mountainmolehill

How Does the Media Not Choke on Their Own Hypocrisy?

So Hillary and her mouthpieces in and outside the lapdog press have been insisting that there was nothing classified in the emails.

The Trumpenator just made some silly comment (see below) about how if the Russians hacked her private email account, they should “find” the 30,000+ emails (I think what he meant to say was “produce” or “divulge” the emails).

With straight faces, Hillary’s mouthpieces now are accusing Trump of inviting the Russians to collect classified information.

So let me summarize, rhetorically:

MEDIA: “None of Hillary’s lost emails were classified. This is just a witch hunt by the vast right-wing conspiracy.”

TRUMP: “Maybe the Russians can recover those allegedly ‘lost’ emails.”

MEDIA: “Look! Look there, at Trump! See that? He’s giving the Russians permission to hack classified emails!”

 

This is ridiculously obvious hypocrisy. “Double standard” doesn’t even begin to convey the depravity of their minds. You might think that, when confronted with such a blatant revelation of their own prejudice, there might be some embarrassment, remorse, or (from a moral human being) an apology and self-examination.

But after reading Vox Day’s blog, and his book SJWs Always Lie, one still may not understand why this is so, but one does understand that the lapdog press will never even acknowledge getting caught red-handed. It is because of the relevant “Law:” SJWs Always Double-Down.

I’ll leave it for Vox and his Ilk to pontificate on how much of the media are SJWs (“social justice warriors”) and how many of them are “gamma males” or the female equivalent, and which demographic is more to blame. The Bible has a simplified explanation: They’ve been handed over to delusion because they shunned truth and embraced lies.

So here’s the rambling quote from Trump:

“By the way, if they hacked, they probably have her 33,000 emails. I hope they do. they probably have her 33,000 emails that she lost and deleted. I will tell you this — Russia, if you’re listening, I hope you’re able to find the 30,000 emails that are missing. I think you will probably be rewarded mightily by our press.”

A couple points about this statement (which gets confusing when you examine it–probably a result of Trump speaking off-the-cuff and not thinking about what he says before he says it:

  • “If they hacked…” past tense. If the Russians already hacked into these emails (because Hillary deliberately and criminally moved them into her own personal account), they should cough it up. Trump was not giving his approval for foreign intelligence services to hack into secured servers owned by our government. Which is, by the way, where Hillary was required by law to leave the messages in question.
  • “Rewarded mightily by our press.” Is Trump really so naive? Does anyone with a functioning brain not realize by now that the press is owned and controlled by the same people who own and control Hillary?

For an insight on how SJWs/gammas/depraved God-haters reason (for lack of a better verb), read this transcript.

Negotiating With Her For Marriage

Jennifer Scarred Wolf was an early riser. Joshua Rennenkampf was not.

By the time Josh got up and dressed, her bed was made and she was nowhere to be found in the house. Josh peeked out the window and saw her Jeep was still there, so he figured she was out taking a walk or picking flowers or some of that other girly stuff she liked to do. It was one of the things he loved about her, come to think of it: she was so easy to please, even just nature made her happy.

Another thing he loved about her was that she didn’t watch much TV. When she did, it was usually the Weather Channel. She’d sit and watch it like it was a fascinating interview or something.

Josh booted up his work station in the living room. He still had work to do on a couple of his contracts, but decided to get started on Tommy’s request instead. This was the weekend, after all.

He had lost track of time when Jennifer came inside, shedding her jacket.

“Good morning,” she greeted, cheerily. “Brrr. It’s nippy up here in the mornings.”

“Morning,” he replied, taking a sip of coffee.

She pressed her small, cold hands against the back of his neck and he jumped at the icy sensation.

“Told you it was nippy,” she said, laughing.

“You’re such a brat in the mornings,” he said, finding her cheer contagious despite himself. “Jeez, it’s not that cold outside, but your hands are like icicles.”

“Cold hands, warm heart,” she sing-songed, sweetly.

“Where were you?”

“Oh, I played with the dogs a little,” she said. “Brushed Indy down. I had to do something while you were sleeping your life away. I’ll go make breakfast in a minute.”

“Sounds good,” he said, rubbing her hands in between his to warm them.

She sat in his lap and glanced at the monitor. “What’s ‘MK Ultra’?”

“Just one of the rabbit trails I followed, checking into something for your uncle.”

Her expression turned thoughtful as she skimmed over some of the text on screen. “Monarch… Montauk… What is all this?”

Josh alt-tabbed to another window. “Oh, just some conspiracy stuff you probably don’t want to hear about.”

“Ah,” she said, poking him in a ticklish spot. “Trying to find out whether I’m real or a lizard-person?”

“Oh, I know you’re reptillian,” he deadpanned. “Your hands just gave it away, you two-legged iguana.”

She frowned, started to speak a couple times, then hesitantly said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Josh sobered in an instant. He dreaded “the Talk,” but knew, sooner or later, they were going to have it. Was now the time? They’d already had a couple Big Talks recently—surely he had earned a postponement?

They had the Religion Talk, wherein he had assured her he had no problem with her faith. He believed in God; just didn’t know much about Him and never made an effort to know. He’d never read the Bible before meeting her, and still wasn’t very keen on it, or going to church. But he suspected there was something to Christianity, or the pinkos wouldn’t be so rabid in their efforts to smear it.

