Like many, if not most of you, I thought this “progressive” thing on the left was a new thing. Yet another name change, like a bad Chinese restaurant.

Turns out I was wrong and suffer from historical blindness. Apparently progressivism was a thing of both parties in the early to mid twentieth century. FDR was progressive, but so was Eisenhower, and so, of course, was Nixon.

Progressivism was loosely defined as “dragging the American people to the future.” The kicking and screaming was implied.

As for the future, the dear little (big, actually) statists had forgotten the first rule of the future: it’s hard to tell what the future is. Because it hasn’t happened yet.

In their little shriveled power-hungry hearts they had seen the future. And it looked like Russia. Or Germany. (No seriously. That’s what they thought, before Germany imploded.) It was glorious future, comrade. The people at the top, the best men, you understand, told the masses how to live, and everyone was happy. I understand the peasants danced on the streets in celebration every other Thursday. Well, they did if they knew what was good for them.

And I can see you guys ruminating and saying “Yeah, but Sarah! Rural electrification. Highways! These are fair and just things to pursue.”

The thing is, were they? Were they really?

All of these bullshit directives from above might have “achieved” something. And from the perspective of us now, looking back they might seem right.

What I want to ask yourself is “Is it survivor bias?” “Was there an ignored path?” And “What about the squid farms on Mars?”

I guarantee the answers are “Yes. Yes.” And “We’ll never know, because it’s impossible to know if they’d have existed in another time line.” The squid farms on Mars are short hand for opportunity costs. For things that never existed. We don’t know what they are because they never existed.

The thing is, in almost every case where we have “another way” the “other way”, the way of individual choice is better: More efficient; less wasteful; more human.

Take the internet. Yes, I know it started as a military project. And was useless as tits on a bull for the general public, until it escaped via cat memes and porn and became the engine that transformed society in the very late twentieth century, and is transforming it again with a little help from covidiocy into a place where well… cities aren’t as important (reversing the trend of millenia) and parents can actually raise their own children (reversing the trend of centuries.)

France, which does statism on pro mode had a model for the internet. When I attended an extension of a French university (long story) in the 80s, an entire unit of teaching was devoted to it: how the government had planned everything, so in the near future, a woman in one end of the country could call her aunt in the other and learn to knit a pattern via the video phones that would be provided to everyone.

Meanwhile…. Yeah. Private enterprise, software, people wanting to see cat memes — and porn — and by fits and starts, Americans got there before this multi-decade, carefully directed French project.

Is it what the French government envisioned? Well, no. For one, they wouldn’t want us to share cat memes and porn. And certainly they wouldn’t allow people to coordinate opportunities for throwing burning smart cars at the Arc du Triomphe. Ca alors, non, you peasants.

There is a reason that all progressive efforts are so deeply unconstitutional that if the constitution were holy water they’d burn on contact.

Because they are against individual choice. The “progress” is “someone in the know” and their VISION of progress. Which might or might not have anything to do with real progress. In fact, most of the time all it is is another layer of distortions, forcing commerce and the future into another channel than the one it would have taken naturally.

Better or worse? Well, usually worse, because individuals do what is good for them. Not what other people think is good for them.

And before you tell me about sanitation and roads and…. yeah and? Do you know for sure what individuals would have achieved without these massive centrally administered “progressive” projects would be worse? Because I doubt it. Every project in my life time has been way worse if done by the government. More wasteful, and generally some form of insane.

It is very important to remember this, because the current progressives have soured.

Look, every progressive project implies and necessitates a certain level of disdain for the “masses” and the “common people.” If it didn’t, they wouldn’t think themselves anointed to tell others what to do.

But at least FDR and his successors IMAGINED themselves benevolent. They imagined a better future for humanity, even while they f*cked us over. They thought humanity could become, of its own volition, collectivist and non-greedy and– and it’s a case of their not having any introspection, yes — but they wanted to gift humanity things like electricity and better/faster industrial production and such.

The current progressives have soured. We broke their little RedMarxist wagon. The USSR was not as wonderful as they knew it was, because humans refused to play along. And here in the US we hold onto the constitution, which prevents them doing all their wonderful stuff.

