Just last week I recounted my latest experience of TDS..
Then I read of someone writing a piece about his Close Encounters of the Trump Delusion. Gotta say it sure is nice to know others suffer fools as I do. Coincidence, probably not but I will take some credit anyways…..
It is always amazing to witness the embedded hate towards Trump by many that, to me, appears terminal. I have done my best to see past that man, while being the first in line to admit that I do love Derangement as it bubbles away. Trump does make great grist for the campfire trysts. Whether it is in real life or in the ether of the internet.
But for some reason I feel obligated to defend the guy. Have come to conclusion that I bore easily with folks looking at the ground and nodding their heads. It is not, as some have accused, because of some blind faith in him. It is instead my interest in starting a dialectic rather than just joining in and signing the chorus. That has never been something that interested me. Besides there is the only way to find the truth. For it is in the back and forth, and in the balance for the facts, that one can hopefully find the better answer. It is important to fight the good fight against the bias and fear.
Sometimes the best thing to do is pull the pin and throw the grenade.
I could tell many stories of my times in the wire. A book could be written but it is best left to an Epistle. We live in an outrage culture. A place where folks line up each day to get just a few drips of news. But never too much. Most choosing a safe space, whether it be Facebook, or CNN, where the message is the medium and it is all the same. Thirst whetted, the unwashed launch themselves into their day, experts on only one thing.
Trump is a Neutron Bomb for all of that. His power is that everyone now waits for him. His opponents, too many to count, can’t help themselves. Trump has become the maestro that strikes the narrative and the Progressive Left can’t stand it. The arc of an outbreak of cognitive dissonance, the constant threat of striking everything around.
Most mornings when I start my day by doing my best to troll around. Looking for news. On the lookout and trying to catch the talking points being cast around. It doesn’t take long to figure out what they are going to be. It doesn’t matter which station you choose as they are all the same.
Often by 10 am that well kept plan is one giant dumpster fire.
Because in the meantime Trump does, says and or tweets something. Provokes the inevitable outrage. And from there, well the whole thing gets nuked from orbit and sent to the rings of Saturn. Everyone filled with talk of Trump and nothing else.
It is, as Scott Adams would say, a masterpiece of persuasion.
Three years ago I was at the family cottage on the shores of the Northumberland Strait. There, the whole family had decided to gather to spend a Sunday afternoon while catching up on everyone’s life. Over Hot Dogs and Hamburgers, the conversation predictably strayed to Trump. Outrage was all about, with what Trump said on Rosie O’Donnell and Megan Kelly. Most took their turn and had a go.
The focus that day three years ago, I felt, should have been on Hillary’s home brew server. As always is the case, it was a waste of time. Then without fail came the dissonance. For most present, it didn’t matter how easy it would be for America’s enemies to access State Secrets. Hacking that server was of little or no importance.
Women were offended and in need of protection.
In their defense it still isn’t even now. They would be sure to argue there is reason to care when, even now, Robert Mueller and Jeff Sessions are both doing their level best to look the other way. Back at that cottage, I told all present that someday those actions would come back to haunt Hillary. Fast forward to the present and I come across this from of all places the New York Times.
A fella has to wonder if there is a connection between that server and those spies. Seems that sometimes the Pussy does grab back. It should matter that it doesn’t haunt Hillary. One can only hope that some day, someone, will
ruin that woman’s day.
One can hope
and here’s to hoping
But in the meantime
Be bold when talking
And show no caution
Best to start today
they might not like it
seem like a strange way
to love them telling something
they don’t want you to say
And then I heard this song
“I Don’t Like Half the Folks I Love”
Could it be a sign
that maybe its time
to break out a pen
and get it started…
Been reading a bit. Weird that happened to you. Maybe it is a sign.
I have always balked at the idea of writing a whodunit. Just doesn’t work for me. Not because it shouldn’t be written. Rather it is because I really don’t think it matters enough to people round here. Why dig up the past when them lies were buried those Men.
Trevor Eagles got away with telling a big one. He was able to slink away and resume a career. Did well. Power to him for navigating out of that swamp. So far..
Me I just got stuck. That was my fault.
