It Was Never About Believing All Women

 

In case you’ve taken a trip to the outer dimensions in the last week or so, I’ll let you know that Virginia Governor Ralph Northam, after making the pitch that perhaps “non-viable” babies who’ve somehow managed to survive being born should be aborted anyway, was called on the carpet before the perpetually aggrieved of America for possibly appearing in either blackface or a KKK costume in a photo found in his college yearbook. Damn, the Internet is undefeated. (Also, please don’t doxx me. Thanks.)

But, surprisingly, the drama didn’t end there. After a long, perplexing news conference in which the governor refused to resign (and also came seriously close to moonwalking), the attention turned to some allegations against his potential successor, Lieutenant Governor Justin Fairfax, that had been reported to the Washington Post over a year ago. Vanessa Tyson, an associate professor of politics at Scripps College and a graduate fellow at Stanford University, is the woman who made the accusation that Fairfax had sexually assaulted her in 2004, and she has now hired the same legal team that represented Christine Blasey Ford during her testimony against then-Supreme Court Judicial nominee Brett Kavanaugh. It should be noted that Professor Scripps appears to be solidly left in her writings.

In short, both the Governor and Lt. Governor of Virginia might be taken down by tactics previously employed by the left in this country to get rid of Republicans they don’t like—difficult to prove, possibly spurious accusations of racism and sexual assault.

However, the same group that told us we must #believeallwomen just a few short months ago seems hesitant to believe Lt. Gov. Fairfax’s accuser. In fact, they don’t even want to discuss it.

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The Corrections (Now Edited With Definitive Information)

Oops. This makes him a “Vietnam-era veteran”, same as my mother, who was a captain in the Women’s Army Corps. (INSERT CHEAP TRICK SONG LYRICS HERE!)

Worthy of a separate discussion, but one that will have to happen without my input because I’m jammed for time this week: Given that people like John Kerry repudiated their service in Vietnam, and given that people like my Vietnam-vet father were attacked and slandered and called “baby killers” and portrayed as violent headcases everywhere from prime-time television to the movie Platoon… at what point did being a Vietnam veteran become a net positive to one’s reputation rather than a net negative? I recall it happening somewhere around Ronald Reagan’s Presidency, but I could be wrong.

In any event, the narrative of “veteran” being “harassed” by the “white supremacist” seems to be falling apart. Just a few holdouts remain, mostly because the Narrative is simply too attractive for them to abandon. It’s kind of like the ridiculous spam messages that purport to be from a lonely supermodel — you know in your heart it’s garbage, but there’s a tiny flicker of hope every single time you read the come-on. Alas, in the real world women don’t send bulk e-mail looking for sex, and this fellow is not a Vietnam veteran. What’s that old story about a lie getting halfway around the world before the truth gets its boots on?

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Why I Easily Predicted Republican Wins in IN, FL, and MO (Even When The Polls Said Otherwise)

For many years, SportsCar magazine has written a Solo National Championships preview article in advance of the actual event. In this article, they make predictions about who will win each class. It’s mostly lighthearted fun, especially since they are discussing an amateur autosports event with no real impact on society. They also used to hand out t-shirts to the champions at the awards banquet that said “SportsCar was RIGHT!” or “SportsCar was WRONG!” depending on whether or not the magazine had correctly predicted the winner.

Well, if we had been handing out t-shirts to the winners of the Senate races in Indiana, Florida, and Missouri last night, we would have been handing out a lot of “The Media was WRONG!” shirts.

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The Only Good Republican Is A Loser Republican

It’s been so refreshing to see the bipartisan respect for John McCain this week. Democrats everywhere are reminding us how much they love John McCain. He was a patriot, a hero, and a statesman. It’s a real shame that McCain didn’t die before he ran for President—he might have won.

Because, of course, before he died, he was none of these things. He was a racist and sexist bigot. He used Botox excessively. He might have had Alzheimer’s. Actually, he was really racist.

But once the left got a taste of a winning Republican (in the person of one Donald J. Trump), they decided that McCain was just fine. Always a lovable loser, the Washington Generals to the Dems’ Harlem Globetrotters, the left was happy to deify McCain upon his passing. All of a sudden, they decided that respect for the flag was a really important thing. All because of just one thing—McCain was essentially a #nevertrump guy.

The media has decided to make a Faustian deal with the neo-con GOP establishment—rebuke Trump, and we’ll change our position on you.

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The Disappearance Of Crimethink

In 2017, 74 of the 30,000 white farmers in South Africa were murdered.

In that same year, 48 unarmed Black men were killed by police in the USA, out of 21.5 million Black men, the majority of whom presumably go about unarmed most of the time.

That’s one in 405 against one in 447,917. If you’re upset by the latter — and I don’t think anybody likes it, with the possible exception of the people who benefit financially or politically from the situation — you should be enraged by the former. Yet the uniparty media, which lionized Mr. Obama for his posthumous adoption of Trayvon Martin, became practically rabid with frothing fury when President Trump expressed concern regarding those South African farmers. CNN screeched that “one recently released accounting… suggested the killing of white farmers in South Africa was at a 20-year low.” Well, the rate of “gun violence homicide” in the USA is half what it was in 1992 but that’s not stopping our media from bleating about the “gun violence epidemic”. Not one more death! Unless the guy is working a farm in South Africa, in which case 74 will be just fine!

We all know how this movie is going to end: the killings, beatings, rapes of intimidation of farmers will increase until they are driven off the land. The land will be given to cronies of the South African political leadership. Production will start to fall, because the qualities that make for a good political crony do not make for a good farmer. Over the course of say, a decade, South Africa will see its farming output decline until it is perhaps one-quarter or less of what it is now. Then South Africa will become a permanent recipient of Western aid and its people will live in abject poverty.