They had the Political Talk, wherein she acknowledged the Hegelian patterns he pointed out in economic and foreign policy over the last century; conceding it might be plausible that people in authority could conspire to frame their enemies and kill innocents just to accumulate more power for themselves and push an agenda that couldn’t achieve popular support otherwise. She just didn’t like to dwell on it, and he could certainly understand that.

The Talk that was still forthcoming was about their future together–if there was to be one.

“I’ve been thinking about how my dad and Uncle Tommy were framed for that murder in Indonesia,” Jennifer said.

Relief flooded through Josh’s brain, despite the sobering subject of her murdered father. “Yeah?”

“Uncle Tommy thought it must be because of what they were investigating before they left. He couldn’t think of anything else it could be.”

(from Chapter 25)

The dogs began barking outside, then he heard a droning noise—an engine straining to pull a vehicle uphill on his private drive from the highway below. He changed seats and cued up his security camera feed. He toggled between the cameras and saw a subcompact creeping up his drive. There appeared to be only one person inside but he couldn’t tell who it was.

He strapped on the shoulder rig for his sidearm, pulled his jacket over it, and yanked his Mini-14 off the rack before heading outside. He drifted into the woods to the back of his parking area, and took position at a hide which gave him a good view of the drive and parking area, while concealing him fairly well.

When the subcompact pulled up and stopped, he recognized Paul Tareen’s daughter, Terry. She remained inside her car, though, staring warily at the two large pit bulls standing stiff-legged on either side of the car, watching her.

Josh broke from cover and strode toward the car, telling the dogs to stand down. Ragnarok and Valkyrie ran back to join him, then matched his pace, one on each flank. He had really hit the jackpot with these dogs. They responded to command very well with minimal training.

Seeing Josh, Terry got out of the car with a dimpled smile and a casserole pot. “Howdy, neighbor!” she called.

Josh slung the rifle around his back and said, “Hey, Terry. Never seen anyone in your family drive a car before. Thought you did everything on horseback.”

She laughed and lifted up the ceramic casserole pot. “I couldn’t figure out how to carry this on a horse.”

When he reached her, he extended his hand to shake. She hugged him instead. It was a brief contact, but the message was received: she was interested in being more than a handshake kind of neighbor.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward the dish.

“I made apple cobbler,” she said, cheerily. “We couldn’t finish all of it, so I thought you might like to, before it goes bad.”

“Well thanks,” he said. “That’s real nice of you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, beaming. He felt guilty that this young, possibly innocent girl was so sprung for him.

“Well, come on inside,” he said, waving toward his house. “Might as well visit a spell, since you took the trouble to drive over.”

He led her inside. She asked polite questions and made polite comments about his dome home while looking around like a bumpkin in New York City.

Josh retrieved bowls and spoons from the kitchen. “Why don’t you have some with me?”

“I guess I’ll have a little bit,” Terry said, grinning again.

She was a pretty girl, with a natural willowy figure, and more feminine than most of her generation. Her rustic upbringing by a gruff father and no-nonsense mother had gifted her with manners and a degree of humility despite her youthful confidence.

Maybe marriage could live up to the hype with a woman like this. He hoped she would find a man who appreciated what she brought to the table, and not some abusive jerk, alcoholic, or deadbeat.

They chatted as they ate the cobbler at his small table, and he again felt a pang of guilt about her attraction to him.

“Just out of curiosity,” he asked, “does your family know you came over here?”

She nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“And they’re okay with it?”

She laughed. “They’re pretty sure you’re not a serial killer, or we wouldn’t have had you over for Independence Day.”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?” he asked.

She laughed some more. “Don’t ever make me mad, or you might find out.”

After a couple glances into his eyes, she said “Y’know, it’s going to be dark soon. Do you think you can show me how to navigate by the stars?”

By country girl standards, Terry was coming at him with all guns blazing.

He had given her family a copy of the Ranger’s Handbook, from which they could learn as much about using the stars as he could teach her. On the 4th of July at their house he had shown her family the basics of land navigation with a compass. He also answered a lot of questions about communications and military tactics, and discussed with Paul teaching them some more skills in the future. They ate a big meal cooked by Terry and her mother, and watched American Sniper on the flat screen, too.

“There’s not all that much to it,” he said, “but that’s fine.”

What cobbler they didn’t finish went into a plastic container, which he stored in the fridge. Terry asked if she could wash the casserole pot and lid in his sink, and volunteered to wash the other dishes, too. He gladly consented, and they continued to chat as she did.

She slyly worked in a few probing questions about Jennifer. Josh answered honestly that he wasn’t sure whether they would stay together, or even if they were still officially together right then. He wasn’t seeing anyone else, and didn’t think Jennifer was, but who could tell, regarding such things?

By the time Terry finished the dishes it was getting dark. They went outside and played with the dogs until it was dark enough to see the constellations clearly. He pointed out what she should be able to see on any clear night in the northern hemisphere, and how to judge direction by their position. The most important object to find was Polaris, the North Star, which was easily done after locating the Big Dipper.

