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Joe Biden, Fentanyl dealer of the millennium

Last night I was called to the home of a friend, who asked me to help him pick up his sick wife. These are “elderly” people who often require physical assistance with heavy or tall things, and I figured she was on a couch, needing help going upstairs.

I entered the house and found her curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor, her head resting on a pillow, eyes closed.

“My son died this night six years ago, and my heart is broken,” she said. “All I can think about is what a beautiful and innocent child he was.”

Though I had heard the general story before, I asked her how her son had died, and she murmured “Fentanyl.”

Fentanyl is a dangerous, highly toxic drug that has been killing mostly young Americans for the past ten years (my friend’s son was in his fifties), both occasional “recreational” drug users and addicts. Often mixed into marijuana or heroin, fentanyl can apparently provide an extra “kick” to the already intense “high” from the primary illegal drug. But fentanyl can also kill people, because it easily shuts down the nervous system. It stops our regular automatic breathing and our heart from beating.

Over the past few years, it appears that fentanyl is becoming ever stronger, ‘hitting the street’ in such purity that now even a tiny amount is causing Americans to drop dead on the spot after taking just one puff of laced marijuana. A new fad has criminals leaving folded dollar bills lying on the ground with fentanyl dust on them; just the invisible dust alone is strong enough to kill the person picking  up the dollar bill with their bare fingers.

All indications are that China is the main source of fentanyl in America, dumping pure fentanyl and more common drugs laced with it into and onto America. It is a lost leader in their war on our youth, whose naivete and carelessness leads them to smoke, snort, rub, eat, huff, drink etc whatever is presented to them as a casual and harmless recreational drug. While China most assuredly is America’s brutal enemy, I mostly blame the 1970s Cheech and Chong dope culture for this stupid attitude. Being a goofy stoner is no longer harmless or funny, because it is too often an immediate death sentence. The cost of recreational drug use is no longer measured in bags of Cheetos eaten or lost work time while staring off into space, but rather in beautiful young Americans stacked high at the local morgues from one end of the nation to the other.

With America’s southern border along Mexico now wide open, because of the Biden Administration’s illegal attempt to flood America with illegal trespassers who the Democrat Party hopes will become illegal or maybe legal voters, fentanyl is now pouring like a river into America. Where illegal humans flow unchecked into America, so flows fentanyl and the other illegal drugs (as well as human slave trafficking, child sex slaves, prostitution, violent terrorists etc.).

The number one person responsible for this river of death into America is White House resident Joe Biden. We could easily congratulate Poor Ol’ Joe for being the fentanyl salesman or dealer of the year or the decade, but it’s no joke. Biden is literally killing thousands of beautiful American children, and leaving their parents curled up in the fetal position, clutching a small stuffed animal their dead child once held for comfort. He could stop the carnage by closing our border and regulating what and who comes through, but Biden’s lust for political power is so much more important than our children.

Once again, as a former Democrat, I have to ask current registered Democrats “Why on earth do you continue to vote for and support this crazy political party that cares nothing for the collateral damage we all suffer from its terrible policies?

 

is “racism” now dead?

Like the little boy who kept falsely yelling out “wolf! wolf!,” and who was then eaten by one when his genuine cries for help were ignored, false accusations of racism, sexism, etc have burned out the audience they were aimed at.

Politically motivated fakes are a dime a dozen.

So ludicrous have accusations of racism become, that Caucasians have been told they are racist merely because of their skin color.

Not their actions. Not their words. But just their skin color.

This is the most racist thing possible, of course. Ascribing character traits based on skin color is nothing but racism.

And the self-appointed arbiters of and supposed guardians against racism said nothing about this hypocrisy. Many of them encouraged it overtly or by acquiescence.

Likewise, the accusation of sexism is applied to just about any man, regardless of his actions. It’s silly, but it’s routine. Those of us with daughters in college are not sexist. We are bankrupting our families so our daughters can be all they can be.

And of course there’s the unreal “islamophobia” accusation, now part of the politically correct package of false failings.

Westerners are naturally phobic (afraid) of beliefs and the people who hold them, when they are associated with cruelty, violence, injustice, unfairness, and hypocrisy. Islam’s book, the Koran, calls Christians, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists cows, donkeys, apes, pigs, and so on. The Koran mocks and denigrates over half the global population, and enslaves all of its own women, and yet we are bad people for resisting it? For being afraid of it? I am terrified of Islam!

The “wolf! wolf!” shouting also includes environmental policy these days. Apparently a reasonable person cannot think for herself, and judge all the facts on her own, without running the risk of being negatively labeled a “climate denier.”

Of course the truth is that our free-thinking woman here is in fact denying fake, politicized science that is about 10% science and 90% shouting. She is entitled to be skeptical.

Today a video is circulating the Internet. It shows a “white” man being dragged from his car and brutally beaten by a raging mob of “black” people, incensed that he dared to vote for a candidate they did not approve. He voted for Trump, apparently. His attackers repeatedly accuse him of this failure.

