Quickies: Hatred Knows No Bounds

     There’s a YouTube clip, taken early in the presidential campaign for 2016, of a panel discussion in which Ann Coulter says, fearlessly as is her wont, that of the declared Republican candidates, the one with the best chance of ultimate electoral victory was Donald Trump. The camera immediately swung to the face of Joy Reid, whose expression was a perfect blend of incredulity and contempt.

     Joy Reid has never forgiven Coulter for being absolutely right. More to the point, she’s never forgiven Donald Trump for winning, which Reid equates to “making me look like an idiot.” (Mind you, she is an idiot, but that’s beside the point.) Today, this hatred-filled bitch is absolutely resolved upon bringing Trump down no matter what it takes or whome she has to hurt – and she has allies in the Socialist Republic of New York City:

     The Manhattan DA is investigating the President’s inaugural committee spending in the hopes of finding a crime. Joy Reid and her airhead guests used this as a jumping off point for discussion. Everything they said was conjecture and they had not one fact. They do want to see Ivanka imprisoned. One guest seemed to think there will be lots of crimes unfolding — any day now.

     Elie Mystal couldn’t understand why all the gossip surrounding the President isn’t enough to get him.

     At one point, they discussed possible tax crimes, embezzlement, and wire fraud although they had no evidence or facts. It would be funny except there are a whole lot of people just like them working in positions of power.

     Joy Reid and guest, Elie Mystal, would like to hurt Trump by targeting his children. They zeroed in on Ivanka.

     Please read it all. (There’s also a video, if you can stomach it.) Imagine what the reaction from Reid and her fellow-travelers would be were the Clintons to be targeted through Chelsea. Imagine if Barack Hussein Obama were to be targeted through Michelle, or their daughters. The outraged shrieking would be audible on Mars.

     But the Left doesn’t feel that strictures about not targeting family are binding upon it. They’d target Trump through his family dog if they thought they could get him for shitting on the sidewalk.

     It’s not enough to defeat them electorally. They must be expunged, root and branch: from government, from the media, from the world of entertainment. And when they’ve been deprived of all those pulpits, we should kick them off the planet. You know, for lagniappe!

Quickies: What To Expect From A Socialist

     Some of it, of course, is utterly obvious. Consider this old saying:

     Capitalism and Communism stand at opposite poles. Their essential difference is this: The communist, seeing the rich man and his fine home, says: "No man should have so much." The capitalist, seeing the same thing, says: "All men should have as much." – Phelps Adams

     And of course, if the socialist gets power, pretty soon he’ll get his wish – whereas the capitalist knows that only damned hard work prolonged over decades can get a people closer to his wish.

     But socialists have another common failing: they’re masively vindictive and lack any semblance of moral scruple:

     The office of Independent Sen. Bernie Sanders is being accused of wielding its political power in order to seek retribution against a Vermont business owner who ran an ad attacking Sanders over his hypocrisy.

     Rodolphe “Skip” Vallee, the CEO of St. Albans-based gasoline distributor and retailer R.L. Vallee, is alleging that Sanders and his senior press adviser, Daniel McLean, conspired against the business owner by drumming up a class-action lawsuit, according to federal court documents.

     Vallee, who owns more than 45 gas stations in and around Vermont, produced an anti-Sanders television advertisement that aired locally in September 2014. The advertisement criticized Sanders for lambasting “the rich” over receiving tax breaks and golden parachutes, while his wife Jane Sanders received a $200,000 golden parachute after her involvement in a land deal helped to bankrupt Burlington College while she was president.

     Please read it all. This is a case worth watching, and not only for what one could expect of a President Bernie Sanders.

Quickies: On Talking To Agents Of The Federal Government

     It’s been observed on several occasions, by persons with bigger readerships than mine, that talking to an FBI agent, or any other federal agent, is a risky business, because of the statute that makes lying to one of them a prosecutable offense. The implied best course is not to talk to them regardless of any importunings they might make or assurances they might offer. But this, too, is a bad idea if followed too literally. The evidence is made plain by the current foofaurauw over the prosecution of Michael Flynn.

     If the FBI wants to get you, it can do so by falsification of documents. That’s apparently what happened to Flynn. Moreover, remember that even if you’re acquitted, the government can make your defense cost you everything you own, including your reputation. Therefore, if you refuse to talk to a federal agent, you’re still vulnerable. Who, after all, will control what’s written about you and what you said in a “302” document filed later on?

     So it seems it’s necessary to “talk” to the FBI agent – but with conditions:

1. Be prepared to video-record the entire exchange.
2. Have at least one witness present – preferably a lawyer.
3. Answer every question with “No comment.”
4. Do not be lured into responding to the agent’s offhand statements, regardless of their substance.
5. Afterward, ensure the safety of the recording and make a handwritten record of the event in a bound journal.

     Would this safeguard you perfectly? It comes close...but the Omnipotent State has its ways. If it really wants to get you, it won’t stop there. Beware.

A Question For My Fiction Readers

     Is there any interest in AudioBook versions of any of my novels or shorter works? It would take me some time to make them, but if the interest is sufficient I’d invest the time and effort.

     If you are interested, please let me know.

How Can Mueller Claim the High Ground?

When he lets a prolific child porn user/distributer* off with a $200 fine?

*The mere possession of the mass reproduction equipment, plus the homemade tapes, suggest that the offender should have been more thoroughly investigated for complicity with production/distribution, as well as have to testify at accomplices' trials.
Nope. He was well-connected, so this "mistake" was swept under the rug.

The Music Of The Icosahedrons: We The Put-Upon

     [Enough acquaintances have complained to me of late about their Christmas shopping experiences that I’ve decided to resurrect an Eternity Road piece from 2005 that speaks of how best to go about it. Yes, yes, I know it’s somewhat late for the purpose, but...well, there is a week left to shop, and there are people out there in need! -- FWP]

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     That most anticipated and dreaded of all days is upon us once again: Black Friday, when retailers everywhere brace for an onslaught unexampled on any other day of the year. Shoppers will jam the stores, pushing, shoving, elbowing, cross-checking (north of the 49th parallel), and generally making a fuss over what might be the very last She-Ra action figure in a mauve teddy and puce platform heels to be found within a hundred miles, and was that really what little Johnny wanted, or did he mean those offhand remarks during the commercials for the Acme Junior Sodomy Kit to be taken as hints?

     Gahh. Your Curmudgeon will be staying home with his sweetie, his dogs and cats, his books and his DVDs, behind a securely bolted door, guaranteed impregnable up to 30 psi overpressure. The alternative is too horrible to contemplate.

