29 June 2019

The Democrats

After watching 2 nights of mostly bland democrat debates, the following can be stated with absolute certainty:

Kamala Harris is another empty bi-racial Flim-Flam pol. . .Obama with a cunt. . .no doubt she could beat Trump. . .and then do nothing for 8 fucking years. All style, no substance. Even that *big moment* with Biden was just pure
theatre. . .she begged the moderators to give her a chance to perform her busing soliloquy.

Bernie Sanders could beat Trump, but he'll never get the nomination. . .Sanders is fairly honest (for a politician) but the fake Injun Elizabeth Warren (who Trump would crush) has stolen half his supporters.  All the proof you need to know Warren is a fraud, and would serve as a waterboy for the Elite, is that Media refuses to grill her for lying about her Native American heritage.  Media protects that old bag Warren because Warren will protect the status quo.  She talks a lot of *progressive* mumbo-jumbo but her entire career she's been a tool for bankers and the miliary media complex (proof here, here, here, etc.).  The only changes she would make to America's brutal Absolute Capitalism are cosmetic. . .in the end, she's just a wrinkled old white gal painting her face red.   It's a damn shame this dried-out old cunt is stealing support from Sanders because Bernie still seems sharp as a tack, and very energetic. . .unlike:

Joe Biden. Hahaha!  He's the Weekend At Bernie's candidate. I actually felt sorry for this old fraud (he's Elizabeth Warren with a cock) on the debate stage.  All stammers and frozen stares out from under his cosmetic surgery.  If the democrats actually think he could beat Trump, they are woefully self-deluded.  What could possibly motivate any normal human being to drag his or her ass to the polling place and stand in a slow-moving line to vote for this dusty throwback candidate?  This should be Biden's campaign logo:

Tulsi Gabbard was my personal favorite. Absolutely 100% the best choice to be Commander-in-Chief and run foreign policy, which are really the president's main jobs. Of course, Gabbard is being totally blacked-out by Media (except Tucker Carlson), because she is not a war-monger. Too bad. If you don't want to kill the others and exploit colored labor, *They* will never let you near the White House. If she got anywhere near 10% in the polls, Media would give her the same smearing they gave Pat Buchanan and Ron Paul.

Cory Booker is an inverse Pete Buttigieg. . .a bigger fake than Warren.  What would Booker have thought of his hidden faggot self if they had put him on the same debate stage as the unafraid Buttigieg?

Buttigieg was the most admirable of all, for refusing to bullshit about the white killer cop in his shitty Indiana town.  Black folk who hold that against him are just holding themselves back.  Absolute stupidity to punish decent, honest white folks because they can't cure racism overnight.  So go ahead and vote for another mulatto sell-out and keep working for 10 bucks an hour and gittin' yo ass thrown in jail for drivin witta spended license. . .

Most of the others were total zeroes. . .no personality, no ideas. . .that kOOk Marianne Williamson was far better than those robot politicians.

Sickening to see them all bow before the abortion altar. . .which that AI politician Kirsten Gillibrand labels *reproductive rights*. . .serial killers ought to start demanding their *self-actualization rights.*

Oh, the Asian nerd Andrew Yang had the single best idea with his $1000 a month handout. . .

20 June 2019

A Great Day Is Coming!

WASHINGTON, June 20 (Reuters) - The U.S. military confirmed on Thursday that one of its drones was shot down by Iran but said the incident took place in international airspace, challenging Iran's account that the U.S. aircraft had been flying over Iranian territory. "Iranian reports that the aircraft was over Iran are false," said Navy Captain Bill Urban, a spokesman for the U.S. military's Central Command.  "This was an unprovoked attack on a U.S. surveillance asset in international airspace."

The great blowhard Trump's fat mouth has brought him to the precipice. . .

It began in earnest in mid-2015 when he decided to trade *talk is cheap* bluster peppered with self-flattering idiocies for zionist campaign financing:

"I've been doing deals for a long time," Trump told the crowd. "I've been making lots of wonderful deals; that's what I do. Never, ever, ever in my life have I seen any transaction so incompetently negotiated as our deal with Iran."

The flabby old man has talked against Iran like he possesses an Iron Fist for four solid years now.  Just days ago the big talker boasted:


Well, now the time is near. . .

The time to shit or get off the pot. . .

One of the few actual achievements of the fraud Obama was his deal with Iran. . .if left in place, this current powder keg would have never materialized. . .

