High school girls, gay guys, and European men with way too much cologne appear to be the target of Fiat’s newest Jeep, Renegade. Fiat’s acquisition strategy of the Jeep brand from Chrysler was on full display at the 2014 Geneva auto show. They revealed what they intend to do with the automotive line nurtured in America and recognized throughout the world as a symbol of rugged individuality and toughness—they turned it into a mini. Fiat is quite boastful of their skyrocketing sales after their Jeep acquisition. The new Renegade will be built in some of the former factories crushed by socialism in Italy, and targeted for sale in Europe. From their stand point, this is a brilliant move, Europe’s roads are too small, the people too tightly packed, and their governments are corrupted by the ghosts of communism. Because of their mystical beliefs in global warming, Europe’s fuel costs are too high, and their expectations for personal freedom are very low. For them, Jeep, as it has been marketed out of America under the Chrysler Corporation was representative of American independence, so Fiat has taken that image and smashed it down into something that the rest of the world can enjoy in order to boost sales. For tightly packed Europe, the dirt roads of India, the washed out trails of China, the forever college students of Germany sung to social sleep by radical professors, the drifting yuppies of Brazil, and the up and coming drug dealers in Mexico, the Fiat version of the Jeep is perfect for them. But for the American, the new Jeep will be one of those throwaway cars that dads buy for their daughters, or men lacking masculinity will purchase because it’s so “cute.” The new Jeep Renegade by American standards looks like it might be capsized during a head-on collision with a bicycle.
One of the best vehicles my family ever had was a Jeep Grand Cherokee that we drove all over The United States. Its powerful inline 6 cylinder engine could pull boats with no problem; it could handle the Appalachian Mountains with ease, and perform well on the highway for long trips. One specific year my wife purchased a bike rack for the back of our Jeep and we took a family vacation down to Hilton Head Island. Once we arrived we biked all over the island. It was my wife, and two daughters with me on that trip and the Jeep had no trouble carrying a bike rack that could haul so many bicycles and still have the girth to plow through the wind, rain, and inclement weather from Ohio to South Carolina. Inside that Jeep there was plenty of room for all of us to comfortably travel and still pack more than enough supplies for a week of vacationing. Shortly after that trip, my wife was in a car accident that the insurance company totaled meaning we would lose the Jeep. She had been hit by another vehicle taking my kids to school as another car slid on the wet pavement during the heavy traffic mornings. Because the Jeep sat so high off the ground, and was so large, the vehicle took all the impact leaving my family safe inside. The airbags all deployed and they walked away without any harm. Initially, looking at the Jeep, I thought the damage was pretty minor. The bumpers had held up, the fenders where hardly wrinkled, and the lights remained completely intact. But, since the airbags deployed, the cost of repair was up over $10,000. It was a 1996 Jeep Grand Cherokee and the accident was in the mid 2000s, so the vehicle was getting up in years exceeding the technical value of the vehicle. However, if not for that wreck, we would still be driving that Jeep to this very day. If my wife had been driving a Jeep Renegade instead of a Grand Cherokee, my family would have been seriously hurt.
The Jeep brand was fostered by American car companies and spoke to the world of a lifestyle forged from capitalism that they simply couldn’t enjoy. When Fiat bought the brand from the financially strapped Chrysler Corporation it was clear that the Italian company had plans to use that image to saturate a starving world with a mirage of American freedom represented by the Jeep brand. Chrysler and General Motors specifically have major labor problems in America largely due to socialism driven by their unions, and could not live up to their own image, leaving them vulnerable in the global marketplace to Fiat. Fiat has so far sought to shrink down the Jeep vehicles catering to the European market but dressing them up to look like the old Jeeps. The Fiat Jeep is a kind of Angry Birds version of a Chrysler Jeep; it’s purely gimmicky but has compromised itself to fulfill a larger global strategy of wealth redistribution copying off Americans without the commitment to freedom that comes from such places. Common in the discussion of economics these days is the “global marketplace” and behind that discussion there is always socialism driving the dialogue. Deep in the hearts of the rest of the world is the belief that America’s wealth should be redistributed to them, and in the case of brands like Fiat’s Jeep, the image is used and repackaged as a version more compatible with countries wrecked with socialism. The subtle goal is proclaiming that another American brand is now in control of that global marketplace—known as “the public.” No doubt that President Obama celebrated when Fiat bought up the majority of shares of Jeep stock showing a “partnership” with Italy and America that would resonate with the long-term plan academia has always fostered—a large federation of countries working together instead of being at war with one another. It is similar to the reasons why men often want to sleep with the attractive wives of men they consider their intellectual and physical superiors—so that they can take something from their rivals that they don’t have in the first place. Fiat, from Italy is taking from Jeep the American ruggedness and putting their stamp of softness to it so to reap the short-term profits while destroying the brand right in front of America’s bankrupt face—while The United States continues to pour billions of dollars in aid to such European nations through financing The United Nations, military support and intellectual property. How many global film blockbusters have been produced in France, Italy, or Germany? What was the latest billion dollar film made in Spain? ………………………Anyone……………………………………………………………………………….anyone at all……………………………………………………………………………………….I’m still waiting………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………there isn’t one and never will be. Because books, movies, music that achieve such status are created by free people—Americans—and that isn’t an accident.
The Fiat Jeep is wealth redistribution, not just in jobs that might otherwise have been created in America, but of the essence of American creation, the Jeep as it was conceived by Chrysler. The Jeep I spoke so highly of, the Jeep Grand Cherokee from 1996 was conceived by Detroit automakers during the Reagan era before Detroit collapsed under the weight of their labor unions. The Fiat Jeep Renegade is a vehicle conceived by a Detroit that just filed bankruptcy and had to sell off assets to an Italian company who traditionally makes small cars, for small people and their philosophic grip on history. Surely the new Jeep Renegade will sell well in all the armpits of the world, the minds of Europe still recovering from the Dark Ages, the tribal hunters fresh off the Serengeti who have just spent the day hunting Gazelles because the grocery store had its food shipment confiscated by socialist radicals in charge of the country, or some hut dweller in Cambodia who is working 5 full-time jobs trying to pay for the broken leg his wife incurred during a traffic accident between two bicycles. The Jeep Renegade will be a treasured vehicle in places like that. But here in America, they will be driven by 16-year-old girls who think they are cute little “mini” cars, and will fill the parking lots of San Francisco gay nightclubs with air fresheners hanging from the mirrors to cover the odor of their clubbing activities. But on the road across America these little Fiat Jeep’s will be road bumps equivalent to pot holes for the larger vehicles which are part of a culture which embraces freedom and individual liberty with size, space, and horsepower. And all those things are missing from the new Fiat Jeep which is an insult to a brand that was built with rugged American history and a yearning for freedom that is unmatched anywhere in the world—and under assault by yet another foreign company driven by socialism to consume anything and everything that has value.
Let me deal with two birds here with one stone, the sad story recently at Lakota where a student was thrown in jail for bringing a gun to school and the really stupid idea of putting a roundabout at the corner of Maud Hughes Road and Millikin. I explained yesterday my thoughts about the student with the gun and alluded to a school shooting which I had been involved in and promised to tell a story I had from personal experience. I will do that now, and tie it in to what motorists can expect to witness as they travel through the South East portion of the upcoming roundabout. Many years ago during my junior year at Lakota a car load of boys came to a stop at that exact spot in a car riddled with bullets. The driver of that car died of a gunshot wound to the head, and I was on the other end of the tragedy and will explain the why and how in relation to the current situation. The media turned the issue into a circus, I was considered to be a dangerous gang leader and modern real life version of the West Side Story. Ballistics experts had conspiracy theories about how such an expert shot could have been made, and a manhunt ensued with a door to door search across the entire region. And of course there was supernatural assistance which confirms to me the very existence of otherworldly entities which many would call God. So brace yourself for a hair rising tale and an all too true story of honor, death, and supernatural activity as we jump into the most tragic story known surrounding the hauntings of Screaming Bridge.
But first I have to talk about roundabouts. They are very European and a real pain in the ass. I hate them because they impose too many restrictions on driving. They are fine for the saggy assed Europeans and their unshaved arm pits, their bad breath, and their political socialism because those idiots don’t have anywhere they really need to be since most of them get a month of government paid vacation each year. They are never in a hurry to get anywhere. Here in America, where we are productive and driving along a stretch of road like Millikin enjoying the countryside at about 50 to 60 mph, we don’t want to slow down to 20 mph to deal with a dumb roundabout where some indecisive soccer mom chick imported from New England is blocking our right of way. So since the Trustees of Liberty Township want to adopt all these Agenda 21 oriented “development designs” and won’t listen to reason, then they can drive right through the ghostly apparitions of at least one of the ghosts that hang out in and around Screaming Bridge which is just a few yards south of that location. Out of all the urban legends centering around Screaming Bridge, I know at least one of the tragic stories is true–because I was there.
Read more about Screaming Bridge and the upcoming roundabout at these links:
It was early January at the current Lakota West Freshman building and three guys were picking on some girls who were sitting near me. I’ve told stories before of my experience at Lakota. I had a group of kids who sat with me at lunch who were considered social misfits and were extremely rebellious. I had a reputation for being extremely daring and one of the lunch time games had been to throw food at the Lakota administrators who stood guard around the parameter of the cafeteria during every lunch period. I would often wail large chunks of food at them right in front of everyone witnessing. Most of the time I was very obvious about throwing food at them daring the administrators to do something. Of course their inaction prompted me to do it more, and more audaciously. So I had a reputation to manage when these three boys who had a history for being tough guys started picking on a girl sitting next to me. The boys were very tall for their age and were known to fight often. One of them picked up the coat of one of the girls and tossed it on the floor so he could sit in that particular seat to impress another girl who was within that group of young ladies. The girl who had her coat thrown to the ground protested. One of the boys proceeded to call her very grotesque names. I looked to the Lakota administrator who I had been tossing mashed potatoes at and he showed no signs of doing anything about it, so I injected myself on behalf of the girl. I told the kid to pick up the coat. The boy gave me a smart assed answer as he picked it up and put it back which evolved into a small war between my group and his group for the next week where we had a food fight which escalated over the ensuing weeks. Of course when food fighting lost its effectiveness we turned to games of strength, where I ended up punching a cafeteria plate shattering it into hundreds of pieces. The plates were those old hard plastic types which were extremely hard. When I punched the plate, the center broke away showering my friends and the targets of my aggression with debris. But the rim of the plate stayed intact and badly cut up my fist requiring plastic surgery to fix.
