I Now Pronounce you Man and Mugu

Last night I watched not one but two TV segments about West African dating scammers.

The first segment was created by ABC News in Australia. They sent a reporter to Malaysia and Africa to look into dating fraud. It was pretty disgusting. The second segment was from 60 Minutes in Australia. It was no better.

The ABC reporter went into an Internet cafe, and there were no women there. The place was full of young men pretending to be interested in romance, and many of their victims were also male. What’s worse? Finding out you sent $2000 to a criminal after having cybersex and appearing naked on your webcam, and knowing the video will probably be passed around for laughs for the next 10 years, or knowing the criminal watching you get down with your own bad self is a man?

Ewwwwww.

The criminals agreed to talk to the reporter. This was one of the amazing aspects of the story. They were sociopaths. They felt no guilt over the way they tortured and robbed people.

One of them had a copy of Napoleon Hill’s book in his tiny apartment. He had written notes about his plans for the money he stole. He thinks he’s going to be a world-famous rapper. Sure. That will go well. Glad the retirement money of numerous aging dupes won’t be wasted on a fatuous pipe dream.

He and his buddy said what they did was right because white people had mistreated their ancestors. Does that sound at all familiar? The reparations scam isn’t limited to American leftists. All of Satan’s children, everywhere, want reparations. They’re cursed because they’re evil, and they blame people who are blessed because they fear God.

There is no such thing as white privilege. There is only Judeo-Christian privilege.

The CBS reporter interviewed an incredible woman. She was 53, but she appeared to be around 65. She had given something like 110,000 Australian dollars to a person she thought was a tall, strapping American businessman with a collection of impressive photos.

You feel sorry for her, right? I don’t. Her family was exasperated with her. They knew who would end up supporting her. They told her she was being robbed, and she didn’t listen because she thought a big, handsome man with everything in the world going for him was interested in sexual conversations with a very unattractive old lady carrying maybe 60 extra pounds. She was impervious to reason. She knew she was wrong, but she didn’t care enough about herself or her family to admit it.

A woman who somehow makes money exposing online fraud got together with her, and along with ABC and law enforcement, she proved her Fabio was really a fat African punk who spent her money on champagne and expensive ghetto basketball shoes.

Guess what she did after the sting? She found herself another unlikely profile and got back to work. Unbelievably, she had to be slapped with reality a second time. She is probably still trolling for scammers, unless her family has refused to pay her ISP fees.

One of the news videos showed a whole room full of “victims.” I’m not sure the word “victim” applies. I don’t mean to be cruel, but one look at this bunch, and I knew they were never going to appeal to anyone who was even a little bit attractive. They had to know they were being taken. Sometimes you have to admit the truth and accept what you are. They weren’t having it. Not until they lost their money.

They interviewed a man who was old, bald, on oxygen, and missing two lower incisors. He gave scammers $400,000. He also agreed to go through customs carrying “special chemicals for cleaning money.” He was really carrying cocaine. The authorities took issue. He ended up having to hire a defense lawyer.

A Mexican lady also got caught carrying drugs, and she was sentenced to death in Malaysia.

How does someone gullible enough to fall for West African scammers get $400,000 in the first place?

I have dealt with scammers for years. I used to torment them as punishment, as many readers know. It never occurred to me to send one money. They’re always extremely obvious, if not in the first communication, shortly thereafter. Their English is bad and instantly recognizable as African. They generally say the same stupid things. You don’t have to be a genius to see what they are. Who are these people who believe them and send them not just a little money, but everything they have?

Here’s something really awful: the scammers keep “sucker lists.” Suckers are called “mugus.” If you’re so lacking in common sense you swallow their lies, they put you on their lists and sell your contact information to other scammers.

Now here is the weird part. I signed up for a dating site, a much-younger African lady descended on me, and she turned out to be exactly what she said she was. She looked nice. She was an extremely serious charismatic Christian. She said, “You are the man of my dreams,” not because she pretended to find me sexy but because of my religious beliefs.

I vetted her by looking up her social accounts without telling her. I found years-old Twitter posts and Youtube videos. She was the real thing. An attractive young woman from Africa really did reach out to an older man.

It went nowhere because she was caught up in the prosperity gospel and also wanted to be the husband, teaching me doctrine as though I were 12 years old. Still, she was a very near miss, right off the bat. How often does that happen?

Sometimes Satan sends us highly customized missiles. I can’t tell you how impressed I was with this one. She looked like a gift from God; the makings of a testimony so good no one would believe it. Unfortunately for Satan, the bomb payload was too obvious and too great. When you know what you want, things like lust and loneliness won’t drive you to swallow bait. Neither will a desire to believe God has worked a powerful miracle for you. I didn’t get a miracle. I got a Trojan horse.

Sometimes a little voice says, “You will never get another chance.” That’s irrelevant. I don’t care. The wrong mate is the wrong mate.

I have compromised before. I couldn’t make myself do it again if I wanted to. It’s not in me any more.

I was not a fool, the woman was legitimate, and I got one of the best offers anyone has ever gotten in the history of online dating interactions with Africans. I am not like the people in the news video, who have to sit in classrooms and take classes in order to avoid further predation. Nonetheless, I also got a negative outcome and had my time wasted.

It wasn’t much time. Three days. But it was irritating to have the bait waved at me. I would rather all of the online women had turned out to be patently unsuitable.

Today I’m going down message lists, telling women nothing is going to happen. Some are very pretty, and they may actually be women. They won’t work out. They have nothing to say. Imagine a marriage in which your wife never says anything except, “Okay, dear,” and, “That is very interesting.”

There is another big problem on interracial sites: functional illiteracy. I don’t just mean in Africa. Profiles of American black women, and their messages, are full of terrible spelling and grammar errors. Many do not write as well as first-graders. You may be a good Christian woman. You may be pretty. It doesn’t matter. If you write things like, “I wants my man love me,” in your online communications, what future can you have with a normal adult?

It’s terrible to see. It’s not rare. It’s very, very common.

How can a woman reach the age of 30, in the United States of America, with free schooling, and not be literate? There is no excuse. You can blame your parents for a lot of things when you’re young, but when you’re an adult, you have to address your own issues.

I would say you have to throw out a lot of dirt when you’re digging for a diamond, but I don’t think that’s true for people who are close to God. I believe he pairs people up, the way he always has. Either something will happen, or it’s not his will.

I don’t think law enforcement will ever make much of a dent in the scamming. The people being scammed are too determined. I believe most of them know what’s happening. If you lover tells you his webcam is broken for three straight months, after you’ve sent him several thousand dollars, you know he’s a crook. Some people were born to die in debt, and all the cops in the world can’t save them from themselves.

Dr. Seuss and my Continued Adventures in Online Dating

Someone pray for God to help me not to read the news. Satan’s kids have declared Dr. Seuss a dangerous racist, and he has been removed from a recommended reading list by Satan’s older brother, Hair-Sniffin’ Joe.

I STILL have two Dr. Seuss books, and I used to have a pair of One Fish Two Fish boxer shorts. What has become of the world?

I’m not saying Dr. Seuss was perfect. He taught generations of kids the Grinch, a quasi-hominid notable for its resemblance to Elizabeth Warren, was Jesus Christ. Actually, that’s big plus from the left’s point of view. They hate Jesus Christ even more than they hate Donald Trump. But his books did not promote racism or any other ism. Satan has done a marvelous job, turning mainstream Americans into bona fide lunatics, and you have to wonder who they will go after next.

If you want to go after someone, go after anyone who participated in a Grinch remake. Those people are cultural vandals.

It’s fitting that I use the word “vandals.” Weren’t the Vandals part of the horde that dismantled Rome and sent the world into the Dark Ages?

I don’t know. I didn’t major in history. I got a real degree in a subject you can use to get a job other than driving for Uber.

If you’re a history major, I’m not putting you down. I’m putting down the thing to which you devoted four years of your life and a big chunk of your parents’ life savings. You can get even the next time you bus my table at Red Lobster.

Perhaps we can find some common ground. We all look down on drama and communications majors (i.e. “journalists”).

“I paid $400,000 so you could do WHAT?”

Think about that. Parents could just give their kids the money in trust, in interest-bearing accounts. Much better idea.

A friend of mine says she’s not pushing her kids to go to college. Can’t argue. You need college for some things, but if you want to open a business and make real money, you should start in your teens. I told her this: they need to know the way to make money isn’t to be the guy who drives around in the truck, doing the work. Start out as that guy, buy more trucks, and send other people out to drive around while you get paid for their work.

God bless capitalism. There’s an ism I can get behind. To paraphrase the words of Chico Escuela, capitalism beeng berry berry goog to me; sank you berry moach.

If the Chico Escuela reference seems racist to you, don’t fret. Here’s another Garrett Morris performance which is more in line with the values of the cancel kids. In case you can’t here, he’s singing, “Gonna get me a shotgun, kill all the whiteys I see.” Sometimes I find myself singing this song in private moments.

Think how many tree-trimming trucks you could buy for $400,000.

Today is a slow day. I continue to receive applications from too-young alleged women in Africa on dating sites. I decided to delete all communications with my rejects. You have to clear the table before being served your next course. It’s surprisingly hard to delete Yahoo contacts. Yahoo makes people your contacts without warning you.

As mentioned previously, I exchanged a number of emails from a Kenyan lady. I “archived” her emails and my responses. Then I deleted them. Then I deleted them from the trash bin. Then I searched to make sure I had deleted them. Yahoo wouldn’t give up without a fight. It told me she was one of my “Top Contacts.”

I found out how hard it is to delete a Top Contact. You have to find them in your list of ALL contacts. You can’t delete them from your Top Contact list. And Internet people say Yahoo sends them emails to let them know they’ve been deleted. Ouch. That’s entirely unnecessary.

I think she and the others are completely gone from my throwaway Yahoo account. Don’t hold me to that.

I went to the dating sites and conducted a purge of non-viables. The Kenyan lady would not disappear. The site kept throwing her at me. She had viewed me! I had viewed her! I had favorited her! She had sent me a flirt! Then there was a fairly lengthy text exchange on the site.

I tried to get rid of this stuff, and it kept popping up. I went nuclear. I blocked her. She still popped up until I closed and reopened my browswer.

I wonder if women are going through this with me. Will I get charged with stalking because the Internet won’t let them out of my life?

Women really, really hate each other, and many a woman insists on pretending her current man has never been interested in anyone else. If God blesses me with someone, I don’t want her rooting through my old emails and having an estrogen conniption.

Somewhere out there, I guarantee you, there is a woman demanding that a man tell her who this tramp Siri is.

A person claiming to be a tall, gorgeous young woman from California contacted me a while back. I assumed it was some kind of error. Eventually, we got around to talking. Things went very slowly. Then it happened. Confirmation came. She asked for my name and number so she could text me. This was after maybe 4 online texts.

Scammers always try to drag you off the website so they’ll be outside the site’s jurisdiction.

I decided to give her both barrels. I said I only used the site, and I said I had learned that African scammers tried to take people elsewhere, notably Google Hangouts. Then I casually mentioned what I had learned about them. I said they were generally men, and I said some unflattering things about what they no doubt wanted other men to do to them.

Haven’t heard from her since.

I found a neat story about the scammers. They’re called “cafe boys” and “browsers” in their own nations. They’re extremely gross. They have sexual chats with lonely men. They say their webcams aren’t working, but they send dirty videos of the women they claim to be. The men send them money for plane tickets and so on. Eventually, the victims, called “clients,” get frustrated and insist on up-to-date photographs or videos. Then it’s time to move on.

I don’t think these boys realize they’re homosexuals. They think they’re playing a game. If you can stand to have sex chats with other men, and you look at their nude pictures and videos and try to give them satisfaction, you are a sodomite. No two ways about it.

Homosexuality is huge in Africa. It’s why AIDS was a plague in Africa and a small problem in America. Men don’t get AIDS from women. Magic Johnson is a homosexual. Either that, or he used to shoot up. Judging by his flaming-gay son, I would rule heroin out.

An Australian network did a documentary on the cafe boys, and I found it on Youtube. I plan to watch it today. It should be fascinating.

They go to demon worshipers and have them curse their victims. How about that? The documentary shows a lady in a crazy voodoo getup, performing ceremonies. The boys bring her pictures and so on. If you’ve been taken by one of these characters, you may be under weird voodoo curses, and if you’re not close to God, they may work.

They are clearly working on a lot of Australian men.

I wonder if my two profile pictures have been placed on this lady’s table and whether she has waved chicken feet at them and spat cheap liquor on them. Bad for her if she has. You can’t curse me, but if you try, you will curse yourself and your family.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that black people’s problems are caused mainly by witchcraft. The more I learn about black culture, including things the press, academics, and black people hide from us, the more amazed I am at the pervasiveness of witchcraft.

When Muddy Waters sang that he had a mojo hand and little John the conqueror root, he wasn’t kidding. He really had those things.

I saw a video by Thomas Sowell, in which he utterly crushed the claim that black people do poorly because of slavery. Among other things, he pointed out that the majority of black American kids in about 1960 grew up in two-parent homes. BOOM. There goes the myth that slavery killed black marriage. LBJ killed it. He also talked about the many, many white slaves who were held in America. Asians were also enslaved here. Only blacks continued to live cursed lives a century later. There has to be a reason, and slavery isn’t it.

