Friday, 2 December 2016

Friday T&A: Unleashed in the East Edition

This Friday's installment of female loveliness comes to you courtesy of some cute girl named Chailee Son, who is (apparently) of Korean extraction and (apparently) lives somewhere in Australia.

Like far too many women my age and younger, she appears to spend quite a lot of her time getting photographed while flouncing around in bikinis on beaches, for the purpose of picking up Instagram likes.

That's not a complaint, mind you, just a statement of fact.

A word or three about the Land Down Under (where the lucky bastards are enjoying the height of summer right now).

Having lived in Australia myself, I cannot recommend the country much- EVERYTHING THERE WANTS TO KILL YOU AND USE YOUR EYEBALLS FOR JELLYBEANS.

I will admit, though, that Australia does have its fair share of natural delights- great food, (mostly) great weather (unless you venture up north, where it's just hot and disgustingly humid), a laid-back lifestyle, and locals who are generally pretty chilled out.

(Just be a bit careful in Sydney's western suburbs. Trust me on this one.)

It also features some of the most beautiful scenery anywhere in the world.

Just, y'know, try not to get bitten by a snake, a shark, a crocodile, or a shit-faced rugby fan. And for your own safety, do not get into an argument with a local about whether a Ford or a Holden is better- you'll find yourself getting involved in a fistfight in an awfully big hurry.

Anyway, enough jawin'- on to what you actually came here to see:

"The whizzing sound of that bullet that we just dodged"

Aside from mixing up Leon Panetta and John Podesta somewhere in there- and, let's be honest, given the sheer venality, vindictiveness, and the utterly despicable nature of most of the people closely involved with the Clintons, it's hard to really blame him too much for that mixup- Bill Whittle's latest video on the Hilldebeast's sad, pathetic attempts to derail the Feast of the Emperor's Ascension (those of you who aren't Warhammer 40K nerds will simply call it "the Presidential Inauguration") is one for the ages:

He has some rather uncharitable things to say about the Bitch at the end- though not, as you can perhaps imagine, even half as nasty as what someone like me would say about her.

But he's not wrong.

If anything, he's understating just how freakin' close we all came to seeing everything we love come undone.

The fact is that the entire Western world just experienced a heart-stoppingly close near-miss. While the actual election result itself wasn't close at all- it was, in fact, a true TRUMPSLIDE- the feeling among us in the alt-Right was that we were in the fight of our lives.

This was particularly true in the last month or so of the race, when the avalanche of negative press coverage about the God-Emperor grew to truly mythic proportions. It was easy to think, at the time- as I did at certain points- that there was simply no way that The Donald could win.

By the time we actually go to decision day, things appeared to have stabilised to the point where I suspected and indeed hoped that he would win. And that is what came to pass. But for a while there, it looked very grim indeed.

And for people like us, that grim realisation focused our minds upon the likely, and devastating, consequences of such a loss.

We knew that if the God-Emperor lost to the forces of Chaos on November 8th, we would have suffered a massive defeat. Our values, our ideals, our entire defence of Western civilisation and all of the good that it brings, would have been forced underground once more.

We knew that one of the first things the Rottenmuncher would do upon finally grasping the reins of ultimate power would be to mercilessly hunt down and eliminate, as far as possible, every possible voice of dissent and source of resistance to her hyper-progressive agenda.

I'm not for one moment suggesting that the God-Emperor is in fact our saviour. He isn't. His election has merely bought us a slight reprieve, a little breathing room, thanks to the mercy and grace of Almighty God.

The Lord gave us yet another chance to save ourselves from plunging headlong into the abyss, and it is perfectly clear- to me, at least- that He is shaking His head at us sternly with a final admonition: "For My sake and yours, don't blow it this time!!!".

For the fact is, if we do indeed blow it, and the American people do in fact go back to their usual torpor, apathy, and indifference, then everything that the West stands for will fall into ruin.

