The Pentagon is now teaching its recruits the dangers and unfairness of white privilege. This is doubtless on instruction from the White House, and is just one more reason why the whole place should be fumigated when the Obamas leave.

Yes I am white and so’s my pop
And privileges never stop
We profited from being white
And got ahead but that’s all right
We worked for all we got
So let me say just what that means
It means that hard work’s in the genes
It means you study hard in school
And live your life by golden rule
It means your kids will have a dad
To teach you when you are a lad
So that you grow up good, not bad
And morals mean a lot
By morals I mean you treat me
The way that you would like to be
Respect your neighbors and your friends
And live as if your life depends
On doing well at what you do
And love someone as she loves you
And teach your children to be kind
And know good works brings peace of mind
And lastly as a parting thought
Think long and hard what God has wrought
Give thanks for what you’ve got

The disdain for Donald Trump and his supporters among the pundit class is endemic, with some of Fox News Channel regulars among them. The disdain extends beyond Trump himself to his supporters, who are universally described as ignorant, high school dropouts, low income residents of trailer parks. These faux elite pundits do not see that these people have been betrayed by the liberal dogma that says that shipping jobs and factories overseas is a good thing, and that importing millions of third world Mexicans into the country to take their few remaining jobs is good for the economy. The pundits sniff at the concerns of these people, who in their ignorance do not understand the world as well as their betters do. Well, disdain goes both ways, and the faux elites of both parties are about to find out how it feels when somebody eats your lunch.

The eyebrow raised, the snicker, sneer
Suggestions that the end is near
For Trump and folks who just drink beer
Well fellah guard your lunch
Those lower class moronic dopes
Those no-nothings with dopey hopes
Who spend their days watching the soaps
Will show how hard they punch
They’re marching and they’re pitchfork mad
They know they’ve been betrayed and had
You are about to get it bad
And that’s not just a hunch
Oh yes you’ll still be on TV
Your pretty face we’ll all still see
But you’ll be hungry, yes you’ll be
Because we have your lunch

Hillary Clinton will not be the Democratic Party nominee. She has, through stupidity, negligence, incompetence or treason, set out the country’s top secrets in an unsecured server for everyone, enemies and allies alike, to effortlessly hack. Every email that crossed that server was read in real time in Moscow, Pyongyang, Teheran and Beijing, to name only the most obvious. Why would she do such a thing? Ask yourself, how much money did the Chinese Communist government give to the Clinton Foundation. That may not have been the reason, of course, for stupidity cannot be ruled out. The FBI will recommend an indictment, and whether or not the Attorney General issues one is immaterial. She did not just break State Department rules, as her supporters insist, she endangered the country, whether willfully or stupidly. She will be pressured to withdraw and there will be a brokered convention.

The rules and laws are not for me
The Clintons always laugh
They are of course for thou and thee

And possibly our staff
We do as well as we darn please
The White House is our right
We never rest, never at ease
We always stand and fight
We’ve always fought for little folks
Who never had a chance
Who were the butt of awful jokes
And never could advance
We helped those people find their way
In this benighted land
And where our clientele will pay
A strong armed, young field hand
The going rate for his true vote
And Chinese checks look fine
Delivered every month by boat
All Bill’s and yes all mine
We have amassed a fortune from
Some sleazy, hidden deals
We never fear the Feds will come
Unless some dirt rat squeals
So vote me in the White House dears
Bring Bill back in as well
And just in case, to ease your fears

The interns will not tell

I remember my dreams as a ten year old, but what would I dream of today if I were again ten years old? Probably the same things, but the car would be imported.

I was a boy of nine or ten
In school I was a dreamer
I dreamed of being older when
I’d drive a bright red Beemer
Fast to the end of Dexter Street
And honk the horn so loudly
And laughing she’d run out to greet
The one she loved so proudly
But dreams of angels in the mind
Are often of the misty kind
And later we all surely find
Red Beemers are as well
Yet still I think of that sweet girl
And always will or so it seems
Forever mine in that sweet world
Of pretty girls and Beemer dreams

Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I can remember what my life was like before moving to Cedar Springs. I remember my brothers and sisters, and how traumatic it was being separated from my mother. I remember being picked up and carried outside. It was the first time I had been outside, and the cold and the bright sunlight stunned me for a moment. I was placed in something I later learned was a car and we started moving, and I got sick from sliding around on the back seat every time we turned. We finally stopped and they carried me into the house and put me on the floor. I was kind of wobbly, but that soon passed. They gave me some water and a biscuit and seemed to think that was all I needed. I looked around for more, but that was all I got.