     It's not that your Curmudgeon disdains to shop. He enjoys it most of the time, provided the C.S.O. isn't in one of those try-everything-on-in-every-possible-combination moods. But Black Friday seems to bring out the very worst of shoppers' behavior -- and in tandem with it, the most appalling, universal sense of unmet entitlement, as if someone had guaranteed each and every one of those folks that he'd find what he was looking for, at a bargain price, and with gift wrapping thrown in.

     It's unseemly, especially given the time of year. But then, it would hardly be better in August or March, and we get plenty of it then, as well.

     That sense of entitlement, and the resentment and smoldering, barely controlled rage that go along with it, can manifest even in the nicest of persons. To hone the ironies unbearably sharp, it usually thrusts itself into the light under those precise conditions when it will most impede the sufferer from getting what he wants. Your Curmudgeon has a young friend, whom he'll call Miss Smith, who's sweeter than Splenda^TM toward him and her other friends and intimates, but who seemingly can't control herself around retail clerks or waitresses. Not long ago, your Curmudgeon took her out to lunch in celebration of a recent achievement, ordered for both, and enjoyed a pleasant hour over good food and conversation. On the ride back to the office, Miss Smith remarked about how uncharacteristically pleasant and considerate the waitress had been.

     your Curmudgeon: Oh, you've had a bad experience there before?
     Miss Smith: No, but every waitress I've ever gotten in a place like that has been rude and obnoxious to me.

     your Curmudgeon: Wow. You must be eating in the wrong places.
     Miss Smith: No, just casual restaurants like that one. But they all seem to hire the worst-tempered people they can find.

     your Curmudgeon: (hesitantly) Are you sure you're not over-generalizing from a handful of unpleasant encounters?
     Miss Smith: Perfectly. When I go out to eat, I have to scream until I'm blue in the face to get decent service. You must have charmed her.

     Your Curmudgeon barely has enough charm to register on the finest detectors. All he'd done was smile and say "may I," "please," and "thank you." At the time, he shrugged it aside, but a few days later, when nearly identical comments issued from another of his friends after another lunch out, it set him to thinking.

     Today, North America's retail establishments will feature plenty of scowling, grumbling, and shouting, but very few smiles, pleases, or thank yous. Retail workers will go home exhausted in body and spirit. Most shoppers won't be any happier.

     As a rule, people respond in kind to the treatment they receive. They return courtesy for courtesy, and insult for insult; consideration for consideration, and blow for blow. Moreover, none of this is being kept secret. When Christ told us to "do unto others as you would have them do unto you," He wasn't articulating some bizarre and unnatural theory of human relations; He was elucidating the way human society actually, observably works. So why are so many of us unable to draw the lesson?

     Perhaps at the core of the mystery is the sense of being under continuous pressure from the demands of others. A lot of people suffer it -- possibly most of us, at points during the year -- and the sense of having one's nerves and energies taxed to their limits is not conducive to moderation or restraint. The Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, with their hospitality and gift-giving traditions, are sources of that pressure, especially for those with large families or another reason to feel interpersonal obligation.

     Most Americans feel more obliged to keep true to our cultural traditions of holiday hospitality and generosity than they do to obey the penal laws. (Black Friday isn't just the nation's biggest shopping day; it's also our biggest shoplifting day. Keep an eye peeled; you'll see it all around you.) It doesn't help that the generosity obligation, once confined to immediate family, is now widely deemed to include friends, coworkers, and the purchasing agents for one's largest customers.

     This is not good. It must be undone before it turns what was once a credit to us into a cultural chancre to be condemned.

     Accordingly, your Curmudgeon would like to issue a few suggestions:

1. Try to gauge the amount of irritation and anxiety holiday shopping will bring you before you begin it. If it strikes you likely that you won't be able to draw a net gain from it -- without factoring in the feigned squeals of delight from the recipients of your purchases -- then abandon the enterprise. At the least, put it off until you've built up some reserves of equanimity.
2. Do not ask anyone what he'd like as a gift. Not only is this contrary to the central principles of gift-giving; it also increases the pressure on you, by prescribing what you must locate and how much you must spend. Conversely, the only answer you may give to "what would you like for Christmas?" is the old standby: "Peace in the world."
3. If you feel you must shop for gifts, then before you set out, do all the following, without exception or reservation:
   • Tot up the amount you'd be comfortable spending, set that amount aside in cash, and resolve firmly to spend not a penny more, regardless of all inducements.
   • Eschew conversation with anyone -- most especially with family members -- about holiday shopping, whether yours or theirs. This is an underappreciated source of poorly cloaked hints and overall competitive pressure. If someone else introduces the topic, change the subject at once.
   • Go only to stores that pride themselves on customer service, and maintain the highest degree of courtesy toward everyone while you're there.
   • Wherever you shop, patronize stores at their least busy hours. Early mornings are usually best -- Black Friday is an exception to this -- as are late evenings.
   • Under no circumstances are you to say to yourself "I have to get something for XXX." No, you don't, no matter who XXX may be. Your only real obligations, even to your spouse, are affection and respect. If you can't find an appropriate gift for your wife, rub her feet. If you can't find an appropriate gift for your husband, rub his back. Accompany these "gifts" with the promise of a special occasion, for example a dress-up dinner out at a nice restaurant, after the holidays are over.

     It ought not to be necessary for prescriptions as simple as these to issue from a Certified Galactic Intellect calibrated for unscrewing the inscrutable, but one does what one must.

The new totalitarianism.

We must therefore stop believing that Russia is a continuation of the USSR. Who has the greatest ideological similarity with the USSR (plus the economic prosperity) is Western Europe.

In the US, Ms Clinton is the best representative of this new totalitarianism wide-spread among the ruling elites in their fight against Trump.^[1]

This is another way of describing what I’ve called the broken link between government and people. Earlier in his article, Mr. Blot earlier writes that

a new type of USSR has emerged, however based on the ideological dictatorship of a market economy dominated by oligarchs.

He says this is new U.S.S.R. is today’s NATO but I think that he uses NATO and Western Europe to mean the same thing. He also writes that “[t]he EU Commission is a kind of supreme bureaucratic Soviet, without any popular control . . .” so either one or all of these reflect this new totatitarianism.