They not only disdain us, they hate us. All humans. Every single man jack and woman jill of us. They want us reduced, destroyed, diminished, humiliated; forced to grovel in the dirt for their favor.

That’s the progress in their minds.

It’s important to remember that progressivism has always been wrong. Always been evil. It’s the imposition of a vision of the future by people who think of themselves as anointed. I don’t see any way it wasn’t always wasteful, evil and wrong, and forcing humanity into paths better left untrod.

It’s time to give progressives the good old heave-ho. They know it too. They know they’ve failed, which is why they’ve gone rabid.

Let the future build itself. One individual at a time, from our own decisions and beliefs.

Let no one command us to the vision in their diseased heads.

Let my people go.

No one is quite sure who he was. Or at least the mythology makes a right hash of it.

Man, god or Titan. Titan surely, because he stood above gods and men, principles unwavering.

What we do know is that he liked humans, mankind. Which as we know is the original sin, unforgivable by the old horrors who called themselves gods and acted like a passel of pedophilic, fornicating, warring, rooting animals so lost to their pleasures that their entire reason was devoted to justifying them.

Sure, they said they did things for the good of humans. And sometimes they might sort of have, sideways, accidentally. Athena gave the Greeks the olive, after all, but you can bet — more or less — it was accidental to some other scheme of hers. Or perhaps she wanted to see them struggle in vain with the more-pit-than-flesh bitter fruit. Who knows?

Mostly they did things for their own good, and covered up their crimes with other crimes.

And then Prometheus, man, god or titan, who cares? went and gave the groveling, stupid, dirty humans fire.

Fire. Power. Energy. The ability to have that fire, that power, that energy do work for them, so they need not work themselves into early graves. Smoked meat, that means you don’t need to hunt every day. Food that’s easier to digest so babies and elderly people eat better. And by the by, the turbine, the nuclear plant, the car engine.

And light. Don’t forget the light. Light to see that the gods, presenting themselves as beautiful and golden were really a scabrous collection of old horrors, the old demons of mankind feasting on despair and making things more difficult for humans, because they can.

So they chained him on a mountain and had an eagle eat his forever rejuvenating liver.

Brother. He got off lightly. They probably wanted to do worse to him, but let’s face it, demons are utterly devoid of imagination.

Which is why they need the dark. And they try to make humans even more miserable than they themselves are, all the while trying to sell us on the idea they’re noble and perfect gods.

Perhaps it’s true that this is the only time this has happened. That this is the only advanced civilization of mankind. If so, whoever created the old myths had our measure and their measure: the measure of humans posing as gods, pretending to be something more powerful and special and holding others down in unending misery.

(Waggles hand. I’m agnostic on the matter. I’ve taken note of both the woo-woo insanity of the “lost civilization” crowd and the way the genesis of modern man keeps receding into the mists of deep time quietly, in official channels, by serious scientists, until soon it won’t make any sense with the rest of the biological history of the Earth. And since I can see sixty from where I stand, I cackle my old woman’s cackle, and touch the side of my nose and say knowingly “There’s a lot going on we don’t know nothin’ about.”)

What I do know is that we’re living through a new phase of a very old war. Very old.

The old horrors who think themselves gods, and don’t believe in anything greater than their own petty and dissolute will and pleasures, are trying to drive us down to the dirt our ancestors escaped. Sometimes quite literally: banning machines that wash, and water that cleanses, even though the justifications make no sense.

And they’re trying to turn out the lights. They need the lights off, so we can’t see them for what they are, and so we can’t communicate.

We need an army of Prometheus. We need people who reject the obfuscation and gaslighting.

We need people who find ways around their petty restrictions on energy.

We need people who hold the light aloft and say “Those aren’t gods. They’re very naughty spoiled and superannuated children.”

Be Prometheus. In whatever capacity you can, shed light on the truth. Hold aloft the torch. Make the darkness, the evil, the hatred of humanity recoil.

What are they going to do? Chain you on a mountain and have an eagle eat your liver?

Is that worse than make you live in filth and darkness fearing your own thoughts?

How?

There is no choice between cake or death. It’s just the eagle or forever darkness because a boot is stomping on your face, forever.