It’s remarkable that I ended up talking to an African woman who was a serious Christian and who turned out to be completely legitimate in every way. I had proof, six ways from Sunday. Maybe she’s the only one.

It’s too bad she was a decoy and a trap, totally unsuitable for a real Christian man.

Maybe she’ll escape the prosperity gospel some day, and God will pair her up with somebody.

It’s very slow here. I keep feeling like I’m just waiting to be taken away. Guess I’ll go outside and finish my latest welding project. It will be satisfying to unite things successfully.

Next!

It looks like my African dating saga is over, at least with regard to one lady.

Yesterday I sent a short, somewhat nonresponsive email to the Kenyan lady I had been talking to, and it ended with language like, “I hope God gives you a pleasant and fulfilling marriage.” It’s pretty obvious what a sentence like that means. I also said I hoped I had not offended her.

She responded and said I had not offended her, although I’m pretty sure I did. Then she threw in another somewhat lengthy Bible lesson. Lengthy considering the context, which was me, saying goodbye. I didn’t pay any attention to it. I have realized that anything I say to this woman will elicit a Bible lesson.

Imagine a marriage like that. “I think I’ll have some pie.” “Leviticus 86:43 says the man who eateth pie shall want in the time of harvest!”

My final offering: “Very good. No hard feelings, then.” That was the entire email. I don’t know what she can do with that. Maybe she’s done, or maybe she’ll send a scripture on resentment and unforgiveness. “Hard feelings are evil, but I am the woman, and I knew it first! And I have scripture!”

She made me think about the old-wineskin metaphor. Jesus said you can’t put new wine in an old wineskin because it will burst. I don’t know how that works, having little experience with wineskins, but the meaning is obvious. He also said that if you give new wine to people who are used to old wine, they’ll reject it at first and say the old wine is better.

My experience with her was remarkable. It was like trying to talk into a fire hose with the valve open. Everything I said was deflected back at me, and I was impacted by a gushing torrent of unhelpful, inapt words.

There is absolutely nothing you can do for a woman like that. You get old, you learn from life’s hard knocks and from your education and other experiences. You spend years communicating with God, and he teaches you a lot. Then you meet someone decades younger, and not one speck of it is helpful to her because she won’t receive it. Instead, she wants you to to eat your own vomit. She wants you to go back to the hateful poison it took you so long to expel from your life.

So what are you there for? What is your purpose? To be her disciple and her son. To sit back and watch her steer the boat up on the rocks every single day. That’s your purpose.

“I want to submit to you, as long as you do what I tell you.”

I’ve had many dreams in which my dad steered his boat onto rocks or dry ground. Actually, I’ve been with him in real life when he did that, maybe 5 times. I never did it once, although I did get into some water that was shallower than it should have been. I kicked up some mud.

I admit, I was at the wheel when he caused our worst grounding. We hit Mama Rhoda, which is a big rock on the way into Chub Cay. I kept telling him it looked like there was a reef in front of us, and he yelled and told me to keep going. That’s not on me.

In dreams, my dad usually represents misguided church leaders. Interesting. This woman is guided by such people.

Jonah’s ship was spared because the crew threw a rebel overboard, and Paul’s crew was saved because he was aboard. The ark was a ship, and the captain and builder was the only good man on earth. Noah was the only reason God protected the ark. Maybe the metaphor goes deep, not just in my dreams, but in the Bible. Jude says people like the prosperity preachers are “reefs” at our feasts. The KJV says “spots,” but it really means “reefs.” A reef is a hidden obstacle you run up onto while you think you’re going the right way. This lady and her friends are reefs to me.

I was not tactful with her. Thank God for that. She kept telling me about Kenneth Copeland, the rattlesnake-faced emperor of all idiots, and instead of saying, “Okay; let me think about that while I curry your approval,” I told her I cursed prosperity minstries regularly and believed God blessed me for doing it. What if I had been tactful? I might be on Skype with her every day, talking about plane fares and immigration, waiting for the day when we had our inevitable confrontation about the filthiness of Copeland and Jerry Savelle and the other liars.

The rattlesnake-faced emperor of all idiots.

She has two kids somewhere. I know nothing about them, because she has told me nothing. Her profile says they don’t live with her. Maybe her ex-boyfriend is a Muslim and got automatic custody. She had them out of wedlock, and she used to be a Muslim. Anyway, imagine the difficulty of bringing teenagers to the US, supporting them, and trying to get along with them.

I thought her near-silence about the kids and the odd custody arrangements were red flags, but I don’t know anything about Kenya. Maybe kids are like luggage there. Maybe they’re in boarding school and they are expected to do whatever she tells them.

Right now I’m back to fielding messages from young, unrealistically gorgeous (and often not) African women, African women who pretend to be American, African men who pretend to be women, unattractive American women, and a couple of attractive American women who just don’t have much to say. It’s almost like talking to a glass of water. I feel bad for them, but what can you do? You can’t tell someone to start having a personality.

It’s kind of funny that I ended up talking to a woman who adores prosperity preachers and thinks anyone who criticizes them is working for Satan. I hate and despise the prosperity gospel. I have distinguished myself by attacking it and exposing its pimps publicly, over and over. I am the last person on earth who could ever go back to it. I feel like this woman was tailor-made for me, to discourage me.

It’s as if I were a runaway slave, living in a nice house in Illinois or Pennsylvania, and a current slave were trying to coax me to join her and let her nice white master whip me and keep me in a too-familiar hovel with a dirt floor. I could also be compared to an escaped convict. “The warden loves us and knows what’s best for us. Come back, and your rebellion will be forgiven.”

Being abused every day of your life is terrible, but there is something much worse: escaping and then being returned to it. This woman has no idea what she was asking.

Here I was, trying to free her from the same misery I endured, and she wanted no part of it and said the abolitionists were working for Satan.

I’m not surprised by any of this. It’s exactly what I expect from prosperity slaves. The prosperity movement is a cult, and cult members are fiercely loyal to the people who destroy them.

It’s exactly what Jesus went through. I don’t mean that I’m being crucified, obviously. Just that I was punished, on Satan’s orders, for trying to help someone in the grip of Satanic doctrine. Jesus was tortured to death by the people he was trying to rescue. The Jews who rejected him beat him and had him murdered. The Romans did their bidding. He wanted to save all of them. Many of them are blazing and shrieking in hell right now, unless it’s true that Jesus was able to deliver damned souls while he was in hell, and his tormentors repented.

It’s wonderful, writing about these things. Romantic opportunities destroy clear thinking. The more you write about someone who seems to have potential, the better you will understand them. It undoes gaslighting and prevents catastrophe.

When I was in my teens, I thought nearly any good-looking girl who was nice to me might be my big chance. That’s pathetic, but then so was I. My parents taught me nothing at all about life, and you can’t figure everything out on your own. Fatherlessness is a huge problem, even for people whose fathers live with them. Now I’m old, God has taught me a lot, and I’m pretty good at identifying and rejecting the wooden nickels.

I was afraid I was making this lady sound like a horror story, and I thought I should list her good qualities again. She’s a serious Christian. She’s successful. She has great intentions. She wants to help people. She’s reasonably attractive. I thought I should list those things. But maybe she really is a horror story, and I don’t want to say so because I like her and sympathize with her.

If landmines weren’t buried, nobody would step on them.

A total inability to listen, and a steely determination to tell a husband what to think and do, added to a delusion that one is submissive and humble, combine to form a hazard comparable to the spike-filled pits of the Viet Cong.

Traps can be very pretty, indeed.

I have no idea what will come next. Maybe someone will appear and turn out to be a gift from God, or maybe I’ll keep rejecting duds, get even older, and die alone. In any case, I didn’t take the free candy or get in the van this time around.

Not my Party

I feel like writing some more.

A day or two ago, I read a snotty comment from a leftist. I think it was on a news site. It referred to a golden calf and Donald Trump. It sounded like figurative language.

I eventually checked Google, and guess what? There really is a Trump idol. A sculptor named Zegan made it. It’s made from plastic, but the outer surface is treated to look like gold. In its left hand, it holds a magic wand, which is a symbol of occult power. He took it to CPAC.

All in good fun, right? Maybe not.

For quite some time, I’ve been complaining about conservatives worshiping Trump. Our country is suffering various plagues and setbacks, we need to be on our knees repenting, and instead, some conservatives are doing the wrong thing: treating an old casino owner as though he were Jesus Christ.

Our problems are caused by America’s pride and hatred of God. Only repentance and prayer will fix things, but there is no national repentance movement. None. Prominent preachers, and in America that means money preachers, have a lot of time to blame leftists but not much to tell people to repent. Why? Because they’re pimps and whores. They want our money. Talk of repentance and confession reduces donations. They tell us whatever loosens our purse strings.

CPAC belongs to worldly people. Maybe some pretend to be Christians, but they serve the devil just like leftist politics junkies. I suspect the presence of the statue is an unintended confession. Satan probably inspired the sculptor, and the people who agreed to display the statue are just puppets Satan used to make his little joke. It’s his way of saying, “This is why you lost. Keep up the good work.”

The statue holds a document, and the words “We the People” can be seen on the top, suggesting the document is the Constitution. “We the people” is an interesting phrase. The Antichrist will be a political leader, and he will lead through the will of the mob, also known as the people. He will shape the desires and beliefs of the mob. He has already done it through Metoo, BLM, and Antifa, as well as godless right-wing militias.

The Constitution is a leftist document. Democracy, including the kind we have as a republic, is a leftist institution that comes from pagan, sodomy-crazed Greece, not Yahweh-worshiping Israel. When America rebelled against England, leftists like George Washington battled conservatives and drove them out. Conservatives fought for the British. They supported kings they believed were anointed by God.

The plastic Constitution in the idol’s hand seems to be an announcement of allegiance to the Antichrist.

Trump’s biggest problem is pride. “I did this.” “I did that.” I’m the best.” “No one else could have done this.” God hates pride. He fights the proud. Trump surrounded himself with idiots like Paula White, and they told him what he wanted to hear, so he didn’t get far in his battle with pride. He has said a couple of things suggesting he knows humility is important, but that’s about it.

The objects we surround ourselves are important. Spirits associate themselves with them. If you have a good luck charm, a work of art from a pagan religion, a Harry Potter book, or some other similar item of contraband, spirits that hate you may have legitimate claims to places in your life, and God may respect those claims.

The Trump idol should never have been created, let alone endorsed by deluded man-worshipers who think Trump is going to come back and save us.

Does Trump know any of this? No. Paula White is a money whore. She’s not going to go to him and tell him to give up pride. Neither are any of the other Mammonites he has invited to the White House. The only way Trump can learn the truth is to be around people who aren’t whores, to pray in the Spirit, and to hear from God. The whores stick to him like a protective layer of ticks.

What do you do when there are only two parties, one has belonged to Satan for a long time, and the other is joining him? Where do you run? It’s like losing America, which used to be the world’s lifeboat for Christians. There is nowhere else to go.

Looks like another sign that the rapture is nearly here.

It can’t happen soon enough for me. Let it happen today. I keep praying for God to bring it. I am done with this place. I feel like I’m loitering in a bus station, waiting for an overdue ride.

The Paradoxical Disappointment of Events you Fully Expect

Sometimes I think about immortality. In movies, people envy immortal characters. That’s because they don’t know what immortality on this corrupt earth would be like. Think how bored you would get, seeing the same predictable things happen over and over. The older you get, unless you’re stupid, the more predictable other people become.

It’s barely past 9:30 a.m., and my peace has already been disrupted by the lady in Kenya. As I predicted, she sent me three more emails. She is not giving up.

Al Bundy said this: “Don’t try to understand women. Women understand women, and they hate each other.” Psychologists actually agree with Al to a great extent. You can look that up. I did. I’m sure they blame men, but I didn’t read enough to find out, because psychologists are fools.

Anyway, I don’t believe women are that hard to understand. You just have to discard everything feminism says and look to the past. Also, believe what experience and your own eyes tell you, no matter how disturbing it is. You have to be willing to discard the fatuous modern characterization of women as enlightened martyrs and teachers and accept the obvious negatives along with the positives.

I knew this lady would not give up.

I don’t think she has been reading my emails. I think she just thinks of them as prompts that motivate her to respond with her own unrelated thoughts she learned from other men. Preachers, I mean. Pulpit pimps who would gladly see her die in the street with her savings in their corporate accounts.

She believes Jesus warned her about people like me, who will harm the church by going after the “anointed,” meaning famous preachers. At the same time, she is trying desperately to change me so she can marry me. In my last post, I said women were better at cognitive dissonance than men. Now you see your proof.

“I belong to God.” “I must have a godly man.” “I believe you are the enemy of the church.” “I want to marry you.”

You can’t make those things fit together.

“I believe in submitting to my husband.” “I believe the man has to be the leader and priest of the house.” “I will tell you my doctrine and correct yours, and then we can get married.”

??????

In her latest round of emails, she said I was speaking doctrine I had learned somewhere, and that she was speaking the truth from the Bible. The exact opposite is true.