But once the obese hotel manager Trump started shit-talking Iran, he never found a place where he could stop. . .

I suppose back in 2015 Trump figured all his bluster would never have to be backed up. . .

Now what?

If the roly-poly President Trump backs down, and allows Iran to continue cherry-picking drones, tankers, increasing its enriched-uranium stockpiles, whatever, Trump will be exposed for the gutless buffoon he most assuredly is.  He will become his personal worst nightmare: a laughing-stock.

If he submits to the zionist whisperers he stupidly surrounded himself with, and actually tries war with Iran, his re-election goes down in flames far bigger than those of today's RQ-4 Global Hawk.

There is no doubt the Great Satan can blow up half of Iran, and kill tens of thousands of civilians before 2020's election day. . .but there is also no doubt Iran will not surrender, and will, at some point, make mindless pro-war Americans pay a price, and perhaps some zionists, as well.  Another endless war to add to America's collection.

And for what point is this war?

When Trump was just a fat-ass bankrupt rich cat, he knew there was no point:

But to enable his presidential folly, he opened his pie-hole and contradicted himself with an endless stream of anti-Persian shit-talking.  With this, the lardly Trump revealed his own fate:

Seest thou a man that is hasty in his words? there is more hope of a fool than of him.

Americans are a stupid, thoughtless people, blind to their country's Satanic war crimes. . .we can only hope when their President, a man truly representative, brings the chickens home to roost, they begin the process of making a painful and searching moral inventory. . .but they probably won't.  Instead they will enter their default mode: weep and cry *why?*

When Trump launches the first airstrikes, there will be such red, white and blue pride and cheer!!  As the bombs level Iran and the muslims die, Americans will feel good about themselves, content with their paunchy President teaching the Persians a lesson about American exceptionalism. . .

But as the war drags on, and a few body bags return home, anxiety will set in on the xanax nation. . .when will it end??

And when Iran inevitably and successfully brings the war into America, through what offended war supporters will call *cowardly terrorism* (as if that makes American deaths more tragic and more unjustified than muslim deaths delivered from long range missles or bombs dropped from 30000 feet), Americans won't be *woke* and make that desperately needed fearless and searching inventory, but will instead shut down in fear, with their President having to nag them to resume their patriotic duty: shopping.

Another ugly chapter of human history awaits. . .all because dumpy Trump couldn't keep his fat mouth shut.

As for Trump himself, he'll lose his reelection bid, but maybe he can be comforted knowing Netanyahu thinks he's a great man!

30 April 2019

OK, Now Let's Try Socialism!

This is why increasing numbers of Americans, particularly young Americans, don't wet themselves when FOX News calls democrats *socialists.*  

Who gives a shit about *socialism* if Absolute Capitalism is only good for $6.21 a week?  

Hey, Trump, thanks for the 15 cents an hour raise!!

You have to feel bad for all the brainwashed working class Americans who thought, and still think, Trump *fights* for them.  

Here's who Trump fights for (besides Israel):

Trump's tax bill, with its 21% corporate tax rate, was first and foremost a gift to multinationals. They had wanted cuts in the corporate tax rate for foreign and domestic profits for decades. Everything else flowed from that: the tax cuts for smaller businesses known as “pass-throughs”, which had been their holy grail, and the cuts for individuals, which were needed to sell the bill to voters.

The second: all the posturing about real “reform” of the tax code and “revenue neutrality” for the legislation was meaningless. In fact, the bill had to create a $1.5tn 10-year deficit to pay for its generous tax cuts. Without the deficit, the corporate rate of 21% could never have been achieved and, more important, the bill could not have passed at all.

The third was that the bill as passed was hugely problematic. It contained egregious mistakes, created massive new loopholes and opened the door to new forms of tax avoidance. Thirteen tax law professors from around the country, in a 68-page study, blasted its “rushed and secretive process” that resulted, they said, “in deeply flawed legislation."

HaHa!  Trump fights for *multinationals,* not cashiers, truck drivers, janitors and all the rest of the *deplorables* who think he's making America great again.

I'll never understand why so many millions of white working class American males vote republican.  Are they so afraid of colored people, they'll be slaves for the 1% just for the illusion walls are coming to keep them safe?  