Obviously, it’s not accurate to say that a “market economy” can exercise any kind of a dictatorship. Thus, I think he means that “oligarchs,” presumably the ultra rich, rule for whatever reason by means of a Wild West “market economy” which lately is vaguely and duplicitously described as “neo-liberalism.” It’s the term du jour meaning something incredibly vague but probably a dog-eat-dog economic order that preys on old ladies with cancer and soulful illegal immigrants innocently seeking a better life, A/K/A “capitalism.” “Capitalism” here means capitalism stripped of the protection of Glass-Steagall, unregulated banks, insane use of derivatives, a blind eye turned to high-frequency trading, crony capitalism, non-enforcement of antitrust laws, and total control of politics at all levels by the insanely rich.

So, a little more precision is called for. A “market economy” or “free markets” mean to conservatives economic life governed by competition, freedom to innovate, risk taking, cooperation between enterprises and numerous small investors, AND a functioning legal system to maintain the integrity of the market by punishing fraud and unfair competition and enforcing contracts freely entered into. This is what capitalism is about and the main point about it is that it functions within a system of “ordered” liberty. That is, there are rational people who understand that stronger, more well-financed, larger entities can game an excellent system to their advantage to the point that their dominant position replaces efficiency and rational risk taking as the determinant of success.

But this view of capitalism is anathema to the left that dishonestly attempts to ascribe to “capitalism” all the ills that unscrupulous actors can devise when left to their own devices. Derivatives? “Capitalism”! Near total monopoly in media? “Capitalism”! Bernie Madoff? “Capitalism”! Campaign contributions? “Capitalism”!

However, the above is but a detour from Blot’s point, namely, the rise of a new U.S.S.R. His “oligarchs” and “market econcomy” point is too vague. Nothing about a market economy requires mass importation of savages and parasites and, no, under a regime of mass immigration business doesn’t acquire workers who’ll work for less and thus enable the maximization of profits by squeezing the locals. The immigrants don’t work and remain welfare dependent into the second and third generations, not to mention their contribution to extreme social pathology and well-financed subversion.

No. Something more is at work. Barbara Lerner Spectre illuminates the unique Jewish determination to inundate white societies with third-world primitives and hostiles but it’s more than that as (1) the E.U.’s Frans Timmermans, of diversity is the destiny of mankind fame, and (2) that now gloriously late, lying sack Peter Sutherland, last United Nations special representative for international migration, make abundantly clear.

This has nothing to do with economics but reflects an agenda of vicious destruction that an ordinary person of good will simply cannot understand. It cannot be understood as political decisions honestly taken. These are simply not decisions based on conclusions about human existence arrived at by honest analysis of our problems on the part of men of good will and understanding.

Globalism is frequently posited as what underlies this but it isn’t that. Think Frankfurt School an the lunatic, satanic left’s desire to destroy, destroy, destroy. If workers won’t rise up against the old regime then let there be rot propagated from within.

As with the U.S. and French attack on Libya and Syria, the cultural Marxist leftists extremists have no clue about what life will be life if they achieve their goals. Presumably, they assume that civic-minded, compassionate luminous beings will at last govern unruly and disreputable low-minded, greed-obsessed, cretins in the right fashion and allow people like themselves to live as their innate decency and intelligence require, crying rooms and correct pronouns galore.

President of France.

If anyone wants a glimpse into truly addled thinking about human and political possibilities go no further than to read an article describing French President Macron’s speech to senior French diplomats in August of 2017. That is some concentrated idiocy and entirely representative of the “new totalitarianism wide-spread among the ruling elites.” It makes no sense whatsoever and floats above all understanding of history and human nature. Figure out where this lunatic thinking comes from and we’re way down the road to understanding how to reverse our mad, but determined, course to civilizational destruction.

Notes
^[1] "The NATO Wall." By Yvan Blot, Current Concerns, 11/12/18, p. 12.

Edited, image added 12/18/18.

For Gaudete Sunday: An Advent Rumination

Gaudete, gaudete!
Christus est natus
Ex Maria virgine
Gaudete!

[Read the rest here, as I’m indisposed to transcribe it all.]

     Christians will be aware that today, the third Sunday of Advent, is Gaudete (“Rejoice!”) Sunday, when the Mass celebrant lights the pink candle. Gaudete Sunday has always struck me as oddly placed, as it comes before the Feast of the Nativity – that’s Christmas Day, for all you folks playing at home – but there it is, an exhortation to rejoice about an event that hasn’t happened yet.

     Of course I’m being unreasonably literal here. There are plenty of reasons to rejoice, including this one: Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, was born about two thousand years ago. Christmas is a commemoration, not some sort of don’t-miss-it Opening Day Sale. We already have His Gospels; we already have His promise of eternal life; we already have His Crucifixion and Resurrection by which to know that He was indeed the Son of God. So by all means rejoice. These things are ours in perpetuity. They cannot be taken away from us.

---

     You may have noticed that as usual at this time of year, the militant atheists are out and about, doing what they can – not much, really – to spoil the celebration. They spend money. They put up placards and billboards. They buttonhole us types with “an imaginary friend” and lecture us about how “irrational’ we’re being. And to what effect? Approximately nothing good; mostly just a lot of acrimony.

     Note that they do nothing of the sort to Muslims at Eid al-Adha. But that’s a separate subject.

     I’m reminded of a brief line from the unfairly derided movie – probably mostly by militant atheists; they can’t seem to leave anything Christian alone – God’s Not Dead 2. Protagonist Grace Wesley, played by Melissa Joan Hart, is chatting with her father Walter, played by Pat Boone, about a student of hers who’s agonized by her atheist parents’ seeming indifference to the death of her brother, an embryonic Christian. Dad says, most pithily, that “That’s the thing about atheism. It doesn’t take away the pain; it just takes away the hope.”

     Yes, some Christians are aggressively evangelistic. This is a mistake. It’s always a mistake to be aggressive about a belief that can neither be proved nor disproved. But it’s a mistake that far fewer of us make today than in previous eras. The aggressively evangelistic atheists make that point for me.

     I’ve known a fair number of reasonably intelligent people in my sixty-six years. Many of them were atheists. But they were no happier than the theists around them. In many cases they were less happy. One complained to me privately about the sense that his life was meaningless. As bright as he was – IQ around 145, by my informal estimate – he hadn’t grasped that meaning requires an interpreter. (At least he wasn’t evangelistic about his atheism.)

     Please don’t mistake me: it’s possible that the atheists are correct, that there is no supernatural realm, no eternal life, and no Supreme Being. But it’s just as possible that they’re wrong – and what do the militant ones have to offer the targets of their evangelism? Their approval? A secret handshake? A complimentary one year subscription to Free Thought magazine?