There were a couple of kids in the house, and one of them, a boy like me, picked me up and said I was his. He smelled okay, and he petted me and made me feel at home, as much as I could feel at home without my mother there.

Things improved immediately, or so it seemed, when I got my own bowl and a blanket and a place to lie down. I slept a lot, and that helped.

I got swatted on the nose with a rolled up newspaper a couple of times until I learned what they were trying to tell me, and after that I stood by the door until they let me out, but sometimes it was hard to hold it in and then I got swatted again. But that passed, and I grew up pretty fast. The boy’s name was Jack, I found out, and he had two sisters, neither of whom paid much attention to me, and I was okay with that, even though they smelled better than Jack.

I guess I was there about six months when Jack said it was time I learned a few things. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I liked him a lot by this time, so I was prepared to do whatever he wanted. What he wanted was to teach me to be a sled dog, which was kind of tough because by now it was summer, but Jack built a sled of sorts, with wheels from an old baby carriage. He tied me to the front of the sled and I had to pull him around the neighborhood. I had gotten my size by then, and was strong for my age, so it was no problem, and kinda fun, especially when Jack cut across old Mr. Carter’s lawn and Mr. Carter came out and yelled at us. Jack always laughed when that happened.

By the time I was five and as full grown as I was ever going to get, I was a full member of the family, and I was as upset as everyone else when Jack joined up and was sent to Afghanistan. He told us he would be all right, and not to worry, but we did anyway. He said he’d be back soon, and since I wasn’t sure how long ‘soon’ meant I couldn’t take the chance of missing him, so I spent a lot of time by the front door.

One day something must have happened because everyone was crying. I didn’t know what it was for some time, until I heard someone say ‘Jack’, and then I knew something must have happened to him to make everybody cry. I crawled behind the sofa so nobody would see me and lay down, shaking all over and fearing the worst.

Months went by and I had the distinct impression that they were talking about Jack a lot, and seemed quite cheerful, considering all the crying at first. I gathered from this that he must be okay, and one day one of the sisters told me Jack would be home soon. I spent most of the day by the front door, again unsure of just what ‘soon’ meant, but determined not to miss him. And then, not one day later, he was there. A car stopped in front of the house and Jack got out, though he seemed to be a lot slower than I remembered him to be. He was on crutches, and one of his legs looked real funny.

I was first at the door when he came in and he scratched my ears and said hello, and then his sisters and mom and dad grabbed him and led him into the living room where he sat on the sofa and I lay on the floor beside him. I was so glad to see him again, and I know he was glad to see me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He looked a lot older than when he left, as if something had happened to him, or he had seen things he didn’t want to see. He was having trouble walking, I could see that, but there seemed to be something else, something inside him that was also hurt.

He answered all their questions in a cheerful voice, but I had heard his voice so many times I knew it was a false cheerfulness, because it just wasn’t him. I think his family had the same impression, because they became more cheerful than ever. It wasn’t until he said IED that I understood. I didn’t know what IED meant, but I knew that it had hurt him.

After dinner he and I sat on the porch until it got dark, just talking in the cool September night. He told me all about it, and all I could do was be there for him, attentive and loving.

“We were on patrol,” he said quietly, the light from the living room windows on his face, his eyes closed. “Five of us, me and Frank in the lead, Bobby and Raoul in the rear. Sergeant Kratz was an old Iraq hand, and he told us to be careful, not to bunch up, to look around all the time, note what the locals were doing or not doing. Another group had taken some fire from the village the day before, so we were on full alert. We had just turned a corner when there was an explosion. Sergeant Kratz was killed instantly and I took some iron in the legs and went down. Automatic fire was coming from one of the buildings, and I tried to crawl away, but couldn’t move my legs. I was trying to pull myself along by my hands when Frank grabbed me. Frank was wounded too, but he pulled me back around the corner out of the line of fire. He saved my life. Frank got a medal and I got my life. He got some pressure pads on the legs and called for a chopper. Frank and Raoul laid down some fire and Bobby was able to recover Sergeant Kratz’s body.”

He was silent for some time, and I lay my head in his lap. He scratched my ears and said, “They came and got us to a hospital where they fixed us up as best they could, then it was back to the States for me for more operations and rehab.” More silence, the night cooling down, crickets and tree frogs doing some pretty good two part harmony somewhere off in the distance.

“Don’t know why we’re there, old boy,” he said finally, his voice low, and I could tell he was serious because he never called me old boy unless he was serious about something. “Don’t know why we’re there. They don’t want us there, and a lot of good guys are getting killed for nothing. Killed for nothing. Don’t know why we’re there.”

