“If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen.” Samuel Adams
Wrote this short 2500-word story Christmas day; put it on Smashwords for FREE last night.
It’s Christmas Eve and college student Jamison Riley has chosen to spend the holiday alone, in Sigma Mu Pi’s just-off-campus frat house. Of course the fact he’s arranged a blind date for tonight had something to do with turning down several relatives’ offers. The date is after all, the first such opportunity – of any “acuity” – he’s had all semester…
Note: find “the rest of the story” titled The Daily Conjuror, HERE (for 99-cents).
Dear Huffington Post readers:
This statement appeared on H-P, below the comment box after I left what follows…
“Due to the potentially sensitive nature of this (H-P) article, your comment may take longer to appear publicly.”
There’s only one reason I can think of for a Man to actually carry a bag. And his reaction would more likely be: Hey dude, how many Glocks does that baby hold?
Every activity/freedom on this list is meant to further blur-the-line between the Male SEX and the Female SEX. (Yes, my little grrl-power friend, I use the word “sex” because you hate it so. p.s. Sex is 99.999% either/or; it’s “preferences/proclivities” that are all over the place.) I suspect such women quote-unquote journalists DESPISE having been born Female (um-m-m Free-for-all Abort-Abort-Abortions?), so want to hurry up the destruction of what they can never be: a Masculine-Male. If she doesn’t SEE any of you Masculine-Males then, like the highchair-confined, Cheerio-dropping toddler she seems to be, both you AND that pesky “O” have disappeared. At least from her reality – and those women like her she directs her articles to.
So quick, gentlemen, do as you’re told: grab some eyeliner, throw on a fancy-hat, some pink yoga pants, open-toed shoes, and git yer hot selfie out there. Oh, and twerk-the-town red.
Thanks go out to Chapin’s Inferno (where I posted this rant first in the comments) for the heads-up on the latest “good word” from the Left.
This is a transcript of a YouTube video, which I open with…
Greetings rebels to King George and curious others.
What is it that brings tears of Joy to your eyes? Is it finding out you bought a winning lottery ticket? Hearing a favorite piece of movie music? Reading about a pivotal moment in history?
It happened to me once again last night, while watching an ad on YouTube – for a Volvo truck, of all things – and today I decided to figure out why.
Not surprisingly I’d searched for that particular Volvo original short after watching something else: the so-called Chuck Norris parody of Jean Claude Van Damme’s truck stunt. The computer created Chuck-short featured a retro Ken-doll Norris, of course in a cowboy hat. His beard looked sprayed-on and his face was as smooth as a 15-year-old’s. Yes, it was laugh out loud clever.
Then I tracked down the Van Damme ad. And was mesmerized. And teared up, like I said.
And now, a day later, I’m absolutely convinced that it hasn’t been seen by 62 million people. Nope, I’m betting it’s more like 6.2 – 12.4 million and like me, they’ve watched it five-to-ten times each.
Mesmerized – from the opening seconds onwards – by the haunting music of Enya…
Held by the still appealing though undeniably weathered face and poignant voice-over from Van Damme…
Amazed by this one man’s steely calm and still-unflagging athleticism…and lastly…
Wowed by the sheer beauty of the rising sun gleaming off the twin Volvo machines which so ably co-star with a real-life action hero. For what courage it must take to attempt such a stunt!
So…to the more subtle difference between the Chuck Norris parody and this original, and what I believe makes the former a video that elicits a chuckle and a grin and Van Damme’s one that earns a joyful tearing up and a lasting inward glow.
Aside from the fact the Norris video is fake, it is dependent on a show of State Force, albeit force wrapped not in the proverbial velvet-glove, rather wrapped in Christmas lights and pretty signal flares. Sure “Norris” also straddles two mighty machines, which for all I know could be held aloft by Volvo engines. But these machines are war birds of some sort, painted grey or grey-blue (and is it just me or does the one whose nose we see look to be smiling?). The planes and the soldier-heroes this video’s splitting stunt man singlehandedly holds aloft are State-trained, then retained, and finally, dispatched by the State for one purpose only: to do harm to someone or something it has deemed its enemy. In other words, They Live to Destroy. Not only that, but they do all this by means of stolen property, tax-dollars taken at gunpoint, albeit implied-gunpoint, by your friends and mine, the I.R.S.
Now consider the real ad.
