting it, if the rent is good. I don’t think it will be.

I have that feeling you get when a big weight is taken off your shoulders. Shaky and drained. Thank you, God. That boat had become a curse.

Why did the boat sell all of a sudden? I think I know. The other day, I got a miracle healing. I wrote about it. It wasn’t a big healing. I blistered my finger, and the blister disappeared overnight. The way I prayed for that healing was unusual. First of all, it was very fervent, because I hate burns. Second, I kept praising and thanking God “because it’s done.” I kept this up for a very long time.

It worked for my finger, so I did it with the boat, today and yesterday. I also did it with the house we’re trying to sell. After prayer today, I expected to hear news about the boat. And I did.

I also ask for the following things for the people on my prayer list: I ask God to send people and spirits to pay us, to give things to us, to do our work for us, to give us advice, and to fight our battles. Today the broker said he had personally fixed up the boat’s batteries so he could get the generator and starboard engine running (an unpleasant job), and he wants to rent the slip for us with no commission. He isn’t required to do any of those things.

Now, will God come through on the rental house? If so, I will be too happy to live. That house has been an anchor around my neck. I never wanted it. My sister ruined it and forced us to take it over. My dad, frankly, was extremely unpleasant while I was getting it repaired. The contractors were liars and idiots. I want to see that house sell. NOW.

Oh, man. My cell phone just dinged. The pole saw I ordered is ready at Home Depot. I was about to go anyway, for mailbox letters, malathion, and maybe hydraulic fluid. This is perfect. That saw will bring down strongholds. There are things I just could not cut with a regular chainsaw.

I am giddy. Time to hop in the SUV (because the truck needs an alignment), cruise to Home Depot, pick up my goodies, and relax.

I’ve been cursed, and I’ve been blessed. Blessed is better. I hope my testimony will help you find relief.

Got a Little Present Yesterday

I keep forgetting to write about this: I had an extraordinary healing this week.

I was cutting a fallen oak tree, and I kept getting Spanish moss in the sprocket. That meant I had to take the saw apart and remove the moss. While I was doing this, I burned the ring finger of my left hand on the hot muffler.

I was definitely burned. I had a blister. It was very obvious, and it hurt.

A few years back, I burned my hand in my shop, and I got healed. I started commanding my flesh to be healed and so on. I used my faith. The pain went away, and although the skin had been discolored and ready to blister, nothing happened. In the end, days later, a tiny bit of skin smaller than the letter “o” on the page of a book flaked off. That was it.

When I burned my finger on the saw yesterday, I remembered that. I claimed my healing in the name of Jesus. I asked God to make it so. I kept thanking him, because he had already done it.

I was annoyed, but I remembered thinking it would be worth it, if God had allowed me to be burned so he could heal me miraculously.

When I went to bed the next night, over 24 hours after I burned myself, I suddenly remembered the burn. I hadn’t thought about it all day. I had forgotten I was burned. The room was dark. I started feeling my finger. I couldn’t tell which finger had been burned.

I turned on the lights and went to the bathroom. I put on some reading glasses. I still couldn’t tell which finger had been burned. I couldn’t remember whether it was the ring finger or the middle finger.

The next morning, when I looked at my fingers very closely, I saw a faint red area on the tip of my ring finger. That was where the blister had been. The skin wasn’t loose, the way skin on old blisters gets. There was no pain. There was no numbness. When I showered the next day, the skin didn’t peel off.

My finger is totally normal. I don’t need a Band-Aid. Everything is fine. I have never had a blister go away before. I don’t think it’s possible, because the skin that forms a blister is destroyed. It can’t recover, because it’s dead.

I felt I should put my testimony on the web. Having an annoying burn healed is great, and if God is willing to heal a blister, he is also willing to heal cancer and every other physical problem.

Maybe I’ll upload a picture, but you won’t see anything, because I’m healed.

It’s funny; I was thinking about the difficulty of dealing with skeptics. I was thinking about how hard it would be to answer people who say, “If Christianity is so great, why is it that so much of the time, it doesn’t work?” And then I remembered the burn and checked my finger, and I found that Christianity HAD worked. The Bible promises healings, and I had received one. Not my first, either.

I love it when God does things like this. Nothing is worse than physical problems that cause pain and limit your actions.

Even Trash-Burning has a Learning Curve

I had another challenging day today. I don’t want to list everything I’ve had to cope with, but I can mention a few facts. For example, my dad’s boat is in a marina. The marina’s electrical stuff was submerged during the tropical storm surge. The marina has no power. Someone has to go start every boat’s engines to keep the batteries charged, so the boats have juice to run their bilge pumps…or they’ll sink. And I’m 300 miles away.

Stuff like that.

Also, I set fire to myself. I finally lit up the multi-ton pile of dead wood out in the pasture. I tried lighting the dry leaves on the branches, but they pooped out. I decided to try accelerating the fire with gasoline.

Don’t start with me. I have burned gasoline many times. I have never seen it explode. The way it did today. At me. I had no way of knowing that was going to happen.

I put about half a cup of gas on the pile, and I used one of those long barbecue lighters to light it. I held my hand way out there, to maximize the distance. The pile went WHOOOF, and a big fireball shot out at me.

I lost all the hair on one ankle. I had to drive to the house to see if I had eyebrows. It was pretty stimulating.

Gas doesn’t do that when you set fire to it on the ground. Something about the limbs and leaves got it excited. I suppose they helped the fumes evaporate and form a cloud.

Next time, diesel. That will be tomorrow.

My friend Amanda didn’t have power this morning, so I invited her and her sons to come over and use the washer and dryer, not to mention the pool and shower. That worked out well. Amanda is an old hand at the farming game, and she had good advice regarding the burn pile. Too bad she wasn’t there when I lit it.

She and her kids kept my dad amused while I worked, and her sons piled up a bunch of branches so I could pick them up with the tractor. I don’t think they’re in love with farm work. When I went to see how they were doing, the youngest said, “Can we be done now?”

Amanda and I toured the farm on the golf cart and looked at the trees that still need to be dealt with. Some of them won’t be accessible for days because there is standing water in a few places. It rained like crazy during the storm.

I figure I have 3 trees that need attention soon. They’re lying across fences, and my neighbors will eventually want that fixed. The rest can wait. Who cares if an oak falls over in a pasture? Big deal.

Life is getting straightened out.

I won’t lie. I’ve had a lot of stress and worry. God has given me great tools to deal with these things, but this has been a very special couple of months. It’s as if Satan is extremely angry that I escaped Miami, so he is throwing whatever he can at me. The movers screwed up royally; half of the furniture is still in my garage, and they left a bunch of tools in Miami. My dad took an overdose of blood pressure pills and forgot where he was, so he had to be hospitalized. The house’s main AC died and had to be replaced. Hurricane Irma.

I keep telling people I’m waiting for the earthquake.

Anyway, I generally cope with worry very well, but this has been a new level of aggravation, and things keep coming up to distract me and prevent me from praying.

It will get better. And when it’s over, I won’t be in Miami. I will still be free from the stench of Dade County. Man, that place stinks. I wish I had left in 1970. How different my life would be, had I been raised among better people. But then I was not ready for it. I didn’t deserve it. It would have been wrong to inflict me on Ocala.

Tomorrow the burning and sawing resumes. Pray I don’t roast myself again.