As he pointed things out, she closed the distance until she was backed up against him. Her body language suggested that he should wrap her in his own body heat to fend off the cool evening air. Josh hadn’t always been a hermit, so he knew what was going on. And the pleasance of her proximity was overcoming the guilt he’d felt earlier. She was only a few years younger than Jennifer, after all…

Their age difference didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. It was only thoughts of Jennifer that allowed him to keep his hands off Terry.

He said he had work to do, and sent her home. She bid goodbye with a smile that promised she would test his resolve again soon.

Despite himself, it was hard to concentrate on work that night. He went to bed with the idea that it really sucked being alone sometimes, and only then realized that Terry had been the victor in their friendly hormonal struggle.

The next night Josh finished the cobbler, and Jennifer called as he did. When she asked what he was doing he naively answered honestly, and the conversation quickly became an interrogation. Before it was finished, Jennifer found out where the cobbler came from, who delivered it, what happened afterwards and how long Terry visited that night. Having shown what he thought was respectable restraint, Josh answered her questions honestly, but was on the verge of telling her to mind her own business more than once.

Instead, he went the playful route and took every opportunity to crack jokes and poke fun.

He was tired of being in sexual limbo. He had been content with going Galt before meeting Jennifer, including the whole celibacy aspect. But she had awakened hungers in him which went unresolved for an extended period, and it was kind of satisfying making her squirm for a change.

Instead of getting pissy and hanging up in a huff, though, Jennifer said, “I’d like to come visit again this weekend.”

Jennifer drove up Friday. She had an interview at a law office in town before coming to his house. He avoided obvious questions like, “Why do you want a job here when you live in Oklahoma?”

He suspected any such question would trigger an ambush she had planned, to instigate the Talk.

But he knew the Talk was inevitable, and probably this weekend, so he instigated it himself when they put Denver and Indy back in the stables after a ride.

It was time to let the other shoe drop. Maybe she would take the deal he was willing to offer. If so, great. More likely, she wouldn’t. She could get on with her life and find the perfect supplicating church boy to marry, if that’s what she wanted. Josh could go back to being a hermit, or have some fun with Terry once he got over Jennifer…or whatever. He just wanted to know, and cut his losses if it wasn’t going to work out.

The Talk took them through the evening chores, back into the house, and finished on the couch.

“You’ve got expectations, right?” he asked, after they’d gone over the love motive extensively. She’d been claiming to be in love with him ever since Indonesia.

“Expectations?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, uncomfortable with these touchy-feely conversations about relationships and other daytime TV fodder. “I mean you want to get married. You’ve made that pretty obvious. So you must have certain expectations about how it’s going to be. What do you expect a husband to bring to the table?”

“You make me sound so demanding,” she said.

I’ve got expectations,” he said, shrugging.

“Like what?”

“Fine, Jennifer: I’ll go first: Outside of war, nuclear attack, or natural disaster, I’m not moving anywhere.”

She almost smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave this place.”

Jennifer didn’t like the cold, but she loved snow. When she visited he would often wake up to find her drinking a cup of coffee just staring out the window at the scenery, bundled up in blankets like an Eskimo even though it was warm in his house.

“Okay, good,” he said. “But I’m the king of this castle. I have the last say and the bottom line on decisions, and I expect you to back me up, even if you disagree with me.”

She flinched. “You expect me to just keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told?”

“I said king; not tyrant,” he replied. “We can talk about stuff. You can tell me what you think. If I see you’re right about something, then fine—we’ll go with that. But if I listen to all your reasons and still decide on something else, you need to let it drop and not pitch a fit.”

“That’s not really fair,” she said. “You could refuse to admit I’m right, and stick with your decision just to be stubborn.”

He shrugged again. “If you can’t trust me, then you got no business marrying me.”

She mulled this over for a while. “I guess I’m not really against you being king of the castle. But I would expect to be queen.”

“I have no problem with that,” he said. “Just don’t start thinking we’re on a chess board.”

“What else?” she asked, warily.

He hadn’t expected to get past that one. He had been sure she would storm out calling him a sexist pig and plenty other names. Still, she hadn’t explicitly agreed to the term, either. He decided not to press her on it right now, because he had plenty more he was sure would bring her claws out.

“I’m not gonna tolerate disrespect from you,” he said. “I don’t care how mad at me you are, or if you’ve had a bad day, or if I’ve done something really stupid. If you’re my wife, then you give me respect, period. You can disagree with me or whatever without disrespecting me.”

She nodded. Well, that was easier than expected, too.

“You have to put up with my lunacy, ” he said. “Because I’ll probably never change. My worldview isn’t going to change; I’m not giving up my guns; I’m not going to get a national I.D. if it becomes mandatory; I’m not getting kitchen appliances with microchips for the smart grid; I’m not going to register or get permits for anything I already have a right to.”

“I’ve never called you a lunatic, Joshua. I just get scared sometimes because you dwell on gloom and doom stuff so much. I think I ought to get a gun of my own. Something like what Uncle Tommy has, but maybe doesn’t kick as hard.”

At that point Josh’s goal began to transform from scaring Jennifer away as fast and decisively as possible, to seeing if there was actually a glimmer of hope they could be together long-term.

“My rule about cellphones stands,” he added. “And anything else that can be used to spy on me. That’s a deal-breaker.”

This was it. No woman on Earth, once aware of cellular technology and social networks, would ever give them up. They would die first.

