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Approaching the End of the Rainbow – The Weekly Column

24 Wednesday Mar 2021

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Approaching the End of the Rainbow

 

*TPC is on a two-week hiatus the same as any publication might take. Thus, the weekly columns will initially appear here for at least the next two weeks! Today’s is a little short – a disturbing topic and I’m a little busy – but here’s the TOO REAL story:

If it seems too outrageous to be true, then just consider all that has come to pass in the last year or so. At this late hour, what isn’t on the menu?

Last summer, in researching a topic for an Eastern European paper, I came across a comment by Poland’s Foreign Minister which effectively suggested that if Poland allowed, tolerated any manner of LGBTism, in short order cannibals would be thriving in Warsaw and Krakow. He was onto something.

Libertardians are stoned and inattentive and conservatives remain at least twenty years behind the times. While the trans freaks flashed by, the minions of hell got busy with the current push, the normalization, legalization of pedophilia. I’ve been warning for a few years now about the kiddie diddlers and the next trend – eating people whether for fetishized or for other reasons. 

There’s a reason why they want adult drag queens reading to children: it sets up some approximation of normality in the minds of our children that bearded weirdos in dresses are good, or at least harmless. Today it’s fun and we need to tolerate it. Tomorrow it will be glorified. TPC, Sept. 2018.

Another aside: if the pedo monsters are batting right now, who or what is on deck? My guess, and I’m not being facetious, is cannibalism. TPC, June 2018.

And, here we go:

For what it’s worth, dog buggery may be a stretch even for the extremely deranged. Of course, those accused of it, like this Miami veterinarian, are usually pedo fags as well.

The evidence is pouring in about the bearded weirdos at the libraries. Our eyes weren’t lying after all. It’s fag queen pedo hour. A drag queen judge was arrested for producing child porn at the home he shares with his sodomite partner and their adopted minor children. Let that fully sink in. 

Then there’s this ultimately-expositive, charming “love” story out of Lafayette, Louisiana. A queer met a barely-legal young man on a homo “dating” app and lured him to a house with the intention of eating him. Fortunately for the victim, the predacious paramour chickened out at the sight of blood. Other stories are coming to light wherein the cannibals are fully committed to the craft.

This is where the weak, faithless, go-along, get-along tolerance led. This is the price of worshiping demons in public. If observable patterns are followed, then we’ll continue to see progressives push the perversion through Congress and the Statehouses with conservatives limply caving, initially, only to champion the evil in a few short years. Again, at this point, there are no legal or political solutions. A millstone is not political. But it works – if it’s used.

**It’s interesting. YouTube says it was nebulous “medical misinformation” that killed the March 23rd edition of PPN, though my feature was essentially in keeping with the foregoing. I could be wrong, but I seriously doubt that TPC would run this article if they were operating this week. Earlier this month, I was forced to run THIS COLUMN, about the descent of the USSA into post-Christian hell, here, after being told, “going to pass” by the esteemed editor. Friends, old and new, silence will not protect us from the luciferian savages. 

How It Might Happen – the Weekly Column!

19 Friday Mar 2021

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And, this week, it’s another short work of fiction based on highly plausible real near-future events. This one runs exclusively or initially here because 1) I assume it’s the TOO Real Story, and 2) I was notified by TPC’s excellent internal staff communication system that the venerable paper is going on a 2-week Spring Break (woot!) hiatus. Accordingly, my next two weekly columns will be a little “harder” and will run here (possibly elsewhere – developing [slowly] that). Here goes:

 

 How It Might Happen

 

Brynlee pulled her thong up to fully expose the new marijuana leaf tattoo riding high on her plump, white right cheek. She was delighted TikTok was working again (it had been off-and-on for a few days for unknown reasons) though she was moderately distressed the comments feed still wasn’t active. ‘Weah muh boiz? Weah beo-chez? Thot bee hawt!’ she slurred as she began to twerk for the camera. ‘Yaw git high why I shake dis booty, shake dis booty, shake diss booooo-tay!’ 