Yep, I decided their were only two options. There were many more of course. And still I gave away my agency. Something I had loads of, the morning of, May 29th. That day I flew high. Way too high it seems for the folks where I live. And so all was traded for chips in a starring role of a theatre built only for one…
I have wondered what the message would be if I decide to open the doors and let the people in. Like it was said above, been thru the 5 stages. Made it all the way and I still harbour a deep seated contempt.
For The Justice System
and For the Government.
What I have learned, belatedly, is the contempt never goes away. Which is fine as long as it is handled with care. Realize it is best to wear gloves when touching it. Otherwise it seeps into every pore.
Why the opiod epidemic is running rampant.
Why there are calls for censorship online.
Why protests quickly devolve to riots.
Why Mr. Russell got his wings..
Could go on but….
The fact that my nemesis is named Eagles does makes me laugh…
I do wonder sometimes how the wax is holding on his wings…
These days though, not as often..
Still yet, by times, I fly too high.
Not as often as before but still
Maybe I am just not brave enough
And yet I do listen to my father.
Have decided to not be Icarus
There is an underlying presence in this post, the ones written by Hollywood Rob, Southern Sage and the video provided by Scrabble this morning.. It is that the glue that holds everything in place has lost its tact. That the zigs and zags that control the narrative have made their course for some final stop.
A showdown of sorts.
A rocky shoal.
A place where only game left is finding the best outcrop to set camp on.
There are no good choices left.
I do not think there ever was a wall. That separation only exists in a sea that is dead and calm. When the inevitable storms arrive those ideals quickly lose their caché. The great unwashed majority have, since time immemorial, been counted on to show their true colours. It is for certain that when the waves churn and the rocky shoals come into view the unwashed Red Hen Maw with trade those ideas for a safe harbour. They have convinced themselves that somewhere there is a Zion safe from this Matrix. They have consoled themselves with the aid of intersectionality to be willing to wait to be documented and categorized for processing by those who really run the world.
It feel some trepidation, but not much, as I watch it unfold. For a small part of me wishes it to be over with and done. I am tired of watching the Hot Dog Dance. It is time for the fucken thing to jump into the bun…
The intermission is ovah! Time for main event… and the mustard tastes like shit…
MC pined in another thread that I have been acutely afflicted with a dark sense of humour. She is correct in making that diagnosis. I have concluded after much deliberation that the vast majority lack the code in their DNA for the drive to find the truth. Instead they cling to slogans and jingles. It is the reason why social media has such a magnetism. In those places people are free, a term used loosely, to browse with their bias and delusions in the network newsfeeds each and every day.
There they get their fixed dose of soma for the entirely predictable outrage that will ensue. One day it is a small child crying for her Mommy, the next who knows. They are all assured and instant experts at the water cooler when the inevitable calls for virtue and moral preening occur.
The whole spectacle ends up being a dogpile of stupid.
So it is that I have decided on a seat at the gallows. Maybe I can avoid a twisting fate. Maybe it ain’t meant to be. Like so many who have taken the red pill the odds are up in the air. One thing is for certain. Someday my Sister will show up at my door when the shit hits the fan. She will be there to be saved or to turn me in.
My fate rests in her hands.
My only comfort then will be saying “I told you so” as the next “Great Brown Hope” sends me away for a free holiday on the Black Sea..
I ain’t going anywhere. I might be forced to barter with some silver and a little gold but I will do best to hold off the hangman.
Even if it is just for a little while..
Colour me shocked that a millennial would fish in a shallow pond that has no fish. A place where the water might be wide but is never moar than a few inches deep. To me that picture shows the state of the modern world. A place where most folks Fly fish for facts on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Hoping that they never get a bite that will have to reel in.. Sad that there is all this information, easily accessed, and yet most would rather avoid facts for fear of falling off their hobby horse of virtue.
I have Liberal Sister that is terminal. I love her to bits but every once in a while get tired of her tropes. And last night was one of those times. We were watching Master Chef at family cottage.
Don’t watch TV because I cut the cord. Reason being that there are better things to do then spend an hour watching some dumbfuck burn a soufflé. My sister on the other hand has loads of time to watch this but none to cast just a bit deeper to investigate the burning questions of the day. Of course the small talk was just a prelude to the inevitable Trump bashing that is endemic to her deep held Trump Derangement syndrome.