She sighed. “I know. What else?”

His jaw dropped. “Do you mean you agree?”

She nodded, frowning. “I’ll go along with that. But there’s got to be some kind of compromise we can both live with. For now: okay. Anything else?”

“W-well,” he stammered, still off balance, “you’re not allowed to kick me when I’m down.”

“Okay.”

He scratched his head. This had gone completely different than he had imagined. Normally he would suspect she was lying just to trap him, but she had proven honest to a fault so far. “I want sex,” he said.

“That’s part of marriage,” she said, with a reserved laugh.

“Well,” he licked dry lips, feeling awkward about all this, “I want it often, and I want…you know, passion. You can’t just lay there like you’re bored or being traumatized.”

“I don’t think I would be like that,” she said.

“You can’t be claiming headaches all the time, or you don’t ‘feel sexy,’ or other excuses.”

“What if I’m sick?” she asked, with an indignant sharpening of tone. “I’m still expected to…?”

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Legitimate reasons are one thing. But you can’t use sex as a weapon. It’s not a training tool for you to withhold as punishment or give as a reward. It’s just something we do. And if you’re not gonna enjoy it…if you’re not gonna give it a good ol’ college try, then I really don’t want to go through the trouble. What’s the point of us sharing a bed?”

Jennifer chewed on her lip for a moment, then said, “I’ve got some expectations, if you’re done.”

“I think those are the big ones,” he said, feeling dazed. “If we can agree on those, we can work out the rest.”

“Okay,” she said. “If I’m going to be your wife, then we have to find a good church somewhere around here, and I expect you to go with me.”

This was no surprise. “I can do that. Sundays and Wednesdays?”

“Probably,” she said. “We can take a day off now and then. But we might get invited to extra things I want to go to.”

“I’d be willing to do that,” he said.

She looked relieved. “Also, I’d like you to keep an open mind about it.”

“About Christianity?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just give it the benefit of honest consideration, the way you’ve done with other things you believe.”

He shrugged. It seemed like a fair compromise.

“And I would raise our kids to believe in God,” she added quickly. “To read the Bible, and believe what’s in it.”

“You can’t force people to believe something, Jennifer. I’m living proof of that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said, putting her hand on his. “I’m saying I’m going to teach my kids the truth as I see it. When they get old enough, they’ll make up their own minds just like we do. But they’ll at least have the benefit of the option.”

“I’ll go along with that,” he said.

“You won’t try to contradict what I teach them?”

“No, but while we’re on the subject of kids…”

“Hold that thought, please,” she said, pointing an index finger in the air. “We’ll get to that in a minute.”

“Okay,” he said. “Go for it.”

“I won’t tolerate abuse,” she said. “That’s a deal breaker for me.”

“That’s no prob…wait a minute. Define ‘abuse.’ Does it include when you don’t get your way, or you don’t like something I say?”

“You can’t hit me,” she clarified. “Ever. Or choke me or…manhandle me…”

He waved his hands and shook his head. “Physical rough stuff. I wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

“But just like you don’t want to be disrespected,” she added, “you can’t be verbally abusive, either.”

“What’s verbal abuse? Define that.”

“I’m not talking about arguments…”

“You mean sarcasm?” he asked. “Because I use sarcasm all the time, even when I’m not upset.”

“Sometimes,” she said, twisting her lips as if searching for the right words. “Any kind of character assassination directed at me. Anything meant to demean or defame or belittle me.”

“Okay.”

“I expect faithfulness,” she said. “If you’re my husband, there can’t be any other woman.”

“Give me sex on a regular basis and I won’t want any other women,” he said, a bit defensive.

“Joshua, I’m serious. I can’t tell you how serious I am about this.”

He squeezed her hand. “Same thing on the flip side, though. You have to be faithful, too. No exceptions, no excuses.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “Believe me: I’ve had opportunities.”

“I’m on board. But it’s a two-way street.”

“And just for the record,” she said. “Once I’m married, I plan to give my husband all the sex he can handle.”

Josh said nothing, but his mind sure was noisy right then.

“I’d like to have three children,” she continued. “Maybe more.”

“Hmm. Who decides if more and how many more?” Josh asked.

“Something we’d have to agree on. Would you give me at least three?”

Josh thought about it. “Yeah. But what if I decided no more, and you still wanted more?”

She took a deep breath. “If I couldn’t convince you, then I guess I’d have to respect your wishes.”

He couldn’t believe how this was going.

“But we can’t argue in front of the kids,” she said. “We have to work out disagreements in private, and present a united front to the family.”

“Fair enough,” Josh said. “And you can teach them Bible stuff, but I’m gonna teach them to shoot, hunt, trap and prep.”

She seemed to look a little less worried the further along the conversation went.

“I know you love your privacy,” she said, “but I want to be able to have family over.”

“Tommy and Linda are welcome here any time,” Josh said, with a magnanimous gesture. “Same with Gunther and Carl. And Uncle Jay for that matter. I’m just not so sure about Takoda, though.”

“Me neither, right now,” Jennifer said. “But what about my mother?”

“If she minds her manners, we can do that.”

And we should go there to visit them sometimes, too,” Jennifer said. “And you’ll have to be sociable.”

“Life of the party—that’s me.”