She seems to think I come from some weird denomination that taught me what I know. The truth is that I come from her own denomination. I come from the Mammon denomination. I used to believe the TV stars she believes. I rejected their nonsense. She, on the other hand, teaches it as though it were God’s word, using cherry-picked scriptures the TV stars have turned into weapons to defend greed and human trafficking.

I told her some brutal truths.

I said women get attached and fall in love too fast. I asked her why she would have anything to do with a man she thought was part of a Satanic attack on the holy men of TV. I didn’t call them “holy men of TV.” I said “the church.” I said I was not the person she thought I was, but nonetheless, it asked why she would want that kind of person.

I said women let emotion make them work to make unsuitable men fit into their wedding-picture dreams, more or less.

I also told her I was not in love with her. I said I was not trying to win her over. I said there were over three billion women on the planet, and if God wanted me to have one, he would make it happen. I said I didn’t care if I died alone as long as I had him. I said I just wanted to give her helpful advice. Optimistic, I know. It borders on a violation of my principles. I will not keep it up, barring a highly unlikely turn of events.

I said it looked like there was no hope for us, although only God knew.

This is leadership. Betas don’t say things like this. It’s not what I would have said when I was 15, but then my father was not a father. I had no one to teach me, unless teaching me error counts. I was raised like a ghetto child, apart from the nice house and good food.

I was saying these things to a wonderful, attractive Christian woman I liked. A woman who seemed like a rarity. I am talking to a bunch of women, and none come close to equaling her.

I don’t care. I’m not desperate. Cognitive dissonance isn’t for me. I saw the good, I saw the bad, and I acknowledged both. There are some things you don’t do, if you want a happy life. You don’t marry a musician or a Muslim. You don’t buy a time share. You don’t get tattoos. You never take your first dose of heroin. You don’t trade peace for companionship.

Based on what I know of women, I expect to hear from her again. My guess is that she will pray God changes me and makes me what she wants. Maybe she’ll get friends to pray for our marriage. If so, it’s because she listens to morons and pimps who haven’t taught her that God doesn’t violate free will. I have started cursing their efforts to delude her.

She will eventually give up on me, because the one thing I can’t stand is manipulation. I am not going to end up like Adam, the world’s first beta, just because I wake up alone every morning.

Men are much happier alone than women. Being single drives women nuts. They base their self-worth on their marital status. Women are little girls, and little girls crave daddy’s attention. That sounds awful, but it’s true. I do not need mommy’s attention in order to feel valid.

Life is like Let’s Make a Deal. If you turn down the booby prize, it should mean you get the grand prize later. I’m not suggesting this lady is a booby prize. Just that she is not the grand prize. Is the grand prize a wife or just a life without the wrong woman? That’s the question.

I’m going to have my peace. I’m not going to spend the next week getting up and responding to this woman’s emails. I pray for her, but this distraction will not be permitted to persist. When God shows you a landmine, and you step on it anyway, it’s rebellion, and God may be very slow to rescue you.

They’ve Seen the Bait a Thousand Times

I have decided to follow up on my interaction with the Kenyan lady I met on a dating site.

I figured out that she was upset because I hate the prosperity gospel. I call people like Kenneth Copeland and Creflo Dollar liars and slavemasters. She sent an email suggesting I watch Copeland. He is an idiot, and I know it because I used to watch him 20 years ago. I fell for his lies because I wasn’t receiving guidance from the Holy Spirit.

Jesus said a man who called his brother a fool was in danger of hell’s fire. People have reminded me of that when I criticized Mammon preachers. Here’s the thing: Kenneth Copeland is not my brother. The word says as many as are led by the Spirit are sons of God. Copeland teaches garbage that ruins people’s lives. He’s not led by the Holy Spirit. If we don’t have the same father, he’s not my brother. He is an idiot. Jesus called people idiots.

This morning I sent her a long email giving my testimony with regard to prosperity preachers. I explained that I was very familiar with them and that I had learned they were wrong. I told her how I had been blessed in every way while cursing their ministries, praying God would destroy their organizations, and criticizing them in public. I told her I believed God rewarded me financially for this.

It’s all in the previous blog post.

I finally heard back from her. She sent three long emails.

In the first one, she said she had just finished her second 21-day round of prayer and fasting three days before encountering me online. She said Jesus had told her that this year, the enemy would try to rob people of their blessings by causing strife in the church.

I don’t want to get into boring detail, but I will say that she thinks Jesus told her to circle the wagons. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Don’t criticize ministers, because it drives people away from the church. I shouldn’t have to repeat it all, because the spirit behind it is obvious. “Don’t rock the boat. Play along.”

It reminds me of something I heard a few years ago when I was still a member of a church led by the convicted pedophile Alberto Santiago. He was preaching, and in my mind, I heard, “Stay on the treadmill,” over and over.

What is a treadmill? It’s a machine on which you walk a great deal without making any progress. Santiago had a god complex, and he was trying to make his church a cult. He and his masculine wife were doing a lot of things wrong, and they were damaging people’s lives and killing their own church. He kept people from going nowhere, and he wanted to manipulate them so they didn’t leave.

He wanted us to stay on the treadmill.

The Kenyan lady is on the treadmill, and she is inviting me to get back on. It’s like the scene in What’s Love Got to do With it? in which Ike Turner shows up with flowers and tries to get Tina to get back in his car so she can go back to work for him. Ike Turner learned everything he knew from Satan.

She’s also calling me an agent of Satan, whether she knows it or not. Why would she want to marry an agent of Satan? I chalk that down to her two X chromosomes. Women are better at cognitive dissonance. That’s why they vote for socialists.

There are a ton of things wrong with what she told me.

First of all, she says she believes a wife should be submissive. That means she shares the Christian belief that a man is the high priest of his house. God leads proper families through Christian husbands who hear from the Holy Spirit. Wives are supposed to listen to them. How can you say you’re submissive when you begin a relationship by giving an older, more experienced man lessons in basic doctrine?

Here is what I would ask: what does “submissive” mean to you? Does it mean you submit to a man only when he agrees with you? That isn’t submission at all. That’s matriarchy. Ewww. I prefer death.

She also gave me a bunch of scriptures intended to prove I don’t have the authority to question a man of God. If I don’t have that authority, how can I have the authority to rule our house? Paul contradicted Peter publicly. Jesus contradicted priests and scribes, as well as his disciples. The prophets did nothing but contradict other so-called prophets who were wrong. I have authority, too. I’m allowed to contradict people who are out of line, even if they have TV cameras pointed at them.

She says Kenneth Copeland has financed more than 40% of “the modern day revival around the world.” That’s not a good thing. It means he has used money he took by lying to people, and he has used it to build toxic churches that prevent other people from becoming children of God.

She still wants to make things work. Why? If I’m so ignorant and full of iniquity I need a woman to correct me, how could I ever be a worthwhile husband.

Many women believe it’s their job to create their husbands. No. Totally wrong. It’s a husband’s job to shape a wife.

She’s a very nice lady. She’s very sincere. She wants to fight evil. But she’s saying things that go against the way the kingdom works.

I told her I didn’t believe in argument. I said she should stick to her guns. I said if she thought I wasn’t right for her, she shouldn’t have me. I also said this: if I were a woman, and I thought my husband were wrong, I would try to go along with him while praying for God to correct him. I suggested she pray for God to correct me. I said I already prayed for it every day, and I said I would agree with her.

I said men were required to lead, and I said I could not be in a relationship in which a woman tried to teach me as though I had only received salvation last week. I said a man who isn’t allowed to lead would be an Ahab to her. I said he would be a disgrace to her and himself.

To sum up, we have doctrinal differences, she doesn’t really believe in submission (although she thinks she does), and she is trying to preserve an opportunity which, by her own standards, has no future.

Some people say women are unpredictable, but that’s not entirely true. Everything that’s going on between this woman and me is predictable. It’s cliche. Women want to run marriages. Women fall in love way too fast. Women will do way too much to make a go of relationships that are clearly built on rotten foundations.

I could help her by telling her these things, but a woman who wants to run a relationship can’t be taught.

Imagine me, married to this lady in her current state of mind. Either we would be at odds all the time, or I would have to pretend I believed what she says. Of course, neither option can happen.

Can she change? God knows, but I don’t. Women are supposed to marry up and let men change them, but not every woman is willing, and many men aren’t up to the job anyway. I can do it, but I can’t work with hardened clay.

I think I’ll hear from her a few more times. This is my prediction, based on what I know about women. She’s thinking I was sent by God, she think’s I’m a rare find, she really wants me, and her emotions are telling her to make it work. She’s not paying attention to the fact that I’m not part of her religion. She is probably somewhat angry at me for not being what she wants. Women are famous for that. She should be asking herself why God would send her a man she has to repair. God wouldn’t do that. He would send her a leader.

Wives are not supposed to shape husbands.

It’s unpleasant to see someone I like and respect so much, missing the mark so completely. I think it’s bait, to see if I’ll cave in and be like Samson or Adam. There must be a reward waiting for me now that I’ve turned the bait down. The punishment for taking the bait is obvious.

It’s all very interesting. It would be better to have a wife than all this engaging mental exercise, but being smart is fun, and thinking is fun. Using knowledge my father in heaven gave me is fun. Knowing you came to the right conclusions and passed a test is fun. I’ll take what I can get.

This is me not being beta.

I Pulled Out my Beam; Pull Yours

I’m sure everyone who reads this site has been unable to sleep, wondering what became of the Kenyan lady I talked to on the dating site.

Fear not. I will escort you back into the arms of Morpheus.

To recap, I decided to take a look at interracial dating sites, for reasons already explained. I have had many amusing encounters with African Internet scammers, and I was not optimistic when I started hearing from women in Africa. I started talking to one anyway, and we had an incredible conversation. After that, I vetted her on the web. She checks out. She is the same person who has been posting on Youtube and Twitter for years. She’s a very seriously lady who hates BS, and she has put up a number of Twitter posts chewing out crooked Kenyan politicians and essentially saying God would soon smite them with boils and mighty emerods.

She didn’t literally say that, but you get the picture.

Our first conversation seemed extremely encouraging, but yesterday, I barely got a response from her.

It occurred to me that I had already failed one test as a potential leader. I had had a marvelous encounter with an extraordinary woman, and then I had failed to lead by asking her to agree with me in prayer for guidance as to whether we should continue. I emailed her and apologized, and she sent a nice email back. In it, she suggested I look into Kenneth Copeland, Jerry Savelle, and Kenneth Hagin.

AHA.

She believes in the American prosperity gospel. I said bad things about it in our initial encounter, so she withdrew to think things over. This was obvious to me.

Obviously, the thing to do was to send another email explaining that it was okay with me if she followed Copeland, and I needed to tell her I was okay with a wife who practiced the money gospel and gave money to rich preachers.

Yeah, right.

I doubled down.

This morning I sent a long email. To summarize, I said a man has to be a leader, and part of leadership is learning things first and passing them on to his wife. This necessarily means he and she will disagree on things until she agrees to submit and listen. I told her about the bad experiences I had had with greedy prosperity buffoons like Kenneth Copeland and Rich Wilkerson, Sr. I told her how I had criticized them publicly. I told her people had said I shouldn’t touch God’s “anointed.” I told her I had become wealthy while they were saying that, and they had not prospered. I told her I received the home and inheritance of a person who defended the money preachers. I said I cursed their ministries from time to time, and that I planned to keep criticizing them.

I am wondering what she’ll say if she responds.

The incel community has a useful but profane phrase. I will paraphrase it and say “poop test.” A poop test is a cruel, dishonest test a woman puts a man through in order to establish dominance and weed out men with spines. Women will say these tests are intended to screen out losers, but that isn’t true. Only losers pass these tests. They’re all about enslavement and hatred of men.

Women will do things like “running hot and cold.” This means she’ll love you one day and shun you the next. The idea is to use sporadic reinforcement to draw you closer. It’s the same thing that makes slot machines work. If a slot machine pays off every time, you’ll only pull the arm until you get what you want. If it never pays off, you’ll only pull the arm until you realize it. If it pays off unpredictably at random intervals, you may pull the arm until you get blisters and tendinitis.

Wife-beaters work the same way. A wife-beater can’t be predicted. One day he’ll be Prince Charming. The next, he’ll give you a fractured orbital. Women and kids learn to try to mold themselves in order to shape a wife-beater’s behavior. It doesn’t work, but it’s literally addictive.

Poop tests are abuse. Anyone who sticks around for them ought to donate his testicles to medical science, because he is not using them.

Poop tests are wrong, but clinging to your principles and seeing if your partner is right for you is right. It’s what I’m doing. It’s what Jesus did. He said incredibly rude things to people, and he accepted the fact that people who were offended shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

By the way, a reader recommended a video in which a dating coach gave three tests to give women. I thought it was kind of funny. Here they are:

1. Ask your true love to get you a cup of coffee.
2. Say you’re not going to do something she wants to do.
3. Ask her if she’ll sign a pre-nup.

It’s wrong to come up with contrived, dishonest tests, but I’ll say this: these are legitimate tests, not weapons of manipulation.

The second test reminds me of something that happened to me. I was dating a nutjob who will never be anything but miserable. Unfortunately, I was the love of her life. She had our future all planned out. She was smitten.