Everything that our forefathers built, all of the good that was done by all the countless millions of men who fought and bled and sacrificed for us, all of the wonderful luxuries that our Western way of life has given us- all of it is now at stake.

We live as we do in the West because we literally stand on the shoulders of giants- who would be absolutely mortified with shame to see what we, their descendants, have done to their precious legacy.

It may seem mildly ridiculous to talk about a single election in the US as though it has civilisational consequences- not least because, well, that's exactly how every American Presidential election is treated. It becomes TEH MOST IMPORTANTEST ELEKSHUN EVAR!!! (Sorry, I know, I sound like a retard- or a Millennial hipster, which is the same thing.)

Yet, this year, it actually was important.

Americans were offered a very clear choice. They were asked to choose between the status quo, which would have seen their nation and their civilisation fall into ruin because the same stupid mistakes that got them into their current pickle would have continued to happen- or a new way, one that takes deep pride in who and what Americans of all races and colours are, but which acknowledges, however tacitly, that white Americans are the backbone of the nation and its civilisation.

Thank God that America chose as it did- which is exactly what I have been doing every day since November 9th.

I thank God that He, through you, gave these United States of America yet another chance to redeem and rebuild itself. The country and the people that I love were given one more opportunity- probably the very last one- to save themselves.

I thank God that He still listens to you and me. Surely it would be easiest for Him to simply turn His back on us and treat us as the foolish stupid moronic children that we are- yet He does not, even now.

That bullet you just dodged is only one of a veritable hail of such things coming straight at all of us. The entire Western world, and its way of life, is under assault from both without and within. Our fight isn't over- it hasn't even really begun.

But now the resistance has started shooting back. And I have to say, it is a hell of a lot of fun to see the barbarians who have forced us to this point suddenly cowering in fear and ducking for cover. It's about damned time.

Donald Trump will not save us. He has only bought us some desperately needed respite from the relentless progressive assault on Western values and principles and provided a useful diversion for our enemies to focus upon. That is all.

The rest is up to us- and if we fail this time, that bullet we just dodged will very soon be followed by cannonballs and mortar shells raining down around us. The barbarians are not just at the gates, they are among us, here, now, and they are not interested in making peace or preserving civilisation.

They just took a tremendous kick in the teeth, but they are not gone, and they are most certainly not forgiving.

If we cock it up this time, there won't be another chance. At that point, it will truly be game over.

Thursday, 1 December 2016

Speaking of political correctness...

It's time to take a sledgehammer to it by offending everyone we possibly can, TOP GEAR style:

I couldn't stop laughing over the comments about that Mexican car. In case you're wondering, it's called the Mastretta MXT, and in TOP GEAR Series 19, Episode 3, the boys went to the US for a driving holiday and set themselves a final challenge during that trip which involved seeing who could get from southern California to the Mexican border the first.

The last one there had to road-test Mexico's first-ever homegrown  "performance" car.

The lads were understandably rather unhappy about that particular prospect, because of those very same comments that they made up there in that video, and the fact that Mexico these days is essentially where you go to get shot- with hot lead, not a flu vaccine.

Leave aside the fact that you'd have to be smoking some homegrown to think that a Mexican-made supercar would be any good- and by the way, it turns out that, actually, it isn't. When the Hamster road-tested it, he found that it had some "quality issues".

He very amusingly didn't go into too many details because, well, he didn't want to be beheaded by some Mexican cartel. Sensible choice, in my opinion.

He also pointed out that, despite the much-ballyhooed claim that this is the very first performance car ever produced entirely in Mexico without any real foreign input, the engine is in fact American.

As it happens, that is usually how things go. The moment you actually want real power, you need to go to the Americans, the Germans, the English, or the Japanese- because they know how to build and use it.

It is not a coincidence that all four of those nations once had, or still have, extensive physical and cultural empires. Imperialism, for all of its faults, actually does have a fair few things going for it.

Anyway, the point is, political correctness deserves to be roundly and thoroughly mocked. It isn't just stupid and useless- taken to extremes, as it has been taken for years, it kills people.