“And I’ll work as a legal assistant; or at whatever job I can find, if you want me to,” she continued. “But when we have our first baby, I’m done. I stay home and raise our children after that.”

“You mean you don’t want to build a career first, and wait until your 30s to start popping them out?”

She shook her head.

He was stunned. He knew Jennifer marched to a different drum, but had no idea she was this divergent from the feminist norm. “Well…how soon do you want to start popping them out?”

“We can spend a year or two just enjoying each other,” she said. “But I don’t want to wait any longer than that.”

“Done. And you don’t have to get a job at all if you don’t want, baby or not. I make enough consulting to keep the bills paid here.”

She cracked a smile. “Done? Does that mean my terms sound acceptable?”

They did. In fact, he was getting excited. Truth be told, she had him at “all the sex you can handle.”

With the big concerns dealt with, they moved on to smaller stuff. He felt even better about the whole thing when he found out she didn’t want some huge dog-and-pony show of a ceremony. It seemed she understood that the marriage would be more important than the wedding.

As the exchange of terms lightened up and wound down, she snickered a little and said, “You know, I guess you could say what we’re both insisting on is an old pre-war, maybe even Puritan, marriage.”

“Welcome to the new frontier,” he quipped, kissing her hand. “The new counter-culture.”

“Well, except for your doomsday prepping, anyway,” she said.

Josh snapped his fingers. “Hey, wait right there. I got something for you.”

He left her on the couch, went back into his workshop, found what he wanted on the bench next to the soldering iron, and returned to the living room with the customized phone.

“I was saving this for your birthday, but it’s ready now.” He handed it to her and she stared curiously at it. “I modified it. It’s safe to use here at the house or wherever. And you don’t need a warranty plan from the carrier. If it breaks, I’ll fix it.”

She turned it on, eyes lighting up before the screen did. “Does it have Internet?”

“Of course,” he said, laughing. “It’s rooted. You get not only wi-fi but 4G, free. Texting. A few aps. But you can’t trust all the aps out there, so you have to check with me before you download anything.”

She threw her arms around him and squeezed with surprising strength for her size.

He slapped her on the thigh and stood. “Go get dressed up.”

“What?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from the phone to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m taking you to a restaurant in town,” he replied. “There’s a question I want to ask you there.”

(from Chapter 30 of False Flag)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

On Saturday July 30 2016 all the novels from the Retreads Series are on sale at Amazon for 99 cents.

Sun Tzu and the Republican National Convention

It’s an ancient military axiom that you usually don’t want to attack your enemy when and where he is expecting an attack. Perhaps not as old is the idea that politics is just a polite, dignified extension of warfare.

The RNC in Cleveland turned out to be a pleasant surprise in that no mayhem ensued, inside or outside the Convention venue.

Considering Ferguson, Baltimore, Chicago, San Jose, etc., it’s rather astounding that the Soros-funded useful idiots and other America-hating Millenials didn’t sieze the opportunity to stick it to The Man; show Whitey what’s up; shout truth (by the Marxist-Leninist definition) to power, and  otherwise beat down those fascist pigs who have the audacity to believe differently and contradict The Narrative.

One possible reason it didn’t happen might be that so many of us were expecting it. Another is that, because it was expected, a number of “alt right” activists journeyed to Cleveland and made their presence felt on the streets. At least a few of them were packing heat.

Possibly even more astonishing is that, inside the convention, the RINOs didn’t use a last-minute rule change or other dirty trick to railroad Trump out of the nomination.

Perhaps this, too, never developed because so many were expecting it (and many were openly vowing a violent response if it did). Or, more ominously, it might be because the puppeteers have finally gotten a handle on Trump somehow, and he has agreed to play ball (betray us like all the rest) if he wins the presidency.

His choice of running mate might indicate the latter.

We Defy!

There was activity by one of the vans. Some agents were trying to get back to a van, probably to get some gear they intended to use.
Roberts figured that had to be stopped. We can’t afford some
counter sniper activity, when it came down to it there would be no extra risk tolerated to either his men or himself. “All X-ray
elements, this is X-ray 47, prevent equipment recovery from the van on the highway, 4th vehicle from the last.”
The FBI Hostage Rescue Team was in a bad spot. They (or more
accurately, previous members of the Team) had been present at Ruby Ridge and at the Branch Davidian compound in Waco.
Those incidents were sore points with the tea bagger movement, and the agents on the Team knew that if given the opportunity, the tea baggers would kill them with relish in revenge. The agents had to get the sniper rifles into action, or they would be dead men.
There was no way the average agents, even those who had SWAT training, were going to get the Team out of this situation. The tea baggers were over 300 meters out, and they knew that most agents couldn’t hit an elephant at 200 meters. The Team had to get back to the van.
Roberts RTO was approaching, saying into the microphone
“Standby for X-ray 47 actual.” And then he handed the mike to
Roberts.
“This is X-ray 47 actual, over.”
“This in X-ray 72, request to take targets by van down, over.”
“Shred the van, knee cap them if you can, then take them down, over.”
“Roger, out.”

Above is an excerpt from the action chapter of this book, when the JTF (Joint Task Force) raid runs into an ambush by a well-organized militia.