She asked me to go to a cat show. I had zero desire to do this, but I agreed, because you do things for people you love. No big deal.

On the day of the show, she arrived at my house very late, and she did not call or give me any warning. When she arrived, I said she needed to let me know when she couldn’t be on time. Again, no big deal. Off to the cat show.

On the way to the show, she had a nutjob moment in the car. The mask fell off. She started telling me I was angry. She said I had a “pissy” look on my face. She was furious. I had no idea what she was talking about. I had been wondering if there was anything interesting to see at a cat show.

I don’t recall whether we made it to the cat show. I recall that I dumped her. The cat show berserker conniption cut the cord, but it was a few days until I made it official.

She thought I ruined her life when I cut her loose, but I saved my own. She took forever to let go. I had to chase her down and force her to take the belongings she had left in my bedroom. Women leave things in men’s homes in order to mark territory and ease their way toward marriage. “If my stuff is in your house, you’re still my man, and this will blow over.”

Sometimes people give themselves poop tests. It wasn’t the first time for her. I remember sitting in the car while she berated some minimum-wage ghetto girl over a parking fee dispute that amounted to less than a Starbucks bill. The girl in the booth was not in a position to make the rules, and she was obviously very hurt. I told her to forget about it and drove off. I caught hell for that, and I learned something.

The way a woman treats other people she’s angry about is the way she will treat you when she’s angry at you. The same thing applies to men. If you like big, strong men who push other men around physically, get ready for dental caps and bruises you can’t hide with makeup. Your day is coming.

Anyway, again, poop tests are wrong, but standing up for God and the truth can perform their function for you.

Today I did exactly the right thing, so I feel good. I’m not sitting around wondering what clever move will make her love me. I wrote my email and got up and made some delicious buckwheat pancakes. She can accept me or move on. She says she believes a man should lead and a woman should submit. We’ll find out if she means it.

She is a bold person who has been rejected for telling the truth. Does she have the stomach to accept someone who speaks the truth to her?

Now you know what’s happening. Sleep well.

How Many People Have Seen a Good One?

It is 10:48 a.m. and I have already fielded several inquiries from women on online dating services. I have also received more unsolicited counsel from my friend Mike, and I am experiencing things I didn’t expect.

A young lady from a northern state contacted me. I haven’t responded yet. She is stunning. No other word for it. I looked at her profile. It says she’s mute and was born deaf. Her profile says she wants someone to love and respect her.

I have not responded.

She’s a good example of the kind of person I’m running into now: women I want to save.

My experiences on the two latest sites have been good, but I can tell women are not doing as well. They complain about men wanting cheap hookups or asking for naked pictures. I have had a few women with sleazy pictures contact me, and I am definitely hearing from dubious foreign women, but the problems are manageable.

I have learned that there are a lot of women out there who can’t find anyone who will treat them decently, and I have also been reminded that women get attached way, way too fast. that’s probably why the following joke exists:

Q: What does a lesbian bring to a second date?

A: A U-Haul.

Many times, I have seen people say women are really the pursuers in romance. It may well be true. When it comes to romance, women put out bait and wait for bites. That’s not what prey species do. It’s what predators do. Whether or not it’s generally true that women do the pursuing, it is certainly true that they often do, and they generally try to appear that they’re being pursued.

I feel like I’m being chased by puppies that want to be adopted.

Why do they want to be adopted? Love, children, money, and American citizenship, I suppose. Most women’s desires can be traced to these roots in varying amounts.

After talking to a few of these ladies, I want to take them all home. At least the Christians. I wish I could open an orphanage for women. But Solomon tried that, and it didn’t work out.

I have to wonder if God feels this way about people. We’re all down here being played by fallen angels, demons, people, and governments pretending to be saviors. They fool us and take advantage of us over and over. The real savior is up there wishing we would run to him.

I’m not saying I would be a great or even adequate husband. Just that I understand the desire to rescue the unwanted and unappreciated.

I am enduring culture shock from talking to foreign women. I told one I was working on my bathrooms, and she said she wished she were here to help. I said I wished she were, too, so I could sit on the couch and relax. I am a kidder. I thought she would send a joke in return. She said, “I would get you a drink.”

How do you deal with someone like that when you were raised in America? If I had a wife who treated me like that, I would be afraid for people to see it in public. I would feel like something had gone fundamentally wrong with the structure of the universe.

Is it a bad thing, though? If it is, then is it a bad thing when men serve in the infantry and women don’t? Is it a bad thing when a man pays all the bills? Is it bad when he jumps in front of her when there is danger? Is it bad when he opens doors and pulls out her chair for her?

In America, a man who does those things is coveted, except in areas where feminists have completely corrupted everyone, but a woman who brings her husband a drink is ridiculed, and the man is considered an abuser.

Isn’t this the feminist princess syndrome in action?

I find it hard to take things from women. I think it comes from having a sociopath for an older sister. It’s hard for me to see myself as someone women want and appreciate, and American men are taught to believe a woman is doing you a favor simply by being present.

I don’t know if I could get used to someone who gives back. American women are trained not to do that. It’s also difficult dealing with women who offer praise instead of a constant stream of accusations.

This is one of the problems with abusers. They ruin you for decent people.

I moved to Ocala from Miami, which is one of the rudest, trashiest cities in America. I was used to aggression, materialism, selfishness, arrogance, cruelty, dishonesty, and a pervasive lack of class. After I got here, I had a hard time getting used to kind, polite people. Even though I’m a Southerner, it took me a while to get back into the Southern groove. I moved here so I could live among good people, but still, I was not able to get used to them instantaneously.

The same principle applies to women.

Christianity has a second-mile principle Christians almost never talk about. They think it means you should occasionally do more for someone than he deserves. That’s not the whole story.

When two people have any type of relationship, each one owes the other certain things. Our natural tendency is to do a little less than we should. That forces other parties to do our jobs. It breeds resentment. It breeds mistrust.

When each party does a little bit more than needed, it’s very different. Each one feels as though he has profited. It helps a bond develop. It breeds trust and peace. It breeds gratitude.

A husband and wife need to do things they are not obligated to do. If it’s your husband’s job to take out the trash, you should take it out once a week anyway. If the wife is supposed to clean the bathrooms, the husband should do it sometimes without telling her. When each party does less than he or she should, the result is lack. When each party exceeds expectations, the result is increase.

When I read the remark about the drink, my first reaction was to think, “Boy, she wants a green card.” I’ve had that feeling before. When people in Miami did nice things for me, it often disturbed me. I wondered what they really wanted. It was a sick response created by systematic conditioning performed by trashy people.

What’s wrong with bringing your husband a drink? A lot of divorced women surrounded by cats could probably answer that question. I like doing things for women. Why shouldn’t a woman like doing things for me?

In 2021 America, I feel like I have to construct a defense for thoughtfulness.

It makes me wish I had been raised better. Somewhere else.

I feel like I should go on social media and broadcast some advice to incels: get away from the Northeast. Get away from California and Chicago. Women aren’t the problem. Not all of it, anyway. The problem is our selfish anti-male culture. Go where it’s weakest. And while you’re at it, take a shower, stop eating 10 pounds of Hot Pockets every day, throw out your video game consoles, delete your manifesto, quit posting on 8kun, cancel your sex doll order, burn your porn, quit lisping, and get off your mom’s couch. Stop being a flabby, spineless fruit. Try not to be such a dating landmine.

I can’t help all of these women. Maybe I can help one of them.

I Feel Positively Viable

Welcome to one of the weirdest days of my life.

As chronic readers know, I tried online dating briefly a couple of weeks back. To say it went badly would be an understatement. I got no attention at all from women who were not obese, elderly, or impossible to conduct a romantic relationship with due to severe appearance issues, but I heard from hundreds of African scammers pretending to be American ladies.

I quit because the contrast between my happiness before and after beginning the experiment was stark. I gained nothing, but I felt degraded and swindled. Ordinarily, you have to wait for marriage to feel that way.

A few days back, I had a sudden impulse. I felt I should look around and see if there were any sites dedicated to interracial dating.

Here’s something people don’t like to talk about: black women tend to die single. They are grossly undervalued as wives. Asian women are considered the most attractive, and white women come next. Similarly, Asian men are at the bottom of the food chain, but black men are considered very attractive.

Black women are much more likely than black men to be successful, a big percentage of black men are in prison or on probation or parole, black men tend to disfavor marriage, and the ones that do marry often marry outside their race. To make things worse, about 87% of American men are not black.

In addition, many white American men have the sense that white women tend to have princess complexes, and many take men for granted and treat them badly.

There are lots of very attractive black women out there rotting away, getting ready to start their own cat herds. Also, statistics say marriages between white men and black women are much more stable than same-race marriages and other mixed-race marriages.

I thought I would look at a couple of sites and see what my opportunities were. I was not optimistic, but you can’t score a hole in one unless you swing your club.

I learned a few things.

First of all, there are a lot of Africans on interracial dating sites. Plot twist: they admit they’re African. Presumably, a lot of them are not scammers. I’m sure many of them want green cards and are willing to do dishonest things in order to get them, but they can’t all be like that.

Second, I was able to get actual women under the age of 70 and the 300-pound mark to talk to me. That was new. In fact, it’s a little disturbing. Failure is easy to cope with. You just quit and move on. When you succeed, you have to go forward and keep doing things.

My volunteer dating coach Mike told me to put photos of myself in suits on my profile, and it seemed like he wanted me to soft-soap the women. I did the opposite. I said I owned suits and would be happy to send women pictures of them. I said I voted for Trump. I said I didn’t want leftist women lecturing me in my own house, so they didn’t need to apply. I said I had guns and didn’t plan to get rid of them for a woman. I said any woman who would be disturbed by a man getting up every day and praying in tongues for two hours should go away.

First thing you know, I got a message from a lady from Kenya.

Right away, I figured it was some scammer Sheneheh, hoping to tell me a sob story and get some money for liquor and prostitutes. I talked to her anyway, and I asked questions intended to find out whether she was legitimate.

She really startled me. She said we could pray in tongues together. She said she was drawn to my profile because I was a serious Christian. She quoted scriptures to me, and they were appropriately chosen, proving she had actually read the Bible. I asked her how she felt about tongues, and she said prayer in tongues brought us closer to God and brought us supernatural revelation.

Well, now.

After that, I figured she had to be real. Scammers are not sitting around reading the word and learning about tongues.

We talked for a very long time. I was flabbergasted. I was in such shock, I completely forgot to ask about the age difference, which is considerable.

Afterward, I wondered if I was being fooled. Every old man dreams of younger women who find him desirable. We believe what we want to believe. We see what isn’t there. We explain away what is there. This is how we end up homeless at 70 while our ex-trophy wives fornicate in our houses with our former pool boys.

She had given me her first name. Her town’s name was on her profile. I Googled. I found a Twitter account with her photos on it. The owner was giving crooked African politicians hell. It sounded like the person I had conversed with.

Still, a scammer could download Twitter photos.

The confirmation came when I found a Twitter post in which she quoted the same scripture she had quoted me, to prove the same point.

Unbelievably, I had communicated with an actual woman on a dating site, and she really was the type of person she seemed to be.

Is that even possible? It’s like a dream. It never happens.

I’m suspicious of anything that seems too good to be true, or even just barely good enough to stand, now that I think about it. This lady says she has a passport and a visa, and that made things sound worse. It made her sound like she was itching to emigrate. But she also says she would be happy if a man moved to Kenya to be with her.

If this lady is available, there must be others. Is this a resource I should have tapped sooner?

Another attractive lady contacted me today, and guess why she turned me down? I said I couldn’t see myself moving to Zambia. THAT is a sincere woman. The scammers all want to come here.

I’ve always thought online dating was for idiots, and I have cast a jaundiced eye upon men who import wives. It seems like a tacky enterprise, likely to connect a foolish man to a parasite who will drain his bank account and run off. But I met a real woman today. She exists.

Maybe my low opinion of importing wives is tainted by input from American women, who really hate the idea. They really, really hate it. It makes them furious. You can find their crabby remarks online. They say men are looking for “appliances with sex organs.” The reason they’re so mad? The foreign-wife industry highlights the fact that many men are fed up with American feminist women, and it also proves feminists don’t have a monopoly. It makes feminists feel threatened. Many of our post-Steinem girls don’t want to compete with, say, Thai wives who keep a great house, stay home and raise kids, dote on their husbands, and take care of their bodies. Also, as noted above, Asian women, who figure prominently in the importation business, rank higher than white women on the attraction scale.

Feminism is all about manipulation and exploitation, and you can’t manipulate your market if it has better options available.

I don’t know what to think. I’m still formulating my opinions concerning the whole business. I know this: an American woman is the last person on earth to consult at this point. It would be like asking Tim Cook what he thinks about Windows.

Having spent two weeks on a site where all I did was torment scammers, I am now in an unexpected situation. I have more legitimate contacts than I can handle, not just from Africa, but from America. And they’re not train wrecks. Many are beautiful Christian women, and I don’t mean beautiful for their ages. I never saw that coming. Weirdest thing of all: some of them are white.

I believe I have a couple of scammers, but they seem to be in the minority.

I don’t know what to do with these women.