The noise from the living room really bothered her—almost as much as the loss of instant gratification from her ten thousand loyal followers. ‘Turn dat sheeit dow!’ she screamed. ‘Dat bee dee nooz?’

Suddenly, Marqueena, the seven-year-old daughter she’d had with Darnell, a man she barely remembered, stormed into the kitchen. Sober eyes would have detected the fear and distress on the cute little face, half ivory, half ebony.

‘Which ship is daddy on?!’ the little girl asked with a shout.

‘Gah! Gurl, waay,’ the attention whore exclaimed as she tapped off her phone. ‘Wuh? Why? He on dat Ray-gan, da airpane sheep.’

With an ear-splitting scream, the child crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap. Between wails, she bleated, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

Her wasted, worthless mother stepped over her writhing body and ventured to the doorway. From there, she witnessed something on the 80-inch screen that almost drove the booze and drugs from her underpowered mind. She looked just in time to see the third playing of the first hypersonic anti-ship missile as it plowed into the starboard side of CVN-76. Four more bright flashes followed in rapid succession. Within minutes, over one hundred thousand tons of steel, billions of dollars, and six thousand men—Darnell included—sank to the ocean floor.

While little Marqueena rolled and cried, pounding the linoleum with her fists, Brynlee stupidly muttered, ‘Day-um. Muh check…’

The horrific martial scenes on the television were replaced by a stunned Tucker Carlson. With great effort, he spoke again, ‘And, that was Sunday night. Three days ago. They’ve been lying for three days, lying as if nothing was wrong. Well, it is. It’s worse than wrong, it’s unbelievable. It’s terminal.

‘It took Russian and European reporting, that they tried to block, to break the truth openly. For three days, President Harris, or Pelosi, or whoever the hell is supposed to be running this failed nation has been lying to us. A training exercise? Retaliatory strikes. Mission accomplished? Your sailor will contact you when routine radio silence is lifted! Lies. Lies. Lies!

‘Here’s what we know—now!—that really happened. The Iranians knew the strikes were coming and they were ready. Not a single US cruise missile or bomber got through. Tehran obviously has this Russian S-400 or S-500 system and it obviously works. They also have, according to new reports we’ve been able to verify, advanced ultra-high-velocity sea-skimming missiles. That’s what sank the Reagan along with three support ships. 

‘Our Navy is so weak, so unprepared that they can’t even recover the very few survivors. The Iranians, to their great credit, have been picking up our wounded, treating them, and offering to return them as soon as possible. They, it seems, have Allah’s grace; we’ve lost it.

‘Within an hour of the Battle of the Arabian Sea, China moved against Taiwan, their first step being to sweep the US Pacific Fleet aside. That’s when we lost the Roosevelt and the Nimitz and other support ships, lost them to even more advanced weaponry and tactics. That’s when we lost most of our island-based assets in the South China Sea and the Philippine Sea. China, by the way, is not interested in recovering any of our MIAs. Also, by the way, there is practically nothing we can do about any of this.

‘That’s when, that’s how we lost an estimated thirty-thousand casualties in one hour. That’s why Vladimir Putin sternly reminded Washington of the new Russian defense alliances with Beijing and Tehran. That’s when the failed, satanic, blood-thirsty fools in the White House started lying. That’s how we know this paper tiger has no teeth. Just maybe, maternity flight suits and transgender sex change operations weren’t the right priority. Well, regardless of how we look at it, America’s imperial age just ended.’

Allegedly…

22 Monday Feb 2021

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My latest TPC column, more of a white paper, is coming along a little later today. I’ll have that here when it hits. It’s good, though the subject matter to me is a little yesterday; it was a commissioned piece. As luck has it, I have another, follow-up prepared and I’m already moving on to the next subject(s).

