Thank God for this Corona catastrophe. Yes, indeed, do thank Him! Why? Because this was the only way, short of an actual bullets-and-bombs blood-and-guts struggle, to wake the world up. Not from a simple nap. From a coma.
Yes, we are starting to witness a miracle, and I’m not speaking figuratively here. I’m dead serious. We, that is the entire world of Little People, were just a few years away from being literally decimated. That is, reduced by a tenth. But that wouldn’t have really satisfied our Overlords. They would have been happy to do it again. And again. And again. Ask Bill Gates, he’s already said it. Soros too.
I hear the Harpies calling. Calling me a heartless bastard. For seemingly having no concern for those who have fallen to the viral sword in this ‘most dangerous’ time. Having no concern about its ‘guaranteed’ return this Fall. The wailing is endless. As was the same case when Aeneas tried to get his Trojan refugees moving again after a short respite in Sicily.
The wailing women, fearing further danger, refused to go. He knew these weak sisters were poison, so he left them there. That’s what they wanted, right? Just like today, they wanted the rest of us to stay and share their miserable fear. They’re begging us to torch our ships, as those idiot women tried to do on the Sicilian shore. I say, leave them behind. It looks like we’re beginning to do it. Hallelujah! We can get new wives, right?
How do we leave them behind? Simple. Get back to work, like Aeneas did. Get back to your life, and enjoy it. Don’t look behind you, as Lot’s wife did as they left Sodom. Leave them to God’s mercy. If they don’t believe in Him, well, sayonara, suckers. Rot’sa Ruck.
But back to my thesis. I contend that this insanity was the only way to awaken Little Mankind from its Soma-coma. Without literally destroying us, that is. It was like a weak neutron bomb that destroyed some lives but left the infrastructure intact for the invaders.
Sure, we’re going to be poorer, but we’re finally awake. We can re-build whatever we’ve lost, because we haven’t lost anything of eternal value. As for all those ‘Corona-deaths’, let’s be honest—almost all of them were to be expected in the near-term future, given the age and comorbidities in most of them. In fact, we could actually have expected to see this whole thing play out again and again in the future, if we continued to live lives that were devoid of true physical exertion and sensible nutrition.
Face it: compared to our forefathers, so many of us labor at jobs that only mildly exhaust us, and we’ve happily traded our time for mindless and increasingly isolated leisure. At the expense of our families (if we have them) and our God (again, if we have One.) We’ve frittered away our lives in pursuit of nothing. And we’ve finally caught it.
We deserve all of this (and more, actually), given the choices we have all made these past hundred years. And not just that. We’ve been delighted, actually, to hand over so many important decisions in our lives to our eager Overlords. It’s been a mutual admiration society (as they used to sing), as we congratulate ourselves on having chosen the ‘best and brightest’ amongst us to pilot the ship of state. Our pilots, equally convinced of their godhood, graciously took up this task, as they prepared one final feast for us. On the menu, that is.
John Wynne has said all of this so succinctly in his tome The Fall of Darwin’s Last Icon, where he says “we have loved our servitude”. Wynne has laid bare the plot. The Narrative of the Cartesian-Darwinian myth has been with us so long that, like the ancients reciting Homer from memory, we have no need to read. Why? Because we have no speaking parts in this play. Why? Because we’re all asleep. Or at least, we were. The dream sequence became so nightmarish that a great number of us have awoken, drenched in sweat, hoping that The Narrative is not a reality we must passively accept. Hoping that we are real, and The Matrix is not.
It’s funny, in a way, that we’ve dreamed away our lives in scenes of never-ending physical gratification. Lives that were quietly disconnected from the spiritual half of our early selves. But when the dream went bad in the Lockdown Scenes, we started to remember the true memories of our actual past. Memories that were gratifying because they involved others we loved, and not just ourselves.
Now we’re back with Aeneas on the beaches of Sicily. Trying to re-establish our uprooted lives, trying to reason with maddened women. Like Bitchin’ Whitmer. And Lock-down Kelley. And Leadfoot Lori. And Botox Nancy, of course. And a hundred thousand others power-mad wenches. Notice how cute they all are? Me neither.
All of them, along with all their self-emasculated Skoptsy wanna-be-women like Pritzker and Cuomo and Biden and nearly every ‘male’ news anchor on the continent, are stridently screaming at us. Telling us we must sacrifice everything to save just one! And that if we venture back out upon the waves, we will surely be destroyed. Yet anyone who’s read the original story knows that the only real danger was from the goddess Juno, the original feminist, the epitome of a crazed woman. She was out to destroy Aeneas from the beginning. Her middle name was Eve, I think. Definitely not Mary.
Anyway, we must now decide. In fact, it looks as if we have begun to do exactly that. We’ve decided that a hard life is better than a soft coma. Or even death. That all-work is better than all-play. Here is the best part—we have rediscovered so much of our lives, starting with our families. We’ve discovered we can actually mix our families and our work, and enjoy both.
Sure, there are so many that can’t take it. Locked down at home with the kids. Pure torture for guys my age. But I’ve seen so many couples my kids’ age who actually like working from home with the kids running wild behind them. Their kids are loving it too! Even my sons-in-law say they’re just fine with working from home. Who needs the office?
