Back in the late '70s and '80s Woody Allen made a bunch of lame movies about, I can only suppose, *chic* New York pantywaists. These movies were critical and somewhat commercial successes, but I thought while watching them: what fucking country are these movies taking place in? Allen's New York seemed like a foreign country, populated by a horde of four-eyed simpering navel-gazers dressed in Faggot Life clothes and eating in anorexic restaurants where the food covered about 1/4 of the plate. . . They weren't movies about people who got paid by the hour and ate Stouffer's frozen lasagna. . . But back then white America had a middle class, and I guess enough of them figured that Woody Allen's soft pantywaist lifestyle was their future, that's what their expected upward mobility would lead to, so they bought just enough tickets to keep Allen in a director's chair while he was molesting his wife's kids. But, in truth, Allen's movies were just Fairy Tales for 99% of Americans. The future for them was economic decline, and for their children the kind of derelict lifestyles first glimpsed in Larry Clark's late '90s gothic crypto-kiddie porn flicks. Reagan-era movies that depicted America and Americans as repellent and pitiable were few and far between. But now in 21st century America most white Americans are broke, and their children's souls have been polluted by the so-called *rap* or *hip-hop* culture, leaving them with black America's disdain for education, work and proper English. Back in the day, Marshall Mathers tried to put a Happy Face on white ruin with 8 Mile, a syrupy, wigger's Rocky. Fifteen lean years later, we have The Florida Project, an honest and thorough-going cinematic depiction of white American decline, the gutter drop to the no-melting-pot-to-piss-in America, where whites have fallen to the Motel Hell lifestyle of raggedy-ass browns and blacks. They say the current unemployment rate in America is 4%, as if all the millions of whites who lost jobs in the late '00s suddenly found gainful employment. . .but no, they just gave up looking for work. Do you ever wonder what the new white deadbeats do, how they manage to scrape along without decent jobs? Defrauding an Innkeeper, Defrauding the System, Defrauding Each Other. In the New America of The Florida Project, waiting tables full-time at a waffle house is a career capstone. In telling the story of six-year-old Moonee and her barely more mature 20-something wigger mother Halley's squalid life on the wrong side of the tacky tracks of Disney World, The Florida Project is masterpiece of truthful cinema featuring a near-tedious compendium of scenes of contemporary American domestic dysfunction. What keeps this grim look at red, white and blue poverty and child neglect from being a soul-wearying journey is the rhapsodical spirit of Moonee and her little motel rat pals. They're fetal alcohol syndrome Little Rascals causing mischief up-and-down a decaying tourist town strip. From the opening scene, when Moonee calls a fat slovenly woman a ratchet bitch, the viewer is treated to two hours of Extended Stay punk hijinks. The grubby brats torment Twistee Treat ice cream girls, taunt sunbathing exhibitionists, burn down abandoned time shares and cause countless headaches for motel manager Bobby (played by veteran heavy Willem Dafoe, about the only *professional* actor in the cast, and the only one whose performance looks false, despite the critics' fawning reviews). Moonee's mom Halley is one of those sad ugly pretty white girls raised to fail on the so-called *rap* or *hip-hop* culture, a potty-mouth loser with an African-American's disrespect for everybody even moderately more successful, with success for her meaning getting over on the next loser, a Courtney Love without Kurt Cobain's money. She's more buddy than mother to Moonee, not nearly as concerned about the effect the sight of her sucking cock in their motel room might have on her daughter as she is about keeping her entertained. You know from the get-go that Halley's *life choices* are doomed to end in tragedy for this half-nuclear disaster of a family, and the tears in Moonee's eyes are the predictable-but-necessary ending to keep this tale of broken-down America grounded in truth. A searching and fearless moral inventory of the nouveau American skid row, The Florida Project is a resounding refutation to the current Make America Great Again fantasy.
7 June 2018, America: Following the Supreme Court’s 7-2 ruling in favor of a Colorado baker who refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple, an East Tennessee business owner is celebrating by reposting a sign that reads, “No Gays Allowed.” Jeff Amyx, a Baptist minister and owner of Amyx Hardware & Roofing Supplies, originally posted the sign in 2015 when SCOTUS ruled to permit same-sex marriage across the country.
Amyx claims that gay and lesbian couples are against his religion. Following the ensuing backlash, Amyx took the “No Gays Allowed” sign down and replaced it with a sign reading, “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who would violate our rights of freedom of speech & freedom of religion,” according to USA Today. The business owner told WBIR that he was celebrating a “win” following the recent court ruling and hung the sign again. He has no plans to take it down.
“Christianity is under attack. This is a great win, don’t get me wrong, but this is not the end, this is just the beginning,” Amyx said. “Right now we’re seeing a ray of sunshine. This is happy days for Christians all over America, but dark days will come.”
Ha ha ha ha!
This is happy days for Christians all over America. . .
Is that the spirit of one called by Jesus to enter into His kingdom?
Or is it the spirit of the True Sodomite?
Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom, pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness was in her and in her daughters, neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy. And they were haughty, and committed abomination before me: therefore I took them away as I saw good.
Proud and Haughty, that's the baptist minister and hardware peddler. . .
No Gays Allowed?
Who the fuck is this man to claim Christianity and then deny faggots into his shop?
Can you imagine the Lord Jesus Christ posting a sign over His kingdom 'No Lepers Allowed, No Adulterers Allowed?'
Here's a baptist minister, who ought to know the Word of God, rejoicing his happy day, a day delivered to him by the Supreme Court, the Court of abortion and pornography.