If anything comes of this, I’ll blog it.

There Must be Others

Last night I had a very weird experience.

I have written about my decision to abandon online matchmaking sites. I got some interest from women who were totally inappropriate, as well as perhaps 200 African men pretending to be women. If I wanted to date someone who could be Joe Biden’s older sister, I would call my experience a qualified success, but that’s about it.

I wrote a blog post in which I said maybe it was time to accept permanent bachelorhood.

I felt pretty comfortable with it. My life is very pleasant, nearly all of the women who are in the pool men like me drawn from are unappealing to say the least, and I am well aware that marriage solves problems but also causes them.

So that’s the background.

Last night, I started wondering what had happened to Bevelyn Beatty. This is the woman who poured paint on the BLM vandalism in New York. They call it a mural, but it’s vandalism. It’s “Black Lives Matter,” painted in huge letters on a public street.

Beatty is possibly the bravest woman who ever lived. It may actually be a serious character flaw, because she seems to overdo it. She goes wherever she thinks she should go, and she stands up for God and the unborn. She stands close to pro-abortion escorts outside of abortion mills and tells them they should be ashamed of themselves. A BLM coward stabbed her in Washington, D.C. because she walked unarmed in that leftist stronghold after dark.

I used to subscribe to her Youtube channel because I admired her so much, and because it was nice to see a black female conservative Christian who wasn’t drinking the toxic, demonic, Marxist Kool Aid. I unsubscribed because I had no interest in political activism.

I checked in on her, and she says she has given up on conservatism, sort of. She has apparently realized Christianity isn’t political. All Spirit-led Christians become conservative, but not all conservatives are Christians, and the GOP is not going to save anyone.

She has a friend she runs around with, and she got her friend to give her testimony. I love hearing testimonies, so I started watching. I thought I would tune out in a couple of minutes, but the video was nearly 40 minutes long, and I watched the whole thing. I went back and watched parts of it later. It was wonderful.

Her friend is named Edmee Chavannes. She was born in France, to a Haitian family. She doesn’t say much in most of Beatty’s videos.

She gave a long account of her life, including stories about growing up in sexual ignorance. She had encounters with men, and she learned things along the way. She came close to losing her virginity, but somehow, it never happened. She believes God looked out for her.

She is about 40 now, and she is still hanging on. She said she should make the video in order to strengthen other people who are in the same boat and who feel like freaks.

She talked about her dedication to God. She and Beatty do street ministry in addition to making videos. She is completely sold out.

She said she hated socialism because she had seen it in France. She said that when they had problems, their first response was to go to the government, not God.

Think about this from a man’s perspective. People say, “Lower your standards. You will never get what you require. They’re not out there.” Then you see a nice-looking, godly lady in a video, proving the real thing still exists.

There are two realities: the reality of the cursed, and the reality of the blessed. If you’re blessed, you can’t make plans and decisions based on what happens to cursed people. The fact that other people have to settle for Satan’s table scraps doesn’t mean you have to.

I looked at a lot of profiles when I started fooling with online dating. My thoughts usually went like this: “She looks okay. Oh, boy…yoga. But she says Jesus is the center of her life, so maybe she would drop the yoga if I explained things to her. Horror movies? No, not in my house. Well, are they demonic occult horror movies, or just relatively safe movies about disasters and so on? Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘Libra’? Maybe she just needs someone to tell her astrology is a pagan religion. She’s wearing tights and a top that shows 9 inches of cleavage. Maybe a talk and a trip to Nordstrom would fix that.”

I was starting with a pool in which less than 1% of the members had any hope at all, and I was trying to scrape the dirt off the ones that remained so they could be salvaged.

You don’t want to expect too much from people, and you don’t want to be self-righteous and forget your own faults. On the other hand, I spent decades surrounded by people who didn’t meet my standards, and they mistreated me and made me feel worthless. I worked at cutting them off, systematically. I would rather die tomorrow than jump back in that cesspool. I consider their absence one of God’s greatest gifts. Taking them back would make me miserable.

If I believe I have to lower my standards and accept a worldly woman, am I not saying God can’t provide? Isn’t that the opposite of faith?

If this lady is out there, she’s not the only one, and if God is God, he knows where the others are, and if he wants me to meet one, it will happen. If he doesn’t, well and good. He knows best, and my life is great.

I admit, I wish life weren’t full of long waiting periods. I’m too old to enjoy the blessing of marrying an attractive high school sweetheart and raising kids. I am not likely to reproduce, and if I manage it, I will never see grandchildren unless I’m too frail to do anything with them. I believe the word says people who belong to God will return after the tribulation and lead restored lives on earth. That’s the only hope I have. But even if I can’t get the premium package in this life, a few years with the right person would still be a great gift.

I know; Abraham didn’t have a son by the wife he loved until he was 100. But he lived to be 175. That will not happen to me. Judging by the way my ancestors went, I may not make 90.

If I make it, I will live those years in a disgusting place which is even more hostile than it is now. This country is going to keep getting worse. I wish there were some place else to go, but historically, America was that place, and now the ship has been boarded by pirates.

Speaking of disaster movies, I saw one the other day. It was very bad. It was called Greenland. A comet was breaking up, and bits were hitting the earth. A big piece was on its way to cause the extinction of just about all terrestrial life. The government chose useful people and told them to get on planes so they could be taken to a shelter. The shelter was located in Greenland, which makes no sense at all. That’s the story.

A man, his wife, and his son were selected. The government didn’t know the son had diabetes, and when the family showed up for its flight, the son was rejected. It happened while the man was separated from his wife and son, so he got on a plane while they were in the rejection process.

People found out about the selection process, and they lost their minds in their determination to get on the planes. When the man found out his family didn’t make it, he jumped off his plane, and the rest of the movie was about their struggle to reunite and make it to Greenland.

By the way, all of the bad people in the movie were white. There was one black criminal, but he saved the lives of the wife and child. Several blacks and Hispanics helped the family. Welcome to Wokanda.

I watched the selfish, terror-stricken characters, committing all sorts of crimes in hopes of getting on the planes. I thought to myself, “What is wrong with them?” I watched the husband, who was tormented as he tried to decide whether to stay on his plane. I thought, “Here’s what you do. You get off, and you go die with your family. You don’t struggle with the decision. You go, without hesitation.”

If you know the world is about to end, your big priority shouldn’t be to behave like a rat and strive to survive in a hole. It should be to share love and comfort, not to mention salvation, with the people you love. Obvious?

The characters in the movie lived in an imaginary world with no God and no afterlife. They didn’t pray. They didn’t talk about God. I can’t relate to them. People like that live in a different reality. Even if they made it to Greenland, they weren’t going to survive. People wear out, get sick, and die, no matter what they do. If you’re not ready for that, you are in real trouble.

I can’t live a nice, long fairy tale life. My age and the state of the world won’t permit it. But maybe I can go through what remains of this age with someone I care about, and we can be together when it all ends. That would be worth a lot.

I’ll link to Emdee Chavanne’s video. Maybe some of you will enjoy it.

Maybe I’m the Real-Life Red Green

My friend Mike is still here. He is counseling me on being an online chick magnet, although I have not asked for help. I am getting more and more comfortable with the idea of accepting permanent bachelorhood. Either that, or I can wait till my body gives out and I require medical care, and then maybe I can date a nurse.

Single life is very good. As a bachelor, I will never have to buy someone else a new car even though I buy used. I will never have to be lectured about eating prime beef or anything else. There will be no arguments about recycling. I turned my dining room into an indoor workshop and gun room, and it can stay that way. I can drive however I like. I won’t have to listen to Celine Dion or any type of bad music. I will never, ever have to tolerate the presence of a cat in my house. I am the undisputed emperor of the TV remote. I don’t even have to go to the doctor. I can actually choose to die instead of getting old and wearing diapers. It’s pretty sweet.

As for doing without sex, well, most married men say they’re unsatisfied, too. In 2021, satisfying sex lives are generally things single women provide temporarily as marketing tools. When the ring goes on, the supply tapers off, as planned by one party prior to the wedding. At least I get to do without sex all by myself instead of doing without sex while lying next to someone who refuses to provide it.

Many wives push men away sexually, expecting them to remain faithful and caught up in the relationship. They don’t realize a man who is rejected sexually knows he has been rejected, period. He knows he has a parasite.

When a man marries young, he gets a springy, attractive girl who is anxious to lavish him with physical affection at least until she gets pregnant. When you marry at my age, you get something totally different, and you may also get three or four surly teenage kids who post Tiktok videos making fun of you and think you’re going to put them through college.

I’m starting to think I’ve become impossible to pair up. I’m like a convict who has been in prison so long he prefers it to freedom, except in my case, freedom is what I’m expected to give up.

“Let’s go to Paris!” “Can’t we stay here and weld up bases for my grinder collection?” “Let’s buy a new Cayenne!” “But the Dodge Cummins is only 12 years old!” “Let’s put on uncomfortable clothes and go to a cocktail party with vapid people I want to impress!” “How about if I just drive to the nearest railroad track and lie down?”

Women always want to do insane things that would disrupt a life like mine. Cruises. Dinner parties. Buying real furniture. Not shooting squirrels out the bedroom window.

It’s very disturbing to listen to Mike talk about his strategies. I know what he’s saying is true, but it’s like talking about what they put in sausage. He sounds like he’s humoring mental patients. “Suzy started cutting herself when we gave her 4 fish sticks, so we cut them in half and said there were 8.”

By the way, chorizos are made from hog salivary glands. When you eat chorizos, it’s not just your mouth watering. It’s theirs. Mmm.

It’s always disconcerting to hear how women view men and what their odd demands are. I already know these things. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. It’s still a bummer.

Mike says I need to go to dating sites and put up photos of me in suits and jackets. Oh, man.

Mike himself has bowed to pressure and posted suit photos. I don’t know if it’s a smart move. He may be drawing the wrong women.

Back before I abandoned my brief fling with online dating, I saw a lot of women’s photos. For the most part, they seemed to be dressed the way women usually dress, and they were doing normal things like sitting in restaurants or posing with their families. Some of the women were wearing things like jeans and T-shirts. Mike says men are not allowed to use photos like that. You have to wear the most expensive clothes you have, and you should try to look like you have a great credit rating.

If Mike is right, so was Freud, but let’s not go there. I think Freud has embarrassed a lot of people by pointing out the obvious.

When I put up my photos, I had exactly one to choose from, because mentally healthy men don’t take selfies. It was a picture of me with my goddaughter on my lap. I was wearing a Carhartt shirt. In order to provide variety and give women a fair and realistic view of me from the knees up, I installed a voice-activated photo app on my phone, and I took a picture of me standing in my yard in my usual getup: Carhartt jeans, a T-shirt, and work suspenders.

The photo proved I was not crippled or obese. It showed I was not a midget. It gave women a fair idea what I looked like so they couldn’t claim I tricked them. Job done.

I gave women a little credit. I thought, “Any intelligent creature will realize I can change my clothes for different situations.”

I am not sure why I took that attitude. I know better. Women tend to be drawn to possessions. Many women are physically attracted to men who drive expensive cars, and I have personally had a Swedish au pair I didn’t even know throw herself at me because I was standing on my dad’s yacht. We were at a fuel dock loading up on diesel for a trip, and she announced she wanted to go with us.

If you think the Swedes have a problem, it’s not your imagination. Sweden has the title of Europe’s STD capital.

Still, when I looked at women on Christian Mingle, that was how I saw things. I was well aware they could change their outfits. It never occurred to me to judge them by their clothing unless they looked like bag ladies. I projected my attitude onto women, thinking they had the same healthy outlook.

I am not impressed by women who always look perfect. Women who are too meticulous about their appearance are annoying. They take 90 minutes to get ready to go to McDonald’s. They destroy bathrooms. They think nothing of spending $15,000 per year on clothing which will be out of style in 12 months. They can’t do anything because they’re always terrified of getting things on their clothes, messing up their hair, and breaking nails. They can only walk on pavement and floors because of their shoes. They’re like beautiful couches that are always covered in plastic.

Women like that claim men should be grateful because they do it for men. Not true. They dress to make other women feel bad. They know perfectly well that men don’t care much about the way they dress.

When I was in law school and during the years that ensued, I put together a business wardrobe. I learned a lot about classic men’s clothing. I even bought Alan Flusser’s books. I am not one of those guys who need women to shop for them. In fact, most women have less knowledge and inferior taste. The only reason for me to take a woman to a store would be to have her watch me try things on and give me input on the fit.

All of my business shirts are bespoke. Not altered to fit. Bespoke. I don’t have to wear bespoke jackets and suits because altering off-the-rack jobs works well for me, but I have some bespoke stuff anyway. I designed my own bespoke tux with a special dark-black fabric that doesn’t turn green in flash pictures. My measurements are on file at Zegna and Ascot Chang. I have been to Turnbull & Asser and Paul Stuart. I used to buy bespoke shirts from Sulka, before it went out of business. I don’t have many ties that cost less than a hundred dollars.

I have Swiss watches. Women like them, and the wrong kind of woman can spot them from across a football field. They keep bad time, they bang into things, and they never fit right. I don’t wear them. A Rolex is no substitute for a cell phone or even a $20 digital.

