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Now and Then: A Fair Affair

 

We will not get, for now, the final word on the assassination of John F. Kennedy, perhaps the last Chief Executive that really acted like one. The truth about the demise of a real President is blocked by a fake one. After 58 years, some vague need remains to “protect against an identifiable harm to the military defense, intelligence operations, law enforcement, or the conduct of foreign relations that is of such gravity that it outweighs the public interest in disclosure.” That literally means and states that the satanic cult masquerading as a government in Washington owes its allegiance to the Dark State and not to the American People. We all knew that anyway.

There’s a lot we know and that we suspect. None of it, this week, is too concerning to me. So, I decided to move on with something else. 

I saw a duo of pitiful stories in the pitiful newspaper of a pitiful Southern city about the goings-on at the local fall fair. Those used to be fun, back when America still was. These stories, the kind of which have become usual across much of the former nation, revealed a new truth.

The first one featured a pictorial presentation of all the “fun.” Patrons gain admission only via metal detectors. This fair boasted a new policy that requires clear bags, purses, and packs. It was obvious they were trying to keep certain things out. Once inside, the people waddle around in search of fried lard and sugar in order to increase their existing gross obesity. I have not been to one of these things in years or decades. It’s just as well, I suppose.

Over the weekend, despite all the metal scanning and tote translucence, an “incident” occurred which necessitated clearing the place out early. The second story didn’t say as much, but it was fairly clear that “teens” must have been at work. Going forward, all “teens” must be accompanied by an adult if they want to terrorize the tubbies. Again, from stories coast to coast, we pretty much know who and what that means. 

In other words, it was a post-modern USian affair, with debased Americans suffering mightily at the hands of not-Americans. I hazard to guess that not one in ten of the former group would admit as much. So it goes. And they can have it. I have my memories of a better era. 

Forty years ago, things were different. I’ve written before about my time at a private school in Mississippi, home to the great Friday night football shotgun raffle! Around this time every year, the same school hosted its annual Halloween Carnival. This is the kind of thing that became known as a “Fall Festival” and then “Trunk or Treat” or what-have-you.

Back then, in another age and nation, the culture was much purer and a bit more innocent. Many knew about the very dark origins of the titular day, but most simply put it aside in an effort perhaps best described as co-option. As, now, they steal everything from us, I suppose that back then Christians took something away from the devil! For a little while.

The main theme of the evening was fun. Real, all-American fun. Kids wore costumes and circulated around the school gym playing a variety of corny games. I can remember several of these events – and fondly. I do not recall a single problem ever.

No “teens” were present. Homogeneity, as we know, provides true blessings. Thus, there was no need for metal detectors, police officers, clear bags, or any other bullshit that has become the mainstay of the dead anti-culture. Not one of these carnivals was ever, to my knowledge, canceled early for safety reasons.

It was a K-12 school. One thing, of many, that would never fly today was the kissing booth. Varsity cheerleaders offered simple cheek pecks for a dollar. One can see how this would all be described by today’s low priests of destruction as sexist, racist, homophobic, fun, possibly anti-semitic, and maybe some other damn fool words they throw around to beat cuckservatives into fear and silence. Again, for us, it wasn’t a problem.

No, wait! There were a few little hiccups, as it turns out. We boys of the K-8 variety had the dollars. But there was, as one can imagine, a shortage of patience and line space. A little shoving might have broken out. Still, I don’t think anyone ever mentioned a need for teen detectors. 

Ah, America.

Here, only mildly related, please find the beginning portion of a poem. It’s part – the ending part – of something I started about a year ago and then forgot about. Look for the rest, attached to a short story, real or fictional, when or if you see it.

“Thus Missed Granny”

Why whip poor Will, he did not say,

This feathered country squire.

Yet, day and night, we heard the call,

From tree or roof or spire.

Whip! poor Will! Whip! poor Will!

-whip him good and more.

After dinner, dark and tired, 

staring out the door.

Quiet, herald! Leave him alone!

Peace we all would like.

Came,

Whip! poor Will! Whip! poor Will!

Bespoke the nightly shrike.