We know this because we’ve seen this movie before. The fall of Rhodesia from “Africa’s breadbasket” to Africa’s basketcase is well documented, even in left-leaning American press. Which no doubt explains why, as South Africa prepares to leap from the same precipice, the media is starting to rewrite history.

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Mad Maxine Waters Is Starting A War She Can’t Hope To Win

We may someday look back at Sarah Sanders’ expulsion from the Red Hen restaurant in Lexington, Virginia, as the moment that started it all—the Franz Ferdinand of the Second American Civil War, if you will. Sure, Kirstjen Nielsen and Stephen Miller were recently harassed at their favorite Mexican joints by some protestors, but Sanders’ case was unique in that it was the business owner who asked her to leave rather than an angry mob. Perhaps she preferred the Obama method of giving immigrant children to sex traffickers.

Maxine Waters decided to capitalize on this event, encouraging liberals to “create a crowd, and you push back on them, and you tell them they’re not welcome anymore, anywhere.” Of course, she says this representing a relatively poor district of California while she chills in a mansion that is worth anywhere from $3-5 million dollars, according to her own tax forms.

Of course, this is so idiotic that even Nancy Fuckin’ Pelosi reprimanded her in public for saying it. But it’s even more poorly thought out than most things that Mad Max has said, and that’s saying something. Here’s why.

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The Camel’s Nose In The Kid’s Cage, Plus DadLogic

It was all fake. Every bit of it. The kid in the cage, staring forlornly out from his literally padded cell in the company of children wearing $69.95 Vans Sk8-Hi shoes? Fake. The picture of TRUMP CHILD CONCENTRATION CAMPS? It was from President Obama’s administration. The refugee child crying on the cover of TIME while Trump looks on with disdain? Not a refugee, and never separated from her family.

But if the coverage was entirely fake, the motive behind it was tiresomely real. After two years of trying every avenue of attack possible, the media has learned NAZI FUHRER DRUMPPPPPPFFFF’s weak spot: he is sentimental and doesn’t like to make people unhappy. The whole point of the fake-cage tempest-in-a-teapot was to get Trump to move the line on immigration a bit. Which he did, promptly stating that he would work to overturn the 1997-era legislation that governs the separate detention of children. Approximately an hour after he agreed to that, the media line changed.

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Music Is The Weapon, But Then Again, It Always Was

AT THE CORNER of 8th and Market in San Francisco, by a shuttered subway escalator outside a Burger King, an unusual soundtrack plays. A beige speaker, mounted atop a tall window, blasts Baroque harpsichord at deafening volumes. The music never stops. Night and day, Bach, Mozart, and Vivaldi rain down from Burger King rooftops onto empty streets.
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Empty streets, however, are the target audience for this concert. The playlist has been selected to repel sidewalk listeners — specifically, the mid-Market homeless who once congregated outside the restaurant doors that served as a neighborhood hub for the indigent. Outside the BART escalator, an encampment of grocery carts, sleeping bags, and plastic tarmacs had evolved into a sidewalk shantytown attracting throngs of squatters and street denizens. “There used to be a mob that would hang out there,” remarked local resident David Allen, “and now there may be just one or two people.” When I passed the corner, the only sign of life I found was a trembling woman crouched on the pavement, head in hand, as classical harpsichord besieged her ears.

Welcome to the world of “weaponized classical music”, where homeless people, thugs, dirtbags, and “teens” are actively repelled through the high-volume application of music that they don’t happen to like. It’s a tactic that is well over thirty years old, having been started with “Mozart At The 7-Eleven” in British Columbia back in ’85. In any era but this one, people would hear about this and chuckle. In $THE_CURRENT_YEAR, however, we must respond with everything from academic papers to the increasingly-shopworn boilerplate accusations of bigotry and racism. In the process of doing so, however, we will lay ourselves out to the possibility of deconstructive evisceration. Allow me to wield the knife. As Pusha-T said a few weeks ago, it’s going to be a surgical summer.

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The Man In The Arena

It’s an unpleasant thing to say, but it’s true: This world is divided into those who do and those who watch. Which is not to say that most of us don’t wind up falling into both of those categories depending on the situation: even Presidents have favorite television shows, and Gore Vidal apparently laid off the criticism long enough to clean his house from time to time. In general, however, it is usually possible to judge someone’s credibility, legitimacy, and even character by how much time they spend doing as opposed to watching.

Elon Musk spends most of his time doing. A simple list of his favorite side gigs make you wonder where he finds the time: flamethrowers, massive underground tunnels, a breathtakingly viable private space program with VTOL rockets. And then there’s the matter of his day job, which involves nothing more than the creation of the first viable large-scale independent American automobile company since, oh, the Second World War or thereabouts. You can call him a Bond villain, which is the proverbial praising with a faint damn, or you can call him a megalomaniac, which is the typical bomb lobbed at the confidently successful by the socially-awkward unaccomplished. But you cannot deny that he is out there Doing. Big. Things.

A hundred years ago, or even fifty years ago, Elon’s innovations and ideas would have spawned a flood of strong-willed competitors; look how many American men took Henry Ford’s success as both a personal insult and a spur to attempt great things of their own. In this modern, sickly, navel-gazing age, however, what’s happened instead is that a million mewling nonentities have re-imagined their pathetic lives as wriggling suckerfish clinging to the Great White Musk Shark, hungrily scarfing up bits of waste and detritus as they congratulate themselves for adding parasitic drag to the whole enterprise.

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