The death-cult of Feminism can only be destroyed from within...

From the Overview of my 5000 word essay:

A future apocalypse is a perennial favorite in fiction. At the direction of authors and screenwriters, it has befallen our planet in countless ways. We’ve been overrun by zombies, aliens, machines; been done-in by enviro-disasters, medical-hazards, plummeting asteroids; been besieged by falling sharks, crawling fish, monstrous mutant insects; and finally, perhaps scariest of all, we’ve merely suffered to death under the boots or pumps of bleak totalitarians.

Welcome to 2016, wherein the feminized West is well into the process of eating its own tail. You see, in the real world, if one simply has patience, humans can be taken step by teeny tiny step until an entire civilized people are willing to commit cultural-suicide. Can those of us with eyes still wide open get our countrymen to stop before they get to a vital organ? Stay tuned.

 Find the complete essay here.

They Walk Among Us...

...silent and effectively undetectable. You can't tell them from normal folks by appearance, most of their statements and behavior pass unremarked, and they're on a mission, though definitely not from God:

More than 7,000 academics are gathered in Victoria, B.C., this week for the annual Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences, presenting papers on everything from the errant lessons of Grey’s Anatomy to Justin Trudeau’s political brand power. In this week-long series, the National Post showcases some of the most interesting research.

Parents who read their kids stories about happy, human-like animals like Franklin the Turtle or Arthur at bedtime are exposing their kids to racism, materialism, homophobia and patriarchal norms, according to a paper presented at the Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences.

Most animals portrayed in children’s books, songs and on clothing send a bad message, according to academics Nora Timmerman and Julia Ostertag: That animals only exist for human use, that humans are better than animals, that animals don’t have their own stories to tell, that it’s fine to “demean” them by cooing over their cuteness. Perhaps worst of all, they say, animals are anthropomorphized to reinforce “socially dominant norms” like nuclear families and gender stereotypes.

Please read the rest. Any offense you give or small, valuable items you break during the subsequent fit of uncontrollable laughter are entirely your own affair.

I do believe it's time to say a few things very, very plainly:

• Normal means usual, or overwhelmingly more common than any alternative.
• Therefore, when we speak of human attitudes, convictions, and behavior, normal should be interpreted to mean "what the overwhelming majority of humans feel, think, and do."
• It follows that:
  • "Racism," when applied to the human race vis-a-vis the subhuman races, is normal.
  • "Materialism," i.e. the desire / preference for material comfort and security, is normal.
  • Heterosexuality is normal.
  • "Homophobia," whether anyone likes it or not, is normal.
  • "Patriarchal norms," to the extent the phrase was intended to convey anything more than "men are icky," are normal.

Furthermore:

• From the anthropocentric viewpoint, "animals exist only for human use" is exactly correct.
• With due respect to Caligula et alii, humans are better than animals intellectually and ethically.
• Animals have no stories to tell, regardless of whatever stories humans tell about animals.
• "Cooing over their cuteness" is far better than what PETA does to the ones it "rescues."
• Nuclear families are the basis of modern civilization.
• Assuming the "gender stereotypes" the "researchers" have in mind are the usual ones, those stereotypes are irrefutably correct.

In short, the use of animals in children's books is rational, pro-social, and pro-child-development. Indeed, the practice helps children to develop kindness toward animals. But these "researchers" are angry about it. That says a lot more about the "researchers" than about animals, their use in children's fiction, the various ideas and attitudes mentioned above, or anything else.

If you need a list of dead-giveaway words by which to detect and reject such bilge without needing to read it attentively, my favorites are:

• Racism
• Homophobia
• Heteronormative
• Patriarchal

Are these "researchers" entitled to their opinions of our "racism," "homophobia," "materialism," and "patriarchal norms?" Of course:

Porretto's Bio-Social Theorem:
Opinions are like assholes:
Everyone's gotta have one.

But the rest of us are equally entitled to laugh ourselves hoarse at their notions...and to keep them as far away from our kids as contemporary technology and the laws of physics will permit.