There wasn’t anywhere to go from there but into an actual fight off-site away from Lakota. When the boys saw how far I’d take things they got a little scared. It was their suggestion to fight and none of them wanted to fight me one on one, so they proposed that I fight three of their guys all at the same time at Screaming Bridge on Maud Hughes Road. I accepted once my hand healed up in about 6 weeks and could again make a fist–because I had on a splint which prevented my hand from closing.
At the end of February 1985 Nightmare on Elm Street was playing at the Showcase Cinemas in Springdale and I made arrangements with the guys I was fighting to finally meet at the Screaming Bridge at 10:30 PM. Over the weeks leading up to the event, things cooled down between my group and their group. They were obviously nervous about what to expect out of me. They knew the stories, but were confident that three of them would be enough to emerge successfully from the fight. But they had in mind precautions which were leaked to me by one of the boy’s girlfriends who had a crush on me at the time. She told me that her boyfriend had plans to bring weapons to the fight and were going to set up booby traps on the hillside which was very steep leading from Maud Hughes Road down to the railroad tracks below. Supposedly ghosts screamed at night from there and satanic rituals routinely were conducted to car stereos blaring Ozzie Osborn music. She begged me not to go, but of course I had to. She warned me that they planned to push me down the hill into the booby traps which would be seriously harmful; some of them were jagged toothed bear traps that could take off a leg. Other traps would include spikes angled to penetrate right through a body falling down the hill killing them. The traps would be constructed based on a Vietnam War guerilla warfare manual.
I made plans of my own. My friends all wanted to go to the fight to watch me combat the three guys. It was the talk of the school for that whole Friday. The next day on a Saturday it was agreed that we’d all meet Showcase Cinema and watch Nightmare on Elm Street then head to the fight afterwards. It sounded like a fun night, go see a scary movie, go have a fight at a scary bridge full of haunted folklore, and have a good bit of fun doing it. My plan was to take care of business then enjoy the evening with some girls that we’d pick up at the movie. We’d go in two cars, I’d have my entourage in my car and some of my other friends would arrive by pickup truck meeting me at the fight. On my side there were about ten spectators, five in my car, and five who would come by truck.
Little did I know but the previous weekend I had been visiting another set of young ladies at a nearby neighborhood and a friend of mine in a bizarre act of spontaneity ran next door to a neighbor’s house and attacked a semi truck that was parked there. The big truck had a grill guard that my friend stabbed several times with a knife simulating what effect it would have on a human body. I managed to calm him down after a while. He was trying to impress the girls we were with, and to a large extent, it worked. But when we left the girls house, the owner of the truck had been watching through his window and took down my license plate number when he saw my friend who had done the vandalizing get into my car. Screaming Bridge was only a about a mile and a half from this location and I thought often though-out the evening about the fight that would take place there the following week.
A week later while at the movie, I found some girls to meet up with after the fight, it was a group of five girls, one for each of the occupants of my car. In the trunk of my car were weapons I had brought just in case things got out of hand at the fight later. I of course had my bullwhip, but there were various clubs, knives, a medieval ball and chain along with a number of other melee weapons also there. I was very specific to both groups, the group who would drive with me, and my friends arriving in the truck later, not to bring any guns. If things went bad, we didn’t want to the temptation to pull any triggers. The goal was just to hurt the kids, not to kill them. The goal was to teach them a lesson, and that was all.
After the movie I made arrangements to meet up with the girls after the fight. They didn’t want to go to Screaming Bridge after watching Nightmare on Elmstreet, so agreed to meet us at a local Perkins around midnight once I took care of business. My friends were pumped up to watch a good fight and I was getting revved up now that the fight was about 30 minutes away. We headed out to my car ready for war yelling at the top of our lungs the way boys do when they are getting themselves worked up for a difficult task. But to my surprise, my entire family was waiting in my car for the movie to end and for me to return. They knew I was going to the movies, and apparently the police were looking for me. So my parents and siblings came where they knew I’d be. They had opened the trunk to my car and saw my whip and all the other weapons in there and they wanted to know what was going on.
I tried to explain that the weapons were nothing, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. The truck driver who had his grill guard vandalized by my friend was demanding at that exact hour to see me and get a formal apology from my dad. The guy could have reported this incident to the police any time during the previous week, but he chose that exact hour—strangely. Of course none of the adults knew of the fight I had to be at when 10:30 PM hit. The timing couldn’t have been worse. It could have, and should have occurred earlier in the day, but for whatever reason, the police and the truck owner wanted to talk to me at exactly that specific time.
I was very upset for reasons my parents had no clue of. My mom took my friend’s home while my dad drove me and the friend who had done the vandalism to the house of the truck driver to try to convince him not to press charges. We were driving down Princeton Road and past the intersection of Maud Hughes at exactly 10:26, four minutes from the time that I was supposed to be at the fight. I could see the truck lights of my friends going up the road at exactly the time I told them to be there. It was odd again that out of all times of the day, it was right at that exact moment.
We arrived at the truck driver’s house for a meeting arranged by the police. My friend apologized to the guy, and we spoke for a bit. The guy was reasonable and understood what it was like to be a young person. We had a nice talk. Off in the distance we heard what sounded like fireworks going off. I was very upset about being late to the fight and was very worried that my reputation would be reflected poorly in missing the event. As we sat there I was scheming for a way to get away and sneak over to the fight because the disgrace in missing it would be too much come Monday morning. While my dad and the truck driver finished their discussion my friend and I were standing out in the driveway by the car and we heard sirens ringing all over the countryside. We anticipated that a major wreck had occurred somewhere to the North, and it sounded serious because there were a lot of police cars.
The rest of my evening was trying to explain to my parents what had been going on with the vandalism issue, and trying to explain the weapons in my trunk. The next morning I was glum, I had missed the fight which I’d never hear the end of, and I missed meeting the girls I met at the movie theater. It had been a bad night. I had to work during that following Sunday, so I left quietly and wondered why there were strange cars parked off the side of the road close to my driveway with government plates. There were several, and since I lived in the country, this was a very strange sight.
The boys I was supposed to fight had been found in a car at the corner of Maud Hughes and Millikin all shot up. The driver had been killed with an expert sniper shot that came across the field and struck him in the side of the head passing in front of the other two passengers who were both in the front seat. And my name was all over the police radio. I had to work the day shift at the Emperor’s Wok Chinese restaurant on Chester Road that morning for the church crowd and the owner called me into his office where he kept a police radio on. My name was all over the reports as the prime suspect in the murder of a Lakota student. The trouble for the police—they were with me at the time of the shooting—so it couldn’t have been me. God works in mysterious ways. Suddenly missing the fight and the meeting with the girls was not so important, and a new level of concern moved through me. My friends who were meeting me at the fight were now missing. A manhunt ensued.
Their side of the story is well documented by court records, and it was really a tragedy for everyone involved. My friends had arrived at the fight and found that I was not there. The boys I was set to fight were already at Screaming Bridge and told my friends that they had killed me, and pushed me down the hill. This panicked my friends and one of them had brought a rifle, even though I said not to. He shot at the boys as they got in their car to flee the scene. My friends chased them down pelting them with gunfire. My friends thought they were defending me. They didn’t know that the police had already picked me up for another incident. They thought I was at the bottom of the hill in a bloody heap at the hellish Screaming Bridge where the mood of the area was not conducive to logic. The boys I was supposed to fight should have never poured gasoline on that fire, but that was a hard lesson for everyone involved.
As my friends chased down the car of the fleeing antagonists the guy who brought the rifle kept firing riddling the car with gunfire. As the car turned north on Millikin Road a chance shot flew through the passenger side window and in front of the faces of two of the three boys. The bullet hit the driver in the exact spot that a professional sniper would have aimed for which led to the rumors of a professional hit which I had supposedly organized. The reality wasn’t quite so dramatic. My friends didn’t want to kill the kid; they just wanted to scare him in revenge for being scared themselves. The police confirmed in court that they found the traps that the girl had told me that they’d have there, and inside the trunk of the car they found lots of malicious weapons that they planned to use on me during the fight. So the prosecution didn’t have much to go on against my friends, there was intent to harm on both sides, and it was every bit as dangerous of a situation as everyone felt it was. If I had made it to the fight there is a good chance I would have been the one that caused the loss of life, and more people would have been likely harmed, so the situation came out as well as it could have.
Of course everyone felt bad for the kid who lost his life. We hated each other, but not that much. Later in a fight that one of the other kids I was supposed to fight that night found himself in at a Friday Night Lakota football game, he was ganged up on by several other kids and I came to his defense, the same way I had come to the defense of the girl the year earlier. Sure he blamed me for the death of his friend, but I still helped him when he was in trouble—because it was the right thing to do. He suffered enough and was never the same after the loss of his friend which of course nobody wanted to see happen. But a lot of people grew up a whole lot that night, and the community had to come to terms with the kind of violence that can sometimes take place between students who don’t see eye to eye on things. The Lakota administrators were completely powerless to do anything about the matter, just as they are powerless now. They can attempt to legislate away temptations of such violence, but what they end up with is watered down brainless drones in the process. The cost of people’s ambition and will to live are not worth sacrificing just so that tragedies like the one described are avoided. It is obvious to me the hand of God in whatever form one wishes to apply, was at play, because of the strange coincidences that really defy reasonable logic. I don’t believe in tampering with such hands. Fate has to play out the way we carry out our decisions with one another in order to have authentic results.
The recent Lakota student thrown in jail the way he was violated him in many ways. Likely he was in a similar situation as I often found myself in, and he was either the provoker, or the victim, but he was doing what he was doing to act in accordance with his nature. Lakota imposed on that process by stepping in to prevent it so to adhere to a value judgment of society which is afraid of such raw emotion, and is going to great lengths to micromanage thought so to prevent such episodes of violence. They will even go to the extreme of numbing people’s minds so that everyone stays compliant. They don’t care if they ruin people’s thoughts so long as they don’t kill each other on Saturday nights. The value to the institution is the life of everyone even if the result of that life is a numbed down version of their full potential. The big difference with me is that I never allowed myself to become compliant, or brain-dead. I have never sought destroying my mind with intoxicants, so my approach to these kinds of problems are often raw. The result was that I met these boys in the Lakota cafeteria with the full potential of my nature and I had a lot of people willing to follow me into the bowls of Hell—as I still do—because of it. This ability can be used for good or evil. I use it for good as I define good, and that definition does not come from institutional parameters, but from my own life understanding forged by such experiences.