If Westerners, particularly the white Westerners who have let themselves be bamboozled by political correctness for the better part of fifty years by now, want to do just one thing to save their culture and society, they can start by dismantling the entire horrible edifice of political correctness.

The free exchange of ideas, satirical or otherwise, is critical to the growth and prosperity of a free society. Political correctness and thought control put strangleholds on freedom, ensuring that any society that succumbs to the siren call of wanting everyone to "just be nice to each other" will eventually kill itself off.

Wednesday, 30 November 2016

The cancer in the marrow

Steve Hughes is a comedian who, for someone in his line of work, actually has his head screwed on quite tightly. He's Australian- so he (presumably) understands that meat is murder, tasty, tasty murder; he's a metalhead- so he has impeccable taste in music; and he considers political correctness to be basically batshit insane.

I'm not joking about his taste in music, by the way. You haven't understood what the word "dedication" means until you've seen a dyed-in-the-wool IRON MAIDEN fan, like Steve Hughes (or me), in real life. We don't just like the band- we're the kinds of crazy bastards who collect the tour shirts just... well, because.

Hell, I've got an Eddie the 'Ead (styled on the Killers album cover, natch) action figure occupying a place of honour on my bookshelf- right next to a scale model of a SPARTAN-IV.

That aside, he has a serious point to make through his comic stylings about the deadly rot of political correctness. Actually, if anything, he is understating the gravity of the problem.

Some might have you believe that political correctness was a high-minded attempt to make people be a little nicer and more polite to each other.

It was actually nothing of the sort- it was one of the many exercises in totalitarian thought control that emerged out of the Frankfurt School of cultural Marxism. At this point, to our great loss and shame, has metastasised into a true cancer within Western society.

The fact is that free speech has been consistently and relentlessly attacked under the aegis of "political correctness", in order to stop anyone from saying anything "too offensive" (read: unacceptable to the protected minority groups favoured by progressives).

None of this is news to any of you. All of you have had to censor your opinions and your thoughts in public. One of the worst offences you can commit in this day and age is to think the "wrong" things.

And God help you if you dare to say those things in public.

It has been said before, correctly, that "in a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act". It has often been argued that the source of this quote was none other than George Orwell, whose books during and after his lifetime did a very great deal to tell the truth about power and the terrible corruption that it brings.

There is some argument over whether Mr. Orwell did, in fact, state that phrase. Whether he did or didn't, though, is basically irrelevant. What he did do is far more important.

George Orwell showed us very clearly what the world would look like if truth goes from being objective and openly available for anyone to see and speak, to being subjected to the whims of a ruling class that determines what is and is not permissible.

He wrote a book in 1949 that would go on to become the defining text on what happens when any state or group arrogates to itself the right to define what is, and is not, truth. When he published it, most people thought it was merely a highly entertaining and rather disturbing bit of fiction, yet 70 years later it reads like a journalistic investigation into modern speech-policing.

There was a time when George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, and its brilliantly conceived idea of a new "correct" manner of speech and thought in the form of Newspeak, could have been dimissed as simple fiction. But Mr. Orwell was a prophet far ahead of his time, and he foresaw our current predicament with chilling accuracy.

Today, if you dare to offend anyone among the "protected classes" of the culture, you are immediately cast out of polite society. You are treated as one who has committed the worst possible crimes- when, in reality, all you have done is express an opinion.

The reality is that an opinion is merely what you think. It may or may not be rooted in objective reality. But if you find an opinion offensive, that's really your problem and nobody else's.

If you are a Jew and you are offended when someone voices the opinion (which I categorically disagree with) that Jews are part of some secret cult that aims to control the world- that is your problem.

If you are a Muslim and you are offended when someone (like me) argues that your "prophet" was a vile, murderous, child-molesting warlord who stained his hands with the blood of possibly thousands and definitely hundreds of combatants and innocents alike- that is your problem.