Of course, this is the beginning of yet another attempt to condition our children into politically correct "pre-liberal" mindsets. Its risibility should not be taken as an indication of harmlessness. (It's certainly not an exculpation.) Fortunately, harsh, derisive laughter from a multitude of sensible sources is the best detoxifying agent for such malicious nonsense. Use it!

Because I lack the grace to accept with serenity...

...all the downright dangerous shenanigans

going on in the world, I create.

"Deliver us from Evil, one Beasturd at a time. Amen."

I must thank Mr. Porretto for the opportunity to share my work with you, his trusting readers (fingers crossed that a few of you will thank him, too). I passionately favor Jeffersonian Liberty; passionately oppose Hypocrites of all colors, flavors, and shapes, regardless their field of expertise or station in life. If, through my work, I can show them-and-their-kind the Fool and/or dangerous, I will have succeeded. I know I'm not the best creative I can be, so I honestly ask for your help in getting closer to that goal. Tell me if my characters aren't likeable/believable or are just plain MEH; ditto for their quandaries or solutions to their problems. Additionally, let me know if I use too many: obvious anagrams, commas, far out foreign words, or am just too wordy, generally. (I probably won't ever give up: hyphenated-words-and-phrases, ellipses...or parentheticals. You can try.)

I write fiction for several reasons, not the least of which is to shut-the-voices-up :-). (Of course that only encourages the ones previously in the wings to step to center stage, so off we go again.) Many ideas come out of pure frustration noted above, which is primarily "political" - and fiction therefore serves as a way to vent, constructively.

I'm pretty quick to assess news and other information, so unfortunately can come across as purely "opinionated." But believe me, in the face of compelling feedback in the case of my creative work, or new facts about some real-world issue? I'll readily accept my mere-humanity (maybe get a little embarrassed) and change my method or my mind, depending.

You'll find my work quite different from the other Liberty-Literature out there. My theory is that I choose  "magical realism" or "paranormal elements" because I'm a bit too timid for the times, and therefore for my own good! By weaving in such otherworldly- or fantastic- abilities, my good-guys and gals can often avoid the whole getting down & dirty & bloody & gutsy. They avoid (as do I, as their "cinematographer") all the throat-cutting, all the exploding skulls, and all those beyond messy crime-scene cleanups and explanations. (Just so you know, I'm not opposed to such doings. For instance I take pride in being in the first wave of Rob Olive/"Essential Liberty" fandom; find my Amazon review here.)

The following is my first offering at the Torch. It was written in April and first posted on my writing blog.

"Three if by fire"

Part 1 of 5 - "Don't change horses..."

Yoshi Pratt bolted out of the nightmare and straight up in bed. The 26-year-old D.C. native’s hand flew to his heart. He pressed mightily, as if the wildly beating thing would break free at the next beat…or the next.

It didn’t. He threw off the now cold clammy sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He couldn’t stay up. Still too many hours before the alarm would screech.

From the bathroom, by shear contrast in the dark, the mussed up bed’s expanse of pale colored cotton-innards glowed. He grabbed the top sheet; it was far from dry. He flipped on the overhead fan. His dream, like the fan on low, was still going around and around his mind lazily. Though Yoshi didn’t think much about politics normally, the pulse-pounding final scenes had been nothing but.

When it came to Washington machinations and his so-called civic-duties, he’d describe himself as frozen in time. 26-going-on-18.

After college he’d tried living at the ground zero of American politics. Had dreams of working at its newspaper, The Post. That dream died, however, with multiple rejections; quickly followed by a bailing roommate, then a near-zero bank balance. He preferred renting a stranger’s basement than bunk for “free” with parent-babysitters in his boyhood room. Now he lived just over the river and through a wooded part of Virginia.

Though he’d finally been hired by a suburban newspaper, the 18-year-old in him was still angry at The Post’s rebuff. To “punish” their stupidity he purposefully donned a political cone-of-silence. Lifted it for one thing only: the Presidential Elections. He went back under the cone after the inaugural parade. This time the election “cycle” seemed to last years.

“To torture us longer,” Yoshi’d joked.