A Lakota student died that night meeting me for a fight that brewed for most of the 1985 winter. I don’t mean anything against his name when I say that there wasn’t anything about that night that I’d take back. A lot of people suffered, it was tragic, but it was authentic and part of a bunch of intersecting lives fighting for their definition of good. For me, defending good was in honoring the right of the girl in the cafeteria not to have her coat thrown on the ground. Was that worth the death of a young boy, or the voluminous amounts of money spent in legal fees—in my world it was. Because right is right, and it is through conflict that we discover merit when the tapestries of society seem inclined to hide it from us. Because of that night and the obvious work from God’s hand in protecting me just enough to let me see the events play out, a tremendous wisdom was given to me which I use to this very day. I was intimately close to the situation without being pulled so far in that I would be lost to legal nightmares forever. I have taken the lessons of that night and done countless good with the lessons. I consider the situation very valuable. I could have done like everyone else and said nothing when the boys bullied the young girl. If I had nobody likely would have died, my hand wouldn’t have been reconstructed by plastic surgery, my friends wouldn’t have been tarnished for life, the lives of the people I was set to fight wouldn’t have been haunted for the rest of their lives and the terrible pain their families have felt all along in the loss could have been avoided. At that time I had just been elected Vice President of the Dan Beard Council because of my work in the Boy Scouts of America’s Explore Post activities for all of Cincinnati. Once my name was associated with the death of a Lakota student, they banned me from further activity which was a terrible cost to me, because I enjoyed that activity. But it was still worth telling the kid to pick up the girl’s jacket and respect her—because he did forever after—at least for the next couple of months. But others had been watching, and knew that disrespecting young ladies, at least while I was around, was not acceptable and I would not put up with it.
Lakota administrators weren’t there protecting the rights of the girl. They were too cowardly to keep me from throwing mashed potatoes at them staining their suits with my lunch on a daily basis. They weren’t then, and are even less now in any kind of position to take a moral stand on anything because the goal of all such activity at places like Lakota are to save lives—not to help create value for those lives. The government institution believes that lives are valuable until of course we are talking about abortion, or the molestation of children, or the sex trade, then they are powerless to offer an opinion because all they care about is that they can manipulate public support for their endeavors, and they can only do that so long as they pack up their mindless students onto a bus and ship them back to their parents at the end of the day brain drained and ill prepared for the future. But at least those kids are alive—by the technical definition. Their heart is pushing blood through their bodies. They do not value life as I do focusing on brain activity being more important than the blood that pours through it. I see every day the corpses of a thousand souls standing in line at the grocery, or showing their friends the latest rare stone quarried out of the blood mines of Africa. Sure their bodies live, but their minds are dead and places like Lakota kill them. Sure they will damn my name for playing a part in the death of a Lakota student, and that event will always trail behind me like many other stories have over time, but I can promise that I have seen lives benefit greatly from their own authenticity, something that I have always pushed to experience. Sometimes you find yourself on the wrong side of the law, or on what’s right such as in the case of the guy who had the semi truck damaged by my friend showing off for some girls. But when I spoke to the guy, he wanted what was right, and when he met me face to face and saw my sincerity, he found we had more in common than not.
The fight at Screaming Bridge in Liberty Township, Ohio at the end of February in 1985 was about two groups of people fighting for their interpretation of what’s right and wrong. The school did not offer the answers to the manhood questions we were asking. So we had to find those answers ourselves. I chose the path of being a daring rebel against authority. The boys I was fighting chose to be a bully, and my friends wanted to experience fearlessness through my actions, so they tagged along closely, and sometimes did things I would never think to do, like vandalize a truck not so much to impress a bunch of girls, but me—to show me how bold they were. The gunshots where probably done for the same reason once primordial motives are ascertained beyond conventional explanation.
The reason we picked Screaming Bridge as the place to fight was because it was thought to be haunted and where else would such a confrontation take place. Young boys want to know that they can go into the mouth of our darkest fears and face the demons there. So while we were fighting each other, we were testing ourselves at the same time, which was the real cause of the fight. I had fought more than one person at the same time on several occasions, but I wanted to do it against guys that were bigger than I was, probably meaner, and I wanted to do it at a place known for demonic practice where even the demons of Hell would be fighting against me. With all those emotions present and the added fear of the place in general, it proved to be too much for the people who came to watch me fight that night without me there to calm their minds with action. But all said, if the hand of God had not interfered so obviously, the death toll would have been far greater, and the impact to the community, much more devastating. God doesn’t come down out of the clouds to sit on our shoulder providing a defined entity that we can often see and touch. But I will never forget the timing of driving by Maud Hughes Road and seeing the tail lights of my friends going to the fight toward a destiny that would turn out to be tragic, while in the company of the police who wanted my head nailed to a platter for an entirely different reason, and would otherwise want to throw me in jail in seconds once the shooting took place. It is in such murky stories like this entry into Screaming Bridge and the folklore of Liberty Township that it is obvious to me that God defends the good even when the ways are not easily defined by the misery present by destruction and mayhem.
When the stupid roundabout is built on Millikin Road cars traveling through the South East portion of that circle will pass through the spot where the bullet riddled car came to a stop. It is the resting place of the guy I was supposed to fight that night which ended straying off the road by a freakish bullet strike. For years I have driven past that intersection and wondered if his ghost was there mixing with the other area hauntings. One would hope that such spirits could move on and not be stuck in a tyrannical limbo, but you never know, especially under the circumstances. I always knew that the car had stopped off the side of the road and not in the path of Millikin Road traffic. Now, with the new roundabout, the road will carry vehicles right through the resting place of that terrible incident. Since history is often forgotten by the next generation and politicians who have no problems building homes on top of tombstones and old Indian graves—and in Liberty Township, this has happened a lot—the mysteries of ghostly apparitions and minor hauntings are something to be concerned about. Now, because of the new roundabout, we won’t be able to speed through that intersection any longer, but will have to slow down and pass right through the spot where the occurrence transpired. So it will surely add one more layer to the deep mysteries and sometimes haunted past of Liberty Township, Ohio, and the occasional terrible things that happen even when the intentions are good and we all find ourselves actors on a stage play of God’s drama.
If I speak to 100 people on any given day, 85 of them carry a loaded gun—most of them concealed. Those 85 people range in personalities from six figure executives to back yard mechanics who are more than willing to lift up their own pickup truck by hand while changing a tire to avoid the complication of going into the garage to get a jack. Guns are a fact of life in American culture and are the primary reason no country in their right mind would dare invade our homes because it would prove a tactical nightmare. Most of those 85 never draw those guns on another human being and will spend their entire lives never shooting anybody. They have the guns just in case—and for especially young boys; guns are a right of manhood. When a person carries a gun they are proudly stating that they are not betting their life on government controlled security like the TSA, the police, the manipulative CIA, the comb-over heavy FBI, the politically driven military or any other louse who yearns to dominate other human beings with government backed authority. That is why it was so disgusting that Lakota schools made such a huge deal over Deangelo Jones who had a loaded 9 mm in his backpack inside a friend’s car and was arrested and thrown in jail because of it.
By the way, all the videos shown here took place in the Lakota district over the last year, this even under very stringent security of police and Lakota officials during a levy attempt, when it matters most to them. Government workers are not a substitute for personal security.
What a wonderful school…………full of great values and educational aptitude. Take note of this for future reference.
I have some experience with school shootings which I’ll share in a few days specifically because of this case—and Lakota’s extreme overreaction to it. I was in one when I was a kid—at Lakota—so I have some authority on the subject from which to speak. Sometimes young men have issues with other young men that need to be settled, and the school imposes itself on that process when they infringe on the private rights of people, especially going through their back packs based on the word of some tattle tale who told school officials that there was a gun on the Lakota property. Lakota West Principal Elgil Card talked boldly after the arrest of Jones saying, “Appropriate disciplinary action will be taken based on the Lakota Student Code of Conduct. It is not permissible to bring any weapon onto school property even if secured in a private vehicle.” Smart…………..now you know dear reader why so many schools are attacked by lunatic gunman—because everyone knows that they unarmed places and the people there are vulnerable and too heavily dependent on complacent government workers to protect them. If you are a bad guy, or a deranged student looking for some sort of revenge, a school becomes a prime target because of the stupid comments of naive people like Principal Card.
You know what else is in the Lakota Student Code of Conduct, drug possession, and if the same vigor had been applied as the one who went through Deangelo Jones’ backpack, it is highly likely that marijuana busts on a grand scale would far eclipse this gun story—but in public schools these days, drugs are cool, sexual molestation of the students by the teachers is shrugged off, but if someone brings a gun to school—it is plastered all over the news and the freedom of a young 18 year old kid are violated ruthlessly. This Lakota story was even covered in Toledo, Ohio as school administrators beat on their chest as if to justify their awesome security methods—and ability to protect students from a potential crazed gunman on the heels of their latest tax increase. Lakota exploited the kid—Jones, for the benefit of the institution and trampled all over his rights as an American citizen—and are damn proud of it.
Meanwhile the panicky levy supporters in and around Lakota are holding their little ones a bit closer thanking Lakota officials for protecting their children from the dangerous Deangelo Jones. They are proud that they raised taxes on property owners all in the name of safety so that a do-gooder could get Jones in trouble for carrying a gun on school property. These same people have given a free pass to teachers who were caught sexually seducing students, or other teachers who are very permissive to drug use.
I would argue that drugs are far more dangerous than guns, because drugs destroy the ability to think, where guns are simply designed to tear open the flesh of another person. Without a mind, there isn’t much of a life for anybody—a mind is far more important than the flesh—because without a mind, a person really doesn’t have anything but blood which pumps through a living carcass. The amount of drugs in the Lakota West parking lot on a daily basis is likely to cause a whole lot more damage to other people and the future economy of our nation than a tiff that Deangelo Jones felt he might have had with another student—or his desire to show his friends that he was a man—and could now carry a gun at 18-years-old. Where are the tattle tales over the drugs in backpacks of the Lakota West parking lot even to this very day, and where is the will to do anything about it? There isn’t one.