To describe this book in one sentence, I might say Atlas Shrugs meets Armor at Fulda Gap. There is no character development, to speak of. In fact, character establishment is mostly lacking throughout. Yet it is a gripping story of a few good men who have had enough of the long march to a 3rd World police state, and band together to do something about it–something more effective (and realistic?) than “going Galt” to some fantasy retreat where the jackbooted Feds will just leave them alone.

In this speculative tale of a near future secession effort in Texas, the focal character is Jim Roberts, a former armor officer who is well-versed in military SOPs, TOOs and overall military doctrine. He also knows a great deal about the law and politics, though toward the end we discover he hates politics (and I can relate). From a storytelling perspective it seems he’s not all that necessary for 2/3rds of the narrative, which is in a summary format. Nevertheless, after a couple pages it was hard to quit reading.

I’m tempted to call this “an optimistic dystopia” because everything seems to fall into place for the good guys. Oh, they have opposition, and that opposition is depicted credibly. The optimistic part is how so many individualists can put aside petty differences, come together with realistic plans, attainable goals, and work selflessly to actually make a change while pretty much getting everything right along the way. From my experience, this would never happen. Nevertheless, it is an engrossing read because I like to dream about how we COULD preserve some of our freedoms IF IF IF this, that, that, and this all went right, and if key people handled thus situation exactly in this fashion, and Joe and Moe could check their pride at the door in order to work together, etc. Perhaps patriots and Texicans would enjoy this book as much as I did. It might be just the ticket for those who don’t normally read fiction (or read at all), because it’s full of information and action plans which could, theoretically, be mimicked in real life.

The version of this book that I read was not edited. It reads like a first draft by somebody who doesn’t know (how) to punctuate, with seriously challenged spelling and grammar skills…and who only made matters worse with what spell check function was utilized. In other words: a typical Indie e-book. Difficulty telling dialog from inner-dialog from narration was compounded by a haphazard use of quotation marks. During one passage of dialog which went on for quite a while, there were no attributions at all and you might could figure out who was saying what if you took notes and kept score. There were several paragraphs I had to re-read a few times to deduce what the meaning would be without so many errors, and more than a couple places where the sentence construction was so mangled that I just couldn’t figure out what information the author was trying to convey.

I was given a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

hillaryescapes

More Hillary Follies (That She’ll No Doubt Get Away With)

Without massive election fraud, Hussein would not have continued his occupation of the White House in 2012. Possibly wouldn’t have occupied it in the first place. So what happens when the people don’t hold their public servants accountable?

The same thing happens, of course. Over, and over, and over…

Not even counting the hordes of non-citizen invaders, dead voters and serial voters, here’s what Stanford University uncovered about lying, crooked Hillary.

Now WikiLeaks is releasing emails which show more dirty dealings from the Democrats. The first wave has already hit.  The founder of WikiLeaks has expressed an intention to get Hillary indicted.

hillaryvoterfraudDon’t hold your breath, dude. There’s more than enough to indict her already, many times over; and Hussein, too. There was enough back when her hubby the Teflon Traitor was in power. 40 % of the population would vote for whoever the Democrat candidate is, even if they strangled a baby and raped its corpse on prime time network news. And in case you haven’t noticed, the entire “Justice” Department is in the Clintons’ pocket.

Not that Network news, or any facet of the Narrative Enforcement Ministry, would report on it, anyway. Case in point is Faceborg, which admits to censoring links to WikiLeaks. Can’t have the unwashed swing voters exposed to unfiltered information and using their unwashed brains to decide for themselves what to think about it, now can we? The Faceborg claims it was an automated spam detector, of course. After all, there’s no pattern of one-sided censorship at Farcebook, is there?

And the “peoples’ uprisings” that shut down or otherwise disrupted Trump rallies (which included physical assaults against attendees)? Organized by the DNC. Of course the press covered this up, and blamed the violence on the victims. Socialist midwits across the country lapped up the agitprop and swallowed it whole.

Let’s not forget Hillary’s definitive moment as Secretary of State:

What Will Happen in Cleveland?

The Vietnam generation had two defining moments. One was Woodstock, and the other was the 1968 Democratic Convention, where a “war on the streets” was waged to convince politicians to abandon the war in the jungle.

It may seem odd that the potheads, civil rights protestors and Communists (and perhaps even some true believers who just wanted the killing to stop, but not necessarily for the Communists to win) would target the DNC Convention while leaving the Republicans alone, but it was a Democrat war, with Democrats controlling Congress and the White House. The Convention was their storming of the Bastille, their Great Patriotic War, and those who were there will still talk about it that way.

The 2016 election theater will turn out much different, though no less of a defining moment. And the level of violence could very well make 1968 seem tame by comparison.

You may have noticed a trend of violence lately, increasing in frequency and intensity. The latest police assassinations in Baton Rouge have most people focused on the escalating black/white and police/citizen tensions, but there are many wrinkles to this “Summer of Change,” and don’t forget the organized violence that has been perpetrated on Trump supporters all year, carried out by La Raza, BLM, Bernie/Hillary zealots, etc., but predictably blamed on the victims.

It’s hard to imagine that “Black Lives Matter” and similar groups would let the Republican convention go by unmolested. In fact, there are indications that what we’ve seen so far will pale in comparison to the violence they have planned in Cleveland. There is also a strong possibility that the authorities in Cleveland will give them “room to destroy” as in Baltimore and other places.