     Political evangelists are bad enough. Leave us Christians alone, please. We’re not stupid, not irrational, and not interested in your supercilious disapproval. We know what we like.

---

     It has always taken courage to stand against the disapproval of a noisy crowd. Time was, it took courage to be an acknowledged atheist. That’s no longer the case. Today the sneers and denunciations come from the atheists. Today it takes courage to be openly religious.

     I’m a cerebral type. Things have to make sense to me. I’m a Christian – Catholic variety – for the reasons G. K. Chesterton once cited: I find life to be sensible and workable with this scheme of belief, but senseless and unworkable without it. Were Christian doctrine overall to strike me as irremediably contradictory to Man’s accumulated knowledge, I would reject it. But the more I’ve learned, the more harmonious it has come to appear.

     It was in reaching the conclusions that:

• The two Great Commandments and the Ten Commandments of the Decalogue are indispensable guides toward the living of a good life in a good society;
• The evidence that Jesus of Nazareth lived, taught, worked, died, and was resurrected is trustworthy if not utterly conclusive;
• The Gospels themselves are wholesome and contain nothing that violates the nature, drives, and social character of Man;

     ...that I became capable of rejoicing as a Christian should. But I don’t rejoice merely for the coming of the Christmas commemoration; no sincere Christian does. I rejoice for all His gifts, including existence itself. For if God exists, it follows that all else flows from His will, including our lives in a universe with fixed natural laws we can learn, and from which we can prosper. Were He to say “I’m tired of the universe, expanding all the time, who needs it?” that would be the end of all things except Him.

     His gifts to us are literally immeasurable. That’s material enough for a lifetime of rejoicing.

     May God bless and keep you all!

Nightmares Of A Wine Enthusiast

     You know, no matter how aggressively you go about it, there are a lot of wines out there you’ll never taste. And that is probably for the best. Because in keeping with Sturgeon’s Law, 90% of them are crud.

     As an avid sampler of wineries and their wares, I’ve had some crud in my years. I’m not proud of it, though I sometimes wonder if having survived it entitles me to a decoration of some sort. But of course, one does not deliberately return to the crud. One notes its awfulness in the Avoidance Logs and moves on, hopefully to something better.

     Having said that, allow me to present you with what might be the funniest thing ever written on the subject of bad wine. I stumbled across it some time ago – I forget where – and inasmuch as I’m about to spend the afternoon unpacking and racking up six cases of newly delivered wines, I thought my Gentle Readers might find it a delightful (??) diversion from the excessively heavy fare I usually load this dump with.

     What follows is the entire original text of Dan Atkinson’s “Contains Sulfites.” Enjoy.

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Contains Sulfites

     "I'm on the Night Train, and I'm ready to crash and burn. I never learn." -A. Rose

BY DAN ATKINSON

     (Following the purchase of the name "Oregon Voice" from the State of Oregon, the Oregon Commentator Presents: Oregon Voice ran this parody of the real OV Wine Review, from their previous issue. This article was first published January 18, 1999.)

     The bottom shelf of the wine section is uncharted territory to the average student. Many regular and heavy drinkers of Beast Ice and Busch Lite turn up their noses at cheap wine. Why? Is there really a difference in quality between these fortified and sulfite-laden potions and the industrial suds so many of us drink?

     The difference is psychological. The implication is that to kick back with a liter of Night Train is to be a wino. No one wants to be a wino. Winos are dirty and vulgar and lacking in teeth. There's death on their breath and evil in their eyes. Right? Maybe. Bur most of the winos I've met were decent people. One escorted me to an ATM at 3am, didn't mug me, and sold me a suede jacket. A couple others down by the river one night offered my friends and me a couple hours of life-affirming insights and dirty, dirty jokes. It was the least they could do after grabbing our whiskey bottle and slobbering all over it. If winos can be decent people, then their wines could be decent, too. With that in mind, I spent a little money, drank a lot of wine, and hammered out this wine review. All of the wines are from Albertson's; in parentheses are the quantity, price, and alcohol percentage.

     I drank the following three bottles of wine in and around Corvallis during Civil War weekend-a smelly, dirty, brutal couple of days. By the end, the back of our U-Haul was plastered with mud, I had been arrested, and the Ducks had lost twice in one game.

     My empty jug of Fairbanks "Port" (1.5 liters, $5.99, 18%) went through it with me, and it shows. The label's shredded; the once-clear glass is spattered with mud and blood (from our proud Publisher's shredded eyelid). This port is a study in contrasts. It opens fast, round and sweet-pixie stick, buttercup, whispers of Diet Rite. The finish, though, is a battle of green pennies and bug repellent, with lead paint darting around the edges. Fairly sulfury throughout.

     Manischewitz's "Loganberry" (750 ml, $3.59, 10%) was a spendy concession to our Kosher readership. As the sun went down on the Friday before the game, I twisted off the top and started guzzling-I'm told I was celebrating Shabbat. Assertive and sweet-Sugar cane, overripe plums, a rumor of clover and a puppy's warm lick. Despite a touch of cedarwood, it is one dimensional and insulting. Even so, this sugar-water proved bearable during the dirtbag small-town high school playoff game we crashed. In full monsoon conditions, the Regis Rams stomped the Monroe Dragons into the midfield bog, 38-0. I was impressed, and I hope they went all the way this year.

     Carlo Rossi's "Vin Rosi" (1.5 l, $3.99, 9.5%) I drank on an empty gut, just like a wino. Sadly, it wasn't strong enough to counteract the offensive lack of flavor. It had all the zest of a rhubarb pie sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool, with a mulchy aftertaste that faded fast.

     I concluded my research at home. Rounding up five bottom shelf picks, I had a formal wine tasting with fellow OC hacks Mike Atkinson and Brandon Hartley. We smelled and sipped each wine, taking notes on nose (smell), palette (taste) and finish (aftertaste). The following reviews summarize our notes and discussions.

     Boone's Farm's "Sun Peak Peach" (750 ml, $2.99, 5%) billed itself as an "Apple Wine Product;" thus it is to wine what Easy Cheese is to cheddar. Damn near fell off the chair when I read the alcohol percentage. Nonetheless, since so many insist on calling it "wine," we had to sample it. It had a humid, moldy nose with notes of Yoplait, Daisy Dukes, Jojoba shampoo, and intimations of a northern Washington savannah. The palette opened yellow and sharp like a lady's slap, but soon sank into lulling Massengill freshness. There was no discernible peach flavor. It could go well with scrambled eggs. Notable for being the only "wine" to feature nutrition facts on the label, it packed about the same buzz as a fruit salad.