I know which one I choose.

I’ll continue holding up the torch. If you do too, soon enough the darkness will run out of places to hide.

On the count of three, light up your torch and lift.

One

Two

Three!

I think Mary sent me the key word for vignettes, but it was so long ago, I can’t find it. So, as a challenge, take the one of the pictures below and write the beginning of a story.

Book promo

If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. I ALSO WISH TO REMIND OUR READERS THAT IF THEY WANT TO TIP THE BLOGGER WITHOUT SPENDING EXTRA MONEY, CLICKING TO AMAZON THROUGH ONE OF THE BOOK LINKS ON THE RIGHT, WILL GIVE US SOME AMOUNT OF MONEY FOR PURCHASES MADE IN THE NEXT 24HOURS, OR UNTIL YOU CLICK ANOTHER ASSOCIATE’S LINK. PLEASE CONSIDER CLICKING THROUGH ONE OF THOSE LINKS BEFORE SEARCHING FOR THAT SHED, BIG SCREEN TV, GAMING COMPUTER OR CONSERVATORY YOU WISH TO BUY. That helps defray my time cost of about 2 hours a day on the blog, time probably better spent on fiction. ;)*

FROM SARAH A. HOYT: Barbarella #3 (The tentacle edition.)

Fresh off the chaotic conclusion to the riddle of Camelot, Barbarella finds herself out an ally but with no time to lick her wounds. A mysterious signal from space leads Barbarella to the water world of Encantado, where the remnants of a once-thriving situation lay hidden, as do much genetic shenanigans. And lest you think that’s all the Siren of Space must deal with, the armed forces of they deadly power behind the enslavement of Camelot is still hot on her trail—good luck outrunning lasers!

FROM PAM UPHOFF: Code Name Igor

Lord Axel Ivan Vinogradov Is a Mentalist with the Fast Reaction Teams that protect the small population of the Sanctioned Research World of Siberia Max from acquisitive Cross dimensional Worlds.

As the Three Part Alliance crumbles, Axel–code name Igor–finds himself overstretched between his duty, and his family. Especially after he is accused of murdering his corrupt and very much not-loved uncle.

FROM L. S. KING: Sword’s Edge

Ripped from her home…
…recruited as a spy.

Can Tam successfully pose as a servant and discover which of the lords is a traitor? If she fails, not only will her family die, but their world will be thrown into chaos.

Tragedy strikes—

Amidst grief, she must undertake a dangerous rescue mission, aided by a mysterious alien relic. Can this young lass succeed or will the assassins at her heels cost her all?

You’ll love this Epic Fantasy, because it’s science fiction with a twist.

Get it now.

FROM CELIA HAYES AND JEANNE HAYDEN: Luna City X

Welcome to Luna City, Karnes County, Texas … Population 2,457, give or take! Fugitive former celebrity chef Richard Astor-Hall has decided to make some serious changes to his life … and propose to his girlfriend, Kate Heisel. But the path of true love does not run smooth. Meanwhile, Jess and Joe Vaughn face impending childbirth, and Xavier Gunnison-Penn, the world’s most unsuccessful professional treasure-hunter marries his true love and sets off a family row, on the way to search for another treasure. Another chapter in the doings of those residents of Luna City, in this tenth visit to the most perfect small town in Texas.

FROM IRENE MASCHKE: Aliens and Other Circumstances: Collected Short Stories.

Have you ever dreamed of shaking hands with an alien from a far-away star system? Would you like to explore deep space or fly to the Moon? Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a time machine? While you probably may never enjoy the personal experience, the 15 brand-new short stories in ‘Aliens and Other Circumstances’ will take you on an imaginary journey to meet friendly and not-so-friendly aliens, to investigate effects of social media, to travel on a star ship and to take a glimpse at what the future might bring – good or bad. This collection contains a wide variety of original Science Fiction stories on a variety of subjects ranging from encounters with aliens to time travel and social developments, from serious to light-hearted and just-for-fun. Let the stories inspire your imagination. Read and enjoy.

FROM KARL K. GALLAGHER: Between Home and Ruin.