While you wait, here’s the PPN for today:

By now, you must know where to find these. However, they do make decent filler while we wait on the written words.

Columnar Questions

06 Saturday Feb 2021

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I’m just wracking my brain now trying to come up with the perfect topic for TPC next week. You’ll know it when you read it! Lately, all this year, the gang (except for Kayla) have fretted over the dreaded menace of … IDENTITY POLITICS!!! As a hated Christian Nationalist, I, of course, happily acknowledge the truth of the identitarian trend. Given all that’s happened in the past year, especially in politics, one would assume that almost everyone would have come around already. One would assume wrong.

It’s: identity > culture > politics. It always has been, but so long as the dominant identity group and its culture controlled politics, few remembered or needed to. That has changed. Here’s the imperative of recognizing reality: In the USSA, politics is dead, as evidenced by the fraud, the coup, the allowing of the same, and the resulting war on Heritage America. Likewise, the dominant culture is dead, long gone, and the remnants are in mortal danger. That leaves ONLY identity to cling to. One will note that the other side(s) have no problem at all with this simple concept. If White Christians want to survive, they had best get on board. Of course, at TPC, I’m generally not allowed to write “White” and “Christians” together. Too many on our side won’t even acknowledge who we are – a terrible problem, but one that perhaps we can fix.

Some can’t, for one reason or another – can’t not won’t, come to grips. I have another idea that almost seems a little mean as to dealing with people like that. They generally fall into four categories, sometimes overlapping: the evil, the retarded, the mentally ill, and the habitually intoxicated. I advise never speaking to evil people outside of telling them to go away as they are literally dangerous to be around. The others are not necessarily bad people, but honestly, there can be no serious intellectual discussion with them. In important matters, be kind, but have as little to do with those others as possible – they waste time at best. No … that does sound mean…

Identity politics it is! If I can do it without being censored. Or unless something else comes up. Again, you’ll know it when you read it.

On the “$15 Minimum Wage” – from TPC

02 Tuesday Feb 2021

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Why So Stingy, Joe?

 

Howdy. If you could kindly refrain from insurrectionism for a moment or three, let’s all adjust our permanent face diapers (triple layers, people!), and talk about money. Amen, Awoman, etc.

By the grace of Bramah, and by really working the cemetery and foreign algorithm votes, notorious hippity-hopper, Joey B. worked his way into the White House basement. When not sleeping, creeping, or sniffing, his handlers have him signing executive orders and plotting some sort of great reset. One of his (handlers’) schemes involves raising the minimum wage from $7.25 to $15.00 per hour. 

Look, our recovery plan also calls for an increase in the minimum wage, at 15 — at least $15.00 an hour.  No one in America should work 40 hours a week making below the poverty line.  Fifteen dollars gets people above the poverty line.  We have so many millions of people working 40 hours a week — working — and some with two jobs, and they’re still below the poverty line.  

So remarked RHEast’s daddy, on January 22, 2021, whilst signing EOs and hyping his (handlers’) American Rescue Plan. Yes, please! Won’t someone rescue the Americans? Maybe they could start by shipping out the Big Guy’s (handlers’) cabinet, the members of which do share a certain monolithic nature, no?

A week later, Obama’s Veep’s (handlers’) Press Secretary, Jen “Deer in the Headlights” Psaki, in response to a fake media question about “Fifteen,” meekly mumbled something about Chairman Sanders, Congress, Parliament moving forward, a path forward, expediting urgency, and certainly feeling something. I, for one, was inspired. Inspired, but underwhelmed. Here’s why:

Between 1960 and 1964, the minimum wage increased from $1 to $1.15. Between those years, the Treasury was doing something funny with the dollar and the federal reserve note (a legitimate President was also assassinated, though I’m sure the events were completely unrelated). Also between 1960 and 1964, the price of an ounce of silver bounced around between $.91 and $1.29. This is a rough example of how the minimum wage was once pegged to the silver dollar. If it were still so connected, then the present minimum wage would be around $28 per hour. Soooo … why so low, Creepy Joe?

