American Whiners Censor Australian TV Commercial

So there was Australia, minding its own business, enjoying a cricket match featuring some of the top teams from the West Indies. Cricket is the sport that unites the assorted nations of the British Commonwealth. Don’t ask me how it’s played, but Australians and Jamaicans and Indians and Englishmen all seem to love it.

The cricket’s on TV, and TV means sponsors, and so Kentucky Fried Chicken made an ad showing people at a cricket match, mostly West Indians, happily enjoying fried chicken.

And then came the protests, all the way across the widest ocean in the world: American liberals didn’t like the ad on Australian TV. Oh, what racism! What racial insensitivity! What callous cruelty to African-Americans, even to suggest that they might enjoy fried chicken!

Except that West Indians are not African-Americans, and everybody likes fried chicken except liberal morons who are also vegetarians.

Literally, there is no place on earth safe from the American racial grievance industry. On the opposite side of the world, they whined and belly-ached and applied pressure until the KFC ad was dropped from Australian TV.

Normal human beings of the world, unite! Destroy American liberalism, so we can eat our fried chicken in peace.


You Heard It from a Noozie: Man is God

In case you missed it last week, noozie Chris Cuomo publicly stated that we get our rights not from God who created us, but from man ( ).

He made this grotesque remark in an interview with Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Roy Moore, in which he tried to overthrow Moore’s argument that marriage is ordained by God to consist of a man and a woman. Judge Moore is a great man. Chris, the brother of New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo and the son of former Gov. Mario Cuomo–who famously postulated that a Christian politician need not, in his public policy, be guided by Christian morality–is a noozie, which these days is a shameful thing to be. He is also an ignoramus, running straight up against Thomas Jefferson: who wrote, in The Declaration of Independence,

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights…

“Inalienable,” for those who can’t do adult crossword puzzles, means not for sale, cannot be given away, cannot be taken away: these are rights that are inherent in our status as human beings.

I leave it to you whether this noozie is a pagan. But if he isn’t, I daresay there’s something very deficient in his grasp of Christian doctrine.

What man can give, man can take away. The noozies are comfortable with that now because their favorite progs and libs control the state. They ought to bear in mind Plutarch’s observation that tyranny is a nice, high perch, but there’s no safe way down from it.

Can the President Raise Your Taxes?

All bills for raising Revenue shall originate in the House of Representatives… (Section 7)

The Congress shall have power to lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises… (Section 8)

–Article I of the United States Constitution

When Valerie Jarrett, back in 2008, said Obama was “ready to rule,” no one realized she meant it literally.

Fresh off his stroke-of-the-pen “executive amnesty” for millions of illegal aliens, President *Batteries Not Included now contemplates a “unilateral tax hike” by means of yet another executive order ( ).

The Constitution–laughingly referred to as the supreme law of the land–gives Congress the exclusive power to raise taxes. So what does this president think he is doing?

We can shed some light on this thanks to an exclusive interview with a presidential adviser named Carbuncle, who normally appears to be nothing more than a small growth near the president’s armpit. While the president is asleep, or otherwise insensible, Carbuncle can take the form of a large insect and move about independently.

“He will tell you he only wants to raise a mere $100 billion–chicken-feed!–by closing off tax loopholes and punishing those big corporations that everybody hates,” said Carbuncle. “This is going to happen in all 57 states, and that $100 billion is only the first installment.

“The president is distressed that some vestiges of the Constitution might remain intact after his final year in office. He is also keen to establish many more vacation residences for himself in various countries of the world. That will cost lots of dollars! So far he is looking at places in Costa Rica, Dubai, Switzerland, the Maldives, and some 90 other undisclosed locations.”

How can the former community organizer get away with such blatant violations of the law?

“Easy! Simple!” answered Carbuncle. “He knows no one in America will dare to demand his impeachment, because everyone in America is terrified of being called a racist. They would rather bow down to a tyrant than run the risk of being slammed by the media. So he can do anything he wants.”

Besides which, he whispered, while suggestively waving his antennae, “He has help from a place that many Americans don’t believe in but that all are afraid of.”

A Serial Poisoner Stalks Broken Hill

Ready for some good old stuff?

In The Bachelors of Broken Hill (1950),  by Arthur Upfield, a prosperous mining city in the interior of Australia is the hunting ground for some unknown person who uses cyanide–a deadly poison, but easily obtained in those days–to murder elderly bachelors: in broad daylight, and in public places. When the local police, inexperienced in such bizarre crimes, can’t crack the case, Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte (“Bony” to his friends) has to take over.