     Thunderbird's "Serve Cold" (750 ml, $2.79, 17.5%), "The American Classic," was a complex and aggressive wine from the first sniff. "The stale farts of an aging Times Square hooker," noted Brandon, seeking vivid metaphors for the barbaric attack, "or the odor of vomit-soaked sewer grates." Mike found the nose urinary with a hint of Windex. To me, it was a quivering bouquet of Nyquil, rotten grapefruit, and horseradish. The odors were heavy like sun on a headache, like varnish on an open sore.

     The flavor was hauntingly scolding, like Mom's cooking sherry. Quick and staccato, without subtlety, the flavors attacked: Vaseline, allegations of lime, Triaminic and bacon grease, a pile of bum yak on Burnside, a diesel train crashing into a baby duck, rancid Mountain Dew, a backalley dumpster's burnt caramel apple. My God, the horror! It was like waking up in a tire fire.

     Each sip ended with a hydrogen peroxide sting that made you cringe and wonder if the next sip was worth it. When the glass was drained, the flavors cooled to a slow evil burn, like the lingering itch of jalapeno diarrhea. But at last we had a buzz.

     Richards "Triple Peach" (750ml, $2.69, 18%) was no picnic either-or was it? In my notes I have scrawled "Little Johnny at the church picnic puking Kool-Aid on your shoes." This was the last wine we tasted with our senses fully intact. Its fat, spiny nose rose boldly into our sinuses, burgeoning into a sweet yet horrible symphony. Peaches in formaldehyde. Napalm-charred ginger in the hills around Khe Sanh. Festering fruit salad. Methane. Urine from a rat with a thing for pear juice.

     We had to quit sniffing and drink. All the sweetness of the nose vanished with a taste. Brief, delicate hints of sandlewood in the front soon too had gone, as the palette unrolled like the greasy bedroll of a backalley burnout. It was a sharp, tart, and cumbersome parade of demonic flavors and textures. Vinegar on Fruit Loops. Sweat licked from a southern belle's humid butt-crack. Sun-baked alkali. Hail falling through smog. The crotch of a CBA player's postgame drawers.

     The worst thing about it, it wouldn't let go. It was a goblin, lodged in the throat, clinging to your tongue with barbed pinchers. In Mike's notes, written large, is a single word: "BILE."

     MD (Mad Dog) 20/20 "Banana Red" (750 ml, $2.69, 13.5%) was just what we needed. The color of grapefruit juice, it is just barely more of a wine than Boone's, but it didn't matter. What a relief, what a candy-ass carnival ride it was after Thunderbird and Triple Peach.

     This must be what the winos drink to relive the high points of their childhood. The nose comes on rich and festive-bubble gum, boardwalks, Banana runts. Gusts of cotton candy. But when one searches for subtlety-perhaps a rumor of Disney cartoons, maybe a funhouse undertone-it is absent. Brandon detected something sinister beneath the fun, suggesting the wine smelled "very like the liquid peppermint sedatives a pedophile pediatrician might give a toddler."

     The apparently innocent fun continues on the palette. Sugar-free lollipops from the dentist, Christmas tree lots, Kool-Aid with a twist of Hubba Bubba. The flavors never really hit the mark, but instead seem false and shallow, like a swim in the 4-foot pool at Motel 6. "Boring," concluded Brandon. It was the last legible word he managed that night.

     Night Train "Express" (750 ml, $2.79, 17.5) is the king of the bottom shelf, the best of the worst. It has been immortalized in song and literature, most memorably in Guns'n'Roses' classic "Nightrain:"

     "I'm on the nighttrain Bottoms up I'm on the nighttrain Fill my cup"

     We unanimously agreed it was the best swill of the night, and I think it's the best of the lot. By the time we got to it, though, we were legally unfit to taste. In my notes under 'nose,' I wrote "I can't smell a thing! Wait-in the distance! Primrose Hill!" I don't get it either. Brandon had degenerated to drawing cartoons. He left before finishing, and later reported waking in his own vomit. Only Mike was able to rationally pin down the nose, calling it "Essence of Presbyterian communion grape juice."

     Like cheap brandy in a Taco Bell cup, the attack was tart enough to wring water from a stone. It soon evened out, becoming slow, smooth and long, with hints of mango, touches of sugar cane, and a stray sulfur note. A dry, bitter finish; wormwood softened by guava. Pretty damned good, we concluded as we split Brandon's share.

     You can have a lot of fun swilling wino juice. But watch it. I was in a drunk tank in Northeast Portland last night, commiserating with some fellow Black Sabbath fans about the horrible twist of fate that had befallen us. Round about midnight, a pair of Sobriety-Impaired Native American Citizens were brought in and promptly fell on the floor. One was by the bathroom, and I damn near stepped on him. He raised his head about an inch to look at my knees.

     "Um guh kill you," he said. That was the last straw. I was pissed. I started yelling at him about every single thing that had gone wrong with my birthday so far, including him and his putrid, snoring friend. After a couple minutes his closed his eyes and let loose a wave of loud, phlegmy laughter. On his breath, I smelled the unmistakable napalm odor of Richard's Triple Peach mingled with vomit and death.

     I turned away, disgusted. I had been so wrong. What they say is true. Winos are filthy people. No one wants to be a wino.

     (Dan Atkinson, a junior majoring in Journalism, is Managing Editor of the Oregon Commentator)

---

     There, now wasn’t that...refreshing?

The Priority Schedule Of An Elite

     Does anyone else remember the marvelous movie Fight Club? Surely you remember the first two rules of Fight Club:

     Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club!

     For “Fight Club” in the above, feel free to substitute “The Elite.” And now, let’s have the full list of the rules:

1. You do not talk about The Elite.
2. You do not talk about the Elite. (We’re selfless public servants, like the postman!)
3. Your membership in The Elite is the supreme grace of your life. You shall place it above all other considerations.
4. You shall not, under any circumstances, attack another member of The Elite.
5. You shall not, whether directly or indirectly, provide aid and comfort to anyone who attacks The Elite or any of its members.
6. You shall, circumstances permitting, defend a member of The Elite who comes under attack.
7. The privileges and perquisites of The Elite are equivalent to membership therein. You shall defend them when they are questioned, regardless of the identity or station of the questioner.
8. Upon failure to abide by these commandments, your membership in The Elite shall be revoked.

     An Elite is an aristocracy. Remember what I said about the nature of an aristocracy?