Local police have been militarized around the country, and along with their Federal funding, much of the Federal attitude has rubbed off on them, too. They normally act like occupation troops in a hostile nation, but when nationalists are targeted for assault by leftist agitators, in some cities the police just stand down and smirk.

So what will it be? If left-wing stormtroopers attack conventioneers, or Trump supporters who gather outside the convention, which is very likely, how far will they be allowed to go? It might be on the scale of the terror that’s been going on in France, or worse.

What happens if the victims retaliate? Of course we know how the media would report it. They blamed Trump and his supporters even when they didn’t fight back. Imagine what they’ll do with some carefully selected video footage if nationalists have the audacity to defend themselves against the globalist pawns. And retaliation might motivate the government in Cleveland to unleash an army of police in riot gear with deadly force authorized.

This is a powder keg for more than one reason.

The nation-within-a-nation of entitled America-hating cutthroats are just looking for a reason to go totally berserk, and they are encouraged to do so from the White House down.

As if cops weren’t aggressive enough already, now their hostility toward citizens is even higher. It shouldn’t take too many more media circus cop killings before solidarity with their brothers in the Blueshirt Fraternity takes over and they begin looking for revenge.

(Don’t forget that the Federal government might just give them an excuse for that at any time, especially with a horrific-enough crisis–real or artificial.)

It’s obvious I can’t speak for anyone else, especially anyone in the “alt right,” but Trump supporters, nationalists and other so-far peaceful citizens have got to be tired of getting pushed around. There are hot-heads on every side, and when that last straw breaks the camel’s back, the reaction might be way out of proportion to the provocation.

It might turn out to be worse than all the above, combined, because the cabal occupying our government is willing to manufacture a crisis when none is handy. A false flag attack is probably not necessary in Cleveland (and would be more likely at the Democrat Convention anyway), but is not impossible, either.

There is one other possibility, and that is that peace reigns during the conventions. Such would be miraculous, but many of us cling to the hope, anyway.

The war drums have been getting louder over the last several months, and are getting close to deafening, now. The powder keg may very well be sparked between now and when this post goes live.

Phantom Leader

In the third book in the Wings of War series,  Mark Berent has not lost any steam. In fact, some readers think he picks up the pace as the series goes on. In any event, I still maintain that you will not find a more authentic big picture of the US involvement in Vietnam (the air war in particular) in any single non-fiction work. Certainly not in movies (though Go Tell the Spartans is a suprisingly credible depiction of the early days on the ground) or in other fiction ( though Jim Morris’ Above & Beyond is certainly an accurate depiction at the tactical level, from a Sneaky Pete who was there).

Court Bannister was tantalyzingly close to getting his fifth confirmed MiG and making ace, but was yanked from MiG CAP (Combat Air Patrol) over Hanoi and reassigned to strike missions in the Steel Tiger. Now he’s in charge of a “fast FAC” mission, for which he builds a unit out of volunteers for aerial search-and-destroy of trucks and guns along the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

Special Forces officer Wolf Lochert is back, and as primary a character as ever. Toby Parker is back, too, sobered up and straightened up, but the more responsible he gets, the more he slips to the background. And one of the previously minor characters, Flak Apple, becomes major in this novel, as he becomes a guest at the Hanoi Hilton.

Unfortunately, like too many US citizens, I am so squeamish (and infuriated) at the torture our POWs had to go through in North Vietnam that my instinct was to avoid being informed at all, and I was tempted to skim over the chapters focusing on Flak Apple. But I didn’t. Whoever was responsible for leaving our men over there to suffer and die deserves to burn.

The “fast FAC” was a Forward Air Controller mission flown in fast movers, rather than propellor-driven observation planes–namely, in this case, F-4 Phantoms.

Before reading Berent I didn’t appreciate just how huge a fighter jet the F-4 is. Evidently it weighed more than a WWII B-17 bomber. There’s a whole lot more you will learn from this book, and the series, despite yourself. You’ll be too caught up in a hell of a good story to realize you’re being educated.

Even though Wings of War is a five-book series, I had intended to only read the first three. For some reason I assumed the characters and story would be spent after that, I guess. But they’re still all going strong. I’m in for the whole shebang, reading Eagle Station now, and couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

Cuckservatism and the Biblical Worldview

In the first installment of this series on political affiliation and the Biblical worldview, we examined the left wing. But it will be useful, at least for practicing Christians, to put the spotlight on all the major political factions and their dogma. The second target is one which has come under much scrutiny lately, and as a result is largely unmasked.

There are a couple issues with the term “cuckservative,” at least as some define it, but I use it occasionally because it is the newest (therefore allegedly the most relevant) word to describe this political persuasion.

Part 2: NeoCons/cucks

In a nutshell, the defining characteristic of the NeoCon/RINO (Republican in Name Only)/cuckservative is that they predictably surrender to the left while feigning resistance–or at least disapproval of whatever they’re capitulating to at the moment.

When you look at what they’re actually pushing, it’s obvious that “liberals” and Democrats are just socialists and communists hiding behind noble-sounding semantic disguises. In like manner, Neocons are generally nothing more than socialists who want low taxes but big military budgets. They reinvented themselves and no longer identify as “liberal” or Democrats because they were turned off by the excesses of the Vietnam anti-war movement, or the Obamanation, Jimmy Carter, Ted Kennedy, etc.