Bony, half-white, half-aboriginal, has never failed to finalize a case. He is one of the most fascinating fictional detectives ever created, on a par with Sherlock Holmes. I know, that’s easy to say, but I really mean it. Upfield wrote several dozen Bony books, from the late 1930s into the early 1960s, and all I can say is, I wish he’d written more!

Usually Bony works in the Australian Outback, a world which Arthur Upfield knew intimately, and which he excels in bringing to life for the reader. It’s as if Australia itself were a major character in these stories.

But this time Bony has to do his detecting in a city, where his special gifts seem to be inapplicable.

To complicate matters, there’s another killer on the loose–a criminally insane magician.

Now, I haven’t yet read the last two chapters, so I can’t spoil it for you by telling you how Bony solves the case. But it has been a wild ride. The mystery in hand is truly devilish: Upfield was a master of creating suspense, and in this book (as in a few others), a real sense of creepiness.

If you like mysteries, treat yourself to some of these novels. Many of them are available on, kindle or paperback, even a few used hardbacks. Arthur Upfield was a great writer, whom Australia ought to have declared a national treasure. Thankfully, online book outlets have made him easily available to American readers. For a time there it looked like he was just going to be allowed to go out of print; but I think amazon and Alibris and the others may have saved him.

We cannot afford to lose books like this!

The Good Teenager

Standing tall among my boyhood memories is the image of the good teenager on our street, a young man named Peter. Tall, handsome, he had a brilliant smile and he wasn’t stingy with it. My mother and father, and the other mothers and fathers on the street, thought very highly of him; and all the younger kids looked up to him. He was the kind of teen whom it was very easy to imagine with a sword and a plumed hat, always ready to defend the weak.

I don’t know how Peter did it; indeed, he wasn’t actually doing anything: just being himself. There was nothing phony or contrived about him. And he was interesting. He used to do things that nobody else did: like sitting down at one of the picnic benches, in the playground at the end of our street, with a bucket of boiled crabs. These he freely shared with those few of us who were brave enough to eat something that looked so strange.

I learned to play chess from the kids next door, and when they weren’t around, sometimes I would take my chess set to the playground, set it up on a picnic table, and play imaginary games.

One day Peter, twice my size, came along and offered to play with me. He won, of course, but I hardly noticed. I was playing chess with Peter! It made me feel like a million dollars. He gave me some pointers that helped me play better, and from then on he and I would play once a week or so. I never lost that feeling of having been let in on something special.

When Peter came of age, he joined the Air Force. My family moved to another neighborhood, so I never saw him again.

I have no idea where he might be now; but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn that he was now a king in Narnia.

My Favorite Prehistoric Critter

I couldn’t find a picture to go with my post today, so I thought you might enjoy this one. It’s Baluchitherium (they’ve changed the name a couple of times, but I haven’t changed with them). Largest land mammal ever.

Someday I hope the Lord will show me one.

Not Only Dumb, but Evil

In describing some of the Young Readers fiction I’ve been reading lately, I’ve concentrated on its penchant for literary malpractice. The writers and editors seem to be purposely trying to stunt the readers’ mental growth.

But they’re also throwing poison darts at moral growth.

It’s not just that they have characters inhabiting exotic, imaginary worlds talk like not-very-bright middle school kids who watch too many cartoons. It goes way beyond that.

Granted, if you want to write about the daring adventures of a character who’s 12 years old, you’ll have to find a way to get him out from under the direct supervision of his parents. No parent in his right mind consents to his child being involved in life-threatening adventures.

But in these books–again we resort to Tui Sutherland’s Wings of Fire series by Scholastic Books–adults are not just inconvenient. They’re selfish and cruel, and a menace to their own children. So the juvenile dragons, because every adult dragon’s hand is raised against them, can only look to their age-group peers for love and loyalty. “Don’t trust anyone over 30″ has metastasized into “don’t trust anyone over 13.” Even their own parents are perfectly happy to sell them for a cow or two, and the daughters of dragon queens are expected to kill their mothers: it’s the only way a dragon tribe can get a new queen.

In Scholastic’s Spirit Animals series, assorted authors depict an 11-year-old girl using the inevitable jumpin’, spinnin’ kicks to beat up and sometimes even kill adult bad guys. The kids in these books are always coming to blows with adults. Again, grownups are basically bad and you just can’t trust them. Only the kids in your public school class will be true to you.

Gee, that ain’t the way I remember childhood.