     A class is defined by its legal and social privileges. The aristocrats of medieval times were not distinguished by their lineages or their deeds, but by the things they were allowed to do, without penalty, that commoners were not. There is reason to believe that the majority of medieval aristocrats were fairly responsible stewards of their lands and of public order within them. That does not justify the creation of a class of men who could wield high, middle, and low justice over others, but who would normally escape all consequences for deeds for which a commoner would be severely punished.

     The American response to the failings of traditional aristocracies was the Rule of Law: the fundamental principle that the law must treat all men impartially, regardless of their identities or station in life. The old shorthand for this principle was "blind justice," meaning that the law must not see one's person, only one's deeds. In a society that respects the Rule of Law, a king would stand in the same dock as a trash-hauler, were the two accused of the same offense. All that would matter would be the evidence for their guilt or innocence.

     In the absence of a scrupulously observed Rule of Law, classes with differing degrees of privilege will emerge. The flourishing of the members of each class will be influenced, often heavily, by the class's privileges and how effectively they can be exploited. Men being what we are, we will be moved to use those privileges in our own interest, both against competitors within our class and against other classes.

     When Robert Mueller blatantly defies a court order to surrender critical documents, he is exerting an Elite privilege: We don’t have to do that. When James Comey lies to protect Hillary Clinton from prosecution under the National Security Act and the Espionage Act, he is conforming to The Elite’s Rule 6 above. And when the entire Justice Department collaborates in an attempt to prevent the election of Donald Trump to the presidency, it’s enforcing the unwritten, unspoken rule:

Only The Elite shall decide who may join its ranks.

     All these things are of the essence of an Elite.

---

     It’s my contention that the existence of an Elite in a republic such as ours requires the rules I enumerated:

1. Rule 1 enforces self-protective discretion.
2. Rule 2 implies severe penalties for violating Rule 1.
3. Rule 3 is a reminder: This is why you want to be one of us.
4. Rule 4 establishes the first external priority of membership.
5. Rule 5 extends Rule 4.
6. Rule 6 completes the enclosure of The Elite.
7. Rule 7 extends that enclosure to The Elite’s special privileges.
8. Do I really have to explain Rule 8?

     These rules also make plain why The Elite must acquire an unshakable grip on supreme political power and guard it against outsiders, for The Elite could not exist nor persist if it could be attacked through the law! Thus any outsider who attempts to use the law to attack The Elite, a member thereof, or any of its privileges will be immediately counterattacked with maximum force.

     Is it not “obvious” that a self-perpetuating Elite is impossible when the Rule of Law is scrupulously observed? There cannot be an Elite if the law applies to its members just as it would to a commoner. It negates the nature and purpose of an Elite: to stand apart from the common folk and above them.

     Are you thinking of Donald Trump? You should be.

---

     This nation was founded on an anti-aristocratic basis: the firm conviction that no one shall have privileges that allow him to defy the laws that bind the rest of us. Yet we have an Elite, demonstrably so. We have a class of persons who work most assiduously to set the law at naught when its observance or enforcement might discommode them, threaten their privileges, or violate their enclosure.

     This is wrong. It’s un-American. Others have said it. Now I have said it. But what, then, must we do?

     Time to pray.

God bless our outstanding women.

H/t: Conservative Headlines.

Quickies: Policing For Profit

     Do you ever travel with a substantial amount of cash on you, or with valuable articles in your possession? Beware.

     Alex at Ammo.com has alerted me to yet another compendious, almost definitive article: Civil Asset Forfeiture: Policing For Profit. And once again, it’s a must-read for anyone who wants to keep what’s rightfully his out of the clutches of Bad Blue.

     The incentive structure erected around civil asset forfeiture guarantees that police departments at every level of government will be in on the action, and determined to stay there. As John Ross alluded in his blockbuster novel Unintended Consequences, such seizures can touch any item of value – and are often “engineered” at the moment of impact. In the following, gun expert Henry Bowman is invoking a favor from FBI agent Mike Garland, to aid a friend in getting a “contraband” gun into the United States:

     “[It’s] an elephant gun, made in England seventy years ago that Ray bought in a Boston sporting goods store in 1959. Customs guy’s not asking for duty. He's trying to steal the whole gun because of the front sight. It’s a piece of elephant ivory about the size of half a grain of rice....
     “Mike, I know the way this works. I’m trying to save everyone some time here....If the guy at the airport wants to be a prick and make Ray miss his plane and have to get a hotel, fine, but he’ll eventually get all his guns back.^[1] If you tell him to let him go now, your guy can keep Ray’s .38 as consideration for expediting his clearance, okay?
     “But Mike? As we speak, Ray is watching his guns. There is no way that any drugs are going to miraculously appear inside any of them, as can happen sometimes with vehicles. Particularly expensive, fast, German vehicles.^[2] Okay?”

     Note 1: Ray does have the documentation attesting to when and where he bought that “elephant gun,” but he doesn’t have it with him – and if the gun should leave his possession, it could easily “get lost:” i.e., wind up in some Customs agent’s private gun safe.

     Note 2: An earlier scene involving Mike Garland shows him boasting, oh so delicately, about his acquisition of a high-end BMW through “snowflaking.”

     Draw the moral. Never, ever carry anything with you that might tempt an act of “policing for profit.” Ship it instead.

     UPDATE: Apparently I rely too much on my memory. John Ross has just informed me that Mike Garland was a Customs agent rather than FBI, and the "snowflaked" car was a Porsche. Apologies. (Hey, at least I got the nationality of the car right!)

Why Trump's Payments to Women are NOT Impeachable Offenses

Nor, for that matter, a violation of campaign finance law.

Is it just me, or are the Dems - particularly Clintons - acting in frantic desperation? The holes in their stories are being published - at last - in the media, the Dems are less eager to cover for them, and they are finding that some of the people in the know about their activities are beginning to turn on them.

I've noticed that the Obamas are conspicuously absent from politics, except for the ever-avaricious Michelle, eagerly hawking her book, Becoming. She's relaxed her careful control over her comments, less concerned about trying to appear gracious and First-Ladyish. She even got Down & Vulgar, spewing out a vulgar phrase on national TV.

But, the former President has been mostly absent from the public stage, except for a brief period of campaigning. Has he gone to ground? Is he trying to avoid the collateral damage that will likely be the result of uncovering the HRC mess?

Whatever. What he is NOT doing, it seems, is to write that book he's been paid for. Same old, same old.