Now I understand that this only applies to those who can actually remain economically productive from home, and that leaves a whole lot of others sitting in the icebox. Starving. They have no choice. Break out or die. And they’re breaking out. Everywhere. But especially in the South. She is rising again. Which, according to my chronology, makes this Round VI of the Anglish Civil War (see my book for the explanation of that concept). Once you make the connection between Serfs and The Empire, you’ll be able to understand the real essence of the concept of ‘bloodthirsty’ men. And women.
It is simply exquisite justice that the South would rise again in defense of liberty against Caesar. Why? Because contrary to all the common wisdom of both sides, the Civil War was not fought to free the Blacks. No, friend, it was fought to enslave the Whites. And once we were all equally enslaved, our equal slavery would be said to be equal freedom. I’ve said it a million times. Slaves are equal, citizens are free. You can’t be both. Everything the Overlords have done since Abe bit the turf has been done to finish the operation. Bill Gates and Friends thought now was that time. Before Orange Spartacus could offer us our political freedom again.
Donald alone is not enough to stir the soul to action. Yes, he’s done yeoman’s work in this regard. But it has taken another element to finally stir us from our coma. It has taken the astoundingly galactic hubris of the Overlords telling us, gleefully, that only ‘essential services’ may remain open. And, oh, by the way, that doesn’t include your God!
Holy crap, how stupid could they be? Even if they don’t believe in God, are they so truly clueless that they have totally dismissed the willingness of Little Men to resist this most egregious insult to all they (finally) hold dear? Were they actually trying, in their ultimate stupidity, to awaken us? For what? To laugh at us?
Yes, they were doing exactly that.
The icing on this still-baking cake is the men who’re leading the jailbreak. Little Men, totally despised by the Overlords. Who are they? Pastors! Little old country pastors. God bless Baptist pastors! True guts on display throughout the South. Coming right behind them, in case you haven’t noticed, are the legions of believers in the other (secular) religion of the South. Football!
It’s this simple, friend. Nobody’s gonna go without football this Fall, south of The Line that is. Friday’s are for High School, Saturday’s are for College, and Sunday’s are for the Lord. Who likes football, if you weren’t aware.
California schools may decide to play virtual games, but it will be strictly intramurals. They play with themselves anyway in California. Everyone is already snickering at them. Hell, even Notre Dame announced today they are having a Fall semester this coming year. And we know why—football! Any other proffered excuse is exactly that, an excuse. After all, who goes to South Bend for an education anymore?
As all those prisoners still in Lockdown north of The Line look longingly at their screens and see the glorious fun the Scotch-Reb’s and The Whiskey-Irish are having, there will be a swelling tide of resentment against their captors. Long-held loyalty to political royalty is already starting to wane. You could see it before the crisis began as the Trumpian crowds reveled in their rallies. Which is why the Overlords had to march when they did. He was too dangerous to leave him loose. But they forgot others are dangerous as well. They’re called martyrs, and they come in different guises. And often with a drawl.
The Overlords over-reached and marched too soon, as I have already said. Because, given the timing of ‘flu season’, it was now or never. As powerful as they are, we now have irrefutable proof that their power has actual and finite limits. By seeking to go beyond their reach, they have lost their grasp.
Donald just delivered the coup de’ grace with his announcement that he himself has taken the ‘un-tested and possibly dangerous’ hydroxychloroquine! What balls.
Donald has pounded the enemy for almost four years now. But now it’s time for the Normandy of our time. It’s time to hit the beaches. Truth be told, we’re going to win. I can smell it!
Someone has to lose if we win. And who would that be? The Overlords? Well, no. They never lose. They are only beaten back for a time. We know this because Scripture tells us it will be Caesar versus Jesus in the final round. Sure, Caesar will have his wizard, and all his trappings. But still, it will be the man Caesar, claiming godhood, versus God, claiming Manhood. May the best man win. Any bets? I’ll take any odds.
But there will be another loser before the end. Who would that be? Well, I’ve told you before that I think Donald is the Clovis of our day. Ultimately, who did he defeat? Sure, the Arian Generals. But who else? Who did these Generals support, in their efforts to subdue the Little Men of that day? It was the Arian Bishops. The heretic Bishops that abandoned the True Faith, and scattered the flock.
That’s who’s going to lose big when the Jailbreak is over. The feckless Bishops of the Catholic Church, who turned tail when Caesar appeared, declaring our Heavenly Liege to be non-essential. Have you seen a single martyred Bishop lately? Outside of the Islamic world, that is? No, these hirelings threw away their golden opportunity to make this a Catholic moment, and convert the nation, and the world, by yelling in unison, that faith is the only essential part of life!
I know, you think I’m schizo. I praise those Protestant Baptist pastors, but cling to my Catholic faith. In spite of the faithless shepherds we’ve earned. No, I won’t be going to meeting next Sunday, as I look for a Mass to attend. When it comes to the Sacramental Pie, I want it all, not just one slice.
What is it I’m really saying here, brother? Simple. We Catholics may all be on a sacramental diet for a while. Maybe we’ll learn how this works from our Samaritan Cousins south of The Line. And maybe we’ll make common cause. To rebuild our faith. And our nation. But one thing is perfectly clear to everyone now. You don’t need a Bishop to keep your faith (or nation).
You just need balls.
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