Something nearby hollered in the night, a cat, out prowling about, up to no good. “It’s good to see you again, buddy,” he said. “I’m on crutches now, but the docs say pretty soon I’ll be ready to be fitted for a prosthetic. They’re amazing these days, almost as good as having your real leg. As soon as I get it fitted we’ll start to walk again. Remember how we used to walk along the river? How nice it was in the summer? We’ll do that again, old boy. Just you and me, just like old times.”

Just you and me. The words sounded good. We sat there on the porch for a long time, in the dark, until the living room lights went out and his mom called to ask if he was all right. He said he was and she said goodnight, and his dad and sisters said they’d see him in the morning, and the house was dark and silent. And still we sat on the porch, listening to the crickets and the tree frogs, thinking our thoughts.

I rolled the words over in my mind. Just you and me. Just you and me. And I thought, that’s how it was, that’s how it’s always been. Just you and me. Finally, hours later it seemed, he yawned and said it was time to turn in. I followed him upstairs and lay down on the floor at the foot of the bed, awake until I was sure he was asleep.

Yes, Cedar Springs is a good place to be.

The country is in the midst of a political revolution. Donald Trump will win the Republican presidential nomination despite the panicky attempts by the Republican Establishment to stop him from taking away their perks and power. Donald Trump will ride the wave of political revolt into the White House, and the current Republican Establishment will witness the collapse of their power. The Republican power structure will burn, to be replaced by a better built, better staffed structure. The Republican Establishment cowers in terror at the prospect of a President Trump, knowing that their leftward-leaning ivory tower will soon feel the heat of the fierce raging fire of voter anger, and the only sound they hear will be the roar of the flames and the crashing of imploding glass.

They built the tower over years
Accumulating wealth
By greasing all the leftist gears
With smiles of grifter stealth
And now they cry into the wind
And watch the tower fall
Denying that it’s they who’ve sinned
And now the people call
For fire and glass
Republicans have voted for
The candidates who’ll fight
And then find out they’re noted for
Their impotence and fright
The Donald says he has the heft
Surrender days are past
The days of bowing to the Left
Are dead and gone at last
In fire and glass

Brussels is the heart of the European Beast. The attack by ISIS Tuesday morning in Brussels is an attempt to terrify the government and populace into submission to Allah. It has worked so far, for the leftist European establishment lies prostrate at the prospect of Islamic violence and killing, unable to respond effectively to each increasingly brutal incident. Triumphant, the Islamic warriors move boldly ahead, believing they are the baddest dudes on the planet, blissfully unaware that the pliable people they are killing have a breaking point, after which Islam will find that they are not the baddest dudes after all, that white Europeans have mastered the art of killing on an industrial scale, and will, under great provocation, embark on it again. And soon. Muslim neighborhoods will burn, and gangs of very determined young white Europeans will drag young Muslim men out of their homes and beat them senseless, ignoring, in their rage, the strident screams of the European and American Left decrying the violence of the vigilantes. Lepanto and the Gates of Vienna were long ago. But not forgotten.

They think they are the baddest dudes
They’ll think that ‘til the truth intrudes
And Brussels neighborhoods are burnt
And screaming Muslims, lesson learnt
Beg only to be left alive
And ISIS ceases to survive
The Muslim women leading cheers
For Christian slaughter now shed tears
As sons and husbands lie in heaps
As Europe roused no longer sleeps
They thought they were the baddest dudes
But then white guys with attitudes
Tuned them up and left them dead
The second baddest now instead

We are witnessing the beginning of the long awaited clash of civilizations. Europe is stirring, closing borders against the Muslim invaders. The elites in Brussels still don’t see it, but the common people do, and they are ready for revolution. And when it comes, the revolution will be the color of blood. Civilizations are founded by, and sustained by, men with weapons, who have the will and skill to use them. Nothing else matters, because without hard men with hard weapons nothing good will happen to you. Was Rome built by dancers and lute players? It was not. Rome was built by men with edged weapons, and because of them the dancers and lute players flourished. The United States was born in the fire of armed conflict, as was every other successful civilized nation state. The Democratic Party, the feminists, the leftist political activists, the greens, the gay mafia and others of the left, desire a more feminized country, and they have succeeded in that goal. But a revolution is stirring as the majority of put upon Americans have quietly said “Enough!” In Europe the ground is moving under the feet of the Brussels puppet masters who have invited millions of unassimilable young third world Muslim men into the continent, and disarmed European men are finding weapons. There will be blood, and much of it, before it is over. The clash of civilizations is here, and despite all the happy talk from our leftist leaders, we will not escape it. Fortunately, we have some very hard and very well armed men available, and Europe will find hers. Armed European men did not rule the world for hundreds of years by accident. The weapons change, but the men do not.