The Censorate wants to impose its rule on Fiera and destroy all the art and history the Fierans preserved from Old Earth. If the embassy can’t placate the Censorate, Marcus Landry will be forced from the world of the woman he loves . . . and will return to a home facing annihilation.

FROM DENTON SALLE: The Fourth Bear of God: Book 2 of the Avatar Wizard.

Jeremy’s celebration party for his passing the second degree of the volkh path is stopped when a band of armed men demand to speak with Master Anthony. Who disturbs the keep of the world’s greatest remaining wizard-lord? And why is Jeremy so attracted to her?

In a world where the volkh wizards once ruled as gods, and the Light wars with the forces of Darkness, a teenaged boy discovers that there are other important things besides following the path of the volkh to mastery.

But even young love is threatened by the forces of the Dark. And now lives depend on Jeremy’s choice.

Jeremy’s adventures continue as the Light and Dark continue to strive. If you liked Riordan or Butcher’s stories, you’ll enjoy this fantasy series.

FROM MACKEY CHANDLER: Fair Trade: An Alien Invasion Story

Most of my writing is in a series people seem to enjoy but there is a constant small crowd who say: I’d really like your take on an alien invasion story. Well this is for them. The bulk of the aliens come to Earth stories assume their vast superiority, sometimes invincibility. Sometimes they suddenly appear on the white house lawn dictating terms. I have yet to see one with them appearing at the Kremlin or Canberra which seems rather parochial. Other times they are so advanced they quarantine the Earth or Solar System without discussion because we are such barbarian slime-balls. They may alternately be impossible to talk to and attack without mercy. All these assume they come with a plan and the means to carry it out. Our own age of exploration showed things happen much less orderly. Islands and natives were happened upon while seeking someplace else or even because a storm or miscalculation left the ship lost. In that case there is no plan but survival with the assets at hand. As with any game remember that turnabout is fair play.

FROM PAM UPHOFF: Agent of the 300.

Axel Vinogradov is back!

And trying to make Siberia Max self sufficient. But is traveling to other worlds to research dairy farms the cover for covert contact a foreign government about an illegal method of controlling portal travel, or are both cover to hide that he’s really there to help the son of a friend through his perilous Presentation and Challenge?

As Axel falls deeper into a tangle of outmoded laws and customs . . . his Cyborg friends have troubles of their own . . . or is that . . . opportunities?

FROM C.V. WALTER: Wed to the Alien Prince (Alien Brides Book 3).

Kaelin knows an alien when she sees one. The trick, given her eyesight, is actually getting close enough to see them. She might as well wish upon a falling star!

Against all odds, one just walked right up to her and introduced himself as Roger. He’s on a mission from Molly, the friend she’s traveled half-way across the country to see, with news of her alien ever after and a shopping list. Apparently, the best technology in the galaxy isn’t stocked with hair conditioner…

When their hands touch, everything changes. Kaelin has a chance to become everything she ever wished she could be… but it will cost her everything she currently is.

Prince Serogero has found the perfect match in an imperfect woman. When he catches her during a seizure, everything he assumed finding his mate would mean is turned upside down. His people’s technology can help her, if she lets it, but at what cost to her, and to him? When his duties and her safety conflict, can they create a happy ending?

And then we went out to breakfast, to send younger son back to do work in Colorado.

And …. then I was exhausted and came home to nap, which is when Havey reminded me I needed to nap more…. and….

Well, then we bought some wood for shelves I need in my office. And suddenly it’s midnight.

Normal post tomorrow, I promise.

Okay, not permanent yet, but permanent-ish (Or permanent, but I’ll need to do an extended weekend visit to Colorado in a week or so.) and right now the house looks like a hastilly set up camp (inserts reminder that men are NOT simple, they’re just a different species*. WHO THE HECK PILES STUFF MARKED STORAGE ON THE STOVE? MEN THAT’S WHO.) It’s not their fault.

Speaking of, this house was inhabited by a single man for 10 to 15 years, which means I need to clean every surface. Twice.