Lakota made a big deal about the gun brought onto school property by a student because their social position fits the nationally driven progressive agenda against personal firearms—which was delivered to America from a United Nations intent to see the entire planet stripped of personal protection. The public education stance against personal firearms fits that progressive message—so they feel entitled to infringe upon the Second Amendment rights of Jones and anybody else operating outside of progressive politics. Jones is an 18-year-old man, not some kid any longer—in spite of what some corpulent politicians decided was best in Columbus, Ohio. The Lakota position against firearms is not about safety and logic—it is more about reassuring the line of dialogue that guns are “bad” and should be feared. Lakota, and the media, used Deangelo Jones to instill fear into the public by making them even more terrified of firearms in the same way that student athletes are used to solicit more tax revenue from property owners under Friday night lights on cold October evenings. The goal is community manipulation toward a direction that the progressive institutions desire—and Lakota is a very progressive institution.
The students at Lakota who witnessed this whole Deangelo Jones situation will grow up and accept that the school has authority over individuals who carry guns. They will accept the molestation of the TSA without concern, or when the police break down their door someday during a suspicious tip from a neighbor—all in the name of protecting the “state,” they will obediently submit to authority. If the students at Lakota learned anything from the Deangelo Jones case it was that guns are to be feared, that the state has authority over the individual, and that even close friends will rat out suspicious behavior to do-gooder authority figures. Those lessons will carry over into adulthood when those same students will someday vote, and they will think of Deangelo Jones and vote against concealed carry laws, and personal protection not controlled by local law enforcement. When that time comes, the 85 people I know who are law bidding citizens and are the makers and shakers of the local economy will become outlaws who will have their property confiscated by the state and held against their will in jail with a $10,000 bail. And that is the real intent behind the press releases, and the ecstatic dream of every progressive institution in America, especially those in public education. Those same schools will applaud a woman’s right to kill a baby, or a college student to intoxicate themselves on weekend nights destroying the genetic code of their own physiology with THC marijuana smoke and non-thinking commitment to “getting high.” But if a person declares they have a right to the Second Amendment……..watch out………the howls of fear will emit from the mouths of the school levy supporters and weak-minded government advocates—because the real goal is not the one they advocate, but the ones left unspoken and from a foreign land—who secretly yearns to possess all that we have—and can never until Americans yield their love of guns to the benefactors of authority—which they control through political strings and financial contributions. That strategy is being implemented by do-gooders laced with too much cellulite around the midsection, and people who are too lazy to change their own motor oil, let alone a tire. And when they see gun, they wet their pants, because they have been taught to fear such things by progressive institutions like the one at Lakota—a parasite on virtually everything that has value.
As to all the news stories shown above, how can Lakota keep all those stories contained so that the public thinks they are getting a lot of value for their tax dollars……………well, they spend a lot more tax money on public relations to keep their image good so that all the sad little things like murder plots, vandalism, sexting, and mass shooting threats stay off of people’s minds. But for students who know the reality, carrying a gun isn’t a bad idea. Smart people do carry, because they don’t trust other people to their own security. Obviously, Lakota isn’t up to the challenge of providing security, as the evidence presents.
This is the comment of Jack Parsons who was a leader of the O.T.O temple in Pasadena, California and the primary driver of the Cal Tech rocket program that would compete directly with Robert Goddard for NASA’s journey into space. He was also a very close friend of L.R. Hubbard—so close that they often shared women sexually.
“The dictatorship of the proletariat is merely temporary—the state will eventually wither away like a snark hunter, leaving us all free as birds. Meanwhile it may be necessary to kill, torture and imprison a few million people, but whose fault is it if they get in the way of progress?[146]”
From early on in his career, Parsons took an interest in socialism and communism,[143] views that he shared with his friend Malina.[144] Under the influence of another friend, Sidney Weinbaum, the two of them joined a communist group in the late 1930s, with Parsons reading Marxist literature, but he remained unconvinced and refused to join the American Communist Party.[37] Malina asserted that this was because Parsons was a “political romantic,” whose attitude was more anti-authoritarian than anti-capitalist.[145] Parsons would later become critical of the Marxist-Leninist government of the Soviet Union led by Joseph Stalin, leading to the above quoted comments.
During the era of McCarthyism and the Red Scare, he was questioned as to his former links to the communist movement, by which time he denied any connection to it. Instead he described himself as “an individualist.”[147]
Influenced by Thelema, which holds to the ethical code of “Do what thou wilt,” in the 1940s Parsons became a vocal social libertarian. In his article, Freedom is a Lonely Star, he championed the libertarian social views of some of the Founding Fathers of the United States, which were enshrined in the American Constitution, claiming that by his own time these had been “sold out by America, and for that reason the heart of America is sick and the soul of America is dead.”[148] He proceeded to criticize many aspects of contemporary U.S. society, particularly the police force, remarking, “The police mind is usually of a sadistic and homicidal trend” and noting that they carried out the “ruthless punishment of symbolic scapegoats” such as African-Americans, prostitutes, alcoholics, homeless people and socio-political radicals, under the pretense of a country that had “liberty and justice for all.”[149] To bring about a freer future, Parsons believed in liberalizing attitudes to sexual morality, stating that in his belief, the publication of the Kinsey report and development of the psychonautical sciences had as significant an influence on Western society as the creation of the atomic bomb and the development of nuclear physics, and that in the future the restrictions on sexual morality within society should be abolished in order to bring about greater freedom and individuality.[150] In this context, Colin Bennett of the Fortean Times cites Parsons as one of the instigators of the countercultural movements of the 1960s.[151]
In January 1939, John and Frances Baxter, a brother and sister who had befriended Jack and Helen Parsons, took Jack to the Church of Thelema in Winona Boulevard, Hollywood, where he witnessed the performance of a Gnostic Mass. Parsons was intrigued, having already heard of Thelema’s founder Aleister Crowley after reading a copy of Crowley’s Konx om Pax (1907). Parsons’ formative interest in esotericism was developed through his reading of The Golden Bough (1890), a work in comparative mythology by Scottish social anthropologistJames George Frazer.[39] With Helen he had attended a lecture on theosophy by philosopher Jiddu Krishnamurti, but was “nauseated” by its sentiment of “the good and the true.”[40]
At the mass Parsons was introduced to leading members Regina Kahl, Jane Wolfe, and Wilfred Talbot Smith. Feeling both “repulsion and attraction” for Smith, Parsons continued to attend the Church’s events sporadically for a year.[41] He continued to read Crowley’s works, which increasingly interested him, and encouraged Helen to do so too.[42] Parsons came to believe in the reality of magic as a force that could be explained through quantum physics.[42] He tried to interest a number of his friends and acquaintances in Thelema, at one point taking the science fiction authors Jack Williamson and Cleve Cartmill to a performance of the Gnostic Mass, and although they were unimpressed, Parsons was successful with a young Caltech student whom he had befriended, Grady Louis McMurtry, as well as McMurtry’s fiancee Claire Palmer, and Helen’s sister Sara Northrup, who was known as Betty.[43]
Parsons and his wife would finally be initiated into the Agape Lodge of the Ordo Templi Orientis on February 15, 1941, with Parsons adopting the Thelemic motto of “Thelema Obtenteum Proedero Amoris Nuptiae”, a Latin mistranslation of “The establishment of Thelema through the rituals of love”. The initials of this motto spelled out TOPAN, also serving as the declaration “To Pan.”[44] Commenting on Parsons’ errors of translation, in jest Crowley remarked that “the motto which you mention is couched in a language beyond my powers of understanding.”[45] Smith wrote to Crowley, claiming that Parsons was “a really excellent man … He has an excellent mind and much better intellect than myself … JP is going to be very valuable”,[46] while Wolfe wrote to the Thelemite Karl Germer to comment that Parsons was “an A1 man … Crowleyesque in attainment as a matter of fact.”[47] Crowley concurred with such assessments, informing Smith that Parsons “is the most valued member of the whole Order, with no exception!”[45]
Soon, science fiction writer and former United States Navy officer L. Ron Hubbard moved in to 1003; he and Parsons became close friends, with Parsons informing Crowley that Hubbard was “the most Thelemic person I have ever met.”[83] Although Parsons and Sara had always had an open relationship, she became enamored with Hubbard, causing Parsons intense jealousy.[84] Parsons began to devote increasing amounts of time to the ‘dark side’ of magic, becoming interested in the iconography of witchcraft, something that concerned many fellow OTO members, who believed that he had invoked troublesome spirits into the Parsonage. Parsons reported paranormal events in the house resulting from his rituals including poltergeist activity, sightings of orbs and ghostly apparitions, and disembodied voices. Pendle suggested that Parsons was particularly susceptible to these interpretations, and attributed the voices to a prank by Hubbard and Sara.[85] One ritual allegedly brought screaming banshees to the windows of the Parsonage, an incident that disturbed Ed Forman for the rest of his life.[86] Deciding to use magical means to attract a new lover, Parsons performed a series of rituals based in Enochian magic during which he masturbated on to magical tablets, accompanied by Sergei Prokofiev‘s Second Violin Concerto, using both his own semen and blood for this purpose. He allowed Hubbard to take part, believing that he was particularly sensitive to detecting magical phenomena.[87]
Their final ritual took place in the Mojave Desert on 18 January 1946, and on return to the Parsonage Parsons discovered that a woman named Marjorie “Candy” Cameron had come to visit. Believing her to be the “elemental” woman that he had invoked, he began performing sex magic rituals with her. Describing this as the Babalon Working, he hoped to bring about the incarnation of a Thelemite female messiah, Babalon, onto Earth, with Cameron acting as the “Scarlet Woman” in these rituals.[88] Although Crowley warned him of such an endeavor, Parsons was committed, and retreated to the desert, where he came to believe that a preternatural entity spoke to him, to provide him with Liber 49, which he believed to represent a fourth part of The Book of the Law, the primary sacred text of Thelema, as well as part of a new sacred text he called the Book of Babalon.[89] This accomplished, Parsons set about trying to sell the Parsonage for $25,000, on the condition that he could continue to live in the coach house, and he appointed Roy Leffingwell to head the Agape Lodge, which would now have to meet elsewhere for its rituals.[90]
What Parsons had in common with present day President Obama and the very evil Aleister Crowley is that he had a failed relationship with his father. Parsons’ father had carried on a sexual relationship with a prostitute causing him a divorce. Little Jack’s mother was so angry that the father’s name was removed from her son’s referral and the situation never really alleviated. Jack found replacements for a father figure in communism where the “state” was the parent, and he found a more literal father figure in Aleister Crowley and the head of the Agape Loge Wildfred Smith. Smith would comfort Parsons first wife after Jack decided he desired sexually her sister. But when that more sexual appetizing sister began bedding L.R. Hubbard Parsons went into the desert to perform the Mojave ritual giving him Candy Cameron whom he would stay married to until his death while trying to fulfill an explosives order for a Hollywood movie. But those weren’t the only women Jack slept with—he carried on openly sexual relationships with many other women coming full circle to far surpass his father’s womanizing. The big difference is that Jack Parsons had found a mechanism through religion which allowed him to justify the conduct.