The West has been weakened by internal doubt
The danger comes both from within and without
The battle will not be by Queensbury rules
It’s blood till the piper is paid
At first by the liter, then measured in tons
The blood of the patriot and of his sons
Flows thickly in streams into deep red-rimed pools
His children need not be afraid
The Muslim will fight, for they see now the chance
To conquer the lands where the faerie queens dance
And settle old scores of Lepanto and Spain
And Andalus theirs once again
The missiles will fly and the cities will burn
Teheran and Berlin and then Mecca in turn
To blood and to tears and to agonized pain
But still it comes down to hard men
And when it’s all over it’s time to repay
The treacherous leaders who brought us this day
The leftists who thought of themselves not the state
And set off the flowing of blood
The mobs tracked them down through the dark Brussels streets
While here in the States mobs tracked down the elites
And when they were done they had wiped clean the slate
And the red flowing streams ceased to flood

The last time we saw organized Communist-led chaos in the streets of a democracy was in the Weimar Republic. We are seeing it now in the United States, as MoveOn organized, orchestrated and funded leftist gangsters block the streets around Trump rally events and prevent access to Trump supporters, in the process harassing and intimidating them. The tinder has been laid, and waits only the match. Will there be an American Horst Wessel? Does history repeat itself? It does, and pace Mark Twain, it has an internal rhyme.

Die Fahne Hoch was not a joke
It led to conflagration
The Donald folk might take a poke
At MoveOn’s instigation
And then we’ll see if there will be
A bloody confrontation
Between the crowd who’ve not allowed
A peaceable, calm nation
Denying those who simply chose
To take in a Town Meeting
To listen to what me and you
Would think was worth repeating
The violence never relents
The left is never sated
It thirsts for blood and throws the mud
In hopes that Trump is baited
In fighting back, that is the tack
The left is now embracing
They know the press will not address
The danger we are facing
Horst Wessel Lied we do not need
But lefties sure invite it
When bullets fly then they will die
And then the press will cite it
But in the end the folks will send
The left to jail, it should work
And stop the rot and shove the lot
Back in their shatfilled woodwork

The Europeans are closing their borders to the Muslim invaders, but is it too late? Europe is feminized to a greater degree than is the United States, but both are doomed if the balance between feminism and patriarchy is not re-established. Women are different from men. Women have different goals, different agendas than men. Not every woman, of course, but in general this is true, This is not a matter of culture, it is a matter of DNA, hard-wired behavior dating from the time the species branched off from the common ancestor, and that difference can be stated simply: the primary concern of women is the well-being of their children. To that end women will seek out the strong man to father her child. Given a choice, women will ally themselves with alpha males, leaving the other males without females, which leads to constant violence as the sexually left out males fight the alphas for females. This problem was solved  by forced monogamy, one man to one woman, freeing the males from constant fighting over females, and providing time for other things, like science and art and raiding other tribes for their females. This system worked well for the Western world for many years, until, having invented everything and conquered the stars, Western man decided to give women a voice in how the world was run. It did not take long for the West to be feminized. In Europe today both women and feminized metrosexual men are unwilling to defend themselves against the invasion of another culture that is not feminized because it does not allow women the power to make the choices that will feminize them. Is it too late to stop the suicidal destruction of Western civilization in the name of feminism? No society has ever survived the feminization of its culture. And we may not either. And in the United States, as in Europe, militant feminism has triumphed.

It started simply, well enough
Men gave to them the vote
While little thinking that that step
Would later sink the boat
At first the changes came on slow
All cars were black at first
But women got them colored while
Denying men their thirst
Some smart guys came up with the Pill
Not thinking the result
Would lead to empty cribs and rise
Of feminism’s cult
The Mommy State was being built
Upon the man’s strong back
And when it came the women said
No husband I will lack
The government will care for me
What need I for a man?
So preached the glorious Steinem
So preached the toad Friedan
We see now what they’ve done to us
The West is now supine
The darkness is descending but
The women will be fine
In Europe women invite in
Their enemies with smiles
Believing their new masters will
Succumb to female wiles
They’ll take up with the new strong man
Still thinking they will rule
And will not even think it odd
That girls can’t go to school