Month: May 2021

Neighborhood Reindeer Games

BaconLettuceMayo, Crime, Law and Order

Several people have sent me accounts (like this one) of the latest BLM “protest” which happened in Plano (!!!) last week.

Several thoughts come to mind, especially as I’ve had some dealings with the Plano PD over the past couple weeks, as every fule kno, and I came away very impressed with their attitude.

What I also learned, in chatting with our local guy while CIS was dusting for prints etc. was that the attitude of people all over (not just in Plano, but all over north Texas) has been changing for the worse, in that people getting involved with the police are being a lot more aggressive — and not just with the police, either.

Back in June last year, there was a traffic accident at a corner not three hundred yards from my old house.  I know the corner well (Legacy and Independence), and as it happened, when the accident occurred there was a Plano uniformed cop filling up at the gas station on that very corner.  So the cop walked over — no need to drive, it’s twenty yards away — only to see that the female driver of the one car was leaning into the other driver’s window, and punching her out.  So he grabbed her to restrain her, whereupon he made the unfortunate discovery that she wasn’t punching the other woman, but stabbing her.  And when he tried to restrain this bitch, she stabbed him four times.  Luckily, three of the blows were deflected by his vest, but the fourth got him a good one in the upper left arm, and he started to bleed like a stuck pig.

The situation did not end there.

The stabbist then ran around the front of the car and wrenched the passenger-side door open, so as to continue with the stabbing.

Fortunately, the officer was not massively incapacitated from his stab wound — apparently, he would faint a little later from blood loss while waiting for the paramedics — but he was still able to pull his gun and shoot the bitch four times, whereupon she lost all interest in the proceedings, assumed the proper position on the ground, and very shortly thereafter achieved room temperature.

[pause to let the cheering and hollering die down]

Just in passing, both the cop and the stabbee survived the fun and games.  He was a twenty-five-year veteran of the Plano PD and was something like six months from retirement.  (Here’s the official report of the incident.  There’s a telling detail that I didn’t mention;  see if you can spot it.)

The cop who told me this story said that this change in attitude began during the Obama administration, and had only got worse and worse since.  (I note too that the Plano PD Chief has been spotted marching in an earlier BLM protest, and that is an issue to be addressed on another day.)

After Election Day 2020 I took the AK out of the car, figuring that now that the nation’s scum had got their wish and had Communists, wokists and BLM supporters in positions of power, they’d simmer down.  Clearly, this is not the case.

So tomorrow I’ll be off to Doc Russia’s to pick up the AK and return it to its proper position in the car.  I should have done it after dinner with him last week, but that was a couple days before the BLM incident on Plano’s east side, and who knew?  But times change, and I guess we have to change with them.

Let me say right now that I will not start anything should I personally encounter a situation like last Friday’s.  I won’t even get out of my car.  Unless things get really out of control — the video of the event shows that at least one BLM supporter had a handgun out and pointed at the “counter-protester” —  in which case things might get a little more interesting.  I certainly don’t take kindly to people pointing guns at me, no matter how much they believe they are “justified” in so doing;  and any attempt to bring violence on me will meet with some resistance.

And that’s a promise.

Good grief.  If shit like this can happen in Plano, it can happen anywhere in the United States.  Be on your guard and stay safe.  Or at least get a good group.

Juxtaposition

Deep Thoughts, Patriotism, Resistance

Very interesting piece by Max Morton at American Greatness.  One passage caught my attention in particular:

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what country you come from, what god you worship, or what political ideology you believe in. When a man has no options, when no hope remains, when for him there is no tomorrow . . . he will fight with ferocity and fury not of this world. It is worth considering this fact—written in history from Thermopylae to the Alamo and to the Warsaw ghetto—when attempting to impose one’s will on another.

He’s talking about Afghanistan and the timeless futility of trying to achieve anything in that shithole.  But read on through to the end, when he brings it home:

If we listen to the words of the politicians and their bureaucrat handlers in Washington, we can hear the language of the imperative, “Submit,” with no post-capture options. And, if we look at the current zero-sum game of political warfare, cancel culture, and the weaponization of the Justice Department, federal law enforcement, and intelligence agencies, we can see deliberate preparations to answer traditional Americans’ “or what?” response.

But:

In reality, [our current ruling elites] are not strong enough—or smart enough—to wield the command “Submit.” So, having picked up the sword, they will watch it be taken from their hands and then used against them by their very enemy—traditional Americans, who understand there will be no tomorrow, and in whose eyes there is a fierceness, a fury, that is beyond their world. It will be a fatal miscalculation that will bring about the downfall of a cursed and failed American ruling elite.

We can only hope.

Safer?

Crime, Law and Order, Vermin

Oh yeah, this will work out well.  From the Museum of Absolute Fucking Lunacy (California Hall) comes this fine example:

California is set to release at least 63,000 inmates convicted of violent crimes in an effort to create “safer prisons.”

Safer prisons, unsafer cities.  Here’s the reasoning (if you can even call it that):

The goal is to increase incentives for the incarcerated population to practice good behavior and follow the rules while serving their time and participate in rehabilitative and educational programs, which will lead to safer prisons,” Dana Simas, a state Office of Administrative Law spokeswoman, said in a statement about the mass release of prisoners in the Golden State.  “Additionally, these changes would help to reduce the prison population by allowing incarcerated persons to earn their way home sooner,” she added.

So who are the lucky releasees?  All non-violent people in jail for forgery, tax fraud or embezzlement?  Right… not:

Of those who are set to be released, nearly 20,000 are serving life sentences.