Quickies: Hold The Outrage, Please

     Via the invaluable Knuckledraggin’ My Life Away comes a story that requires more than a cursory glance:

     The operation was serious and Anna felt relieved when her mother was moved from Intensive Care. But all that ended when the caring daughter found duct tape fixing her mom’s bandages. The ensuing scandal saw the head doctor sacked.

     Although Anna, from Blagoveshchensk in Russia's Far East, knew that her 63-year-old mother’s operation went well and that she was transferred from Intensive Care. But there was no way she could have predicted that a routine visit to her mom’s ward at the city’s clinical hospital would end in such drama.

     When Anna examined her mom, she was stunned to see that “the stitches were well-tended, but the bandages were attached to the body with duct tape instead of special medical adhesive plasters.”

     Where’s the scandal? Duct tape is versatile stuff! It adheres to surfaces that reject just about everything else, up to and including soldering and welding. Moreover, there is no evidence to suggest that it could infect a wound in human skin – assuming that it were used as the primary bandage, rather than as the anchor for a bandage as in the story above.

     The incident calls to mind a scene from one of John Campbell’s “Lost Fleet” books. Admiral “Black Jack” Geary, the hero-protagonist of the series, has just taken in flagship through a skirmish in which personnel were injured, equipment was damaged, and the hull of the ship suffered minor punctures. His damage control team patched all of these people and things with duct tape. It was what they had, and the nearest resupply point was most of a galaxy away. So they made do.

     But there were some aliens on board: diplomats Geary was ferrying to Alliance space, to make first contact with our civilization. The aliens noticed...and they immediately started negotiations with Geary to purchase the secrets of this “universal fixing substance.” I can’t remember exactly what Geary purchased from the aliens with duct tape, but it was rather valuable.

     Just another of the modern miracles we take too easily for granted, I suppose.

We care deeply.

. . . Russian President Vladimir Putin [is] making “continued efforts to try to subvert democratic processes that must be defended. We’ll do whatever is necessary to defend them.”^[1]

~ Defense Secretary James Mattis (quoted portion).

However, defending our “democratic processes” does not include lifting a finger in the U.S. to deal with vote fraud , a grave problem all over the U.S. So Gen. Mattis should spare me his “whatever is necessary” nonsense.

Mark Levin recently pointed out the obvious fact that the Republicans have been in control of both houses of Congress and the presidency for the last two years but didn’t do a thing to address vote fraud. Not a damn thing.

On top of which a known election-manipulating clown in Florida was unchallenged by Rick Scott during his tenure as governor. Now that’s a reasonably influential official in my view but he did nothing to deal with an official with a known history of ballot “discovery” and ballot destruction. He only narrowly won a Senate seat over a socialist disaster candidate after having to contend with some serious vote counting irregularities (sometimes referred to as “felonies”).

An electoral defeat would have been justice of a sort, though a set back for the Mr. Magoo Republicans. Our champs. Not that they give a damn. Which way did he go? Which way did he go?

Yes. Our devotion to “democratic processes.” What a joke. Sarah Silverman and Kathy Griffin will be on this like a duck on a discarded McDonald's Quarter Pounder (no cheese) with a medium order of fries.

Next on the agenda of any person who does care about the republic are (1) an end to “one-dollar, one vote” and (2) stripper legislation to neutralize Citizens United and keep unions from working for their favored (Democrat) candidates.

Notes
^[1]  "Trump-Russia Collusion: James Mattis Tells All – Without Any Evidence." By Phil Giraldi, Russia Insider, 12/11/18.

Why do SOME White Women Vote GOP?

They MUST have been coerced to do so by Patriarchal White Supremacists in their Families or Communities.

Honestly. That's the conclusion of Michelle Ruiz, writing for Vogue (I know, I know, it's a FASHION magazine, but...).

We really MUST set up a monthly award for the absolutely DUMBEST thing written on the web that month. Heck, I'll volunteer to set it up.

Did you know that being against killing babies makes you anti-woman? Despite some studies that showed around 2/3 of women reported being coerced or pressured to have an abortion, against their own wishes?

Anti-woman. I do not think that word means what you think it does.

That Feminine Manifesto is looking more and more needed every day.

Homelies

     Over the past few years, some Gentle Readers have lodged an unusual request: that I should occasionally say something about myself. My initial reaction to that was “Oh, surely not!” That’s like forcing your dinner guests to watch your home movies. Besides, if you’ve read my Amazon profile, you already know more about me than you should want to know. Some of the details in that squib should keep you awake at night, agonizing over the possibility that I might someday move to your neighborhood.

     But it’s policy here at Liberty’s Torch to honor readers’ requests as far as possible under the constraints of the law, Christian ethics, and good taste. And I really don’t have any public-policy or political crap to vent about this morning, so...

---

     I like to cook, as does the C.S.O. However, we have different attitudes toward measurement. I, the scientist, engineer, and man of precision in all things, measure all ingredients carefully. The C.S.O. does not; she seems to feel that meticulous measurement is the mark of the amateur. (“How could I ever be invited on Chopped if I were to insist on measuring everything?” she once said.) When she does give a measurement, it’s always in the Yiddish vernacular.

     So I thought she might like these:

     Let’s just say the idea didn’t go over big. But she did mention the names of a few people we know who ought to receive them.

---

     While we’re on the subject of food, do you like yogurt? I do. I even said so through the mouth of a protagonist:

     Her lord smiled impishly at her as she cleared the last serving. “Finally full, dear?”
     “I am, my lord.”
     “Good.” He took her plate and utensils, deposited them in the sink, joined her at the table and took her hands. “You had me pretty worried.”
     “If I have exerted too great a strain on your finances—”
     He laughed. “Not about that. I’d have bought you your own supermarket if that’s what it took to see you healthy and smiling again.”
     “What is a—”
     He held up a hand. “It’s a big store filled with all kinds of food. Delicious food. Meats, fruits, vegetables, breads, cakes, pies, pastries, nuts, cheeses, milk, puddings, yogurt! You’ve never had yogurt, have you?”
     “I do not know that word, my lord.”
     “Easily fixed. I’ll take you grocery shopping some time soon and we can get all kinds of things you’ve never had. I love food.”

     As do I, yogurt most definitely included. But of late, my historically preferred yogurt provider, Dannon, has been committing the contemporary sin of reducing portion sizes to avert a need to increase prices. What was once an 8 ounce cup was first reduced to 6 ounces. Now it’s down to 5.3 ounces, and We the Hungry have been given no assurance that it will cease to shrink. So I decided that it was time for a change.