…

Read the whole thing (almost as I submitted it) at TPC!

Cartoon Politics – from TPC!

28 Thursday Jan 2021

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The Not So Funny Papers

 

Greetings, Piedmonteers! In the name of Brahma the Merciless (say Awoman!), I trust we’re all wearing our COVIET face burqas. Let’s review a new and alarming, if sadly predictable trend sweeping the remains of the USSA.

Oh, yes, this installment is a twofer – I figure I owe you, and there at least two big issues and all. 

First, a quick assessment of where this whole thing stands, from a realistic standpoint. With my sizable dosage of hopium having worn off, I’m back to where I was on July 30, 2020. This point is for future historians to ratify, but, friends, it’s over – at least as it has been. The days of even semi-free, quasi-fair, kinda-honest elections in the [fill in the titular terminology as you like: republic, democracy, collapsing empire, “gay” Talmudic clown show, etc.] are days of the past. I knew as early as 2012 that national contests were officially rigged, thus my cessation of direct participation. 2016 was a test that didn’t quite work out as planned. 2020 saw the institution of a fool-proof system; yes, everything was caught, but no one was willing to do anything about it. And, that (we’ll say 11:59 AM on January 20th) was the last chance for a miracle fix. If you’re granted an “election” in 2024, rest assured that the outcome is already decided. The fraud will not be traceable in the future, not that anyone will be looking for it then.

Things are moving right along now. I know everyone is reeling and starting to reassess allegiance to the Uniparty or one of the controlled opposition non-starters. That’s fine. Do what seems best to or for you. But, it’s time – past time – to embrace what’s unfolding. There are four general courses to take, some of which may overlap, tactically, as circumstances dictate: flee, fight, freeze, or hide.

…

Continued and Originally at TPC!

Anatomy of a Column

15 Friday Jan 2021

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It took a while, longer than normal, but I wrote and submitted this week’s TPC column! I’ll post that here when if they run it.

Or, I might run my original, which was written at, how should I put this? At a higher… nevermind. The first draft was long (“TL;DR,” yuck, yuck”) and full of references and math. Nobody likes that, so I toned it down. The middle version was entirely too vitriolic so I scraped it. I think what I went with was entirely appropriate, just as it was entirely accurate. Whatever, right? It’s not like the subject matters. It is all a done deal. Yeah. You’ll enjoy it if you see it.

And a Pardon in a Pear Tree – Christmas Fiction from Somewhat Current Events

23 Wednesday Dec 2020

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And a Pardon in a Pear Tree

 

London City Airport, Early Evening…

No one had explained a word about the sudden change in scenery. An outside NHS doctor spent over an hour assessing his general condition, at intervals consulting with nurses and his solitary handlers. He thought he’d asked for his attorney or his advocate, but he simply couldn’t remember. The flat American accents had tipped him off, and if he was honest, he had long suspected this day would come. They didn’t even ask him to sign anywhere, nor did they present him any writ or order. Four sturdy men in suits, in addition to the usual guards, had escorted him from the infirmary to the transfer bay. Two of these bespoke Yankees rode along with him in the back of an SUV. He thought he glimpsed unmarked police cars in a short procession, but he wasn’t sure. 

   Little of it, any of it, made sense. And he didn’t have much time to process what was happening. Nearly a decade of hiding, waiting, and suffering had crawled by him, only for this evening’s unexplained venture from Belmarsh, and the short, fast drive under the Thames (he guessed it was the Blackwall Tunnel), and now he was securely in the custody of – someone. Who were his new friends? The FBI? CIA? As the surprisingly well-appointed business jet began to swing around on its approach to the lone runway, he realized something. Whoever they were, they had not shackled him!