If you are black and you are offended when someone (like me) opines that inner-city black culture is a damned disaster that traps young blacks in a cycle of poverty, violence, and single-parenthood while glorifying all that is worst and ugliest in human nature- that is your problem.

If you are gay and you are offended when someone (like me) calls your lifestyle degenerate and disgusting, argues that your sexual proclivities result in vastly higher rates of both the spreading of STDs and partner abuse than in the normal population, and indeed if you are offended at the very use of the word "normal" to describe human sexual preferences- that is your problem.

If you are "transgendered" (whatever the hell that means) and you are offended when someone (like me) calls you mentally disturbed for thinking that you are something that you cannot possibly be- that is your problem.

If you are a woman and you are offended when someone (like me) says that the gender pay gap is a complete myth, that women routinely choose softer and easier jobs with more flexible working hours and greater leisure time, over hard and dangerous but well-paying manual labour or jobs that require long hours and hard sweat of the mind- that is your problem.

Indeed, these days the only people you can get away with actively mocking are straight white Christian males. That is the last acceptable prejudice in modern Western society. They are fair game because they don't fight back- but if you dare to mock anyone else, you're dead.

Taking offence at opinions is the easy way out. It allows people to substitute feelings for logic, anger for reason, and subjective folly for objective truth.

That is the true impact of political correctness. By making people hesitant to speak their minds for fear of social censure- or, worse, actual punishment at the hands of an overbearing state- we obscure our ability to seek out truth.

The reality is that truth is painful. It always has been- just ask any real Christian about the trials that he has had to endure for his faith in God. Political correctness makes it easy to shun the hard path of truth- and thereby makes it impossible for us to reap the very real rewards that come from embracing that pain.

The other serious problem with political correctness is that, just as Orwell had predicted in his masterpiece, the definition of what is and is not "permissible" is constantly shifting.

For instance, it used to be that feminists were on the same side as racial equalitarians. But now, apparently, white feminists are guilty of racism for being white, because.... reasons.

After all, we have always been at war with Oceania Eastasia.

Truth isn't flexible. It simply is what it is. The Universal Gravitational Constant doesn't change just because you really really really want it to. Human nature doesn't change just because you think it should. God's existence is not contingent upon whether you can communicate with Him or not.

That very inflexibility of truth is what makes it so important. The search for truth consumes our entire lives; without it we are simply deaf, dumb, and blind children stumbling through life without anything stopping us from going straight over the nearest cliff.

Political correctness robs us of those senses, of our ability to tell what is right and wrong, all in the name of sparing our feeeeeeelings.

Enough of such nonsense. Enough of this stupidity. Speak the truth, even if it could cost you dearly, in whatever way that you can.

It is still a dangerous world for those who wish to speak truthfully and faithfully- that, after all, is why I write under a pseudonym. But it has gotten marginally easier- unexpectedly so, actually- ever since the election of the God-Emperor Ascendant.

That tiny sliver of hope is all that we need to keep going. Once that hope is gone, then we are truly doomed- but for now, it is clear that the age of political correctness is beginning its long-awaited death-spiral onto the ash heap of history.

Good bloody riddance to it, too.

Tuesday, 29 November 2016

So this thrash band walks into a salsa club...

Question: what do you suppose happens when one of the greatest drummers ever to beat the crap out of the skins shows up at a drum-off expo to show off what he can do?

Answer: something like THIS...

I am going to commit heavy metal heresy when I say this, but the fact is, I am not a fan of SLAYER. I really am not. My tastes in thrash metal, and with heavy metal in general, have always leaned heavily toward the progressive and melodic side of things. That is why I am a huge fan of the early MEGADETH albums, for instance; in my opinion, no thrash band has ever topped the sheer brilliance of Killing is My Business... And Business is Good! and the monumental Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?

That is because both albums had this amazing fusion of jazz and thrash, thanks to MEGADETH's lineup at the time. Gar Samuelson on drums and Chris Poland on lead guitar turned the band into a true powerhouse of melodic heavy metal. They were able to put together songs that were musically brilliant as well as brutal.