There's never been a bigger bunch of suckers than white working class males, who consistently bend over and take it in the ass from people who wouldn't nod at them if they ever in a one-in-a-million chance happened to cross paths on the same street.  The white working class aren't even house niggers, they don't ever see their Masters!  They live in separate worlds. . .and the working class world is getting more and more run-down. . .pot holes, dirty water, crap schools, shitty health care. . .but white males don't care, just so long as republicans nurse their fear of colored people.  

But the hand-writing is on the wall. . .young people just don't care about the same shit as the white working class. . .the 1% will loot the last pennies they can from the poor, and then the AOCs and the Omars will inherit the earth, and the Euro-style welfare state will be imported to America.  I suppose we'll have to endure more and more domestic terrorism from deranged crybaby vets who thought they were killing colored foreigners to protect the American Way of Life (like Isaiah Peoples) during the change-over, but, as Timothy McVeigh once quoted Thomas Jefferson:

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure. . .

It's All About The Benjamins!

CNN, 28 April 2019: During a riff about getting countries around the world to pay more for their own defense, President Trump defended his support for Saudi Arabia.  “They buy a lot from us -- $450 billion they buy,” the President said.  “You have people wanting to cut off Saudi Arabia. They bought $450 billion. I don’t want to lose them!” he told the crowd.

Yeah, why would we want to *cut off* Saudi Arabia?

Saudi Arabia commits war crimes in Yemen, beheads its dissidents, murders journalists, exploits migrant workers, oppresses women.

But "they buy a lot from us!"

This tells us Trump is a soul-less materialist.  Death and misery have a price.  If Houthi children in Yemen are bombed and starved, so what?  If Saudi dissidents are tortured into *confessing* they are faggots and then beheaded, so what?  The Saudis "buy a lot from us!" 

My friend, is this really how we Make America Great Again?  By selling our souls?  

Trump has always been a pitiable and pathetic figure. . .a shameless and insecure blowhard who continually aggrandizes himself.  He's also a boor, a crook, a pervert, a draft-dodger and a habitual liar.  We can feel sorry for Trump, because he's obviously condemned:

For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through Him might be saved. He that believeth on Him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.

Trump is obviously not a *Christian.*  His life is a flesh-and-blood contradiction of the Sermon on the Mount.

For a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

Trump brings forth nothing but corruption. . .

Those who are not pitiable, and those who cannot be felt sorry for are the millions of self-proclaimed *Christians* who support Trump, and especially those who believe supporting Trump is akin to supporting God.

How is someone born again by the Spirit of God not sickened to hear Trump forgive Saudi crimes for an (imaginary) $450 billion?

But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil. . .

We can easily identify Donald Trump with the above scripture. . .surely Trump is a man of many foolish and hurtful lusts, a man drowning in destruction and perdition.

But what of the self-proclaimed *Christians* who stand up for Trump against the gospel?  What is it that they love which is drowning them in destruction and perdition?  I can only suppose they love America, and view it as God's kingdom on earth, much as damned zionists believe Israel is God's kingdom.

Again, the devil taketh Him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth Him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; And saith unto Him, All these things will I give Thee, if Thou wilt fall down and worship me. Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve.

This is the temptation self-proclaimed *Christians* cannot resist.  They want the kingdoms of the world. . .they want the glory of the here and now.  They have no knowledge of and/or no faith in the Kingdom of God.  They pray in supposed Christian churches for the murders and thefts their troops commit which benefit their kingdom, and imagine themselves doing God service.

There ought to have been a mighty outrage from Christians over Trump's love of Saudi blood money. . .but no.  American Christians don't give a shit at what cost their kingdom comes. . .

Who can we liken Trump and the self-proclaimed American Christians to?  Who can we compare them to?  They are like the filthiest and foulest of the depraved sinners described in Romans 1:

Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

Make America Great Again?  By taking blood money?  Remember how you loved it, remember all the good things you've had at the expense of others when Jesus keeps His word:

Many will say to Me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name? and in Thy name have cast out devils? and in Thy name done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from Me, ye that work iniquity.

20 April 2019

The Captive

Hours turn into days, and days turn into weeks, and I notice nothing.  I don't even see myself, anymore.  I am no longer apart.  The waves of life carry me toward the shores of death.  I no longer refuse.  I perform the motions of life: family, work, state, but because I no longer seek another way, I drown in the sea of nothingness.  The pantomime existence of the masses.  Vast eons of life passed this way, with the unthinking multitude, the daily suicide shirking the responsibility of life, which is to remove oneself from the counterfeit of the world, and seek the Kingdom.