   In fact, once on board, they had begun treating him rather well, more like a guest than a prisoner. Something in the cabin smelled sweet, familiar almost. He was seated in a comfortable leather chair and was just sipping from a bottle of Perrier when the pilot hastily announced their imminent departure. One of these agents, if that was the word, a large man seated across a small table from him, gestured for him to fasten his seatbelt. The gesture came with a smile, something to which he was no longer accustomed. No sooner than he had secured himself and turned to gaze out the window than the plane launched forward, soon climbing over the River, passing on the one side a sewage plant and, on the other, the sewer of a prison he’d of late called his home. In a few minutes, he realized they must have already been closing on the Delta, heading, he assumed, due east towards Antwerp. He couldn’t be exactly certain, but there came the feeling that the craft slowed in the air and subtly turned to the south – to what degree, he did not know.

   And, just as he gave thought to another effervescent sip and perhaps a request for something solid to eat, another man kindly invited him forward to the flight deck. Entering through the open cockpit door, he beheld before and below him, shrouded in moving darkness, what he took for the Channel and, far ahead, the lights of the Continent. Two men sat under dim lights behind a sea of screens and controls. The younger one, on the right, was dressed in a similar if more understated fashion as the rest of the crew. He looked like the government issue. The other man, older, and obviously in charge of the flight, bore an altogether different look and demeanor. He was half slouched over to his left, with his arm resting near the window. His right hand lazily, casually held the yoke. His black hair, flecked with sprinkled salt, was shaggier than one would have assumed, as was his short, stubbly beard. He was chewing on a cigar and wore, over powerfully-built arms and shoulders, what could only be described as the tackiest of Christmas sweaters. Upon entering, he caught the end of a short conversation between the pilots.

   The older casual man on the left was quipping in answer to something: ‘…Corona is a hoax, Biden didn’t win, and Gina didn’t kill herself. Eff- it!’

   ‘Yeah, right. Listen, RAF and the Bude are blowing up again about it, Tom,’ said the younger man on the right, ‘like it popped up out of nowhere.’

   Unperturbed, the man of the left gave a dry response: ‘I know. Ninety-high and tracking our position perfectly?’

   ‘You know?’ the young man asked incredulously.

   ‘Yeah,’ the older man hummed, ‘or, I suspected. He’s with us. An escort.’

   ‘Then, who is he?’ asked the younger man.

   ‘Santa Claus…’

   He could no longer contain his bewilderment. ‘Whose plane is this?’ he asked, more to the older man.

   The whimsical pilot immediately pivoted around and smiled sincerely. ‘My brother-in-law’s!’ he said happily. ‘Well, he bought it, as a tax write-off and so forth, but I get to fly her. Keep her down in Hickory. She’s not a lot of use most of the time, what with the price of fuel but, for this jaunt, Uncle Sucker is picking up the whole tab!’

   ‘Who are you?’ he asked, feeling even more bewildered than before.

   ‘I’m Tom,’ the pilot said, extending his hand (leaving the yoke floating momentarily), ‘and this is Freddy,’ he said nodding to the younger man who smiled slightly at the introduction. ‘May I call you Julian?’ Tom asked.

   ‘Yes, uh, yes, that’s me,’ was Julian’s answer, before he ventured another question: ‘Are you CIA?’

   ‘No,’ the pilot said flatly and proudly. ‘The guys in the back are Marshals, or Secret Service, or something or another. Freddy here is Company, but I’m not. Not anymore. I’m just a guy with some cheap time and a plane. Welcome aboard the White Hat Express!’

   He stumbled through his more recent memories for a moment before uttering: ‘Tom? You’re the professor?’

   ‘At your service, pen pal!’ Tom replied with a smile.

   ‘You two have been corresponding?’ Freddie asked with sudden interest or alarm.

   ‘Yeah,’ Tom said dismissively. ‘Now, Julian, where to?’

   ‘What do you mean?’ Julian asked.