Should I put this junk on just to attract women who judge men based on what they wear? The question is moot because I quit trying, but it’s depressing that we live in a world where it ever came up.

I didn’t spend thousands and thousands on clothing so I could look good to women. I did it in order to make other lawyers look bad, in hopes of getting an edge. It was a cold, conscious choice that had nothing to do with vanity.

I always say men’s faults are obvious. They’re obvious because people never stop yapping about them. Men lie to get sex, they commit adultery more than women, some of them beat their wives, and many men insist on living like spoiled single men after they’re married. That pretty much covers the important male faults, and everyone acknowledges them. Women’s faults are different. We’re not allowed to talk about them because it’s sexist. We pretend they don’t exist, and as a result, too many American women suffer from a persecuted-princess delusion. The woman is the prize; the man is the unworthy recipient who can never earn her and who must be subjected to a continuing series of tiresome tests throughout the relationship. Also, the man is responsible for all problems encountered during the marriage, including earthquakes and ugly kids who look just like the wife.

Maybe this is why the price of a man’s shoes matters.

I’ve heard women talk about their ideal men. If you’re a man, you do not want to hear such conversations. I’ve never heard them talk about things like religious compatibility, character, intelligence, wit, talent, dependability, useful skills, affection, or kindness. I have heard them talk about other things, most of which were pretty stupid. He has to have a cool last name. He has to be over 6 feet tall. He should be white. He should be a German. His eyes should be green, but not too green. The ring has to cost at least $20,000.

It’s so weird. Many women make lists of required options, like they’re ordering cars. Men don’t do that. We have very general criteria. You have to look okay. You have to not be a giant pain that makes me wish I were single or dead. You have to not bankrupt me. You can’t have incurable VD that will kill me or make me sterile. You can’t embarrass me every time we leave the house. Women’s lists turn into barriers that prevent marriage and benefit herds of future cats.

Bridezillas aren’t created by the process of planning weddings. The planning process merely reveals an existing disorder. Wacky lists are symptoms of the illness.

I am not comfortable with thinking of women as fish, and clothing and possessions as bait. If a woman wants the bait, she probably has little interest in the man himself. I completely understand why a woman would want a man to be financially comfortable and to dress reasonably well when needed, but it seems to me a woman who knows a man is an attorney with no debt and his own big house ought to be smart enough to realize he can put on a jacket when takes her out.

Not that there is any place to take a woman around here. I never thought about that until recently. There are some good restaurants here, but I don’t think I’ll be going to Nobu again any time soon. They will never build one here.

There are sane women out there, but they are vastly outnumbered by the others. I think putting out crazy-woman bait is a bad move. Maybe my Carhartt jeans photo was actually a useful, even vital, filter.

Anyway, I am not planning to go back to online dating, so it doesn’t matter. The more I write about single life versus my 20 days of online dating, the more grateful I am for what I have.

Recreation Wears me Out

I have been away from the keyboard because my best friend Mike is in town. When Mike is around, it’s like standing outside in the middle of a tornado. He is constantly coming up with things to do.

On this trip, he wants to learn to weld. He also wants to shoot guns, barbecue, scout properties for a second home, and possibly buy a storage container or a prefab steel house from China. Mike discovered China a number of years ago, so he is often on the phone with manufacturers, trying to get things made cheap.

He’s in town for a funeral, and he had his hip replaced a few weeks back, so you would think he would be taking it easy. Not happening.

Right now he’s visiting his nephew, so I’m getting a break.

He’s an unusual guest. Before he showed up, I changed the anode in the upstairs water heater, made sure I had sheets for him, and turned on one of the upstairs thermostats. I made sure the breaker for the heater was on. This morning, he said he had frozen all night, and he hadn’t had a shower. The hot water didn’t work, and the batteries in the thermostat were dead. I asked him why he didn’t tell me. He said he didn’t want to disturb me.

I went upstairs to check things out. The hot water worked fine. He just didn’t wait long enough to get it going. He had slept on a bed with no sheets. Yesterday, he assured me there were sheets in the upstairs linen closet. I expressed doubt. No, he was positive. Okay.

I had words of comfort when told me about his night. I said I had slept really well in a warm room with a big bed with clean sheets and an electric blanket, and I told him there was plenty of hot water in my bathroom.

I gave him sheets and a pillowcase, and I’m going to put new batteries in the thermostat. We’ll see how tonight goes.

This isn’t the worst problem he has had at my house. He stayed with me a long time ago, and he got a mild sunburn. I had some cold cream in my bathroom, so he rubbed it on his face, including his eyelids. What he did not know was that I had mixed capsaicin, the hot ingredient in peppers, into it. He didn’t ask. I had found that capsaicin worked for getting rid of little skin growths, so I made the cold cream concoction for that purpose. It turned out to be unsuitable for rubbing into one’s eyelids, and it wasn’t all that great for soothing sunburns.

He lives in New Hampshire, and he has had about enough. He loves this area, so he is thinking of spending about $25,000 on a small lot and plopping a shipping container on it. It’s a total Mike move.

Even though Mike is here, I am managing to do a little work on my new kitchen cart. One side of the steel frame is done, and I’m attaching crossmembers to connect to the other side I haven’t figured out what to do for wooden shelves yet.

I still want to build a woodworking bench. I’m making myself unpopular on various sites by criticizing existing benches. People are obsessed with “beefy” construction. Why use one pound of steel when 15 pounds will do?

I criticized a bench made by inventor Andrew Klein. It’s built like the Hoover Dam. I checked a table for engineers, and it looks like each leg of his bench will support over 50 tons, positioned upright and loaded concentrically. Am I a bad person for calling that bad engineering?

I have three-ton jackstands, and if you put four together, the bases would contain less steel in cross section than one of his bench legs.

Somebody tried to tell me you have to have “beefy” construction in order to do planing, chiseling, and sawing. I have a Black & Decker Workmate I can carry in one hand, and you can do all of those things on it, so how can it be that I need a 700-pound bench?

Engineering works. Why not use it?

I want to have a base held up on four 2″-square legs. I plan to splay them outward slightly because trapezoids resist flexing better than rectangles. Most people who weld legs on things are afraid to try to make anything but 90° angles, but when you make a box with lots of right angles, you’re building floppiness into it. If your plan was to make a heavy structure that flexed in spite of its great mass, you would definitely want right angles.

When you try to flex a trapezoid by pushing sideways on it, you compress one leg and put tension on the other. The leg under compression provides some resistance. When you try to collapse a rectangle, you don’t put compression or tension on either leg. They are happy to remain the same length while your project folds up.

When you put weight on a trapezoidal table, the weight tries to push the legs apart at the base. That’s easy to resist with light pieces of steel.

I can tie the legs together toward the bottom with thin steel members. I just need them to stand up to a good hard pull. I don’t know how hard you have to pull on 1″ angle iron to stretch it. Let’s see. The tensile strength of steel is around 70K psi, and 1″ angle iron has a cross section somewhere near 1 square inch, so let’s be cautious and say a strut takes about 20 tons of tension without stretching. That SHOULD do the trick.

Klein’s bench has splayed legs, but they’re not tied together at the bottom.

If I put angle iron around the base, I can use it to hold a plywood shelf. Klein’s bench has no storage space under it, unless you want to put things on the floor.

I’ll post the latest photo of the kitchen cart. I have a number of completed welds on it, and I also have a lot of tacks. I’m trying to get as much of it built as possible before completing the rest of the welds. The more structure you have before you finish your welds, the more steel you have holding everything in place and resisting warpage.

Depending on how much time I have tomorrow, I should be able to finish the steel frame and maybe even prime it. Then I have to think about shelves and paint.

It’s pretty sweet, being able to weld up projects that look good enough to go indoors. Anyone can weld a muffler on, but making a nice cart or chair takes knowledge and care.

Maybe some day I’ll be able to build something really important. Like a recliner.

“Men”? What are These “Men” You Speak of?

I am back to continue documenting the world’s irreversible decline into insanity.

I just had one of the weirder experiences of the pre-apocalypse era. I visited a forum, and people there were complaining about TV. I don’t know much about TV. All I ever see are Youtube and Amazon Prime. I have no idea what funny commercials have appeared since around 2017, so if you make a reference to one in my presence, expect no reaction.

Someone on the forum said they were remaking The Equalizer. This was a show featuring an old white British guy named Edward something or other. We all know how it worked. Someone got bullied, and Ed stepped in and roasted him with a flamethrower or shot him in the head. The show formed the basis for the Equalizer movies. One forum guy called the new show “sad,” and another said it would run 10 episodes and then disappear, leaving people wondering why it had ever been created.

I saw the forum reference to the new show, and I said this: “I’m going to make a wild guess here. She’s a black lesbian.”

Then I decided to Google. Here is what I found.

In case you can’t see the video, it’s a trailer. The show’s star is Queen Latifah. America’s best-known black lesbian, unless Oprah counts.

Denzel Washington, the star of the Equalizer movies, wasn’t good enough for the Ewokes and Woke-iees. That’s what I call them now that they’re getting Star Wars actors fired. Washington is black. He did a great job, although he ripped off his own Man on Fire character. Sorry; insufficient. Washington is a heterosexual.

Is Latifah straight in the show? I know; who cares? Wikipedia says her character is a single mother, but that doesn’t mean anything in 2021. It doesn’t even mean she’s a woman. She could be a transdudette, raising her child on wokeness’s newest fantasy product: “chest milk.”

Every day, normal people who miss America get a fresh axe handle to the face. Iron Man is a woman. Captain Marvel is a woman. Wolverine is a little girl. The captain of the latest Star Trek ship is a black woman. Even 007 is a black lady, and not the Halle Berry/Naomie Harris kind. If the movie she’s in ever comes out, you will not hope to see her in romantic scenes.

I don’t know if the newest Bond film will ever be released. It was shot a long time ago, and it’s still not here. Daniel Craig looks like Bond’s dad in the film, and he’s no longer 007. Who wants to watch that? The film seems to be a breach birth. It won’t come out no matter how long the studio pushes. Obviously, it has problems so bad, they expect it to be a disaster.

It already is a disaster. It was shot a long time ago, and it was supposed to be released about 15 months ago. The studio blames the delays on coronavirus and the departure of the director. The pandemic didn’t exist when the film was supposed to be released, so the studio’s explanation is untrue. Obviously, they have a steaming pile of unappealing footage, and they’re trying to find a way to save it.

I wonder if it will be the first straight-to-DVD Bond release.

When James Bond dies for real, should it be considered a sign that the current age is ending?

It was bad enough when they offered Idris Elba the role. He’s a great actor, and he would be fantastic playing a secret agent in an action role. But James Bond? The James Bond who has a Scottish father and a Swiss mother? No. The Equalizer can be black. Iron Man can be black. James Bond’s ethnicity is essential to his character. Turning him black will turn any Bond film into a wokeness lecture.

A “woke” James Bond. It’s like Ellen DeGeneres holding a revival.

If Idris Elba was a bad choice for 007, a big, brash girl who is short on looks is even worse.

In 2015, the last Bond movie featured a theme song performed by an effeminate homosexual. We should have known it was an omen. James Bond…the most unrepentant, accomplished, heterosexual cinema Casanova since Errol Flynn, introduced by a song performed by a soft little man who likes being sodomized. I wish I could transport a theater full of 1970 fans into a theater and get their reactions.

It’s funny how leftists make money glamorizing characters whose outlooks and behavior they hate. It should drive them crazy. James Bond, John Wayne, Tony Stark, James Kirk, Dirty Harry, Rob Roy, Ron Swanson, Malcolm Reynolds…you would think the left coast types who created these characters, and who must, somewhere deep inside themselves, admire them, handle the cognitive dissonance.

No one wants to watch a big, manly lesbian punch bad guys. Men want someone they want to be like, and women want someone they can dream about. That ain’t Queen Latifah.

Hollywood’s problem is that no one has to go see its movies. You can force employees to endure degrading wokeness training and rules, but if I decide I don’t want to pay to see a woman play the Hulk, there is diddly squat you can do about it. As crazy as the public is, it still wants strong male characters who save attractive female characters. It doesn’t want to see Nancy Pelosi save Richard Simmons, and it never will, because traditional sex roles are hard-wired into human beings.

Will Hollywood continue pushing its warped philosophy until it goes broke, or will it respect its long tradition of hypocrisy, trading principle for profit?

I think the Bond franchise is dead. Craig looks awful, so he can’t do any more films. The latest film appears to be unreleasable. Craig was so good in the past, the studio probably won’t be able to find a viable replacement, even if they reluctantly accept the fact that they need a white man. Maybe they’ll drop this flop and then flounder on for a few releases, trying unsuccessfully to repeat Casino Royale, but I think that will be about it.

It’s natural. They quit making Thin Man and Charlie Chan films, didn’t they?

Hollywood has other problems. If this age continues, it may be a decade before anyone can put 500 people in a theater. Piracy keeps getting better and better, and there is no way to stop it. Also, people are tired. We have seen so much entertainment, there are no new stories to tell us. Certainly not in Hollywood, where creativity goes to have its heart broken.

