Christian fantasy literature, and commentary on assorted subjects
Let’s face it, people are really funny when they’re scared. Oh, I don’t mean scared of real things. That’s not funny at all. But silly practical jokes that momentarily freak the victim out–they’re a hoot.
I have to admit that that scary-face-suddenly-appearing-on-your-computer-screen gets me every time. I mean, you’re trying to do a puzzle or something and all of a sudden there’s a monster glaring at you. Sheesh. But at least I never fell backward out of my seat.
(I’ve been busy today doing the final proofreading for The Silver Trumpet. My part of it is done now, so I can return to… the news! Thanks to Linda for this distressing item.)
If your children are unfortunate enough to be attending school in Ontario, the Teachers’ Federation of Ontario has a real treat in store for them: a brand-new 14-letter acronym for them to learn.
LGGBDTTTIQQAAP… Yowsah, 14 letters, count ’em. (http://www.nowtheendbegins.com/canadian-elementary-teachers-federation-launching-inclusiveness-training-lggbdtttiqqaap/)
Each letter, as you’ve probably guessed, stands for a sexual aberration which the teachers’ union thinks the kiddies had better be conversant with. No, I’m not writing a satire: this is real. And no, I’m not going to sit here and write out what each letter is supposed to mean. You can get all that by clicking the news link above, if your stomach is up to it.
And everyone had freakin’ well be prepared to accept, affirm, and celebrate each and every one of those abominations, or else take the risk of being branded a Hater and having the nearest “human rights” tribunal sic one of its witch-finders on him.
Given the kind of instruction which “teachers” propose to lay on them as youngsters, what kind of shenanigans do you imagine these kids will get up to when they’re adults?
Now for something really hard! Try to dream up one good reason why any child should be subjected to this insanity in the first place.
Somebody said, over Thanksgiving dinner, “Well, gee, if you kicked all the perverts and sex fiends out of Congress, you wouldn’t have much left…”
Ooh-ooh! Wait a minute! What a good idea!
I mean, where is it written that our country must be governed by creeps who, when they are not collecting money from lobbyists and betraying the interests of the wider public, spend most of their time chasing girls and women up and down the halls of the Capitol Building, or anywhere else?
Like, could we at least, uh, try being governed by sane and decent people instead of perverts, thieves, liars, idiots, and loons? What could it hurt, just to try it for a little while? We could always go back to a pervocracy, if we felt we really had to.
The American people, by electing Donald Trump, made it clear that they want people in office who will drain the Swamp–that is, Washington, D.C. Drain the Swamp, clean out the corruption.
Only of course the Swamp does not want to be drained. The Swamp resembles the Great Grimpen Mire in The Hound of the Baskervilles: one false step by man, pony, or dog, and it’s death–sucked all the way down to the bottom. I’m getting a sense that Washington does that to the people that we send there.
There’s something to be said for keeping all the crooks in Washington. It’s easier to keep on eye on them. Except nobody does seem to keep an eye on them, and they keep on wasting our money, mismanaging the country, and chasing girls and women up and down the halls. One close look at D.C., and you’ll be convinced John Calvin was right about Total Depravity and Original Sin.
Term limits might help, if you could ever get Congress to vote to put themselves out of business. Don’t hold your breath for that.
If I knew what to do, I’d tell the world; but I don’t. The Swamp will fight to stay alive and groping. The Swamp is rich, strong, and totally unfettered by any moral scruples.
Put our trust in God, and do our best.
As soon who actually produces fantasy fiction for young readers, I’m always interested in what other writers are doing in this field–interested, and sometimes appalled. This is one of those times.
https://leeduigon.com/2012/08/30/my-search-for-a-not-that-awful-fantasy/
J.S. Klingemann requested this hymn, Before the Throne of God Above, performed as a Celtic piano solo with God’s own seashore for a background. I’ve never heard this hymn before. It’s haunting, it’s lovely; it stirs my soul. Thank you, J.S., for requesting it.
Well, here’s hoping! Two WordPress engineers worked on this blog throughout the afternoon, and it looks like they’ve accomplished some good things.
The news links are working now.
My tags and categories have been restored.
The referrals to related posts have been restored, so now I have a reasonable hope of finding stuff.
The only thing that seems to have gone wrong is that the comments from the last two days have gotten all mixed up, with some of them just plain deleted. If new comments come in all right, I can let that pass. Send me a few comments tonight, folks, so I can see if things are working properly.
And if all those problems come back again, I shall be very much put out.
Guess what will happen if you try to duplicate any of these feats of climbing here performed by cats. The human body just ain’t cut out for it.
I don’t know what possessed me to write that headline. Sorry.
In Chapter LXXXXI of Oy, Rodney by Violet Crepuscular, the jovial shepherd known as Mack the Jovial Shepherd goes missing overnight. His sheep are nonplussed. The next day he is found floating face-down in the vicar’s backyard wading pool. There are tentacle marks all over the body. Constable Chumley shakes his head and opines, “Aye, me gangers, ’tis a murragh dally-dooly ront, so I tell ‘ee.” The townspeople continue to believe they really ought to get a constable who speaks English.
Meanwhile Lord Jeremy Coldsore is horrified that the American adventurer, Willis Twombley, who thinks he is Sargon of Akkad, is going to marry Lady Margo Cargo, the richest widow in all of Scurveyshire. Lord Jeremy was supposed to marry her, as his only hope of staving off bankruptcy and losing Coldsore Hall. How this came about is very difficult to explain, and Miss Crepuscular finally gives it up as a bad job.
Willis comforts his friend. “Donchew worry none, Germy! Oncet me and Lady Margo is hitched, you and me, we’ll jist change places an’ the ol’ gal’ll never know the diff’rence!”
To everyone’s surprise, the vicar suddenly recovers from his conniptions and declares himself anxious to perform the marriage between Lady Margo and Sargon of Akkad, Ruler of All Mesopotamia. This is accompanied by a sinister smile that he never had before. When asked what he saw when he peeked under the wading pool, he only smirks and says “What conniptions?”
The other mysterious stranger who came into the book a few chapters ago hasn’t said or done anything yet.
Here’s the updated list of all the things that have gone wrong with WordPress over just the past two weeks.
News links that don’t like to anything.
Reblogging function doesn’t work.
Some readers don’t get their notifications of new posts or comments.
The links to similar or related stories, at the bottom of each post–gone, removed, vanished. Makes it hard to find related stories.
The list of tags and categories on the right-hand side of the page–gone, removed, vanished. Makes it hard to find things.
If I tried to work out these problems with WordPress’ “Happiness Engineers,” I’d be at it until I was literally driven mad. Besides, the last time they fixed something, it only stayed fixed for three or four days.
People keep predicting the folks at WordPress will get their act together and stop subverting and sabotaging their users’ blogs. But I see no sign of that happening.
Scientists should probably hear warning bells go off whenever they find exactly what they expect to find. But then if people had those kind of warning bells, the casinos–and our political parties–would soon go out of business.
https://leeduigon.com/2011/02/11/they-never-learn-scientists-that-is/