Think of how that one-minute and seventeen-seconds came to be and think of what it embodies:
It’s actually very simple. There were no threats, no real or implied force; just a boat load of FREE CHOICES. Men freely choosing to develop excellent skills…and then businesses bringing those skilled men together with the raw-materials upon which they could apply their skills.
Together voluntarily, cooperatively, Volvo and Van Damme worked to create an excellent synergistic Physical-plus-Performance “product.” Volvo engineers voluntarily traded their time to design and refine the machines Van Damme was then carried atop; Van Damme himself voluntarily used his physical being; traded his time to train hard – not merely for this stunt, but to maintain his fitness over all these years – and then he voluntarily got up and stood on those magnificent truck’s mirrors, and was driven flawlessly – backwards and timed to perfection – into the sunrise.
Freedom to create Excellence. What could be more beautiful or more joyful?
Until next time, Keep Rebelling and keep creating, in whatever medium YOUR talents and skills are most excellently utilized!
Volvo + Van Damme on YouTube.
See the Chuck Norris video here.
Every time I sweep these babies off the deck I start imagining how the “creative process” might have played out. Wanna bet nature’s B-B’s would sting just a bit if they came off one of this gentleman’s slingshots? Now you’ll notice once well dried out, they do have a surface “crinkle” texture. I’m not sure if that’s a help or a hindrance aerodynamically…
Buy the complete 6800 word/20+ page story NOW! Here at Smashwords.com, only $0.99!
Part 2 of 11
Aristolia Stewart Dunsmore let her pounding heart calm down a little…
…then she climbed back on the seat of the motorized bicycle and pedaled as fast as she could. The blasted thing had stalled out or she’d shut it off; she couldn’t remember. Not after the near miss with the speed demon in a low-slung car moments before.
“Yeah, all right, so I was on the wrong side of the road,” the teen said aloud. Ari as she preferred to be called, now crossed over to the proper side, naturally without checking the road behind her. “But that idiot…” she emphasized the id– so much she set off an unseen dog somewhere in the yard of the nearest estate. Its tiny yipping betraying its harmlessness. “Shut up, you pathetic dog-wannabe. Even you know,” she looked towards the barking as if she’d see the creature through the privacy walls. “You…a dumb dog, know how twisty turny the streets are inside this prison camp. Geez…it’s what stupid drivers like that pay for. The ‘Old world charm,’ or some B.S. like that. At least its not cobblestones.”
A full moon looking about to burst sat on the eastern horizon as Ari finally pulled up to the entry gate at the end of her own long driveway. She punched in the code and waited impatiently for the wrought iron monstrosity to swing aside. Patting her oversized leather jacket’s chest pocket to fill some time made a crinkle-crunch, crinkle-crunch. The pages stolen from hunky Kirk Paine’s house. She smiled. Ari’d known Bithia Paine’s library was off limits long before she lied her way into the house this night. The first time, at a party a couple of weeks ago, she’d entered innocently. Tonight Kirk’d left her alone in the entryway for a few minutes and she’d snuck back down a hallway and into it.
He caught her before she’d made it all the way back out. Startled, she couldn’t think of anything to say so did the first thing that would have come to any red-blooded teen girl’s mind if she’d been looking full into the face of the quintessentially tall, tan, blonde quarterback: Ari kissed him. Which startled both her and him. Thankfully it had given her a few seconds to realize, yes, she’d put his mother’s old leather covered book back on its shelf.
Ari’d read blog posts about how girls only had to hint that a man had “tried something;” it looked like the ultimate empowerment trip. Rumor had it Kirk’s girl-troubled past and a recent additional accusation had gotten him kicked out of his last private school. That stupid kiss just now might turn into insurance…against him revealing her latest and greatest trespass.
She knew well about “troubled” pasts; the collection of plaid private-school skirts in her closet testified to it. Funny thing was that last school of Kirk’s was her “only.” As in the only one nearby she had yet to be kicked out of; it didn’t count that she hadn’t run afoul of the public high school she and he were currently sentenced to.
“Why, Judge…” she’d say if need be, “moonlight makes a guy do such cray-y-y-zy things…” She laughed.
“That you, child?” a voice said. It came from the intercom set into the stone-facade of the mini-wall around the property. Castle Dunsmore as Ari called her adopted parents Uncle Ted and Aunt Nell Dunsmore’s brand new hulking house.
“Uh-h-h, yup. Just me, James. Stayed, uh-h-h, at the library…doing research. On my way in.” James was the limo driver for mega-preacher Ted (as Ari secretly called him). She was fairly certain James hadn’t seen her leave the house. The nearly-sixteen-year-old thought pretty highly of the old guy. Hated bending the truth with him, though on occasion had been known to flat out lie to her “Father,” Ted.