Here’s a big problem for actors: they are obsolescent. CGI gets better and better all the time, and we will eventually end up with movies which appear realistic yet contain no footage of human beings. The studios will want it because computers aren’t divas. They don’t walk off sets. They don’t overdose or pass out during shoots. They’re much cheaper than actors. They don’t age. They don’t refuse to do nude scenes. We could have 50 more Bond films featuring a young Daniel Craig. For that matter, we could have more John Wayne films. More Clint Eastwood. More Sophia Loren. More Natalie Wood. Alan Ladd was 5’6″ in 1950. In 2030, he can be 6’4″. I would say Christopher Reeve could fly again, but he wasn’t a great actor, so he wouldn’t be resurrected.

It may take 20 years, but sooner or later, there will be no point in hiring actors except for voice work. Even that will eventually be done by computers. Studios will simply pay to use likenesses of dead people. At some point, Hollywood will start creating wildly popular actors from scratch, and the studios will own them. Imagine how jealous Siri and Alexa will be.

We’ve already seen old and dead actors play new scenes as their youthful selves. It wasn’t done well, but it will be done better. The uncanny valley is wide but not infinitely so.

Kirk and Spock, together again. Think of it. Although judging by the way things have gone so far, William Shatner will probably be around for another century. Strap a girdle on him and give him a dark wig, and he’s ready to go.

It seems like nothing is impossible for humanity, given enough time. Machines should eventually become so powerful there is no need for us to do much of anything. It reminds me of what God said before he confused our languages in Babylon:

And the LORD said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.

I believe we will eventually become gods, if we are permitted to live and work. What’s happening with technology is the beginnings of it. I think God puts rebellious creatures in hell not just to punish them, but to keep them in agony so they are unable to concentrate and grow powerful. God’s children are permitted to live forever in peace and pleasure because they pose no threat to the order of the universe.

I’ve often thought the destructive schism between Apple and PC proponents was God’s way of slowing us down for a few years. It was very similar to the Babel story.

It makes sense that God reduced our maximal lifespans from 1000 years to around 100. Think what certain men could do if they lived for centuries.

I don’t enjoy the daily reminders of America’s mass psychosis, but I’m grateful for them, because they help me defeat the gaslighting. Voices around me say, “We’ve had problems before. America will always be here. God defends America. People will swing back the other way.” Those are voices of denial. We have never lived in a time like this. The very nature of our species is changing, too fast for any one of us to keep up or comprehend.

Sometimes Evolution Goes Backward

My goddaughter had a birthday yesterday, so she and her family came to visit. Five kids, or, more accurately, four and one new adult. This gave me a good excuse to keep working with the fancy new ice cream machine. I made four flavors.

I have totally mastered cherry vanilla and butter pecan, and I have great confidence that my next batches of peach and Heath bar crunch will be perfect. It’s time to ask myself what other flavors I need to make before I stop building my ice cream armament. I don’t need a lot of flavors to be happy. As it is, I will never need to buy ice cream again unless I want a novelty like a Nutty Buddy or ice cream sandwich.

I used a bag of crushed Heath bars from the grocery store. This was a mistake. They’re worthless. They’re not just broken. They’re ground. The biggest pieces are like peas. If I do it again, I’ll buy bars and break them.

Based on Internet research saying most people prefer artificial vanilla to the real thing, I tried fake vanilla in one of my flavors. It was not terrible, but it wasn’t that good, either. Expensive vanilla is much, much better.

Here’s what I concluded: most people don’t know what tastes good. I knew that already, because Budweiser is the most popular beer in the country. The guy who is trying to replace Christopher Kimball at America’s Test Kitchen tried fake vanilla in a blind test, and he preferred it. That should have told me all I needed to know. Kimball was the spine that held the organization up. The new guy strikes me as a cooking school wonder who knows everything about food while lacking the ability to create or recognize success. Many of the bad meals you’ve had at restaurants were prepared by culinary school graduates, so it should never surprise anyone when a person with scary cooking credentials can’t cut it.

People worship James Beard, but his recipes aren’t good. The Joy of Cooking should be called The Joy of Indigestion. It’s the way of the world.

One of my guests suggested I try my hand at peppermint. That should be simple. Vanilla ice cream without the vanilla. Add crushed peppermint candy and mint extract.

I can’t eat chocolate without regretting it because of the caffeine and theobromine, but it is conceivable that I might eat it anyway from time to time in the future. I have an urge to try to duplicate Ben & Jerry’s Everything but the Kitchen Sink. It’s chocolate and vanilla ice cream with peanut butter cups and bits of toffee bars mixed in. An Internet search tells me it also contains white chocolate chunks and fudge-covered almonds. I don’t recall running into those items, but then when I eat ice cream, I don’t study it and take notes.

Making a mixed ice cream would be laborious. I would have to make two batches in chocolate and vanilla and combine them. Not sure I want to go through that for a product I don’t plan to eat.

The machine needs a rolling cart, so I blew $88 on steel. I bought 1″ square tubing with 1/8″ walls. I thought thick walls would make welding less risky. Welders can blow through tubing easily. When I saw the price and lifted the steel, I felt I should have gone with thinner tubing. I’m no engineer, so I made a mistake. It’s not a problem, though. I’ll just have a really strong cart I won’t want to lift.

The plan is to put three wooden shelves in it, and I’m going to use the casters that were left over when I put my smoker on a factory-made cart (which I should have built myself).

In related news, I keep wanting to make new workbenches. My old bench of all trades is extremely sturdy, but I built it before I knew anything. It has no wheels, it’s less than ideal for woodworking, and it should probably weigh 100 pounds less.

I finally bought real blades for my Powermatic 66 the other day, and it got me thinking about a woodworking bench. I started thinking about designs. Fresh from the success of building my steel and wood shooting bench I thought I should go against convention and make a woodworking bench with a welded base.

Woodworkers tend to be true believers, and that means they make everything out of wood. They are hostile to certain new ideas, and they really like bench designs that are hundreds of years old. One was created by a famous Frenchman named Roubo. Another one was designed by an Englishman named Nicholson. Actually, these guys may have simply passed on designs that were already traditional. I don’t know.

These benches are very heavy for two reasons, neither of which has anything to do with function. First, wood has a poor strength-to-weight ratio compared to metal, so it takes a lot to do the same job, and second, the people who designed them knew nothing about designing rigid structures.

A typical woodworking bench will have a solid top at least three inches thick. This gives you a nice, stiff surface to work on, and it allows you to make deep holes that will work with bench dogs and holdfasts.

A holdfast is a steel rod with a hook on one end. The hook has a flattened end. You put the other end of the holdfast in a hole and slide it down until the flat part rests on your project. Then you whack the holdfast and drive it into the hole until it wedges in there. It’s a great invention. Really holds things in place, and it’s quick to use. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work well if your bench is thin.

A bench dog is a cylinder of wood that fits in the same holes holdfasts use. You can pull a bench dog up and rest a piece of wood against it while you work it. The dog will keep it from moving away from you. Again, you need deep holes.

At some point during the last millennium, engineers discovered the torsion box. This is a fancy term for a hollow box with supporting members inside it. You build a lattice of crossmembers and then enclose it in two sheets of material like plywood. What you get is a box which is very strong for its weight, and it’s easy to make it flat by sizing the internal members accurately. Many wooden doors are torsion boxes. Nobody wants a door that weighs 200 pounds.

A guy named Paulk designed a bench top which is a torsion box. It’s pretty neat. The top and bottom are several inches apart, and he put holes in the sides of the box so he could reach in and put tools inside it. That feature alone makes the design brilliant. When I first started thinking about building a new bench, I thought I would glue two-by-fours together side by side and make a thick top. Now I realize that was stupid. I want a torsion box.

Problem: how do you put deep holes in a torsion box? The top and bottom may be an inch thick, but there is air between them. I would want holes with wood around them all the way down.

I thought about it last night. Here’s what you do: you add internal members with holes drilled through them. You only need a couple of rows of holes, so you can add two extra members just for drilling them. The holes would weaken the members, so drilling through members that need to be solid would be bad, but adding extra members wouldn’t hurt anything. In fact, you wouldn’t need members running all the way across the bench. You could use cubes of wood.

Problem solved.

What about making holes in the sides of the bench for access to the storage space? Making holes like that in wood is a pain. Why not use steel?

Make yourself a steel frame from tubing. Put plywood on the top and bottom, screwed in for easy replacement. Instead of a few little holes for access, you could have three sides of the bench wide open. One end would have to be covered by an end vise, and part of one side would be blocked by a vise on the front, but other than that. you would have tons of access for storage and cleaning.

Put the box together. Weld up a rolling base. Attach the base to the wood of the box, not the welded base. Install vises. Done.

Any woodworker who is reading this must be screeching by now.

Would the bench top be too flexible to make a good surface for pounding? First of all, why would you be pounding? Woodworking doesn’t require that. Second, many people already use benches with relatively thin tops, and they are doing fine.

I saw a neat bench on Adam Savage’s Youtube channel. A guy named Andrew Klein gave it to him. Klein works for Magswitch, and he also has a side business.

I was awestruck by the bench. It has a base with four legs made from what looks like 5″ steel tubing with 1/2″ walls. The top is two slabs of hardwood that appear to be 4″ thick. It has two geared twin-screw vises Klein makes and sells. The dogs have steel shafts, and the holes contain magnets so the dogs stay up when you raise them.

The more I looked at the bench, though, the more I thought I saw bad engineering.

I don’t know what the bench weighs. Maybe 500 pounds? Savage was happy about that, but overbuilding is one of the best-known hallmarks of bad engineering. I know; I’ve done it. Weight means increased material, production, and shipping costs. It means increased difficulty in handling finished products. It means waste. It’s a clumsy way of handling problems you can’t address properly because you’re not a good engineer.

If you ever read a welding textbook, you’ll learn that one of the main things that drive the study of weldments is a desire to reduce weight. People who don’t know anything about engineering love to talk about how “beefy” their tools are. It’s like bragging that your car has solid tires made of steel. It’s a demonstration of ignorance. I’m no engineer, but even I know these things. You don’t have to be a Georgia Tech grad to get this far.

The bench has no wheels. That’s insane. I say that as the guilty creator of a bench with no wheels. Why would you make an extremely heavy tool you can’t move without a forklift? Smart shop owners put everything they can on wheels. The more you can move things around, the smaller and less expensive your shop can be without sacrificing comfort or much convenience.

What about the magnetic dogs? At first, I thought they were cool. Then I thought about Paul Sellers. He’s a British woodworker who is very big on Youtube. He’s a real expert. His dogs are bits of scrap wood with springs he makes from coat hangers. I have some I made myself. They work great, so why drive yourself nuts with rare earth magnets?

Now, the vises. They are beautiful, and the cost is very reasonable. They are probably a little better than competing vises from companies like Veritas. Veritas uses bicycle chains to connect and synchronize the screws on its vises, while Klein uses gears, and gears are sturdier and don’t need adjustment. Klein’s vises have transmissions so you can shift into high gear and move them fast.

I thought the vises were neat. Then I asked myself: “How are they significantly better than what I have right now?”

I made a Moxon vise for my bench. It’s a long block of maple with two holes in it. Two long Acme screws run through it, and there are handwheels to turn the screws. I can put longer and wider objects in it than will fit in most factory vises. I can put things in it that reach down to the floor; nothing gets in the way. I can fasten it on objects that are tapered because the screws aren’t synchronized. It doesn’t have a speed mode, the way the Klein vises do, but I have never felt I needed that. If I really want that feature, I can create it using half-nuts.

The Veritas vise is also very good, and unlike Klein’s boutique vise, it’s available. I don’t have to wait for a guy to make it in his basement.

The bench top…beautiful. Tombstone-thick maple with a glossy finish. But what is the purpose of all that weight? Answer: to make Adam Savage feel good. If loving your tool is your goal, buy what you like, but what if you just want to make things?

Savage has already put a big sheet of leather on the bench to protect it, and that shows how shortsighted the design is. A bench is like a pair of boots or gloves. You’re not supposed to protect it. You’re supposed to protect the work. A bench shouldn’t be sanded with 400 grit and finished with 10 coats of polyurethane. It should be bare wood. Imagine fussing with a giant sheet of cowhide every time you use a workbench. Ridiculous.

I made a shooting bench from 2″ steel tubing, a few screws, and some pressure-treated two-by-sixes. You could literally rest a car on it. If it weren’t for the two pneumatic tires on one end, you could never wiggle it at all by using tools on it. It’s way overbuilt. It probably weighs 150 pounds now that the wood is dry. I can lift one end of it and roll it 50 yards by myself. I do it all the time. I should have made it even lighter.

If I made a woodworking bench from the same tubing, it would be just as sturdy. Each leg might weigh 7 pounds. What do the legs on Savage’s bench weigh? Maybe 10 times that? For no reason.

I can use 2″ tubing for the base of my bench. I can put a caster on each corner. I can add feet that lower with screws when the bench is where I want it, so it won’t move when I push on a hand plane. It will feel like the Rock of Gibraltar, I’ll be able to move it unaided, I’ll have a ton of handy storage, and when the top gets beaten up, it will take me half an hour to put a new one on.

I can throw two Veritas vises on it, or I can buy two Moxon parts kits (because I am tired of making the parts). No need to wait for vises with transmissions. Done. Bang. Next problem, please.