When my family visits the family condo down in Florida my wife is greatly disturbed by the number of strip houses erected to attend to the NASA scientists working at the Kennedy Space Center. While she despises those places in spite of the beauty surrounding the Cocoa Beach area I feel the same level of disenchantment for the Merritt Island Lodge #353, which is the local Mason hall near the condo. I see them one in the same by level of depravity. Both are reminders that the rocket program ushered into NASA had its roots by two primary people who both had a mutual relationship with Wernher von Braun—Robert Goddard and Jack Parsons. Of the two, Goddard was certainly my kind of guy. When diagnosed with tuberculosis and told that he would soon die, he sat on the front porch of his cold New England home and stared death down daring it to consume him. Miraculously, he beat death to live on for a number of years and eventually carry mankind into space after the federal government tried to steal all his patents for “national security” to build their own rockets. It is likely that many of the UFO sightings from this early period of rocketry were government experiments into Robert Goddard’s designs which failed. They would eventually settle with Goddard’s widow finally giving her husband credit and using his name as propaganda against the U.S.S.R during the space race. Jack Parsons however turned to magick instead of self-reliance leaving Goddard to reject the collectivism demonstrated by the Caltech rocket boys from California. Goddard continued to his dying day to work in relative isolation while Parsons pursed his rocketry passion with the assistance of supernatural aid and making special effects for Hollywood studios sleeping with half the women of Southern California. The seed of darkness planted into the movie and music industry began there at the Agape Lodge by Parsons and his mentor Smith. Ironically, even though the Kennedy Space Center is now in heavy reverence for Robert Goddard, it is the old Caltech members of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory who primarily established the foundations for those rocket engineers. They had been developed by Jack Parsons as well leaving the modern-day rocket scientists of NASA to live the same kind of double life that Jack did. By day they were brilliant scientists—by night they sought sexual fulfillment in the strip joints of Cocoa Beach and their Mason’s Lodge down the street told them that it was the right thing to do.
The difference between Jack Parasons and Robert Goddard are essentially the rift which modern America is currently experiencing. One was a rugged individualist which was uniquely positioned as a genius that a whole army of government scientists couldn’t duplicate even with his stolen patent notes right in front of them. The other in Jack Parsons who didn’t live very long, but did a tremendous amount of damage to the industry of film and early jet propulsion, and had roots in communism with the above opening quote which I’ll repeat here for emphasis:
“The dictatorship of the proletariat is merely temporary—the state will eventually wither away like a snark hunter, leaving us all free as birds. Meanwhile it may be necessary to kill, torture and imprison a few million people, but whose fault is it if they get in the way of progress.”
Jack Parsons was a smart man who helped carry America into the golden age of jet propulsion. He conducted right out in the open a duel life, one of legitimate science, and dark sinister commitment to the occult—and he was a devoted communist—he believed in “collective salvation.” Because of his success more people than fewer picked his path over that of old Robert Goddard—and that has brought a terrible realization of treachery to modern rocket science which is quite evident in the parking lot of the “gentlemen clubs” of Cocoa Beach at 1:30 in the morning an hour and a half past Sunday.
As I go to the store late at night at times to get milk, or soda for my wife, the cars in that parking lot are proud—they are NASA employees away from their families on 6 month assignments. They come to the “gentlemen clubs” to see naked women who are often the age of their daughters and deep down inside they have the misguided belief that they are doing something for the greater good by participating. Some of those proud cars have “Trust America” on their bumpers—or “Made in America,” referring to the NASA program. Most of them are married, but like Jack Parsons, they feel that their participation in extramarital affairs is justified by some rationalization that we are all “one and the same.” The 19-year-old girl dancing on the stage topless is the same as the obese wife bitter and unhealthy back home—they are both female and aspects of the Mother of Abominations. Any high degree Mason from Merritt Island Lodge #353 knows what that is—and if they don’t, they haven’t been invited to the initiation ceremony yet.
I often sit on the balcony and watch those girls of the night come to the beach during early morning sunrises to wash off the sins of the previous evening. I read my books and eat pistachio nuts while listening to their mutterings. Without the seductive lure of the “gentlemen clubs,” the g-strings and the seductive lights and music, they are just girls a few years away from the innocent minds of a typical 9 to 10-year-old. They are not yet ruined—that comes two or three years later when those same new bodies become irreparably tarnished with wrinkles from too much sun bathing, too many drugs, and too many gross old men wanting to caress them sexually. By the time those girls are 25 they are destroyed for life and the NASA scientists from the Kennedy Space Center have helped take them there. Every year from the balcony it is always a new crop of girls who come to the beach in their thin bikinis so to get tan lines that will assist them during their pole dancing routines. I met one of these girls when I went to Ron Jon’s to purchase a new Frisbee to throw on the beach with my family. A joke emerged with the female cashier leading me to believe that she was about my age—from the 1980s. She looked at me sadly when she realized I assumed she was in her forties—she was missing all her front teeth probably from too much “meth” her skin looked like an alligator that had been soaked in vinegar to preserve its dead flesh and her breath was in desperate need of a breath mint. Her eyes were sunken and very tired. She was only 31.
The evils aren’t always as extreme as Jack Parsons experiments at the Agape Loge. They are seldom so outrageous—and few people go to such extremes as Jack did for the reasons he did. Even with all the broken families, there are still a lot of people who have healthy relationships with their fathers and don’t go to the extremes that Jack did, or Aleister Crowley to rectify a need for father atonement. But what does sink in is the notion of collective sacrifice—the idea of dying for one’s country, or dedicating ones career to country, or dedicating oneself even to a family—the permeating belief is that sacrifice yields benefit for the collective will of humanity—and it doesn’t. It simply destroys them, and leaves them empty husks of human flesh grossly undeveloped.
I have no doubt that the same type of people who hung out with Jack Parsons at the Agape Loge in Pasadena, California are the same type of people who raised Barack Obama during the height of the counter-culture movement which was directly influenced by Jack Parsons. The ideal that the dictatorship of the proletariat would only be temporary are the musings of an incomplete mind deeply harmed by the lack of a strong father in their life to impart wisdom, and goodness to a hungry young mind. Without that important element in their life, they sometimes turn to the supernatural for assistance, and once they do—it’s over for them. But what makes them dangerous to others is that they start churches like the O.T.O to help people find their individual paths—but in essence the real motive is to sacrifice the purity of many people to the collective will of the supernatural—and whose fault is it if they get into the way of progress?
Tomorrow, we will discover why these types of people yearn to sacrifice women in such a way. You will learn about the Babalon Scarlet Women. It is likely that you know some.
If you were listening today across the vast frozen plains of Southern Michigan to WAAM radio in Ann Arbor you would have heard Clarkcast Radio host Matt Clark speaking to me about the future of America starting in 2014. The theme of our discussion centered around “Tapestries of Ideology” which I mentioned as a way to explain whether or not people cared enough about anything to change the direction of the Republic away from the socialism, liberalism, and sometimes open communism that has infected the American way of life by rabid progressive influence. When the “Tapestries of Ideology” are removed from people—the need for power structures to utilize pairs of opposites to herd people into a particular direction—people find they have more in common than less 100% of the time. I have had elegant dinners with “hit men” who did what they did to keep their wives wrapped in gold and perils, but loved watching Davy Crocket on The Wonderful World of Disney as kids. I’ve associated with judges who ran their entire local political structure ruthlessly—but discovered that deep down inside they loved the movie, “The Sound of Music.” Presently some of my best friends are the kind of people who used to be professional educators and would have hated me a decade ago, but find themselves united with my present crusade. Once those “Tapestries of Ideology” are removed, often it is discovered that people have more in common than not. This led to a very interesting discussion as Matt recorded it with video. He didn’t just want me to call in like a typical guest on talk radio, but he utilized Skype so he could have our discussion on a split screen—which turned out to be a really good idea. Have a look:
Progressives are often given credit for propelling forward the Civil Rights movement, bringing equality to women, and creating a five-day work week with labor union pressure against their employers. Using “Tapestries of Ideology” all those groups propelling so-called “rights”—actually exploited certain collective groups by focusing their energy on pairs of opposite duality so to steer their efforts toward progressive causes. For Civil Rights, progressive groups exploited black oppression, for women, progressives sought to create a “war against women” perpetrated by evil, vile, dirty, heterosexual men. For the weekend oriented work week, labor unions painted the pictures that corporations were evil and slave shops of doom that could not put a check on their selfish motivations. However, once those ideologies are removed from people one on one, it can easily be discovered that most women yearn to have a man’s specific touch in their life and want to be cared for in a passive way, blacks integrate quite well with whites, and most union members are happy to have a job that was created by a corporation and are often grateful. Progressive organizations can only advance their positions with duality and hate—which is why they never really wish to solve any problems. Instead they are perpetually on the outlook for more problems so that they can exploit them to gain power from the process.