She walked the bike through the open space now the gate had opened all the way. Adopted great-grandmother, Nana Dru said it was large enough for a doublewide trailer. The teen then mounted up, started the small motor, and cruised slowly up the gently curving driveway towards the infamous dogleg turn. The builder couldn’t bear to cut down a centuries old tree of some kind. She rationalized aloud as she went, knowing she was well away from the intercom receiver. “I was in a library and I was doing research. Just want to help my new little sister. That’s all.”
Weeks prior she’d gone to a party at the Paine’s house on a “borrowed” invitation. Didn’t even have a little sister officially at that point. Ari only went to help out a twenty-year-old named Hennessey, whom she considered her big-sister. “Sisters helping sisters,” she’d explained to Nell and Ted when James returned from fetching her from that shindig afterwards. This time, for little Ebby, she’d done it all on her own. “Anybody gets in trouble? It’s gonna just be me…”
Besides, who hangs a “Do Not Enter” sign on a door during a party? The Paine woman practically begged me to try the lock by hanging it there that first time. All I did was look at a few of her dumb old books. Haven’t told anybody what I found, then or now, not even Kirk.
“So what’s a few more fibs?” Ari said, rounding the last turn towards her adopted parents estate, “if it helps a 7-year-old girl get well?” And if that one page can keep me from getting blamed? Sure Kirk’s mom is powerful, not to mention she’s the most beautiful woman in Polo Club or Doublespring, maybe all Texas. But now I believe the rumors about her; think I know how she does it. “Besides, I only took two…” she said out loud, defending herself to herself as she opened one of the garage doors then stowed her bike. Didn’t want her “casting” anything my way then, and hell, it’s “The Daily Conjuror,” so what I took two out of 365? That’s nothing. Looked like tons of them left.
“Geez, I just wanted to stay safe…”
END Part 2 of 11
The GOOD: You aren’t paranoid after all…the BAD? They really ARE coming for your guns. My YouTube essay here.
A Lt. Col. Bateman has written a guest article at Esquire. He thinks “gun-violins” just shouldn’t be allowed in the U.S. of A. His solution will warm the hearts of inner-city thugs everywhere.
Want to protect yourself? Or your family? Why then, here, have a smooth-bore musket. And a lead ball plus a whole thimble of powder! There you go. Now don’t forget to keep that powder dry. Nice doggy, good doggy.
Illustration can be found here.
At least read the rest of this overview of Stinnet’s book at Amazon:
From Publishers Weekly
Historians have long debated whether President Roosevelt had advance knowledge of Japan’s December 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor. Using documents pried loose through the Freedom of Information Act during 17 years of research, Stinnett provides overwhelming evidence that FDR and his top advisers knew that Japanese warships were heading toward Hawaii. The heart of his argument is even more inflammatory: Stinnett argues that FDR, who desired to sway public opinion in support of U.S. entry into WWII, instigated a policy intended to provoke a Japanese attack. The plan was outlined in a U.S. Naval Intelligence secret strategy memo of October 1940; Roosevelt immediately began implementing its eight steps (which included deploying U.S. warships in Japanese territorial waters and imposing a total embargo intended to strangle Japan’s economy), all of which, according to Stinnett, climaxed in the Japanese attack. (cont. on Amazon, here)
I first became aware of the unconscionable lies in the standard public-school version of the Pearl Harbor attacks as a home school instructor: using Richard Maybury’s (aka “Uncle Eric”) easy to read “World War II: the rest of the story and how it affects you.” (Yes, trolls, it was also easy to believe, having read/fact-checked/and studied several of the same author’s other student-directed books on Economics, Law, World War I, and his “1000 Year War in the Mideast.”)
America, there’s no excuse to continue your blind devotion to the war-mongering F.D.R. He caused harm to my father (may he rest-in-peace) and 100,000’s more simply by participating & surviving. But Roosevelt also killed millions of our forefathers (and aided in the deaths of many other foreigners in those at-war lands) by maneuvering the U.S.A. into that pet war of his.
May FDR Rot-In-Pain for this and all the other dirty deeds he no doubt did with his near-absolute three-term presidential power.
Victim-Politics…which is the monster created by, and brought to you by the divide-and-conquer pros @ CulturalMarxism. (Yes, trolls, I used a broadly inclusive political label there. Look it up. It doesn’t need defining. Again.)