Only the shock of tragedy jolts me from the stupor.  My latest fall into the sleep of the living dead was arrested as I was walking down Main Street and observed a fat woman training a dog to become a Seeing Eye. What horror!  The poor beast leashed to the human gob, its neck yanked, choked, every time it tried to seek its way. The dog's will destined to be broken, it will submit to an unworthy master.  I immediately recognized myself in the dog, regained my senses and vomited right there on the sidewalk from the sickness of *everyday life.*

To begin the healing process, to boost my immunity to herd living, I visit an art museum.  I've frequented museums all across the United States and Europe, and even though most works housed in them are worthless—imbecilic portrayals of Mary and Jesus, technically fine but thematically somnolent studies of bowls of fruit, incompetent nonrepresentational stains—the diligent patron will always find three or four pieces which accuse and convict humanity of auto-lobotomy.  These rare treasures exaggerate human experience, exposing the sad sell-out of the peasant and lumpenproletariat classes, ancient to contemporary.  (Van Gogh's The Potato Eaters is a fine example.)  Outside of the supernatural, there is nothing better for the soul than to stand for an hour or two in front of such a painting or sculpture, confirming a guilty verdict for the *general public.*

Thus I found myself in the Toledo Museum of Art, wandering its halls in search of creations which scandalize the social order.  I wade through the usual dreck, Monet's water lilies—the perfect packaging for air fresheners. . .busted Roman sculptures—tiny-cocked nudes missing a limb or two, lacking the wit even of a garden gnome. . .Rothko's honestly titled *Untitled,*—a red rectangle between two black rectangles, quintessential usury art.  

As I make my way, I notice again a phenomenon common to museums: very few single men among the guests.  Besides myself I note only two or three others.  There are plenty of single women, of all ages, but almost no single men.  Almost all the males are attached to a female, or a female and children.  These men no doubt satisfied with a cheap date or family outing which they can redeem later for a blow job or a few hours peace in front of a televised football game.  Curious: nearly all museum-worthy artists are male, but most males have no interest in art.  There must be some rare genetic syndrome which affects a tiny portion of the male population, some abnormality of the genes or chromosomes which creates in the afflicted a deviate frame of reference, which they attempt to reconcile by casting it in paint or stone.

On my tour through the galleries, I do note one particular lone male.  An older gentleman, wearing pressed slacks and a crisp clean button shirt.  He stands motionless in rapt gaze before one of the Museum's more curious pieces: William-Adolphe Bouguereau's The Captive. Bouguereau, a late 19th century master realist with a gOOfball's sentiment, seems to me rather underappreciated compared to some of his avant-garde contemporaries, perhaps due to his taste in subject matter, which might be described as early Larry Clark.  In any event, this gentleman seems transfixed by the depiction of the winged nude girl who has just captured a butterfly.

I contemplate the peculiar image, trying to discern its allure for my fellow patron.  The girl's face and the body don't seem to match.  The face seems that of a teen or young woman, while the body seems decidedly tweenish, flat-chested with baby-fatted arms and legs.  Perhaps this is how Bouguereau imagined angels or fairies or whatever the winged nude is meant to be?  These other-worldly females adult in mind, but juvenile in body?  Intelligent, but innocent?  The pre-Adamic, untainted by Eve's lusts?

Then again, maybe just extra-terrestrial jailbait?

"It lacks one critical element, otherwise it would be a pinnacle of Western culture."

Since we are the only two near the painting, I assume the older gentleman is making the remark for my benefit, rather than talking to himself aloud.

He turns, facing me.

"Do you know what it is?"

"Do I know what what is?" I ask.

"Do you know what it lacks, what critical element it lacks?"

The man's shirt is very nice, a light blue-and-white checked pattern.  It looks brand new, one of those classic cotton dress shirts you see in Von Maur, one of those one hundred dollar shirts that make you stop and wonder who can afford to spend a hundred dollars for just one shirt.  I don't think I've ever spent more than twenty-five dollars for a shirt.  Years and years ago, at a Ralph Lauren outlet store, I spent twenty-five dollars and got a fantastic Hawaiian shirt that was missing a button.  I like Von Maur, however.  A great store.  I've never bought anything there, but I admire their merchandise, and, particularly, the store itself, the ambiance.  They usually have an older woman in a black evening dress playing the piano, and the bathrooms are elegant and spotlessly clean.  The store is never crowded, never any ethnic teenage riffraff.  Sometimes I go to Von Maur and sit in one of their comfortable arm chairs for twenty or thirty minutes, meditating to the soft piano music.  Perhaps when I die I will leave whatever savings I have to them, as a thank you.