Look how little of a crumb it took for this baptist minister to bend his knee before Satan!
Ha ha ha ha!
Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of My Father which is in heaven. 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.
Woe unto these anti-Christ Americans who hang crosses in their homes and shops wailing about faggotry, abortion and their other little pet peeve sins, as if they didn't need the blood of Christ to cleanse them from their own sin.
These counterfeit saints, foaming out their shame, err in the same manner as cocksuckers who speak of Gays and Straights. There is no distinction in the human race. All are condemned by sin.
There are only sinners. Anyone who sees beyond this lacks understanding of the gospel of Jesus.
A sinner, claiming cleansing by the blood of Jesus, refusing another sinner? Such a one as that cannot be a Christian, let alone a minister. Such a one as that is a True Sodomite, proud and haughty, denying his own sin nature.
Christianity dies in the West because it is no longer home to sinners. It has been corrupted from within by True Sodomites, proud and haughty, who mark themselves off from other sinners.
Chrisitanity dies in the West because it has become the church of unforgivable sins.
These True Sodomites, like the so-called baptist minister Amyx, do not want faggots, do not want immigrants, Hell, they don't even want poor people to have health care! They would have stoned Christ for healing the uninsured blind and crippled!
Only sinners are welcome into Christ's kingdom, and anyone who would deny a faggot will face the same. The baptist minister was right about one thing, dark days are coming for American *Christians,* the days when Jesus tells them depart from Me, ye that work iniquity.
The nicest thing you can say about Black Panther is it's a typical Marvel movie: shallow, boring heroes fighting against shallow, gOOfball villains in a war to see who will control the nameless, faceless mass of drab human underlings in a series of tedious, hard to follow (due to being shot in shaky hyper-speed) *action* scenes. Marvel movies are a chore to sit through, utterly predictable and completely lacking in tension. The *best* (least painful) Marvel flicks are the ones which cut the tedium with humor (the Ant-Man, Thor movies) or have quirky, deranged villains the viewer hopes-against-hope will somehow best the bland, self-righteous superhero (Mickey Rourke's Ivan Vanko in Iron Man 2). Unfortunately, there's no humor in Black Panther, unless you think the sassy, smart ass black girl *'tude* of Black Panther T'Challa's kid sister Shuri is funny, instead of an unpleasant reminder of headache-inducing bus ride or check-out line encounters with real-life black *'tude* gals. Black Panther does have one quirky villain, Andy Serkis' Ulysses Klaue, but, alas, his breath of fresh air is quickly extinguished, and the movie lapses back into suffocating, stale Marveldumb. What makes Black Panther an atypical Marvel movie, of course, is its monumental self-importance. The simplest way to explain it is to say Black Panther is SchwarzeVolk. Here's the comic book movie which lets black folk join Hollywood's artistic decline. Now black folk have their own simple-minded mass entert(r)ainment! Yowza! But Black Panther is an artificial cultural touchstone, a Hollywood flash mob of robo-critics offering it to the illiterate masses as the Holy Grail of Diversity. But does Diversity really just mean having black folk write/direct/act for the benefit of Comic Book Guy? If all the black actors in Black Panther performed in white face, you would see what Black Panther really is: artificial diversity, faker than vibranium, the fictional magic metal that fuels Black Panther's fairy tale Kingdom of Wakanda. I have to wonder if all the black folk flocking to Black Panther are going to be disappointed, or if they will dutifully believe what they were told to believe before the movie's release: I live in a country that only looks to demean people like me and our places or origin, and seeing a movie like this will give us all a sense of empowerment that black people truly need and deserve. These are African people who haven’t had their identity tarnished by colonisation. This is a movie that we need.
While it's true Black Panther's Wakanda is an African Canaan, a white-devil-free homeland flowing with rhino milk, honey, flying saucers and an endless supply of vibranium-fueled gadgets that make white folks' iPhone Xs seem primitive, it's also true Black Panther depicts African Americans as pitiful ghetto urchins, loitering on basketball courts all day waiting for someone or something to lift them up. How empowering can it really be to African Americans to be told they need to be mentally resurrected? Though this may be the movie the Nation of Islam has waited for, I wonder if Joe 40-Ouncer is gonna like being told he still needs welfare, just Wakanda's instead of Uncle Sam's? Or does the movie's 22nd Century National Geographic African veneer spread far enough to cover the cracks in African American pride? If Black Panther truly was a black cultural touchstone meant to promote black empowerment, wouldn't the Jewish-American created story be changed, with the Kilmonger character, a 'hood Wakandan who learns the violent tactics of caucasian manifest destiny as an American war machine mole, reigning as the genuine Black Panther and eliminating world-wide white oppression of colored people, instead of Marvel's hired help produced T'Challa, a saintly oreo (black on the outside, Woodrow Wilson on the inside)? Ha! All you really need to know about Black Panther being some kind of black The Turner Diaries is white folk love it, too! White folk are very comfortable with T'Challa, he's a reasonable negro whites can invite into their homes for dinner. . . The Black Panther cast adequately perform their roles, though veteran Hollywood black tokens Angela Bassett and lazy eye Forest Whitaker seem a little too *important movie* dramatic, and annoyingly pompous Walking Dead black warrioress Danai Gurira is just as annoyingly pompous in her black warrioress role here. In the end, I would wager the true legacy of Black Panther will not be some blather about diversity or inclusion, but that black movie audiences are just as easily amused as white movie audiences.