What I said to Matt during our half hour broadcast was that this power trick is changing—the old progressive behavior is altering exposing the game of duality that has been played behind the “Tapestries of Ideology” for decades. When those tapestries are removed, people tend to find they have a lot in common—more so than politics would care to admit. When Denver plays Seattle in the next Superbowl entire cities supporting those respective teams will find themselves united. Ideologies of political and progressive nature will be removed because they find themselves supporting the exploits of Payton Manning or the terrific defense of the Seattle Seahawks. However, when the game is over, those tapestries of ideology go back up and the duality nature of progressive politics will return.
I most saw this duality during a game I attended in Tampa, Florida when the Tampa Bay Buccaneers retired the jersey of Mike Alstott. My wife and I flew down from Cincinnati for the game to watch the prime time Sunday night extravaganza. Before the game I attended a tailgate party where firefighters, local girls from the Penthouse strip club, cops, teachers, radio hosts, former players and a number of colorful personalities were enjoying the extended hours before the game. The event began at noon and lasted up until around 7 PM and featured great food, lots of drinks, and a very festive atmosphere. Ideologically I was opposed to most of the people at this tailgate party—but on that day at that time, we were all dressed to kill with skulls, and pirate paraphernalia with the united goal of seeing the Bucs beat the Seahawks. It was very exciting. These are some of my friends from “What The Buc?”
Old School, you are looking good man……………the weight loss is fantastic!
The Bucs won that game and Raymond James Stadium was rocking as the palm trees inside the stadium waved from a slight breeze to the massive crowed juiced up from the victory. But that wasn’t all, just across town at another stadium the Tampa Bay Rays baseball team was on a run for the World Series and were in the final innings. The game was a game seven as they had been down 4 to 1 against the Boston Red Sox just a few days before. Their comeback was one of the great sports stories at the time and if they won that particular game they’d go to the World Series against The Philadelphia Phillies. In Tampa this was an electrifying moment. My wife and I flew to Tampa essentially just for the Buccaneer game and the night before on a flight out of Baltimore the captain knowing that game 6 was so important to most of the passengers headed for Tampa piped in the game to the in-seat headsets. I listened to the Rays win that game going to game 7 the following night and the plane erupted with cheers. It was a phenomenal experience as perfect strangers were high fiving each other just because the game ended with the Tampa Bay Rays winning the game.
The next day prior to the Buccaneer tailgate party my wife and I had lunch outside at a nice restaurant at the International Mall. On October 19th 2008, it was a warm day in Florida and very pleasant around noon. We had stayed the night before at the same hotel where the Seattle Seahawks were staying. Due to the collective hostility toward them, they stayed in their rooms confined to their wing, mainly for their own protection as Tampa was revved up for their sports teams everywhere anybody went. It was a hostile environment for a visiting team to the Bay area. My wife and I ordered up a fine bottle of wine since we arrived late into town and the hotel let us have the outside pool area to ourselves until 2 AM as a special favor. We were having a nice time. This carried over to a nice breakfast by the bay, some quick phone calls to my Tampa contacts at the tailgate party, then arrangement for lunch. At the International Mall even that early in the day on a Sunday people were absolutely ecstatic having two massive sports events in town at the same time, the Buccaneer game and the Rays’ playoff game. It was an electrifying lunch which just intensified as the day wore on.
Many hours later, the Buc game ended in a victory but the Rays games was still rolling on. So the Raymond James Stadium crew turned on the rest of the Rays game onto the jumbotron scoreboards so the fans at the Buccaneers game could watch the Rays win that remarkable comeback performance against the Boston Red Sox. When David Price got the final out of that game I have never heard such an eruption of fan excitement as I did that day. The entire Raymond James Stadium exploded into cheers that were so intense that I thought the concrete of the place would shake apart. And it wasn’t just inside the stadium, but outside as well. The cars on the streets tooted their horns wherever they were and a rumble of cheers came from the city streets from as far away as sound could carry them. The ceremony went on for many hours and lasted all the way back to our hotel. The streets were clogged with people who stopped in the street and were dancing on their cars. It was an amazing experience.
I found myself joined with those people as a rugged individualist even though many of the people who wanted to shake my hand and hug me were likely people who would find my politics and social stance reprehensibly too strict for them. This was because the “Tapestries of Ideology” had been removed by the Buccaneer football game and the World Series entry of the Tampa Bay Rays. That emotion lasted until we got on a plane the next day, on a Monday and flew home. Once we landed back in Cincinnati, the “Tapestries of Ideology” were back in full force as Cincinnati had not experienced such a thing. The Reds had lost yet again, and the Bengals still sucked and people had nothing to unit them away from their personal ideologies created for them by power groups and charlatans.
As I told Matt, in 2014 the “Tapestries of Ideology” are coming down not because of a sporting event, but because information is so easy to receive from new media, video games requiring thought are outselling movies, television is being forced to produce thoughtful programming instead of sophomoric “booby humor” and the realization that most everybody has been lied to by a politician from both parties is impossible to escape. Common non-political people are sick of politics because it’s in their face now that Obamacare is taking more of their money with unjust taxation. For the same reason that the Seattle Seahawks had to stay in their hotel rooms in Tampa gazing from their balconies down onto my wife and I lounging at the pool below them trapped like convicts, politicians are finding that the world outside of Washington D.C. is not friendly to them. The “Tapestries of Ideology” are no longer hiding the antics of Obama and his miscreants of duality. They are exposed, and the things that normally divide people are failing, uniting unlikely souls toward uncharted territory.
I predicted to Matt that before 2014 ends this illuminating statistic would become more pronounced. It may not be measurable month by month—like the hands of a clock. If you stare at the situation, little movement will be observed. But if you turn away and look again five minutes from now, a huge change in hand position will be noticed. Thus, the same type of thing will occur throughout 2014. Watching day by day throughout February, March, and April, little will appear to change, but by the time that we reach December of 2014, quite a lot will. People are waking up and the old tricks executed with the “Tapestries of Ideology” are not working because people know what are behind those tapestries. They now know what they conceal and it is no longer enough to just look at the surface of things. People are looking deeper.
The top-selling books on the market are not the Steven King types as they have been in the past, they are Bill O’Reilly, Glenn Beck, Charles Krauthammer and Star Wars all works of tradition, thought, and rebellion against established thinking. The time has come and gone for the progressive. They have ruined the world, and are presently still in power, but the mess they made people resent—and they can no longer hide behind “Tapestries of Ideology.” Without those tapestries, there isn’t anything to hide the true intentions of the progressive—and that is what 2014 in the context of history most will be known for. Mark it on your calendar—because it will be a big year for truth, justice……………………..and the American Way as the “Tapestries of Ideology” come crashing down.
New York City is a utopian dream. That is the point Doc Thompson and Skip LeCombe were making on The Blaze Radio Network. New York is the safe haven of progressives; it is the result of their policies, philosophies and influence. New York is the result of progressive authority so if it were so great—it should be “perfect.” Yet the reality of the situation is far from it, New York has some real trouble and the fault is squarely on the shoulders of progressives. This has never been more obvious than in the public education industry—and specifically a school in New York City. Public School 106 in Rockaway, New York is one of the most poorly run schools in the United States and is the embodiment of what happens when progressives are able to make the world into their image. It is run by Marcella Sills, a 48-year-old club hopping socialite who spends more time in her fur coat and BMW than she does on her job which she seldom even shows up for. When she does come to work it is past 11 AM. The classrooms are infested with vermin and the smell of urine, there are few substitute teachers, and the kids frequently watch movies all day instead of learning anything—while Marcella Sills makes $128,207 off the American taxpayer. Listen to Doc and Skip address this very serious issue on their very popular Blaze Radio Network show on every day from 6 AM to 9 AM all over the world.
Thus, public schools to some degree or another are the net result of progressive policy and the faults now being seen so grotesquely in our modern society is directly their fault. They own the poor performance, they own the treachery of the teacher unions, the sexual molestation of students, the bullying, the sheer stupidity, the apathy, the broken budgets—progressives own all the troubles because they created them first hand.
Of course as a middle-ager I have been in many personal circumstances where I have had success with something, then others trained in progressive concepts has attempted to loot off my efforts and then sign their name to my success. My standard policy is the moment this happens I put down my work and let the looters choke on their own bad decisions. I do not allow them to loot off my efforts so that they can appear to know what they are doing. I do not support “group” circle jerk endeavors where progressive concepts are allowed to sap the strength of my ideas. The moment I see it, I remove my influence and let the parasites choke on their own bad policy and stupidity. I do not let them use me as a shield from reality. I step aside and let them feel the full impact of their poor decisions. To do anything else would be to allow a deception. The same holds true for large organizations like public schools. To allow public education to hide behind the good efforts of a football player who is exceptional and earning scholarships all over America, or the parents who truly love their children and want what’s best for them—public schools often hide behind such exceptions and sign their name to their success as a collective enterprise. They say often—“we produced the star athlete,” or the child who achieved honors for academic aptitude. The individual efforts of the athlete or the loving parents are almost always ignored in favor of collective salvation.
However in New York, the haven of progressivism, there aren’t many people of quality to sap off of so progressives are left unshielded from reality. Most of the good people have left and moved to more conservative areas of the country leaving only losers, malcontents and progressives to run the entire endeavor—and the evidence of their work is eye-popping obvious. Marcella Sills might as well be Michelle Obama, or Hillary Clinton—they are all progressives who are nothing but leeches off of society. If they look good in their nice clothes are fancy cars it is not because of their skills, their personal aptitude, but because they have benefited from taking from others and reaping the fruits personally.
Much was made of Michelle Obama’s recent 50th birthday and how good she looked. The American media addicted to European royalty wanted to make her into something she’s not—a goddess of progressive ideals—but all she is–is a simple thief. Neither of the Obamas currently in The White House could be plopped down in a business situation and make it profitable. Neither has the skill to assess human potential or find a profit margin in a task that only exists in a mind and that makes them functionally worthless. So they become members of government so that they can earn through the IRS the ability to steal worth from people who create it and provide the illusion that they are people of success too.
When Marcella Sills arrives late almost every morning to her rat infested school in her fur coat and night club clothing fueled by her six figure salary she is stating to the world that she is a success. She is so successful that she can come and go as she pleases in her BMW. But she is nothing but a looter—only at Public School 106 in Rockaway, New York there is nobody to steal value from. The teachers, the students, the parents, the politicians are either all progressive, heavily government dependent, or being taught to be—so there is nobody of any value to steal from leaving Marcella grossly exposed as a fraud.