     I’ve taken to buying “big” yogurt: the two-pound containers one can find in the very same portion of the refrigerated section at the supermarket. I usually get the Stonyfield vanilla. I also make sure to have several flavors of preserves on hand. Now, each morning when I hanker for a cup of yogurt, I fill a coffee cup with it and stir in a fat teaspoon of preserves or honey. And it is good.

     What with the cost of the preserves I can’t claim it saves money...but at least this way I get enough yogurt that I can pour four or five cups of coffee into me without destroying my stomach.

---

     Speaking still further of food, I was recently moved to count up the number of scenes in Experiences that involve food. I got a big number. A really big number. If it were the sort of book that Barnes & Noble would carry in its brick and mortar stores, the staff might mistakenly put it among the cookbooks.

     Fear not; there’s a lot of wine in there, too.

---

     And so we segue from food to fiction. There are certain informal “rules” about how one structures a novel. One of the most widely trumpeted is about the novel’s opening scene:

• It should “rev the engines,” to engage the reader with the story;
• It should feature one or more of the novel’s protagonists;
• It should give a glimpse of the major conflict.

     I’ve broken that rule more often than I’ve adhered to it. A prologue almost automatically breaks the rule, and I’ve indulged several times in prologues, which (I’m told) publishers’ editors have come to despise. But even in novels that lack prologues, I’ve tended to start with an “out of the way” occurrence that doesn’t involve a protagonist.

     Opinions, anyone? It would help if you’ve read any of my novels, of course. (Hint! Hint!)

---

     Now and then I’m moved to praise the inventor, whether or not I know his name, of some convenience or assistance to good living that today tends to be taken for granted. For a long time it was the fellow who invented hot indoor running water. Most recently it was the inventor of caller ID, which makes it possible for me to sneer at a ringing phone with complete confidence in the justice thereof. But recently it occurred to me how swiftly we of Twenty-First Century America start to take some notable development for granted. This morning’s case in point: the “smart” cell phone.

     I don’t own a smartphone. (The C.S.O. does, and many are the times I’ve had to suppress the urge to rip the devilish thing from her ever-clutching hand and stamp on it.) But these days it seems everyone — yeah, yeah, everyone else — has a smartphone. Moreover, the majority of smartphone owners seem to rely on them for nearly everything digital (plus a few things that previously weren’t).

     Today, the smartphone is either taken completely for granted or very close to it. The “dumb” cell phone, which can only take and make calls, is an endangered species. But how long have smartphones been around? Less than twenty years.

     When some “customer service representative” tells me that I’ll “receive a text” to inform me that the service tech will shortly be at my abode, I must tell the poor gal that I can’t “receive a text” – indeed, that I don’t own a smartphone. In the wake of that disclosure always comes a brief silence that positively rings with disbelief and disapproval. What sort of atavism is he? she thinks loudly enough to be audible over the wires. And I can only smile. What need, after all, does one who sits before a hot computer all the live-long day have for a smartphone?

     A dear friend who, like me, has completely rejected the cell phone (and all its works, and all its empty promises) referred to it scathingly as “my electronic birth-control device.” I knew exactly what she meant. Oh, how well I knew!

---

     And thus, my Gentle Readers’ request for some personal stuff is deemed satisfied, at least for now. Perhaps I’ll be back later with something more...important. Until then, be well.

Pearls of expression.

H/t: ZeroHedge.

Quickies: American Women’s Life Script Has Been Perverted

     If you have time to read only one essay today, make it this one:

     Our culture is so saturated with feminism that even conservatives and devoutly religious people like me think inside its wheel ruts. This wouldn’t be a problem, except that feminism is antithetical to human flourishing, both individually and corporately, because it has a false view of human nature....

     Refusing to learn from history and experience only hardens people against the feedback from reality they need to make their lives better through smarter decisions. Thinking that the experience and wisdom of humans across time has a claim on our present behavior allows a form of troubleshooting and decisionmaking using billions of accumulated datapoints. Yes, it requires humility to consider whether your presuppositions and behavior are wrong, but what you may lose in feminist scorekeeping you reap a hundredfold in a richly happy life. How do I know? It’s happened to me.

     Joy Pullmann has penned a brutally candid, data-rich essay on the terrible damage the feminist lunacy has done to American women. It should be required reading for every American woman – especially the mothers of young daughters.

     I once reflected on this through the mouth of a fictional character:

     They talked to a woman from New York City. While still young, she had thrown herself wholesale into the corporate world. "One moment I was just graduating from law school," she said. "I looked down at my desk, blinked, looked up, and suddenly I was an old woman with nothing in the world but money and work." She had had brothers who were dearer to her than life itself, but had lost contact with them after college and somehow never managed to reestablish it.

     [From The Sledgehammer Concerto]

     There are people – feminist activists, mostly – who would condemn and strive to suppress Pullmann’s wisdom as “sexism.” Not so. It is sexism of the very worst kind to tell a young girl, “You have no nature we know anything about. The experiences of billions upon billions of women who have gone before you mean nothing.” Neither Karl Marx nor Adolf Hitler ever attempted a greater deceit.

Quickies: The Great “We Are The State”

     Recently a brief piece appeared at Hot Air that asks “Does The Right To Self-Defense Apply Against Agents Of The State?” This is not the question many would suppose it to be.

     In a de facto sense, the attempt to defend yourself against agents of the State is more likely than not to get you killed. Normally when they come for you, they come unannounced and with force majeure, such that the odds are heavily against you from the outset. However, in a de jure sense, if you had no right to defend yourself against an agent or agents of the State, then you would have no rights of any kind.

     This question must not be muddled up with the separate subject of “sovereign immunity,” an obscenity with which the courts have refused to treat as it deserves. Your right to defend yourself pertains to your actions, not those of the persons against whom you choose to defend yourself. If a law enforcement officer, or any other government employee, were to attempt to use deadly force against you for a reason or in a situation not sanctioned by the constraints applied by the Fourth and Fifth Amendments, and you were to defend yourself successfully — i.e., at the end of the exchange you’re alive but he isn’t – you would have a perfect case for self-defense against a criminal. A criminal is no less a criminal because he possesses a badge.

     There would still be unpleasantness to endure. You would almost certainly be arrested and forced to defend yourself in court. But assuming that testimony and circumstantial evidence were to bear out your claims, you would be acquitted. And that is as it must be.

     But should a LEO come to arrest you for some offense for which he has a valid warrant or an in-person complaint, you’re much more likely to survive if you go along peacefully.