There are three subcategories of NeoCons worth mentioning. While their behavior is fairly uniform across all subcategories, the motivations differ depending on the flavor of cuck:

  1. Cowards–these spineless pantywaists flee from the field with tails between legs whenever serious opposition is encountered.
  2. Judas Goats–wolves in sheep’s clothing, if you prefer. They pretend to be on our side, but will betray us at any and every opportunity. (Caveat: There are sleeper agents, who will appear to stay true to their stated convictions most of the time, only to betray the right at an opportune point during an important struggle. Think of how Obamacare got a pass from the Supreme Court–who was instrumental in that fiasco?)
  3. Milksops so obsessed with unspoken rules of propriety that they’d rather lose than appear to be mean-spirited.

In government, some NeoCons fit in Subcategory #1, but most probably belong to #2 above. Among the electorate, most would fit #1 & 3.

NeoCons have shown their true colors over and over again. Most recently, they took control of both the House and Senate on promises of de-funding Obamacare and stopping amnesty. It’s obvious now they never had any intention of doing so.

There are plenty of NeoCons mixed in with the general population. On social media they often show up in the role of “concern trolls.” While identifying themselves as “conservative” (whatever that means), they attack whoever is putting up a good fight against leftists/SJWs, decrying violations of unwritten etiquette protocols; “tone” that is “problematic;” “judgmentalism” or whatever excuse they can come up with to undermine the arguments of those they supposedly agree with.

Some bloggers have noted that NeoCons (“cucks”) can be easily identified by the fact that they always engage in friendly fire. Never are their figurative guns ever aimed in the direction of the enemy.

It’s not hard to determine what God thinks of treachery, deceit and betrayal. Cowardice is not condemned as often in the Bible, but it did cause an entire generation, except two men, to forfeit their inheritance. And as for the milksops more concerned with propriety than with what is right, Jesus had a many a condemnation for them, all through the gospels.

Some classify Churchians/Churchianity as the religious branch of cuckservatism. In fact, I almost lumped them into this post. But upon honest reflection, churchians come in many political flavors. While churchians are to Christendom what cuckservatives are to the right wing, and there is a lot of overlap, not every churchian can accurately be labeled a NeoCon/cuck. And so, Churchianity will probably get its own post.

Contrast time:

The Christian Worldview

  • God is the Creator of all things, and perfect. He sets the standards of morality.
  • Mankind is fallen, and will use free will to do wrong, hurt others and reject God.
  • The world is currently under the dominion of God’s (and our) Adversary.
  • God the Father sent God the Son to pay the price to redeem the world.
  • God the Son will return to collect what he paid for–the Earth itself and all those who accept His pardon.
  • Women are the weaker sex, created to be men’s helpers.
  • People should be responsible stewards of whatever is under their respective authority.
  • There are times when you must fight. When you do, fight to win. And don’t stop until the enemy is utterly defeated, incapable of further aggression.
  • Shoot straight; do what is right; let your yes be yes and your no be no. What people think of you is not nearly as important as your standing with God.

 The NeoCon Worldview

  • The last issue they surrendered on became the status quo, which therefore determines the standards of morality.
  • Mankind is basically good. Good always triumphs over evil. And left-wingers determine who and what is evil. Those in power always have good intentions, except for  some foreign aberrations like Adolph Hitler and Saddam Hussein.
  • The world is getting better and better, except for a few idiosyncratic developments, occasionally. Keep a positive attitude and everything will turn out sunshine and puppies.
  • Mankind needs to believe in a god, or some sort of higher power, just don’t get all carried away with it and please avoid specifics. Ultimately, popular opinion and status quo are more important, anyway.
  • Belief that we are heading for an economic collapse; martial law/tyranny; or especially “Judgment Day,” the Apocalypse, etc., is too gloom-and-doom–therefore it won’t ever happen.
  • Women are supreme–more honest, moral, strong, heroic, and self-sacrificing than men. They should be given whatever they want, enjoy the benefit of the doubt in every conflict, be lavished with special treatment, and never have to suffer consequences.
  • We should severely restrict the rights and freedoms of law-abiding citizens; but allow gazillions of beligerant parasites to invade our country; consume our resources; help bankrupt our already savaged economy; make a mockery of our elections; and gradually build from biting the hand that feeds them, to armed insurrection, to full-scale, racially motivated civil war. Because compassion.
  • Winning is good as an abstract concept, but only if it can be done without hurting the enemy, or their feelings. Also, there are unwritten rules of propriety and, if you violate one during conflict, you are worse than your enemy.  Ultimately, it is better to lose nobly than to ruffle feathers in the rash pursuit of victory.
  • The truth needs to be watered down and sugar-coated. Call good evil and evil good if popular opinion and the status quo demands it. Virtue signal frequently to win the approval of the left. Back down, surrender, or flee with tail between legs if somebody calls you sexist or racist.

In war, enemy soldiers captured are supposed to be treated humanely, until terms are met for their release. When spies are captured, however, they are put to death. Similarly, what these backstabbing “allies” do is even more contemptible than the behavior of our blatant enemies.

Read The Left Wing and the Biblical Worldview.