SLAYER, on the other hand, was all about simply overpowering the listener with sheer speed, aggression, and rage. And Dave Lombardo was unquestionably a huge part of that sound.

I'll never forget the first time that I heard Reign in Blood. I couldn't get my head around the album- I just didn't see the point of it. The whole thing just seemed to be a giant, chaotic mess. It was all just... noise.

But one thing stood out from the background of whammy-bar solos and rage-filled roars. And that was the drumming.

Good Lord but the drumming was something else. It was like listening to a Bizarro World version of Neil Peart, if he was mainlining crack.

The funny thing is, though, that if you've only ever heard Dave Lombardo playing in SLAYER, you're actually not seeing what he's truly capable of doing as a drummer. That clip above proves it. Turns out, he's actually amazingly talented in a number of different styles of drumming.

That, in my opinion, is what separates the merely good drummers from the truly great ones. Neil Peart, Nicko McBrain, Marco Minnemann, Mike Portnoy, Jimmy DeGrasso, Iain Paice, and on back to departed legends like Joe Morello and, of course, Buddy Rich- they all have this trait in common. Every one of them is capable of playing a variety of different styles with equal fluency and skill. None of them is limited to just one style of playing, unlike quite a lot of heavy metal drummers who only play really fast and really really heavy.

If you get the chance to watch a true drum artist play live, it's a true treat. I've seen Neil Peart play live with RUSH something like 7 times (last time I bothered counting); his drum solos are truly epic demonstrations of what a real legend can do with the drums.

That's what it's like watching Dave Lombardo killing it on those drums while playing as though he just crashed into a salsa bar. You're watching a true master showing the rest of us mere mortals how it's done.

Monday, 28 November 2016

The Betrothed by Rudyard Kipling

Was there ever a more red-pill poet and writer than Rudyard Kipling? About the only one who I genuinely think could possibly compete for that title was probably W. Somerset Maugham- I know Charles Bukowski is supposed to be right up there too, but I've never read any of his works and, frankly, Kipling has everyone else beat hollow.

This poem has got to be one of the finest takes on marriage in the modern age that I've ever seen- which is remarkable, considering it was written well over a century ago.

"You must choose between me and your cigar."

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.

I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider anew --
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

Light me another Cuba -- I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!

Friday, 25 November 2016

Friday T&A: Turkey-Day Food Coma Edition

It's Black Friday, lads, which in the US means something quite different from what it does in most other parts of the world. Now, if you lot are proper God-fearing men (like me), you've left the crazed shopping orgies to the women and instead spent the day nursing an epic headache and food coma, sitting in front of the TV with a cold beer, watching sportzball and burping.

That is right and good.

Now that it's Friday night, though, the food coma will have worn off, and it will be time to get back to making America great again. And what better way to do that than with a highly gratuitous, yet thoroughly enjoyable, display of T&A?

(Note: Given that it's Black Friday, I could have taken the easy way out and just shown you... well, this. But frankly, they're not my type.)

With that in mind, gents, here is a random assortment of hot girls, thanks to

Louise Mikkelsen:

Andreea "Hey! My eyes are UP HERE!!!" Cristina:

Yarishna Ayala:

Lucy C. Miller:

BONUS: In keeping with our deplorable goal of making America great again, here's a blast from the past of the country's future First Lady.

Gun, high heels, hot babe in a red bikini and eff-me boots, and a big-ass jet. America- F**K YEAH!!!

"Watkins! I need new undies in my office NOW!!!"

TOP GEAR SERIES 24- er, I mean, um, THE GRAND TOUR- just gets better every time you see it. I cannot wait to plonk my arse down on the couch with a cold beer tonight and proceed to laugh myself into gasping, oxygen-starved paroxysms of hilarity watching Episode 2. I imagine that the rest of you lot are in much the same boat- especially after having to deal with your relatives, and the ensuing food coma and massive headache, from last night.