For more times than I can count I have been asked by people who think they are superior to me—socially, politically, financially, or even intellectually—how do you know how to judge the talent of people, how do you know how to recruit, how do you know how to see something that does not exist yet so clearly. I am often good about these kinds of encounters and often try to teach people so that they can do for themselves. Sadly, often this is not what is going on. The interrogators are simply wanting to steal my recipe so that they can put their name on my concepts. Of course they are willing to share the credit with me until they can politically push me aside later—or so they believe. But I never allow it, and their failures are predictably on par every single time. I can almost name the date on a calendar when they will fail if I take away my input—and deep down inside they know it.
That is when the word “team” comes out of their mouths—“it’s good for the team, the organization as a whole—if you tell me how you did this—or that.” But it never is—its only good for them so that they can steal value and hide their incompetency behind it. From my vantage point, it is best for an organization to understand where they are failing and to expose the problem areas by preventing the looting of value from others. In this way an organization can have success by spotting the personnel that is robbing its strength. Public schools have no such dynamic—so they perpetually must rob money from the tax payer to inject their institutions with value that they do not have—and can never get.
Marcella Sills, or Michelle Obama cannot make value where it doesn’t exist. Just because they have a fur coat paid for by tax payers, or their own private airplane to fly around the world—they are simply second handers—people who cannot live without the aid of others to help them. Their lives are second handed and totally reliant on some primary to initiate everything. All they are able to do is loot off the existence of those who create. In New York’s public schools where such value is lacking—the buildings and social structure are failing miserably—because there aren’t enough people of value to steal from leaving Public School 106 in Rockaway, New York a dump vacant of a mind or caring soul to save it from people like Marcella Sills.
It is time for everyone else to do what I have suggested and that is to remove their value from such institutions and allow those collective organizations to choke on their own failure. The best thing for children is to see the contrasts clearly between those who have value and those who do not. To allow a lie to continue is to allow a system that is corrupt by progressive influence to loot off the efforts of the good—which doesn’t teach children anything but how to grow up and become looters themselves. It’s not always so easy to see in places like Lakota, or Beverly Hills where people of value and wealth live—but behind the scenes running all these places are incompetent fools like Marcella Sills. The only real difference is that Sills is running a school where the entire population is progressive, where other places that are wealthy have a portion of the population that can be stolen from in value propping up everyone else. The behavior is the same—and so are the results.
When Middletown schools defeated their 2013 school levy by the narrow margin of 238 votes the media made some theater of the issue and behaved as though something troubling was amiss. Then those same voices cried out in shock as it was announced that Target—the popular chain of retail stores was closing two area stores—one directly in Middletown and another nearby. Upon that news I could only shake my head. Most people do not see the connection of high costs through taxation, unemployment, and how such things repeal a thriving retail community. Those same voices are currently arguing for higher minimum wages and even more taxes for wasteful public schools teaching children liberal educations instead of conservative ones. Then they are stunned when a large department store like Target wants to move out of their community when thriving Target stores in nearby Bridgewater Falls, and Voice of America are swelling with business. To them it doesn’t seem fair—they feel that Target retail stores should stay open regardless of how much money they are making as they are performing a social service. And they believe these things because they have been taught through public school and other liberal dominated places, that socialism works and is good—when in fact it is bad and destroys communities like Middletown.
I have watched Middletown decline all of my life. Unlike Michael Moore who had a personal crisis when he saw the same type of decline happen to his town of Flint, Michigan, I know very well what has caused and is causing the declines in economic activity around Middletown. It’s not the rich, greedy, white man as the socialist Moore proposed—it is human nature which turns and runs from too much interconnected responsibility with human beings who do not share their values. Real estate investors, the kind of people who would buy homes of value in Middletown, and the kind of people who decide or not to bring Target stores to the Middletown area do so based on the prospect of value and profit their product can render. As I watched interviews from the residents around Middletown speaking of the vacant strip malls which used to be filled with economically vibrant diversity—they are perplexed as to why they are no longer there—as if their existence had come to be so to provide a service to those people. They never grasped that those businesses existed in those places so that they could offer a product or service so that they could make money, and when they cannot make that money—they leave.
Not a single member of government can bring a Target store to the Middletown area. No government can create the jobs of a Target store. They can lure Target to the Middletown area with the promise of lower taxes, but they cannot get management to do all the work of operating a retail store there. If taxes go up after a Target store has come to an area, then Target has to sell more retail goods to offset their profit losses expunged from the taxes. And if the kinds of people who come to those highly taxed stores are typical welfare recipients who are diseased by their own unhealthy lifestyles, Target is not going to make much money. Target’s costs will be high because those types of people tend to have high crime rates among their populations, and high crime means sales margins are eroded. Store maintenance in such places tends to be high as well. Target as a management group can put the same effort into the VOA area and have much higher profit margins because the crime is not nearly so bad, the people are respectful of each other, and the employee base there is more robust and dependable. In Middletown where many Target workers are weighing working everyday at the retail giant or staying home and collecting welfare, it is difficult to maintain a staff which can successfully provide the kind of service that attracts good customers as opposed to bad ones. Nobody wants to go to a store to buy a pair of pants and hear a rant from some “baby momma” who is bitter about their life and is as snappy as a piranha in the Amazon.
Good people do not like to associate with bad people. Moms with 10 year marriages, two children they are caring for, and a purse full of money they worked their ass off to get do not want to be greeted at the door of a Target by gang bangers, drug dealers, and the type of people who would rather buy a bottle of Jack Daniels over a bar of soap. Those moms tend to spend their money in places where they can share their experience with people who have common values with them. They don’t want to deal with such people who provide cat calls wanting sex by a malignant group of misdirected youth gathering in the parking lot of a Target to distribute drugs into the Middletown area. They would rather go to the Voice of America target where the people are nice, affluent, and respectful.
The same decline in economic activity can be seen elsewhere around the Cincinnati area. Detroit is not the only place where socialism and bad political management of taxed resources have destroyed communities. And ultimately the fault rests squarely on the government schools which for three decades advocated socialism over capitalism leaving people completely defenseless intellectually to deal with the concept that Target stores will move away from their communities if they do not maintain a quality about their lives which is conducive to positive economic growth. It doesn’t take long when socialism enters a community to destroy it. Politicians who give away the efforts of the productive disincentivize that continued activity which pushes away the productive leaving only the parasitic to reside in their communities. When effort is taxed and those looted resources are then given to the unproductive, what else would or should happen? The politician who suggests socialism is essentially stating that those who can pull a wagon full of those unwilling to walk should do so out of the kindness of their hearts—but the reality is that nobody of any worth, or intelligence would do so. They’d put down the wagon handle and walk off leaving all those riding in the wagon to transport themselves.
The Middletown school levy failed because the tipping point had been reached. There are still plenty of apartment dwellers, welfare recipients, and parasitic drug addicts who will vote in favor of the Middletown school levy because they really have nothing to lose. Someone else is likely to pay for the taxes they voted in favor of. But, in doing so the good property owner sells his apartment buildings to a “slum lord” and the profitable enterprise like Target simply pulls away from the area taking with them responsible employees who would pay taxes into a community. It doesn’t take long to run out of other people’s money—and this is what has happened in Middletown, and why Target is leaving.
These are the dangers of socialism and if you believe that taxes can forever be raised on those able to pay—you have been taught incorrectly—and you should blame the foolish public school which put such ideas into your head. Those socialist beliefs are what have killed Middletown over many years to such an extent that it cannot even support a Target store. That realization is a crushing blow to a community that has forever seen its better days. Once an area gets a stigma of having too much crime, too much low intellectual aptitude, and an unproductive workforce—it’s over. Such reputations cannot be easily won again and only time will heal such things. Only Middletown doesn’t have time—and neither does its people.
Over the weekend I saw what I think is one of the most effective commercial campaigns I have ever seen while watching some of the NFL playoff games. Old Spice aired its 60 second “Momsong” which was absolutely hilarious not just in a quirky way reminiscent of Monte Python humor or a Pee Wee’s Playhouse episode, but in a social metaphorical one. It actually brilliantly points to a central problem in modern “Western” society and dares an entire demographic to challenge the premise. That challenge will likely sell a lot of the Old Spice brand of deodorant, aftershave and soap. “Momsong” deals specifically with the pain that women experience watching the little boys they spent and sacrificed so much for—growing up, and having to hand away that care to another woman—a much younger woman. For most women, this is an epic crisis that they never fully get over and most will take that pain to their graves. It is the primary cause of overeating and mental disorders centering on female neurosis in that age bracket and is a major contributor to many modern social problems. The commercial had my wife and I laughing hard for a good part of the weekend and now several days later it is still funny. Have a look for yourself.
I think being a mom is the most important job in the world. There is nothing which more properly sets in motion the consciousness of a human being than the contributions of a mother. I don’t care if it is the CEO of a company, or the president of a nation—being a mom is the number one job in order of importance among all professions in the human race. There isn’t even a close second except perhaps fatherhood. However, I have watched more moms destroy their children right out of the gate because they held on too long to the lives of their little babies when they should have played a role in the launching of their lives. I say such a thing as I have walked two of my own children down the aisle of marriage—so I know something about this subject matter. Thinking back on my own youthful years where I was the gravity well that so many other rebellious young men grabbed on to so to escape their overbearing mothers, I deliberately provoked those moms into occasional melt downs to pay them back for what I saw them doing to my friends. One mother of a very close friend hated me so badly that she encouraged her son to hang out with known drug addicts and sexual perverts rather than Rich Hoffman who was symbolic of a virtual devil to their neurotic hearts. And this particular woman wasn’t the only one. In many homes all across Southern Ohio as there still is, was a virtual voodoo doll of “yours truly” made by mothers who saw me as the single greatest threat to their happiness because I encouraged their children to rebel away from the safety of their safe embrace and to leap boldly out into the danger of the world. I literally watched many moms behave not far off the mark of that Old Spice commercial—I watched more literal melt downs not much different from the mom who floated out of the couch at the end—across the floor and sorrowfully back into her seated position to conclude the commercial with a pathetic whimper. Typically it is another female that provokes this reaction from mothers—but in my case it was my personality who delivered these overly coddled young boys to women through my charisma, fast driving, and overly perilous lifestyle that made me public enemy number one in their book. And those emotions have lasted for decades, and nobody suffered more than my own mom who was very loving, very caring, and put a lot of effort into her thankless job. For that reason I rebelled harder than any room full of testosterone driven virulent males. The situation was so bad that literally every friend I had male and female behaved like the mothers in the Old Spice commercial to some extent or another. As over-the-top as that commercial appeared—I have seen firsthand the same behavior from moms of almost every person I grew up knowing.