So…. what happened? Well, younger son said he was going to deliver me here the 28th, then extended it to the 29th… and then a disaster occurred, (a real disaster, which took both of us 8 hours to fix.) And then yesterday…. (shifty eyes) there probably as no duct tape involved. We still had plastic wrap from the delicate furniture. However the words “I’m not going to live with a depressed writer for nobody” were uttered, and next thing I knew I was in the moving van and headed home. Look, he’s 6’4″. I’m a head smaller.

Anyway, he has arranged for people to do what I would normally have done. I still have — maybe — a day’s work there. But he says he’s going to do his damnedest to make sure I don’t have more than three/four days back there, before the thing is done. Most of it cleaning. He says he’ll pick me up next Saturday or Sunday. (I’ll leave posts scheduled for that time.)

So, give me a couple of days to be back to posting regularly, though I’ll do something every day, now I have internet. I’m just SO tired, and I’m going to have to set up the kitchen. Which is difficult as what this kitchen REALLY needs is to be demolished and redesigned. But that has to wait till the house sells, as we’ve run through our savings getting it set up. I still need “functional” until then. So, working on that. Probably a little today, as mostly I want to sit and doze. More tomorrow.

On the serious side, part of the reason our plans saved and son hotgtied convinced me to get in the van and come home is that I feel like I’m on the verge of serious illness. This had only happened twice in my life before, but then two days this week I got to the point I was so tired, I just kept getting colder and colder and shaking uncontrollably. And son is insistent I’m not allowed to just die.

So…. Trying to take it easy. Today we’ll probably still eat out, and I’ll take a lot of naps, I promise. Tomorrow I’d like to have a kitchen and office, though.

I have posts I want to write, but I’d probably fall asleep writing them. So, again, give me a couple of days. We’ll get there.

*Same species? PROVE IT. Heinlein made a good case for symbionts. Today I’m inclined to believe it.

Unfortunately it looks like the house won’t be ready and myself out of here till the 11th or 13th next month.

By that point my online presence will be dead, and my indie publishing nearly so. Sorry. I might also be depressive because I hate being away from my husband for so long. No, not hate, so much as I get a little more depressed every single day.

It is what it is. I have about five guest posts waiting, but the internet is so bad that anything online takes hours.

Meanwhile Barbarella #3 is out: the tentacle edition!

When my kids were little, I often had the strangest of experiences, at least for someone who was raised as I was, in a place small enough that every adult felt entitled to laying down the law (sometimes resulting in their getting a correction from my mother, because what I was doing was approved of in the family, if not in the village) so that if you stepped a foot out of the true path, you were likely to find yourself at the vortex of a converging tornado of grandmothers.

Sometimes, mostly when the kids were very young, and I was waiting on the playground for them to go in (I walked, so I always left enough time, and often this resulted in waiting for the teacher to let them in) I’d see a kid doing something dangerous to himself or others: Dancing on top of the six foot retaining wall; swinging a branch within two inches of another kid’s eyes. For the other stuff, like manners…. well, it was none of my business, and I wasn’t about to start a feud. But “danger to himself/herself and others” would get me to put my book away and hurry to the kid to say “No. Don’t do that.” in as firm a voice as I could.

The weird thing was the look I got back. Gape-mouthed, eyes wide, it would have been a look that was warranted if I’d told the kid “I’m an alien from Alpha Centauri.” A few of them gave me the key to their shock by saying “You can’t tell me no” or “You can’t tell me that” or “I do what I want.” Not one of them EVER told me “You’re not my mom” (Which is hilarious since my kids, when very young tried that at least once a year, like I’m that stupid.) Which meant it wasn’t a matter of correction by a stranger, it was a matter of “no one ever told me no.” (BTW without touching them, just with withering correction and contemptuous voice I dispelled the notions of those kids. Yeah, I was the person to go to for Kleenex and to get your shoes tied, but I also became the person that if you wanted to misbehave, you had to hide from. Which means most of the time it really was “NO ONE EVER TRIED TO CONTROL THEM.”

Yesterday, here, someone was speculating on the cluster fark of idiocy that our current “holy marxist rulers” have unleashed and said “Well, they didn’t expect to have to perform.”

But it’s not that. They never really intended to perform. You see, they do what they want. They should just “be” and be applauded for it.