And for her the great question that required her to preen virtue like those birds in that pond was the recent outrage on the border with Mexico.
The Great Bawling Beanlet Hoax of 2018, one of the better lines written this year, that has every Libtard hell west and crooked all up in arms. That puts to words the insanity that is..She went on to splain to me how outrageous it was that that poor child was torn from her Mommy’s arms. I told her it wuz bullshit from start to finish. And it is bullshit. One hundred percent manufactured contempt. She proceeded to tell me that I need to quit lurking on web in places like TBP. Couldn’t even fathom that what she was saying was not true in the slightest. The derangement so complete.
And so it goes..
What struck was how embedded her cognitive dissonance appears to be. It seems chronic and incurable. The conversation is completely out of wack. In fact there isn’t a conversation. Just opposing camps hurling shit.
It doesn’t help that there are Magazine Covers like this…
Like it or not the left has to realize over 60 million people voted for this Man. Yeah there were likely as many reasons for doing so as votes. Still those opposed to this agenda are playing a dangerous game by dismissing out of hand their opposing view of how best to navigate this world. And that is exactly what is taking place and underway.
It will not end well…
She then proceeded to explain to me that I couldn’t understand what is going on because of my white male privilege. Yep that is the problem folks. I was born white, blue eyed and a Man.
It all made sense after a while.
Well at least to her and yet I am still the one being accused of privilege.
Odin, Satan and Jesus were sitting in a stripper bar. It should have been a strange sight but as with many things these days most all where oblivious to the sight. Most there mesmerized by the stupor of Shitty Draft and Fake Tits. I was there because I had decided to put an ad on Tinder and Craigslist.
For Sale one soul To The Highest Bidder.
Me being the nice guy had even brought the pen. Depending on the offers made there was even some thought of maybe buying a beer or two for these ingrates as well.
So there they be over in the corner. Jesus and Satan playing with their Beer coasters practicing their pitch. At first disappointed that the third one who RSVP’ed me wasn’t there. Soon relieved. cuz in the din of lights was Odin. He had got tired of buying drinks for the other two when it was supposed to have been their turns. Now onstage with girls. It was quite the sight and even I had to admit to myself that the Old Guy he was working it pretty good.
I had rented one of the rooms in the back. So finding my way thru the bar and past all the Ladies scantily clad I made it to the door of the room at back for the allotted time. I had to kicked out a couple that had stayed a bit too long and made a real mess of things. No time to waste I tidied up the room some and set about a table and a few chairs. It was hoped for that my plan was to play out like an episode of Shark Tank but skipping the unscripted bullshit. It would be my soul going to the highest bidder.
So on go the lights. Soon after the Three Prospects march in. They hastily sat down knowing where to sit after having flipped coins in bar for the order of appearance.
First up it was Jesus.
Gotta admit Jesus was a nice guy. So he makes his pitch by splaining how his Daddy created everything in six days. Rested on the seventh. How he already loved me and all he wanted was love in return. Told me he really didn’t want my soul but rather instead was wanting to save it. I asked him if God loves without bounds then why the rush in the beginning. Wouldn’t it have been better to make sure everything was fixed right first place. Didn’t really have a good answer other than follow me and I will show you the light. I said I’d think about it.
Next up the Devil.
Gotta admit ole Satan wasn’t a nice guy. He didn’t smell all that great either. He pretended to apologize for that by explaining that he had just finished grilling 10,000 Muslims who had shown up in hell expecting their Virgins. Yep, wasn’t off to a great start but even I had to admit that he scored points for style with his late afternoon roast. I asked him why he had fall out with God. He told me that it was explained to him that God didn’t trust people with choice and freewill. That there needed to be consequences. And so he was given a poker and told to get to work. I almost felt sorry for the guy. He said give me your soul and come feel the burn. I pretended to say I’d think about it.
So in comes Odin.
Smelling of beer, whores and the cheap perfume of the Ladies of the stage. He said…
“I don’t make offers”.
“I don’t want your soul, it is yours to keep”.
If you decide not live with honour that is your problem not mine. But remember be an asshole in this life and you spend an eternity being the same in the next. Ended saying I am thirsty, can someone buy me a beer.
So I asked him.
Will it be Lager or an Ale