However, there is one group of people who are almost certainly not amused by the roaring, runaway success of Amazon Prime's epic new hit. That would be the middle managers of the Bolshevik Broadcasting Corporation:

The lesson from THE GRAND TOUR's smash-hit success is that there is very good money to be made in giving media and establishment SJWs a massive middle finger. If you're talented, and you have something of real value to offer to people, then it turns out that it's not that difficult to find someone willing to pay you money to deliver that value to people- no matter how controversial you are or how difficult you might seem to be to work with.

And yes, before anyone states the obvious, I am well aware that Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon, is himself a globalist and a massive Hilldebeast supporter. That just tells me that he's a liberal hypocrite. I know the type- I'm related to several. I spent yesterday evening knee-deep in them at my aunt's place for Thanksgiving.

He is the sort of person who got rich thanks in part to policies that benefited him immensely, and now that he's got his, he's shitting all over the ladder that he climbed in order to make it harder for others to do the same.

There is a word for such people. They're called mercantilists. (A less polite term would be crony capitalist. A still less polite version would probably be shyster. But never let it be said that I would ever be so rude as to refer to someone as such, eh, what?)

However, let's give credit where it is due. Jeff Bezos is also a hugely talented businessman who figured out what customers really wanted, and delivered it. And he recognised that same spirit in Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, James May, and Andy Wilman. So he hired them to do what they do best- fall over, set each other on fire, and drive the world's greatest supercars at absurdly high speeds while cracking ridiculous jokes and making completely non-PC comments.

And for that, Mr. Bezos deserves our thanks. He isn't a full-blown SJW, he's merely a liberal hypocrite, and I can live with that. He's done us all a tremendous service by bringing us a show full of laughter and fun and joy that puts a huge- or should that be, YUUUUUUGE- smile on our faces.

The Beeb's management team, however, is almost surely not so sanguine about the prospects of their stupid, lame, boring, hackneyed version of TOP GEAR by now.

They've lost much of their core audience to the very same blokes who built it up in the first place. If I were in their shoes, staring down the barrel of seeing 350 MEEEEEELLION subscribers losing interest and walking away from a flagship show, I'd be calling for a change of underwear every few hours.

Too bad. Those are the results of going full-on SJW. The Beeb will fall, just as every other converged institution will in the end. And we will be delighted to see them crumble- preferably due to gigantic explosions timed to the epic sound of car engines revving over a heavy metal soundtrack.

Which, of course, is a pretty fair description of how THE GRAND TOUR does things.

Thursday, 24 November 2016


There is a heart in America -- a good, deep, loving, and true heart. It's always been part of our land, from the time the pilgrims first bowed their heads to thank the Lord for His bounty to this day. You only need eyes to see and ears to hear, for there are signs of the love, the courage, the hope, and the generosity of the American heart at every bend in every road, and there is the music of its song in every community throughout our land.

-- President Ronald Wilson Reagan, remarks at the Presentation Ceremony for the Young Ameican Medals for Bravery and Service, November 13, 1987

Of all of the holidays that are unique to the American calendar, Thanksgiving is by far and away my favourite. It's not just because this day is intended to be spent with family and closest friends, eating waaaaaaaay too much food and drinking very much to excess. Those are all good and worthy things, to be sure, but there is much more to it than that.

I actually love Thanksgiving because this remarkable tradition reveals something fundamental about the character of Americans.

I have spent more than ten years now living with and among Americans. My time here in this fair land has taught me many valuable lessons, but perhaps the most important of these lessons is this one:

For all of its many faults, for all that has gone terribly wrong with it, this is still a land of wonders and riches, and its people, for all that is wrong with them, are gracious and welcoming as no others are.