My reasoning for provoking these poor mothers was not to torture them into mental breakdowns—which some of them actually submitted to. Even back then I had a very clear understanding of what I was doing and what my social role was in the greater society. As advanced as American culture appears technologically, we are very primitive psychologically and I knew of other cultures considered primitive that had very specific rituals designed to deal with this specific problem—the initiation into manhood. Girls do not have this problem as they become literal women the moment they develop breasts and begin having their menstrual cycle. Boys to men do not have this coming of age moment—a ritual which announces to them that they have arrived to manhood. Many cultures have circumcision rituals to mimic the menstrual cycle in women to allow young boys to have a psychological crisis which allows the mind to accept a new social role as a man. Other cultures have rituals where the women play a role of coddling the young boys until other men of a tribe dressed as monsters steal the boys from their mothers and take them away from their homes terrifying them into manhood. The message to the boys is that your mothers cannot save you, you must save yourself. The introduction of a crisis launches the boys into manhood and after the ritual the other men of the tribe treat the boy as an equal warrior.
In American culture—especially with the introduction of feminism there is no ritual for young boys. Young girls of course still have their menstrual cycles but boys are left to create their own manhood initiation and by default it is sexual experience which determines the men from the boys. Once a boy has sexual intercourse he can then proclaim to other males that he has arrived to manhood. It is this ritual that the Old Spice commercial is tapping in to. Mothers know that their little boys are attempting to break away from their loving embracing by “bagging and tagging” a young female who will then become the new female in his life—away from mother. Since the mother often these days does not have a loving relationship with her husband—a real male of her own sense feminism has taught her that she doesn’t need one—women have by default overly coddled their sons to fulfill their own maternal needs.
Women desire to love and be loved and in a healthy relationship with a husband—they can find that love which they desperately yearn for. Without that love, they become miserable specimens often prematurely becoming old, ugly, and bitter—they become the moms in the Old Spice commercial. Feminism has told women that they can substitute a man in their lives with a career—but they can’t. Women in the work place are still looking for love wherever they can find it, whether it be in an office stockroom, on top of a copying machine, or in a hotel lobby while traveling on the road with perfect strangers away from their wives. The career woman seeks such sexual conquests knowing they are stealing away men from their wives—their new mothers—and it touches a spot of joy lacking from their lives. But once the cloths go back on and the woman goes through a decade or two of these kinds of relationships they are emptier shells of people than the mother who cleaved desperately to her son out of fear of having something in her life to live for.
Old Spice is doing what I have done to young men and mothers for most of my life—daring moms not to be so narcotic, and young men to shake off their moms by buying such a rebellious product. I think the marketing is brilliant because it is tapping into a primal urge that is completely ignored in modern society—and is literally holding down our entire worldly culture. I never saw my rebellious actions as harmful to the mothers of my friends. I saw it as saving them. In some cases those women reconnected with their husbands after pouring their attention into their sons for over 15 years—ignoring the poor chaps—and out of anger against me—dusted off their relationships. Having a calculated crisis is much different from a crisis that happens without your control. I see the need for a ritual that delivers boys to men not just for their sake, but for the mothers who love them—for their own psychological preservation so that they can become productive grandparents and healthy contributors to society. I have seen many women carry grudges against the wives of their sons for decades because the moms never forgive the new women for how they wrecked their lives by tragically stealing away from them the object of their love—their sons.
The Old Spice commercial is brilliant in that they are even attempting to define this problem. When I first saw it I knew that somewhere at the Old Spice marketing department was a guy or a group people who understood this crises the way I did and it brought a smile to my face. The commercial will certainly help sales for Old Spice. But it will also bring to light a problem that is as old as time itself—the crisis of a mother and her sons and the need of all males to understand when, how, and why they must become men. Moms need to be a part of that process—not a hindrance and to that point—Old Spice has contributed not only a great commercial worthy of a Superbowl, but a work of art that speaks to a central problem in our very confused society.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 160,000 times in 2013. If it were an exhibit at the Louvre Museum, it would take about 7 days for that many people to see it.
Who plans a trip to Kansas or Iowa for a vibrant family vacation that they’ve saved up for a year to embark on? Almost nobody. The only people who do visit these places do so primarily to visit family members. Most would consider a vacation to destinations like Disney World, Atlantis in the Bahamas, or Hawaii to be……….good, respectable, and worth the effort. When people decide to take a vacation to a luxurious destination, there is a promise of goods and services that are beyond the scope of every day life which is the aim of their experience. A vacation to Kansas, Iowa or any other Midwestern state lacking such luxuries just isn’t very attractive—certainly not worth saving up large sums of money to experience. Well the same could be said when the government says that they want to bring more people into the “middle-class.” When government oriented people, and union leaders say people should strive to be in the middle class, they are essentially saying that people should strive to vacation in Kansas instead of reaching for the stars in Hawaii. The middle class is not a destination worth pursuing—it is simply a settlement—a concession to the life dreams of youth—and it is appalling.
The middle class is not something people should strive to become. They should in America strive to become upper-class—or to live their lives beyond a class system all together. They should live life beyond judgments of any kind—but if such things are required, the opinion that should be pursued is to have “class” and work to elevate their lives and the families who depend on them to heights of respectability. To state that one wishes to become a member of the “middle class” is essentially declaring that they are taking their family to Kansas for vacation to look at large fields of farming that extend to the edge of the world. Kansas is a wonderful place for grain production, and family value—but not exactly a vacation destination for anyone who has their eyes on something more exotic. For people who would settle on such a vacation they are purposely avoiding the scope and culture of a world beyond those fields.
When government states that they want to expand the “middle class” they are saying that people should not strive to become members of the “elite” which is how they often see themselves. They want a middle class because they want a voting population that is willing to settle into being comfortably numb and subservient to them. The term middle class is the desire of the upper class—so-called—to rule over someone, and the desire is exclusively created to set a target for people’s lives which do not challenge the established peaking order of the political class—who wish to believe they rule over everyone else.
I dare anybody to produce a name to this website of a very wealthy person not involved in politics to some extent. I’m sure there are some, but there are not many. The reason is that wealthy people from the upper class are expected to contribute to political campaigns to keep politicians from looting their lifestyle in other ways. This activity gives politicians the illusion that they are members of the upper class—because they tend to associate with members of society who are wealthy. They don’t often speak to the common middle class people—until they want votes—and when they want those votes, they want to know who the middle class people are, what their ambitions are, and where they want to go for vacation. It helps the cause of the politician if the members of the middle class don’t expect too much in life so it is easier for them to provide government services to meet their desires. So they encourage people into the “middle class” with the same reasoning that a lazy, no good father takes his family to Kansas to watch plants grow on a farm because they are too cheap to take their family to Disney World. So politicians lower the expectations so it is easier to fulfill the parameters of a good vacation.
Calling someone a member of the “middle class” is like calling them a cheap suit, a fast food restaurant, or in more equitable terms a Ford Focus as opposed to Lamborghini. You make do if that’s all you can accomplish, but you certainly would not consider “aspiring” to such a thing. To accept a Ford Focus is to settle, but one should always work in their life to drive a Lamborghini………..they may never get there, but their life will be better because they at least tried. Being in the “middle class” is to settle for a life that one is not in charge of—that is always subservient to a “ruling class” where ironically the people who are most vocal about a middle class speak the loudest.
Any education system which trains citizens to be “middle class” is deliberately stunting the economic growth of its society. Any politician who promotes the middle class is seeking to rule over the minds of the masses. Any citizen happy to be one of the middle class is a lazy antithesis to the dreamers born of freedom. They are disingenuous to their nation and to themselves for setting the bar so low that they hold down everyone connected intellectually with them just a little bit—enough to have catastrophic consequences on human development.
The middle class is not something to aspire to, it is an insult—and politicians routinely utilize that dialogue so that it has become common place—so common that it doesn’t even come across as an insult. For those who are content to say—I’m just a simple man of simple means—and am happy to be in the middle of the pack—then being in the middle class is where they belong. But there are those who are like Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, and many others who are not content to stand in line behind the rules politicians have outlined for mankind, and be content to stay in the middle class. They reach for the stars and sometimes snag one—and all of society is better for it. But to catch a star someone has to reach for them, and in the middle class, most are fat, dumb, and happy to just have their average car, their average wife, their average children, their average education, their average house, their average mind, their average cloths, their average intellect and measure themselves not against the best in society but their neighbor and what kind of lawn mower they have, what vehicle they drive, and dress they way they dress. Politicians love those types of people because they do what they are told and do not question anything that might make them stand apart from the crowd. They are the middle class and when someone declares that they are of that “class” the term is an insult—not a credit.
No child would admire a parent who grants their family a trip to Kansas when they had Disney World as an alternative. The reason trips to exotic places are more rewarding than those to common—easy destinations that are far cheaper, and more practical is because the expensive, hard to reach objective means more, and yields better. It is not admirable to just be average—but trying to be exceptional is commendable—and that is a trait that cannot be engineered from the human mind. It is attempted with modern education, but it has not been successful. People deep down inside share a love for the exceptional, and they yearn to reach for the stars themselves. But most fall victim to the old scam from politics declaring that the middle class is a destination worthy of lifelong endowment. Yet it’s not, being in the middle class is just an announcement that they are not a threat to the powers who crave to live in the upper class—the class where the wealthy give financial donations to parasites called politicians, and those same politicians gain the illusion of power because their associates are donors trying to buy government off their back. Such people need someone to rule over—so they call those people “middle class” and insist that if everyone stays in that category—then the government will care for them like a nice and noble king. It is the unsaid rule to the class system inherited by the debauchery of Europe—that the middle class exists, and is a term that should have no place in the language of America.
The Overmanwarrior 