And the national media, politicized as they are, have ignored it. The Jesse Jackson Klan has ignored it. This video does not support their false narrative that white people are violent racists.

The video shows just the opposite, that racism and violence are epidemic in the American black community.

Most of the American public distrusts or disbelieves the establishment media, and the self appointed guardians of social causes, with good cause. Like in the 1700s, when governments held the communication channels, citizens now communicate facts and ideas around the censors at ABC, NBC, CBS, NPR, BBC, NYT, etc. The more these fake “news” outlets engage in social engineering, and lies, the more the citizenry will push back and ignore them.

What is sad about this is problems like real racism will then be generally ignored, or worse, allowed to grow, like among African Americans. Racism, as an accusation, is now almost dead, because it cannot be taken seriously, except in very narrow circumstances. The white guy beaten by the black mob is a good place to start.

You cannot keep crying wolf and expect good people to come running. Eventually they think you’re a fraud.

Abbas smiles in group photo mourning French dead

World leaders gathered in Paris to publicly condemn typical Islamic behavior that resulted in a whole bunch of French citizens dying the other day, murdered by good young Muslim men, and in the group photo Abu Abbas is smiling ear to ear while everyone else looks grim or serious.

Abbas smiling

Why is Abbas smiling? Because he is a Muslim supremacist, he is anti-Western civilization, he is against free speech, and he is happy that a bunch of innocent Christians and Jews were executed by young Muslims who have heeded Abbas’ many calls for jihad.

A Jewish grocery store was also targeted in the terror act, and four shoppers there were executed by one of the devout Muslim terrorists.  This brought cheers and dancing in the streets all over the Middle East.

Why pretend that Abbas really wants peace?  Why pretend that Islam is the “religion of peace”?

And why Abbas was even there in polite company, among actual leaders, is another indication that Europeans have not yet come to terms with their growing problem.  They are still embracing silly slogans and empty gestures while innocent people are gunned down in front of them.  Having Abbas present was a slap in the face to the victims.

Remembering neat people, Part 1

A lot of neat, interesting people have died in the past year or two, or ten, if I think about it, but time flies faster than we can catch it or even snatch special moments from it. People I either knew or admired from afar who changed me in some way.

There are two men who influenced me in small but substantial ways who I have been thinking about in recent days. One of them died exactly ten years ago, and the other died just last year. Funny how I keep thinking about them.

It is time to honor them as best I can, in words.

First one was Charlie Haffner, a grizzled mountain man from central Tennessee. Charlie and I first crossed paths in 1989, when I joined the Owl Hollow Shooting Club about 45 minutes south of Nashville, where I was a graduate student at the time.

Charlie owned that shooting club.

Back before GPS, internet, or cell phones, the world was a different place than today. Dinosaurs were probably wandering around among us then, mmm hmmmmm. Heck, maybe I am a dinosaur. Anyhow, in order to find my way to the Owl Hollow club, first and foremost I had to get the club’s phone number, which I obtained from a fly fishing shop on West End Avenue. Then I had to call Charlie for directions, using a l-a-n-d l-i-n-e, and actually speaking to a person at the other end. You’d think it was Morse Code by today’s standards.

After getting Charlie on the phone, and assiduously writing down his directions from our phone conversation, I had to use the best map I could get and then drive way out in the Tennessee countryside on gravel and dirt roads. Trusting my directional instincts, which are good, and trusting the maps, which were pretty bad, and using Charlie’s directions, which were exactingly precise, I made my way through an alien landscape of small tobacco farms and Confederate flags waving from flagpoles. Yes, southcentral Tennessee back then, and maybe even today, was still living in 1865. Not an American flag to be seen out there by itself. If one appeared, it was either directly above, or, more commonly, directly below the Confederate flag. The Confederate flag shared equal or nearly equal footing with the American flag throughout that region.

Needless to say, when I had finally arrived at the big, quiet, lonesome gun range in the middle of the Tennessee back country, the fact that I played the banjo and was as redneck as redneck gets back home didn’t mean a thing right then. Buddy, I was feelin’…. Yankee, like…well, like black people once probably felt entering into a room full of Caucasians. I felt all alone out there and downright uncomfortable. And to boot, I was looking for a mountain man with a deeeeep Southern drawl, so it was bound to get better. Right?

Sure enough, I saw Charlie’s historic square-cut log cabin up the hill, and I walked up to it. Problem was, it had a door on every outside wall, so that when I knocked on one, and heard voices inside, and then heard “Over here!” coming from outside, I’d walk around to the next door, which was closed, and I would knock again, and go through the process again, and again. Yes, I knocked on three or four of those mystery doors before Charlie Haffner finally stepped out of yet one more doorway, into the sunshine, and greeted me in the most friendly and welcoming manner.

Bib overalls were meant to be worn by men like Charlie, and Charlie was meant to wear bib overalls, and I think that’s all he had on. His long, white Father Time beard flowed down and across his chest, and his long, flowing white hair was thick and distinguished like a Southern gentleman’s hair would have to be. And sure as shootin’, a flintlock pistol was tucked into the top of those bib overalls. I am not normally a shy person, and I normally enjoy trying to get the first words in on any conversation, with some humor if I can think of it fast enough. But the truth is, I was dumbfounded and just stood there in awe of the sight before me.