These books are important because they are part of the Godless, Christless, hubris-laden pop culture that gets poured into our heads every day. Children are highly susceptible to it. This bilge helps shape a person’s character. It gets mixed into his foundation.

We need to start paying closer attention to what our culture is teaching us. Adults and children both.

Progressives and ‘Progress’

“Progressives” (they don’t like us to call them “liberals” anymore) like to say their very name denotes forward movement: progress. Yes, put them in power, and you get progress.

My home town has been governed by progs since Watergate, and our “progress” consists of losing resources that it would have been good for us to keep. Here is a short list of what my town has lost, under Democrat management.

2 supermarkets

2 hardware stores

1 rather large school, our middle school, which had just been expanded, which expansion was still being paid for when they shut it down

3 grocery stores

1 butcher shop

1 shoemaker

1 pet shop

2 variety/dollar stores

2 stationery stores

1 gift shop

1 pharmacy

1 clothing store

1 shoe store

These have been replaced by condos, bank branch offices, trendy restaurants that stay in business for a year or so and then go belly-up, nail salons, boarded-up storefronts, new office buildings with no tenants after a whole year or two of being made available, and big projects that never get as far as groundbreaking.

You know something? Everybody needs a hardware store from time to time, but nobody ever needs a trendy restaurant.

If this is your idea of progress, you gotta be a happy camper.

Dumb Culture, Dumb Schools, Dumb People

If you can’t keep up the culture, you can’t keep anything. You can’t have a republic of dummies. Know-nothings are not able to maintain a modern economy.

But Scholastic Books seems intent on applying the art of bonsai to the human mind. The bonsai artist creates little tiny trees. The cultural bonsai artist creates little tiny minds.

You know you’re getting there when adult crossword puzzles have to be taken off the market because nobody out there is able to do them.

I’ve been reading the first two books in Scholastic’s Wings of Fire series. These fantasy novels, pitched to Young Readers, are all about dragons. Dragons are, we would think, very different from human beings. But the dragons in these books say things like:

“Ew, that’s gross!” “Awwwwww, how cute!” “You guys.” A sadistic monster character is described as “mean.” And here’s an immortal line of dialogue from Book #2, The Lost Heir: “Would you like me to spell out ‘DRAGONETS WUZ HERE’ in giant rocks?”

WUZ? In all caps? Say it ain’t so. Any moment now, I’m going to wake up and find out none of this has happened, it was just a bad dream… Nope, the book’s still there in front of me. Still packed to the brim with stupid, cliche-choked dialogue guaranteed to keep a child’s mind perpetually locked into its 11th year, unable to grow, unable to develop. A mind subjected to the art of cultural bonsai.

And it goes on for as long as its victims live. The dumbing-down of this generation never stops. Whether it’s high schools handing out diplomas to students who can barely sign their own names, or colleges sucking up five or six years’ worth of tuition to give poor, debt-saddled “graduates” degrees in thumb-sucking, Star Wars Studies, Women’s Studies, or Licking Chalk off the Blackboard, our pop culture and our schools never stop binding the roots, pruning back the branches, stunting the trunk–to produce adults who think like 11-year-olds, support Obama, and can’t do crossword puzzles because they’re just too hard.

People who watch the Kardashians.

God help us. Deliver us. Save us.

Proof That America is Getting Dumber

One of the things we like to do around here, by way of relaxation, is crossword puzzles. We have subscribed to a certain crossword magazine, from a publisher whose various puzzle magazines we’ve been regularly buying for almost 40 years. The next issue seemed inordinately delayed, so today I phoned the publisher to ask about it.

Well, guess what? They’re wiping out practically their whole line of magazines, saving only those devoted to Sudoku and really easy crossword puzzles. Self-esteem crossword puzzles: “Three-letter word for domestic animal that goes ‘Meow’ and is not a dog or a goldfish.”

“We had to do it,” said the customer service rep. “No one is buying anything but easy puzzles and Sudoku. They just can’t do the harder puzzles.”

So that little avenue of pleasure is being sealed off. Neither of us is the least bit interested in Sudoku, and who wants to do a crossword puzzle that a five-year-old can do? And no more cryptograms for Patty.

This in the country that spends more on public education than anyone has dared to calculate.

The great thinkers who created and shaped public education in the 19th and early 20th centuries were not bashful about stating their long-range goal to train up an American populace that was tractable, ignorant, easily herded by their glorious leaders… and incapable of doing adult crossword puzzles.

Looks like they’ve succeeded.


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