"Give up?" the man in the hundred dollar shirt asks.

I look back at the painting.

"What's missing?" the man asks.  "Look closely."

"Well. . ." and I think about why I am at the museum, searching for images of man's soulicide. Certainly this isn't one of them. But the man who painted this was alive, no doubt. I remember Jesus' words: I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of My mouth. This painter was certainly not lukewarm. No, Bouguereau was hot. He burned.

"Well. . .and not as an insult. . .but this picture lacks subtlety.  It lacks all subtlety.  Here's a guy who surely loved to paint naked girls.  A guy who just burned to paint naked girls.  He wasn't subtle about it, obviously.  But here is a man who truly lived. . .if only for naked girls."

The man in the hundred dollar shirt doesn't seem to like my answer.  His face is crinkled with dissent.

"No, that's not what I meant!  It's missing an actual specific thing!"

I could tell him that subtlety is an actual specific thing, but that would just lead to a tiresome exchange.  I get the impression this fellow thinks he's an expert on whatever is in front of him.

A young woman pushing a stroller passes by.  I've lived long enough now that the sight of a baby or a toddler fills me with incredible sadness.  An agonizing sadness.  I see all the moments of pain in front of the poor thing.  The endless disappointments, the hopelessness.  So depressing. . .

"A vagina!" the expert says.

"That lady that just came by?"

"No!  The painting!  It's missing a vagina."

Hmmn, that's a little. . .quirky.

"Well, I might've guessed a halo, or maybe a rainbow or something, but I don't think I would've guessed a vagina.  I mean, in the first place, it's not really missing, is it?  You just can't see it.  I mean, I'd assume it's there, that it's meant to be there."

The face of the expert in the one hundred dollar shirt crinkles again.

"The artist who painted this wants us to see the natural order, and man's place at the center, yet he deliberately left out the birthplace of humankind, the vagina, from where we originate and then enter the natural realm.  Whether it was because of social convention, or his own timidity, he shames the vagina in invisibility, and places those absurd wings on the girl, like she fluttered down from some imaginary heaven!  He might as well have a stork flying overhead!"


"'Oh?'  'Oh?'  My friend, the vagina is life!  Trust me, I know!  If there is one thing I know, it's the vagina.  I know the breadth and length and depth and height of the vagina.  I'm an OB/GYN. I know."

OBGYN?  I take a closer look at this fellow.  Nothing unusual.  Just looks like an ordinary older white male.  And what the Hell is an OBGYN, anyway?  I don't think I know that one.  There are so many, nowadays.  OBGYN?  O?  Uh. . .organic?  Is that a thing, now?  B is for bisexual and G is for gay.  Y?  N?  Yin Yang, maybe?

"Organic Bisexual Gay Yin Yang?"


"OBGYN.  Organic Bisexual Gay—"


Oh, boy, don't I feel stupid?  Well, maybe this will put an end to the conversation.

"I've examined, in the most rigorous detail, thousands of vaginas.  From the young and healthy, with robust mucosal tissue, to the old and fetid, with their dry, flimsy. . ."

Apparently not.  As the vagina doctor lectures on, I tune out, and retreat into an appreciative contemplation of the museum experience: rooms within rooms, sanctums from which we access the history of man's attempt to understand human experience.  A little group of three women wander from painting to painting, sculpture to sculpture, now and then offering their quiet observations to each other.  They all have fat asses, but, God bless them, anyway.  A guard stands near this gallery's entrance, seeing that no harm comes to the treasures of creation.  Yes, treasures.  Treasures, as mediocre as most of them are.  They are the pitiful record of man's feeble attempt to make sense of life.  A despondency settles over me.  Art is over.  It's gone.  It's lost.  There was the Renaissance, Mannerism, the Baroque, Romanticism, Modern Art.  The Museum of the Future is electronic, the Selfie Period.  Creation is about creation, we were created out of the void, and our struggle in space and time to—

". . .an incredible range of motion, support and pressure, which is what holds the tampon in place during—"

This guy won't shut up!  

"Hey, man, how much did you pay for that shirt?"


Anger is rising within me.  I have to walk away from this imbecilic cunt-sniffer, this absurd beneficiary of a socioeconomic system that rewards banality.  