Its people, who have created a living, breathing tradition full of love and happiness, are for the most part genuinely good and decent. They treat strangers with grace, dignity, and decency as long as we obey their laws and observe some very basic rules of civilised behaviour. These are the same people whose forefathers carved a nation out of the wilderness with nothing much more than their bare hands, an iron will, and the awesome and terrible Hand of the Almighty over them.

This is a God-blessed land, full of good people who seek nothing more than to live their lives in peace and pursue their own ends under the benign and watchful eye of the Lord.

For my part, although I may mock Americans for their many follies and idiosyncrasies, mine are the gentle jibes and japes of a man who loves this country and all that it stands for, who loves her people and is grateful beyond words for the endless opportunities and blessings that have been given to me during my time here.

I am proud to be a friend of America and her people. I am honoured to stand with my brothers as we fight a long twilight struggle to preserve and defend and recover Western civilisation. And I am deeply grateful for all that has been given to me.

Yes, there is much to be grateful for. There always is, no matter how little we might have by way of material possessions.

I am thankful for my parents and my sister. I am blessed beyond measure to be the son of two remarkable people who love each other and their children with every fibre of their being.

My father is the man that I have spent my entire life aspiring to be, the role model that every father should be to his son. I could not have asked for a better guiding light. He is a man of unbending principle with an insatiable desire to learn as much as he can about the world around him, yet whose only real concern, from the moment that he wakes (ridiculously late) to the moment that he goes to sleep (again, really stupidly late) is the welfare and safety of his wife and his children.

My mother did her best to raise me right, and I think overall she did a pretty damn good job. She has passed on her values to me and to my sister with firmness and discipline, and a mother's love, and they have stood me in good stead all of my life. They are the rock upon which I build my future; this, along with the mortar of my faith in God, will provide me with all that I need in the days to come.

My sister may be a bit of a twerp sometimes. She may be a feminist, which pains me greatly. She may be difficult and illogical and overemotional and given to frequent fits of foolishness and dissipation. But she is still my sister, brat though she might be. She is my responsibility to watch over and protect, and I take that responsibility with utmost seriousness. She is my one true confidante, who knows me as no one else possibly could.

I am thankful for my second family, found through years of training at my martial arts school. They are the brothers that I never had growing up, the sisters that I can punch and kick (GENTLY!!!), the closest and truest friends that any man could have. I have shed sweat and blood with them, and through them I have grown to be a better man.

I am thankful for the presence in my life of a certain rather sweet and feminine woman, who brings me much joy (and some drama, from time to time, but then, she is female). The physical distance between us is difficult to deal with, but she fills what time we have together with joy and laughter.

As LTC Tom Kratman once said, "[L]ife with a bad woman, either present in your home or siphoning your bank account, is surely Hell. But life without a good woman sucks, too." This is absolute truth, and no man should ever deny himself the soft comforts and pleasures of such a woman.

To obtain one, though, requires years of discipline and dedication to self-improvement. The road to being the best man you can be never ends, but the destination is not the point. The journey, and the lessons that you learn along the way, make the hardships of that road worthwhile.

And I am deeply grateful for the fact that, not quite six years ago, I decided to embark down that road myself. It was the single best decision I ever made.

I didn't know what would happen when I did. I was weak and afraid at the time. But if my past self could see the man that he would become, he would have kicked himself, hard, for not taking the plunge years earlier.

Trust me when I say this: when you embark down that road, you may start out filled with doubts and fears, but you will see your labours repaid an hundredfold.

You will gain strength from lifting hard. You will become healthy and virile through eating right. You will become financially independent and secure through living below your means. You will lose your fears and gain newfound respect for yourself through taking up a real martial art, and you will forge unbreakable bonds of brotherhood in the process. You will gain knowledge and wisdom far beyond your years by reading works written by the hands of the great men of our past and present.

These are gifts beyond measure, priceless jewels that are our inheritance by right as men. We lack them only because we have forgotten who and what we are. Reclaiming them requires only that we remember that we are men, and hold ourselves to the standards required of us as such.