Part of the issue is that no matter how you’ve been trained, humans need other humans to set boundaries. Piaget was wrong about that, to an extent. Sure, it is a developmental thing in childhood to realize that others are beings with self-will. But it can be forgotten has an adult, or restricted to a small set of people who are “real” where everyone else isn’t.

People who are isolated from other people go a little bit loopy. (An effect our idiot would be betters are shocked to find followed their idiotic lockdowns.) Sometimes “eccentric recluse harmless loopy” and sometimes “The dog is telling me to chop up the neighbors and put them in trash bags loopy.”

We are social apes, and we need the corrective reactions of others to realize when we’ve gone too far/too weird.

This is particularly true for people who consider themselves “good people” because their intentions are pure, and who never confront the demons inside themselves. (We all have them.)

The problem is that the rise of “mass industrial society” coincided with the left/Marxists seizing control of all communication, including the arts.

Look, Marxism and mass production is a marriage made in hell, one feeding into the flaws of the other. Perhaps it was inevitable, since Marxism is as much a product of the industrial revolution (and one man’s retardation) as it exacerbates illusions of central control.

But having established themselves in control of journalism and the arts by the middle of the last century — to an extent no one not in the field couldn’t even know. I mean, perfectly sane people think that non-Marxists are just not creative. (Casts an eye towards Hollywood. Yeah.) — leftism made itself a positional good. Every feedback from the mass education/information industrial complex told you that to be leftist was to be forgiven everything, to get away with everything and to be automatically, by fiat “good.”

And the problem with that is that no corruption, no evil, not unbridled wish for power would be punished, or even mentioned. To be leftist meant that your private peccadilloes would never be held before your eyes. And often those grew into crimes — looks at Clintons, Obamas, Bidens — and those too would go unpunished.

The problem is these are the children who were never told no. Except they’re not children.

Their unbridled century long indulging of their darkest wishes and urges has left them curiously unsatisfied, so they keep reaching for more and more.

At the same time, society has changed, and we can talk to each other outside their control.

Things like the election they had to steal in plain sight have to give them the cold grue. Not that they can process it, because no one has ever told them anything but that they’re perfect.

So they waver between imagining everyone else must be worse, and thinking that there is something wrong they don’t know.

But at the back of their minds, they know something is wrong. They know they are wrong. Which is driving them ever crazier.

The bad results are not unintentional. They’re spoiled children breaking the whole toy box because they weren’t allowed to beat the quiet little girl with the toy hammer. They might not confess this even to themselves, but they destroy because they’re throwing a massive tantrum.

The problem is this: Children and adults need feedback. For their own protection. Because there’s only so much society at large will tolerate, as Heinlein exemplified with the story of how to train a dog (child) in Starship Troopers.

You can’t let a puppy grow up making messes and excuse it because he’s just a puppy, and then at one take him outside and shoot him. Same with “juvenile delinquents” of course.

BUT–

The same goes for a political faction. You can’t let it go unpunished and praised for the most horrendous power grabs and evil, and tell them they’re good, without eventually having to deal with it.

I think at the back of their minds, dimly, they see it coming. But they don’t know what to do about it. After all, nobody ever told them no, and they are the good people who do what they want.

Keep your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark. And be not afraid.

In the end we win, they lose. But it’s going to be a mighty rough patch in between.

Busier than a one-armed paper hanger. More later.

I was raised to be a gentleman.

And before any of you raises an eyebrow, no that had nothing to do with my sex or gender, or my pronouns or whatever.

My being a woman of …. odd disposition, I think my parents decided I’d never marry when I was around 3, maybe 4. (They weren’t entirely wrong for that place and time. Any of you women who want to hold forth on the unbearable patriarchy in the US, let’s find a quiet corner where I can slowly beat you to death with a wet sock. Because you have NO idea. NONE.)

So, my parents decided early on that I’d most likely have to earn a living. Which is why dad trained me to be a gentleman. In business. In private life, I could be — and was — as feminine as I wished. Okay, most of the time I wasn’t because I fell in the broad category of “women who do carpentry” and “women who play with gears” so, stereotypically speaking, and in every other way as well I was …. odd. Not to say strange. But I loved (still do, though alas my hips disagree) pretty high heels, and I do crochet and embroidery. So stereotype by stereotype it kind of cancels out.