I looked into leg vises. Long story short: no. Twin-screw vises are better.

Isn’t it bad to have screws in the top of a woodworking bench? No. Why would it be bad? Don’t plane the screws. Don’t chisel them. Countersink them a little to keep them out of your way. No problem.

I can make one bench for wood and another one for general use. I can put my old bench on the burn pile, using the tractor. If I move, my new benches will roll onto a truck.

I really don’t see the point in reverting to Fred Flintstone design policies. It seems to me that a half-ton woodworking bench is like a big sign saying, “I reject every intelligent thing man has learned since 500 A.D.”

I kind of wonder if I need a wood bench at all. Why not use a welding table? I have thought about buying a real fixturing table made from 1/4″ or 3/8″ plate. It’s a steel torsion box. They’re very popular. Why couldn’t I do woodworking on it? Mounting vises would be interesting, to say the least, but there is no reason why you can’t make wooden projects on a steel table.

Something to think about.

Speaking of Fred Flintstone, I saw a video about Nick Offerman. He’s the actor who played Ron Swanson on TV. Swanson is a hilarious caricature of an old-fashioned libertarian, whereas Offerman is your standard Hollywood liberal with full-blown Trump Derangement Syndrome. After watching Swanson, Offerman is a big disappointment. He’s a gun control nut.

I’ll post a video of Ron Swanson just for fun.

Anyway, Offerman is a woodworker. He has a beautiful shop. You can see it in videos. When you look at his setup, you wonder what kind of furniture he makes. It must be cleverly designed and painstakingly crafted.

Well, not so much. He makes Flintstone furniture. I’ll post a photo.

You may think it looks nice. Well, sure. God designed it. Nick Offerman voted absent.

This is a style of furniture which is very popular now. You take thick slabs that could be used to make a lot of quality furniture, and instead of coming up with a real design, you run them through a jointer, fasten them together crudely, slap some Danish oil on them, and call it art. Funny thing: it’s the opposite of art. “Art” means something which has been transformed by the mind of man.

The crude furniture people make now reminds me of the increasing use of the word “rustic” in cooking. You’ve seen it. A “rustic” pizza is a pizza that looks like a kitchen accident because it was made by an unskilled person. “Rustic” means “crudely made due to lack of skill.” Offerman’s table is definitely rustic, although it may be a superficial rusticity. He can probably do a lot better. I hope he can.

I have zero skills, yet given a big enough planer, I could make this table in an afternoon. In gluing extremely thick pieces of wood together, I would waste many pounds of wood which could have been turned into genuine pieces of craftsmanship.

If there is anything good about this style, it’s that it preserves thick slabs of valuable wood until the furniture can be demolished and the wood used in better projects.

Here’s a modern chair made by a guy named Maloof. It’s from the Smithsonian’s collection. Not really my thing, but it’s graceful, skillfully crafted, and pleasing to the eye. Compare it to Fred and Barney’s table, above.

The chair serves to remind us of the difference between art and copping out.

Offerman, like Klein and Savage, has fallen prey to the beefy bug. Instead of a graceful table with a design that required human input, he created a crude device useful mainly for rupturing disks. If God thought like these guys, birds would be unable to fly. A chicken would weigh 40 pounds. All fish would be bottom dwellers. The weight of their bones would glue them to the seabed.

Birds have air inside their bones to reduce weight, but many birds are extremely strong. The other day I saw a video of a cockatoo which probably weighed two pounds, lifting a pumpkin and throwing it off a kitchen counter. That’s not rustic. That’s engineering.

What purpose did Offerman serve here? He didn’t design anything. He found something that occurred under the random influences of nature and presented it nearly as-is. He’s not a maker. He’s a finder.

Offerman’s type of furniture is known as “live edge.” I don’t know why they call it that. The wood is dead. Maybe they didn’t want to call it “rustic edge.”

The idea is that the outermost part of the wood isn’t cut away. You would think it makes every piece of furniture unique, but in reality, it makes them all look the same. Go to Google Images and look up “live edge furniture.” It’s like a giant Offerman exhibit, but he didn’t make any of the pieces.

Live edge woodworkers are fungible. One’s work is just like another’s. There is no need for any particular live edge woodworker to exist. Any other member of the crew can step in and finish his work exactly as he would have.

I could swear I hear Ayn Rand shouting at me.

Mr. Maloof is a real woodworker. Nick Offerman is just a guy who stacks slabs.

Nick Offerman is funny, but he’s not on my list of most-admired people. His Trump issues are disturbing, and he nearly ruined Lagavulin whisky for me. It has been my favorite whisky for many years, because it’s the best whisky there is. Offerman’s Swanson character came alone and started drinking it, and now I feel like I should hide my bottle. Remember how you wanted to hide your cowboy boots after Urban Cowboy came out? Same thing. My guess is that Offerman didn’t know what Lagavulin was until he read about it in a script.

I don’t know if I’ll make a new bench or not, but at least I was saved from the beefy bug. An afternoon of Googling did that for me.

It’s time to go blast some squirrels. They smoke up pretty good. It’s fun being a lot more like Ron Swanson than Nick Offerman will ever be.

MORE

Ready for an whale-choking dose of irony? I just learned that the TV character Ron Swanson designed the Maloof chair pictured above. The exact same chair.

I was looking at clips of Ron Swanson in action, and I came across one in which a lady tried to license a chair design Swanson had created. When they showed the chair, I was stunned. I’ll post a photo.

What are the odds?

Does Maloof know a fictional person is taking credit for his talent?

I don’t watch the show, so there is now way I could have seen Ron with the chair in the past. I found the Maloof chair by Googling “chair” along with “Smithsonian,” figuring the Smithsonian probably had a collection of historic furniture.

If ever you needed evidence that Nick Offerman is inferior to his broadcast persona, look no further.

I checked Offerman’s website and found that not all of his furniture is Flintstone tribute material, so it appears that if he ever got his head straight he could conceivably improve his work and successfully ascend the Swanson Pyramid of Greatness.

Actress Loses Career for Criticizing Third Reich’s Methods

I am not sure why I continue to blog. Human beings have become immune to the truth, and I keep saying it’s pointless to reason with them, so why come here and discuss America’s unstoppable, permanent slide into insanity?

Of course, not all of my posts are about pre-apocalyptic mass delusion. Often, I write about other things.

I think I write about the end of reason because it’s natural to want to say something when you witness a catastrophe, and also because a part of me that may be somewhat childish wants people to know I wasn’t fooled.

Gina Carano. Do you know who she is? I just found out. She’s an actress who has made a number of appearances on a Star Wars show. I have no interest in Star Wars because a) it promotes occultism, b) it posits an absurd universe in which Yahweh is not the supreme being, c) it’s written on a level suited for 12-year-olds (not bright ones), and d) it’s bad, internally inconsistent art steered by incompetent people who have never had a plan.

Nerds love to try to figure out what George Lucas was planning when he did this or that. He never planned anything. He never had a master plan for a series of movies that flowed from one another and didn’t contradict each other. He made one movie, and when it did well, he sat down and tried to think up a new one. He repeated the process several times, and he did a very poor job. Then Disney took over because it was obvious that he couldn’t handle things, and they aren’t doing any better.

In addition to all that, how can you take a sci-fi franchise seriously when it features ships that travel faster than light and firearms that shoot projectiles that top out at around 25 miles per hour?

It’s not my thing, but Ms. Carano made a living from it for a while. Then she got deleted by the cancel kids. Disney fired her and, in the process, libeled her.

She has offended in several ways.

She has been critical of mask policies. For this reason, fans rose up and demanded she be fired and erased from the public consciousness. Fired! Can you imagine? Pretend it’s 1955, polio is a big problem in America, and Lucille Ball has just said she thinks the vaccine doesn’t work. What would happen to her? Right. Nothing. Sane people don’t fire other people for amateur medical opinions.

She also put “boop/bop/beep” on her Twitter profile, after fans demanded she list her “pronouns.” She opined that Jeffrey Epstein didn’t kill himself, indicating her belief in a popular conspiracy theory.

Humor used to be legal in America. Remember? As for conspiracy theories, Kanye West accused a sitting president of murdering hundreds of people in New Orleans, and nothing happened to him. Of course, that was before he bought his first red hat.

She wrote a tweet criticizing voter fraud. She did not claim the election was illegitimate. Here’s what she said:

We need to clean up the election process so we are not left feeling the way we do today.
Put laws in place that protect us against voter fraud.
Investigate every state.
Film the counting.
Flush out the fake votes.
Require ID.
Make Voter Fraud end in 2020.
Fix the system.

There is nothing offensive about that. It’s common sense. Well, I just contradicted myself. What, in 2021, is more offensive than common sense? The name “Jesus,” I guess.

Regarding leftist tyranny, she wrote this:

“Jews were beaten in the streets, not by Nazi soldiers but by their neighbors…. even by children. Because history is edited, most people today don’t realize that to get to the point where Nazi soldiers could easily round up thousands of Jews, the government first made their own neighbors hate them simply for being Jews. How is that any different from hating someone for their political views?”

That was actually true. It’s common knowledge. The Germans and Austrians (and many citizens of occupied countries) hated the Jews as much as the Nazi leadership did. Anne Frank’s family was supposedly sold out by a Dutchman for $41. I say “supposedly” because I don’t know if the figure is accurate. He definitely sold them, resulting in their deaths, which followed great suffering.

Here is Lucasfilm’s incredible comment:

“Gina Carano is not currently employed by Lucasfilm and there are no plans for her to be in the future. Nevertheless, her social media posts denigrating people based on their culture and religious identities are abhorrent and unacceptable.

See if you can find anything in what she wrote that denigrates people based on their culture and religious identities. Obviously, there is no such material. In reality, she took up for Jews and other people who are abused because of their culture and religious identities.

Down is up, and left is right. Criticizing anti-Semitism is anti-Semitic. Welcome to the devil’s 2021 carnival funhouse, where the mirrors are moved every day.

Why am I writing this? I must be a hypocrite. I say it does no good to expose lies, but here I am, exposing them as though it mattered.

Satan and his children–and the cancel kids ARE his childen–are gaslighters. When someone gaslights you, there is a strong urge to contradict them publicly and to reach out to find support from other people that care about the truth. Maybe that’s why I’m here.

My dad and my sister were very abusive when I was growing up, and the gaslighting never stopped. I learned that exposing it was not gossip or revenge. It was a necessary cleansing, like washing a wound before it can get infected. We are being abused by the cancel kids, so it’s hard to resist exposing it. It will never end during this age, but it still feels good to come here and debunk Antichristian propaganda while my blog is still permitted to exist.

Of course, my blog has already been canceled. The Department of Defense classified it as a hate site, and I’m told it’s also unavailable in China. It’s nice when our president, the press, the DoD, and our communist enemies are all in the same bed. I can still reach many people, but around a fifth of the world’s population has already been protected from my dangerous ideas.

The Bible makes it clear that when Jesus returns, he will do some canceling of his own. He will cancel everyone who makes and loves a lie. That’s most of America. Until then, we will just have to do what we can to keep our heads about the rising tide of rhetorical sewage that gushes from willfully deranged leftists.

In heaven at the marriage of Christ, and on earth during the Messianic Age, we won’t have to brace ourselves every time we prepare to brave exposure to mainstream culture. You’ll never think, “I hope this won’t be too bad,” before clicking a link to a major news site. You’ll never feel like you’re wearing a muzzle because the people around you are dangerous lunatics just waiting to turn you in. The Antichrist’s kids will be in agony in hell or suffering greatly on earth, and you won’t have to block or unfriend them, because there will be no way for them to communicate with you or even show they exist.

It will be so wonderful to be free of them, I wonder if we’ll even notice the grief that accompanies the spectacle of observing their doom. Maybe it will take a while to stop focusing on the cessation of our own suffering.

I’m so glad I’m not dependent on public approval for my survival. I know people who are muzzled every day at work. It’s normal now. They can’t speak the truth, and they’re being forced to repeat the inanities coming from the dominant left. I just read that many midwives are forbidden to say “breastfeeding” now. They have to say “chestfeeding,” in order to avoid hurting the feelings of sick individuals who, I guess, don’t like being reminded they’re not women. Breast milk is now “chest milk.” It sounds disgusting. Like something that oozes out of a professional wrestler when his regimen of synthetic hormones is out of whack.

How do you talk like that without losing your mind? How many times a day can you repeat a repugnant lie, on pain of losing your job and falling into poverty, without turning to gin?

If Jesus waits long enough, they’ll come for me just like they’re coming for people who are handier due to their ties to the Antichrist’s economic combine. Right now, though, I’m free to say homosexuality is abominable, transsexuals don’t exist, and masks don’t work, without wondering if I’ll be living behind a dumpster next month.

They’re going to be really mad when they finally get around to me. I guarantee you that. Look at all the things I’ve written. And there is no forgiveness. In the kingdom of God, it’s possible for a serial rapist or a terrorist who has killed hundreds of people to be redeemed. In Satan’s kingdom, even small transgressions disqualify you permanently from participation in society. I don’t think Gina Carano will ever come back, and it would be laughable for me to ask to be spared.