   ‘I mean where do you want me to take you?’ Tom asked. Then, he clumsily tapped at a few of the screens above the throttle. ‘I’ve got nine-thousand, or ninety-five-hundred kilometers worth of range. Can’t make Australia, directly, but, there’s … Sweden? No, maybe not. Paris is just over the horizon. You probably aren’t keen on the States just yet—’

   ‘They’re keen on him,’ Freddy added.

   ‘Well, not yet,’ Tom said. ‘You just think about it, Julian, and let me know. I can hold over the Channel if I need to. Try not to take too long. I have a mountain cabin full of women who are probably angry with me about this side trip. Missing Christmas and all that, you know.’

   ‘You’re not taking me to a prison in America?!’ Julian asked perplexedly.

   ‘No, why would I?’ Tom questioned. ‘You’re a free man. It’s in the— Wait, they didn’t tell you?!’

   ‘Tell me what?’ Julian was confused. ‘No.’

   ‘Well then, the honor is mine,’ Tom said proudly again, ‘You’re free! Full pardon. Freddy or one of them has the paperwork. And, not to burden you, but you are requested – at your convenience – for a special consultation on some more recent, pressing matters. The uh, the shitshow, you know? There’s a storm about to hit. Hard. Anyway, Merry Christmas, old man!’

   Julian leaned on the door, feeling a lump moving up and through his throat. A pardon? He thought. For—

   As if reading his new friend’s thoughts, Tom quietly added, ‘Not that you did anything wrong. But, all’s safe and legal now. And, I’m serious. Wherever you want. Got family somewhere? Or, friends? Why don’t you talk it over with her and get back to me.’

   ‘Talk to whom?’ Julian asked as tears filled his lower eyes. ‘Who is her, she?’

   Tom looked sidelong at Freddy and almost growled, ‘You didn’t fucking tell him?! He hasn’t seen her yet? It’s a small plane!’

   ‘We had her scooch down in a rear seat, and she’s obviously still playing along,’ Freddy said defensively. ‘It was going to be part of the surprise, along with the pardon. Then, you had to take off like a wildman and—’

   Tom cut Freddy’s explanation short. Holding the intercom button, he spoke out loudly and clearly, ‘Sweetheart, come on up here. He really needs you.’

   Julian, utterly confused, wiped his sleeve over his eyes. But, she was already there. From behind him, a golden, sultry voice cooed over his shoulder, ‘Hello, beautiful.’

   Turning, he looked into her eyes. His jaw dropped even as she moved in quickly to heartily embrace him. He exclaimed, ‘Pamela!’

*And now, this column [AT TPC] will enter into a short period of festive rest. I intend to return in the new year, not later than the invocation of the Insurrection Act or the commencement of President Trump’s second term. Merry Christmas to all and a very happy 2021! -Perrin

At seen, 12/22, at TPC!

The Enemy Combatants Stake Their Claims

10 Thursday Dec 2020

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The Enemy Combatants Stake Their Claims

My daily video and podcasts for Freedom Prepper are growing steadily in popularity. So, it was of great interest to me last weekend when I learned that YouTube had pulled my November 18th episode for unspecified and surely contrived allegations of “inappropriate content.” I still have no idea what they mean by that. All I talked about was the operation of the Federal Reserve … nevermind, I think I get it. I also got their serious power trip: the censorship was immediately followed by a seven-day ban on new videos at FP’s channel.

We were prepared and easily shifted over to our own dedicated server space, which allowed the videos to run regardless, at freedomprepper.com and as promoted at the new Freedom Prepper Community (like Faceberg, but without the SJWs, spying, and associated stupidity). Still, I look forward to returning to our old channel because of its reach and subscriber engagement. Sadly (or not!), that may be short-lived.

I truly have no idea why we were temporarily banned. They don’t tell you why, they just do it. They’re small, sensitive creatures, easily frightened by the slightest hint of departure from the narrative. They’ve also, of late, been labeling any and all content which in any way touches on the “vaccine” and the AP’s selection of Biden. As they put it on December 9th, they’re really ramping up the censorship on that latter issue.