I leave the museum, sit stewing in my car.  

Everything is wrong with the world.  Everything.  But I am awake again.  You know you are awake when you are filled with disgust.

If any man would seek the Kingdom of God, he is obliged to go against the human tide.

God save me from slumber, do not let me rest easy in the mire. . .may I always hear the call from Heaven:

Come out of her, My people. . .

05 April 2019


In an earlier entry titled Escape From America, we discussed the startling rise in America of death due to alcohol, drugs and suicide.  We suggested one reason for the increase in death due to despair is that most Americans spend much of their lives toiling at inconsequential jobs which leave them terminally indebted.  We said:

What's a typical job for an American?


How many millions of Americans stand behind cash registers for over 1/3 of their lives scanning the bar codes of Big Gulps, Marlboro Lights and foot-long hot dogs for a paycheck that keeps them permanently indebted to the *American Way of Life's* organizing economic system?

There are millions of other equally unrewarding forms of labor. . .

I have no idea the percentage of America worker bees who consciously mull the DEPRESSING contradiction: an infinitely vast universe of immense wonder. . .one tiny planet, an invisible speck on the cosmic scale. . .on that invisible dot, the miracle of life. . .the pinnacle of which is human consciousness. . .and this miracle organism drags itself to work, prostitutes itself as a distributor of Breath Mints, exchanging its limited time on this side of the infinite for a system of credits that barely allows it to keep itself fed and sheltered. . .the miracle of life wasted. . .beyond wasted. . .the miracle degraded to an essentially electronically controlled existence. . .human life is financed. . .judged on its ability to make payments. . .six hundred threescore and six is a *credit score* marked in the right hand or forehead.

Here is the living, breathing embodiment of the beleaguered American cashier, the American dying from despair:
The American cashier recorded in this *viral* video is the villain described in a news story which begins thusly:

A Hispanic woman who engaged in conversation with a Bay Area gas station employee after being greeted in Spanish found herself verbally attacked and berated by a second worker who interrupted them to demand she speak English instead. Grecya Moran said she was “in shock” when she posted video footage of the racist employee to Facebook last Thursday, encouraging others to share the three clips “to see all the bad people that exist in this world.” In another post, Moran said the confrontation happened at the Shell Station in San Jose, CA “just because I was talking Spanish to the other cashier, and apparently she did not like that.” Moran, who was holding her 18-month-old son in her arms as she endured the harassment, told ABC 7 she at first attempted to apologize to the employee for speaking Spanish.

“I said, ‘Excuse me, I’m sorry,” Moran said. “‘All she was saying is … she was greeting me in Spanish. ‘How my day’s going.’ And she said, ‘I don’t care, you talk in English because this is America.'”  But this seemed to enrage the worker even more. So Moran started fighting back — and she started filming. “She started saying something about, ‘Trump needs to hurry up and build the wall,'” Moran said. “That’s when I was like, oh my God, she’s being serious,” Moran said. “I just got my phone, started videotaping her.”


The Hispanic woman claims the white trash old bag cashier is *bad people.*

Well. . .

Was the white old bag wrong to bitch about the customer speaking Spanish, and then go MAGA mode with the nonsense about Trump's wall?  Sure.  She should have kept her ancient piehole shut and worked her register, then gone home and choked down a Swanson fried chicken dinner with a tumbler of Red Stag while silently pouring out her heart to God, for better is a dry morsel, and quietness therewith, than an house full of sacrifices with strife.

But. . .

The bigger wrong was the Hispanic woman recording the white trash old bag's sin and posting it for all the world to see. . .

This is the Craze of the Smartphony Age: recording the other's sin, and judging them on the Great White Thrones of Instagram, Facebook, Twitter. . .

Nobody turns the other cheek.  Instead, the cameras are turned on, and the recorder attempts to crucify him/herself: Look at me on my cross, the innocent victim!

In our case of the Gas-N-Go transgression, the crucifier is a white trash old bag. . .


Look at that old bag. . .look at the shopworn face, the lumpy body, listen to the ravaged voice.  It's obvious she's been kicked around all her life.  The typical American punching bag, scraping by for decades, told ad nauseam by the system's propagandists she's living in the *greatest country on earth* and then left to wonder why, if that's true, her life is nothing but such shit she must seek escape in drink and/or drugs and/or forlorn fornication.