Now, I don't generally like to bring politics into Thanksgiving, but this year it's probably appropriate. I am immensely grateful to the American people for electing Donald Trump as their next President.

I fear that Americans take this remarkable republic of their for granted all too often. Most of you have no idea what it is like to live under any system other than a peaceful and largely fair and free democracy. You've no idea what happens when a dictator usurps that remarkable Constitution of yours and arrogates to himself powers that directly harm your liberties. None of you were alive when Presidents Lincoln, Wilson, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt did precisely those things, though you live with the consequences of those actions to this day.

I, on the other hand, have lived in countries led by (mostly benign, thank God) dictators. I hope you never have to experience what happens when a dictator takes over and destroys your country through reckless ambition and misrule.

But you came within shouting distance of letting precisely that happen earlier this November. You were, at certain points, looking at electing someone more corrupt, venal, mendacious, psychopathic, and downright evil to the highest office in the land than any other candidate for that position in the Republic's history.

Yet I had faith in God, and in His people, that this would not come to pass. My faith was sorely tested this year, to be sure, but once again, the good Lord came through for us, working through you, the American people.

Make no mistake, though, all you have been given is a reprieve, a temporary and fleeting stay of execution. The destruction of the American empire is assured at this point. There is no way to avoid it. New racially homogeneous nations will arise in its place, at least one of which will almost surely be majority white and with hopefully a bit more humility, a bit less crassness, than the one that spawned it.

Even then, with that Time of Testing staring us right in the face, I remain cheerful and optimistic.

It was not always so. There was a time, a few years ago, when it seemed as though there was little to be thankful for. At every turn, people like you and me seemed beset by obstacles on every side. Our attempts to live as free and strong men were everywhere being threatened. Our very masculinity was mocked and derided; men like us were being hounded from our jobs, our reputations torn to shreds for the most frivolous of reasons.

And yet look at us now. Our creed is resurgent. The future leader of the American Republic is an unapologetic, unabashed Alpha male whose core principles align closely with our own (or so we hope, anyway). We have seen our enemies cower in fear and in many cases abandon the field entirely. We have seen their true natures revealed. They are numerous and terrible, but they are also weak and cowardly- whereas we are few, but we are strong.

I am thankful, as always, to you, my readers. There aren't many of you, and that's fine. I don't write for anyone other than myself, but I am always surprised and honoured by the fact that there are people out there who read my writing and enjoy it. Thank you for reading and commenting, for keeping me honest, and for your support.

One of the hardest things for any man to confront is the feeling that he is alone in this world. For many years that was the reality for any man who broke free of the conformity of thought and deed imposed on him by a sick and dying civilisation- but not anymore. We are not alone.

We are strong, we are happy, and one day, not far from now, we will be truly free, in a society that values masculine leadership and honours strong men who live fiercely, fight for what we believe in, and protect that which we love.

Finally, above all, I give thanks to Almighty God, whose infinite love for His Creation surrounds us at every turn. My faith in God was not easily come by. It took many years and more than a few hard knocks to get there, but I finally understand what Christians are talking about when they say that their relationship with God is a deeply personal one, very much like that between an errant and foolish son and a stern but loving father.

My faith in God grows stronger by the day, as I see what miracles He has wrought. He has not abandoned the American people in its hours of greatest need, and in spite of my former lack of faith, He never once abandoned me. My faith in Him has been repaid an hundredfold, and yet all that He has ever asked from me is that I obey His commandments.

And now, enough of such solemnity. It's time to EAT, lads! Crack open the beer and wine, let the alcohol and merriment flow, and let us stuff ourselves silly this day.

Happy Thanksgiving, to all of you. May God bless you, and always, always, may God bless the United States of America.

The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling

Today is Thanksgiving, that most wonderful of all American holidays, a day on which we take a few minutes to be grateful for all that the God of Creation has given us. And who better to help us express that sentiment than the Poet-Laureate of the British Empire?

Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all ;
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks:
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.

And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:--"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.

There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick.
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hand and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!