OTOH I sucked at the non-stereotypical parts of being a woman. The ones the culture doesn’t talk about. The politics of the serraglio: undermine the rival. Kick them while they’re down. Start character-tearing campaigns. Sleep your way to the top. Emotionally manipulate everyone.

I don’t know if I suck at it because my instincts are broken, or because I was raised to be a gentleman.

What I do know is this: “gentleman” mode is the mode to keep society functioning. Every company and institution that gets taken over by the politics of the serraglio subverts its own purpose and ends up unable to function. Because women in that mode don’t care about the shared purpose, and can’t be depended on. They do what AT THE MOMENT seems to help them. And they have no loyalty or honor.

Most of our society has gone that way. Even men operate in serraglio mode now, because it’s all they’re taught.

I have absolutely nothing against women working for a living, be it as janitors or as managers. But women need to be taught that in the realm of business they have to be gentlemen: keep your word. Pay back kindness and favors. Be generous to rivals. Be honorable. And above all, work for what you’re supposed to do/were hired to do. (Which falls under “keep your word.”

Teach yours sons, and especially yours daughters to be gentlemen. It’s inconvenient and troublesome, but it’s the only way civilization gets to come back.

Not that I could do a jointed observation right now, because I’m not even in Colorado, and I am allergic to the stuff anyway….

So, whatever we’re doing, it’s working, in the sense that we’re not falling into traps. Of course, perhaps what’s working is that our idiot opponents are really and truly idiotic.

I mean, seriously look at it, they have identical sunglasses….

I mean, seriously. They think they’re smart, so they keep imagining we have the IQ of paste. Sigh. These are idiots-arrogants. They’re too dumb to figure out they stick out like sore thumbs, and smugly satisfied in their stupidity. How do they get like that? The left’s takeover of their field. They remind me of trad pub editors circa 1995. (Not that they’ve improved, but now most have the puzzled and vaguely malevolent expression of stupid people who suspect someone is putting one over on them, but know it’s impossible because they’re so smart. Or something. Not that the editors were stupid. Just smug and unchallenged. Same here.) And this ladies and gentlemen are the people we trust to ferret out threats in the world at large.

This is ultimately what is at the bottom of the Afghanistan disaster, what caused us to spend almost a century taking seriously the Soviet Empire and how well equipped they were as enemies, when these people in fact were doing things like driving trucks of tubes around, to pretend they were missiles.

At another level, these are the people who earnestly believe the real threat is global warming, that communism works, and that we’re all white supremacists.

The good news in this is that these people are not on our side. These complete and thorough idiots are in fact trying to destroy America in the name of some supra-national government which will be better. Or so they imagine.

What they’re actually trying to do, of course, is stay seated and apply spurs and not allow us to resist them. Because having completely subverted the elections, they think they are in power forever. (Which means these poor deprived adult children never heard stories like the goose that laid the golden eggs, or other stories of “F*ck around and find out.”)

Which is going to be really hard, since they have not a brain cell among them.

Sorry, but even if there are good field agents, our intelligence agencies were always a festival of fail that could only be more obvious if it wore a fruit hat and shashayed to samba in the Carnival in Rio. I mean, they believed the bullshit fed to them by Russia and China to the point they put them in the CIA world fact book. Including the blooming soviet economy. Bullshit a kindergartner wouldn’t believe.

And since Obama and his cronies took over the structure, their abilities have taken a nose dive. (Which must have involved a super-powered escavator with stainless steel blades.)

The bad part?

Some of the fields they’ve taken over are still vestigially performing some functions we need, if only to provide and “official” channel for something.

And don’t fool yourself it won’t hurt when it collapses (with an Earth shattering kaboom.) And I’d be surprised if that’s past the end of the year, given the world-class-brains we’re dealing with.

Be ready. Be alert. Keep your clothes and weapons where you can find it in the dark.

And get ready to take the weight when it falls. Because Atlas supports civilization.

And tag, you’re it, you’re Atlas.