This American cash register loser couldn't victimize anybody, yet she finds herself condemned on Social Media as a racist, as *bad people.*

Here's the Hispanic woman who tried to crucify herself:



The Hispanic woman's pain is miniscule compared to the lifetime of pain the white trash old bag has suffered.  Have some respect for elders.  The old bag cashier has been kicked around for 30-40 more years.  Eaten shit for 30-40 more years.  She don't like Hispanics and their Spanish?  So what?  Accept it.  Shake the dust off your feet and move on down the street to the next mini-mart.  The truth is, the Hispanic woman don't have the right to be offended.

There is no knowledge today of our common plight.  All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.  We sin against this sinner, and that sinner sins against us, and we all pinball through life sinning against each other and God.  We are not victims, we are victimizers victimizing each other.

Jesus was the only true victim.  Jesus was the only one offended.  Yet when He was on the cross, He said: Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

The Hispanic woman couldn't recognize herself in the human wreck before her lamenting her lifetime of pain and poverty.  All she could see was an opportunity for Selfie-Crucifixion on Social Media.  She could not love her supposed enemy.

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for He maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye?

In posing herself on the cross of Facebook, what reward does the Hispanic woman have?  She has the praise of Social Media.  Doubtless she enjoys it now.  But her reward has no eternal value.  While she revels in the attention of her *viral* video, the unheard Word of God nevertheless remains in effect:

For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

16 March 2019

They Work For The Wrong God

The Daily Caller, 16 March 2019: Former Amazon employee Shannon Allen claimed in a Thursday interview with Tucker Carlson that the stressful workplace conditions nearly drove her to suicide.
I'm sure republicans with soft jobs will dismiss, and laugh at, this woman's claims.  After all, she looks fairly well-fed, and it appears she's had time recently to visit hair and nail salons (and, perhaps, a tattoo parlor or two).  Doubtless workers in Asian plants have it much tougher. . .there are genuine *suicide nets* at Foxxconn factories. . .so far, cue ball Jeff Bezos hasn't had to smudge his bottom line with expenditures for those kind of *safety features.*

I'm sure republicans with soft jobs would tell this woman to quit crying, go back to college and get a good job. . .after all, in America opportunities are limitless, anyone can grow up to be President (except a dwarf. . .I'd be willing to bet cash dollars a dwarf will never be President of the United States).

I don't know how horrible Amazon picking jobs are.  Are they worse than picking fruit or cotton?  I don't know.  I can understand that standing at a conveyor belt stuffing cardboard boxes with trinkets could be depressing—if work is meant to be life's fulfillment.

That's the real issue. . .

Tens of millions of working-age Americans report depression. . .whether they work at Amazon or not.  And even more take depression or anxiety meds, so that means tens of millions of additional Americans just self-medicate without a diagnosis. 

Vast numbers of Americans just don't feel very well, psychologically. 

The problem with life in America? Life is defined by work.  Let's admit the truth: Americans are groomed from at least the moment they enter kindergarten (if not before) that life is about getting into a *good* college and then getting a *good* job.  Absolute Capitalism demands a workforce of material beings who submit to the idea of leading a *productive* life of producing profits for the small handful who own the world.     

If life is defined by work, then yes, we have no doubt workers are depressed, and often suicidal, whether they work at Amazon or Facebook or wherever. 

Human beings were designed to be reproductive, not *productive.*  Human beings were designed to be fruitful. . .the product they were to produce was life. . .they were designed to reflect their Creator and populate the earth as the Kingdom of God

A life spent producing material to fill landfills is a misspent life. . .it ought to be depressing.

Republicans with soft jobs who would offer no sympathy to the Amazon worker, are, by-and-large, self-proclaimed Christians.  They have more treasure than the Amazon line worker.  Their treasure deceives them.  They believe their treasure is a *blessing* from God, and the poor suicidal Amazon line worker just doesn't have enough *faith.*  Their life is even more depressing, for they are even further from God.  When these people encounter the real Jesus and the real Gospel, this is the result.

When Jesus saw the crowds, He felt sorry for them.  They were confused and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. . .

I'm sorry, but most people have wasted their life working.  They worked for nothing of any eternal value.  They are sad, anxious, constantly taking thought for tomorrow, always fretting how they will feed or clothe themselves. . .they work for the wrong god.

[I find Tucker Carlson less offensive than the other talking heads, but his smirk at the Amazon worker's mention of the World Socialist Web Site was, perhaps, a moment when the mask slips. . .]