Being a Damned Yankee, I half expected to be shot dead on sight. But what followed is a legendary story re-told many times in my own family, as Charlie (and his kindly wife, who also had a twinkle in her eye) welcomed me into his home in the most gracious, witty, and insightful way possible.

Over the following two years, I shot as much as a full-time graduate student could shoot out there at Owl Hollow Gun Club, which is to say not as much as I wanted and probably more than I should have. Although my first interest in guns as a kid had been black powder muzzleloaders, and I had received a percussion cap .45 caliber Philadelphia derringer as a gift when I was ten, I had not really spent much time around flintlocks. Charlie rekindled that flame in me there, and it has burned ever since, as it has for tens of thousands of other people who were similarly shaped by Charlie’s re-introduction of flintlock shooting matches back in the early 1970s, there at Owl Hollow Gun Club.

Charlie died ten years ago, on July 10th, I think, and I have thought about him often ever since: His incredible warmth and humor, his amazing insights for a mountain man with little evident exposure to the outside world (now don’t go getting prejudiced about mountain folk; he and many others are plenty worldly, even if they don’t APPEAR to be so), his tolerance of differences and willingness to break with orthodoxy to make someone feel most welcome. Hollywood has done a bad number on the Southern Man image, and maybe some of that negative stereotype is deserved, but Charlie Haffner was a true Southern gentleman in every way, and I was proud to know him, to be shaped by him.

The other man who has been on my mind is Russell Means, a Pine Ridge Sioux, award-winning actor, and Indian rights activist who caught my attention in the early 1970s, and most especially as a spokesman for tribal members holed up out there after shooting it out with FBI gunslingers.

American Indians always have a respected place in the heart of true Americans, and anyone who grew up playing cowboys and Indians knows that sometimes there were bad cowboys who got their due from some righteous red men. Among little kids fifty years ago, the Indians were always tough, and sometimes they were tougher and better than the white guys. From my generation, a lot of guys carry around a little bit of wahoo Indian inside our hearts; we’d still like to think we are part Indian; it would make us better, more real Americans…

Russell Means was a good looking man, very manly and tough, and he was outspoken about the unfair depredations his people had experienced. While Means was called a radical forty years ago, I think any proud Irishman or Scottish Highlander could easily relate to his complaints, if they or their descendants stop to think about how Britain had (and still does) dispossessed and displaced them.

Russell Means played a key role in an important movie, The Last of the Mohicans. His stoic, rugged demeanor wasn’t faked, and he was so authentic in appearance and action that he easily lent palpable credibility to that artistic portrayal of 1750s frontier America by simply showing up and being there on the set. Means could have easily been the guy on the original buffalo nickel; that is how authentic he was.

Russell Means was representative of an older, better way of life that is disappearing on the Indian reservations, if that makes any sense to those who think of the Indian lifestyle that passed away as involving horses and headdresses. He was truly one of the last of the Mohicans, for all the native tribes. Although I never met you, I still miss you, and your voice, Mr. Means.

[Written 7/23/14]

Pete Seeger – gone

Pete Seeger died yesterday. I met Pete several times in the mid-1980s, when I worked for his brother, John, who was also a remarkable and influential person.  Although most of Pete Seeger’s politics were like his brother John’s — mostly vexing and at best confusing to me, he was a very gentle and nice man who made audiences laugh, sing from their hearts, and feel better by the end of the day. Planet Earth is now a little poorer. Fair sailing, Pete!

PS Pete Seeger was related to Alan Seeger, the namesake of a 90-acre patch of old-growth hemlock and pine on Seven Mountains, on the border of Mifflin and Centre counties.  This little patch of forest cathedral Heaven has been one of my favorite hideaways since my earliest childhood memories.  That a small brook running through it holds sparkly brook trout makes it magic, and not just Heavenly.

Iron lady in a soft tin world

Former English prime minister Margaret Thatcher died yesterday.

Her nickname was the Iron Lady, so dubbed by the Soviets (The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics), who failed to understand either the English language or The English People well enough to recognize that such an insult would actually resonate with the dispirited people of that dreary isle, locked as it was in government-heavy economic malaise. The name stuck, and why wouldn’t it? USSR leader Stalin re-named himself after steel (Stalin means steel in Russian), for a reason.

Thatcher is credited with saving the British from socialism and restoring some of their former greatness. And to prove that the British are their own worst enemies, the over-generous people of that green island began to allow endless streams of avowed enemies into their nation. Those same people went on a rampage yesterday that left many policemen hurt and whole streets of shops in various cities in shambles, destroyed by mobs of “angry” people who believe they are due something more than opportunity for self-realization.

And now it is worth asking, is there anyone left in Western Civilization strong enough to rise to the stature and strength of character of the Iron Lady? Or is our soft-tin Western Civilization destined for continued decline, as our enemies sharpen their knives and quietly slip behind our borders under the bizarre guise of “fairness”?