Our Community Guidelines prohibit spam, scams, or other manipulated media, coordinated influence operations, and any content that seeks to incite violence. Since September, we’ve terminated over 8000 channels and thousands of harmful and misleading elections-related videos for violating our existing policies. Over 77% of those removed videos were taken down before they had 100 views. 

We also work to make sure that the line between what is removed and what is allowed is drawn in the right place. Our policies prohibit misleading viewers about where and how to vote. We also disallow content alleging widespread fraud or errors changed the outcome of a historical U.S. Presidential election. However in some cases, that has meant allowing controversial views on the outcome or process of counting votes of a current election as election officials have worked to finalize counts. 

Yesterday was the safe harbor deadline for the U.S. Presidential election and enough states have certified their election results to determine a President-elect. Given that, we will start removing any piece of content uploaded today (or anytime after) that misleads people by alleging that widespread fraud or errors changed the outcome of the 2020 U.S. Presidential election, in line with our approach towards historical U.S. Presidential elections. For example, we will remove videos claiming that a Presidential candidate won the election due to widespread software glitches or counting errors. We will begin enforcing this policy today, and will ramp up in the weeks to come. As always, news coverage and commentary on these issues can remain on our site if there’s sufficient education, documentary, scientific or artistic context.

There is absolutely no placating these Children of the Lie – though, at least next week, I intend to try (fool’s hope and all). First, concerning FP’s “strike,” I intend to invite YouTube’s CEO, Susan Wojcicki (yes, (((of course))) ) on my show to educate me and my audience about our “inappropriate content.” As to the “strike,” I’m sure that will resolve everything. As to the prohibition of any discussion whatsoever of the massive, blatant, and criminal frauds deployed during and after the 2020 election, I’m not so optimistic.

I want this to be clear. I’ll phrase it in Georgia Piedmont-friendly terms so simple that the tribe at YT might be able to understand: Joseph Biden has about as much chance of being sworn in as the 46th US President as the Bulldogs have of claiming another football national championship this season (not that the Dawgs would necessarily acknowledge their victory – Biden, to his credit, would his).

At the close of the lawful election, Trump won. For what constitutes the “lawful election,” please see Foster v. Love, 522 U.S. 67 (1997). The Supreme Court will see that case, again, soon, and will soon remind themselves of the concept of stare decisis. Pursuant to the law, this election is headed towards the legislative branch, either in the statehouses, or in Congress, or both. The Associated Press and YouTube can keep calling whatever they please – and I hope they do. Why root for people who silence you?

Because of what constitutes foreign election interference and treason. By openly declaring both themselves and their campaigns, before, during, and after the popular election of November, an election teeming with one in one-quadrillion^4 irregularities and copious proven examples of tampering by hostile foreign powers (in conjunction with domestic criminals), the Ministry of Truth has put itself squarely in the camp and conspiracy of those engaged in actual hostilities against the United States, both the people and especially the government. The remedies for these enemy combatant acts extend beyond the authorities outlined in a certain Executive Order (9/12/18). Like the courts, the executive is imbued with precedent. That established by Abraham Lincoln would suffice Trump in the coming months, though it has been greatly augmented of late by men with names like Bush and Obama. 

The next month and a half will be, to say the least, entertaining. I, of course, do not know any definitive outcome for any of these matters. However, I find that a cheery disposition helps during times of uncertainty. When I learned of the severity of FP’s YT punishment, I lightheartedly relayed it to the audience as our little “vacation.” Certain parties might well do the same from the sunny confines of GITMO.

*Speaking of cheer(!), we will soon, and very soon, turn our national affairs attention to the celebration of Christ’s Mass in America! Perhaps this year shall see the continuation of the old Christmas fiction tradition.