Concerning Andrea Brazier, the Lunenburg, Mass. male-child abusing mother: (http://tinyurl.com/m6verqm), until a couple of weeks ago my pit-of-the-stomach-sick shock would have been strictly the WTF kind. Now after reading this (MUST READ & paradigm-changing) series of articles by Robert St. Estephe (http://tinyurl.com/k6x6wz2) it’s “just one more example” of females victimizing children (their own and others’). It’s bad enough she mind-raped her own son, but she’s also done the same to a whole lot of other kids in his school (particularly the football players) and entire town.
That this (almost certainly guilty-) woman could go on camera (http://tinyurl.com/kgroewf) (scroll to bottom of article) and demand the school do more, even threaten to be seeking an attorney is the height of Female Privilege; her husband (perhaps concealing the truth about the crime himself, according to the latter linked article) basically indicts a “few bad apples” on the local football teams in the “hate crime” as well.
This appeared first as a COMMENT on the highly recommended YouTube channel, “Chapin’s Inferno.”
As usual, I reject a liberal/leftist’s Reality and substitute my own. And I try to explain why!
Towards the end of R. Tod Kelly’s post on the phenomenon of “real” words morphing into a sort of tribal-slang, he says this:
I’m sure, for example, that there was a time before I read blogs when people arguing using the word “statist” had something important to tell me. Those days appear to be long gone, however. In fact, in the two years I’ve been writing here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make a coherent argument using the word “statist.” I don’t even think I’ve seen anyone make one that’s incoherent. Rather, it is trotted out and plopped down, as if there is nothing more is needed than the utterance of the word. “Because: statist” is invariably the answer I get when I ask for clarification or point out a flaw I see on a position using that word.
Does this mean that the word “statist” itself is a flawed word, or that there isn’t a great argument to be made about why a policy or program being statist is its fatal flaw? Of course not, and I’m sure that there is. But at this point, statist has become for movement conservatives of this generation what hegemony was for liberals of mine. It’s a marker meant to designate tribe, and little else. They’re quite a ways behind, but l believe libertarians are about to run into the same problem with “coercion.” The argument “because it’s coercion” is really the same as “because it’s statist” or “because its hegemony.”
Sounds like he’s been called a “statist” and wants to prove that particular Stick doesn’t hurt his particular Bones because, in fact, it’s meaningless-due-to-overexposure (by the nastiest TRIBE of all, the Other-than-His Tribe).
But why shouldn’t we “trot out” a term that we are pretty certain our readers understand? Isn’t that what language acquisition’s for (and language expansion)? Used to be you were expected to pick up a dictionary as you read, to figure out what you didn’t know, and thus, expand you mind a little every day. No more, apparently. [I couldn’t help but be reminded of an essay by Ayn Rand (“The Comprachicos,” from late 1970, and in this book) wherein she discusses how “Progressives” have used public education to stunt the reasoning abilities of American children like the essay’s namesakes deformed kidnapped children’s faces and bodies back in 17th century Europe.]
Anyway, here’s my off the cuff comment (including the as-posted typos)
People prove they’re Statists all the time. Just as there are telltale common attributes all Vegetarians share, making the definition of their “vegetarianism” unnecessary, so to with Statists. Therefore the term can legitimately be thrown out there as an “explanation.” But if you need a definition:
Statist: wants some level or other of “the Government” to manage/dictate health insurance (as the feds are now trying to do), continue to set and enforce the minimum wage (and even perhaps in future return to FDR’s price controls, which Nixon may have done as well), declare which crimes are “hateful” (therefore which ones are, I guess, Love Crimes), etc. etc. etc.
BTW Statist and Coercion are inexorably intertwined, actually. A statist believes the solution to most, if not all, problems (the few mentioned above, ad infinitum) lies in more laws, more “programs,” more agencies with more “oversight” (a surveillance-state, ultimately), etc. If you “get” that the State has what’s termed “the monopoly of force,” (in fact it’s merely the monopoly of quote-unquote legitimate force, otherwise there’d be no crimes-of-force by amateurs/private citizens on the streets), THEN, you understand every State institution/program/law/statute/etc. is, in fact, is an act of Coercion:
“Do (or don’t do) as the State says, or suffer the consequences, the Coercion,” from a warning, to a simple fine, to a lien against your private property, or the ultimate Statist-coercion: arrest/trial/imprisonment/perhaps death (-penalty).