Not everyone is happy about this news:

A number of Republican lawmakers in the state have opposed the move and criticized Gov. Gavin Newsom for acting “on his own authority, instead of the will of the people.”

I didn’t know California had any “Republican lawmakers” left — I thought they were 100% Socialist over there in the Golden Shower State.

I foresee murders.  Unfortunately, those murders won’t be of the people who are behind this foolishness.

Monday Funnies

Funny Stuff

OGIM… and the week’s workload beckons.

So, on with the show:

And on that note, someone named Kaitlin Bennett (no, I don’t know either, but she seems nice):

Oh… that Kaitlin Bennett.  Predictably, she has the Left in full attack mode, which means she’s on our side.

Mom

Friends and Family, Men & Women

New Wife and I were chatting the other day about men and women — and specifically, how in the “old days” (in our case, the 1950s and -60s) men went out to work, and women stayed at home, managed the household and raised the children.  The roles were clearly defined, and because of that, there seemed to be little angst, the way there is today, about “women’s roles” and all that.  Most especially, the traditional role of the “stay-at-home mom” has been belittled, and worse still, seen as some kind of oppression.  Even uglier is the attitude which said that women, having got the kids off to school in the morning, sat around and ate bonbons all day, maybe (and reluctantly) doing housework and preparing the evening meal, in the Donna Reed manner.

That was not the case for our mothers, and I’m going to talk about mine (because I don’t know that much about New Wife’s mother — who, it should be said, disliked me for obvious reasons).

My Mom was always working.  Far from being lazy and lounging about on the couch, she was so busy that, in retrospect, I have no idea how she got through the day without passing out exhausted at the end.  Here are some of the things she did.

She went to England with my father on one of his business trips, but he was going all over the place — to Liverpool, Sheffield, Manchester and Newcastle — and she, stuck in London, got bored on Day Two, with another two weeks to go.  So she found a beautician school somewhere in Soho, enrolled, and was able to get a certificate in those two weeks which took other students over a month.  When she came back, she started a cottage job, giving facials and nail treatments at first to her friends, and then to a much larger clientele.

But that wasn’t enough.  She took up yoga for exercise, and got so good that she was invited by her teacher to become a teacher herself.  So for over a decade, she taught yoga to women, two lessons a day each workday week.  (It started off as a single class for the neighborhood women, and by the end, she had a waiting list of over a hundred.  My father had to build her a studio on our property because she outgrew our living room in a couple of months.)

Like in Britain, South Africa had branches of the Women’s Institute all over the place.  My mom joined the local branch, and after a couple of years she became the chairlady, a position she held for nearly twenty years.  (For more about the WI, here’s the story.)  Under her leadership, that branch went from a recipe-swapping club to an institution which created sub-branches that taught traditional (but forgotten) household skills such as gardening, flower-arranging, household decoration and, outside the house, public speaking and bookkeeping.  Also under her auspices, her WI provided caregivers for a daycare center for severely-handicapped children under age 5, and she was in charge of its annual fundraising drive — which after two years enabled the center to move from someone’s house into their own building (incidentally built by my father’s engineering company, gratis ).

Mom was also an indefatigable rose-gardener.  While we had a live-in gardener to take care of the main (two-acre) garden, the forty-odd rose bush garden was her own fiercely-guarded domain, and she watered, pruned, dug out and weeded the beds daily.  (The ever-present smell of fresh roses in our house stays with me to this day.)

In addition, she was in charge of family entertainment.  As a senior business executive (and later owner of his own engineering company), my father hosted formal dinners at least twice a month;  and when there wasn’t a business dinner, it was a dinner party for their huge circle of friends — dinners which invariably ended up with everyone dancing in my mother’s yoga studio.  (My job was to take out the yoga mats and clean the place, and to restore it to its proper function after the party.)

And the meals.  Good grief, the meals.  Dinner was a sit-down affair every night, and Sunday lunch was a State occasion.  Mom designed and planned out every single meal — needless to say, she also did the supermarket shopping once a month.  She was also a peerless baker, to the point where my sister Teresa and I, spoiled brats that we were, could not only identify a store-bought cake, but would refuse to eat it.  The only variation to this was confectioneries — Napoleons (custard slices), petit-fours and donuts — which were bought from Gallagher’s Bakery in the city (the only one which met Mom’s exacting standards), where she would take us every Saturday morning, as a treat.

Granted, we also had a live-in maid to help with the cleaning and laundry work — my Black mommy Mary Madipe, who carried me around on her back as a baby in the African manner, and who alone could discipline me with a single word — but all the time that Mom saved from those chores was not spent in idleness and indolence, as can be seen above.

Of course, there were the kids to look after.  Fortunately (for her), at age 11 I went off to boarding school, but before that, while waiting for my lift to primary school, I remember that each Monday Mom would give me a manicure before going to school.  (I’ve looked after my nails in similar fashion ever since: emery boards, cuticle clippers, the lot.)  From Mom, I learned about being a gentleman:  table manners, etiquette, proper dressing, the lot — all rigorously drilled into me for as long as I can remember.  (I recall, at age eight, holding the door open for one of my mother’s friends, and her astonishment at what was, for me, everyday behavior.)

So yeah, those were the days of the stay-at-home mom that I remember.  This was not a life as portrayed in the sneering manner of today:  it was a time when “housewife” carried all the responsibilities of home management — and in those days, microwave ovens, TV dinners (and in South Africa, TV at all) were as yet unknown.  Everything was made from scratch, and an “out” meal was perhaps a monthly trip to the roadhouse or fish ‘n chip shop, all treated with the greatest excitement by us kids.

It was work, I think, which would absolutely devastate the Modern Ms. of today.

If you’re not bored by all this, I invite you to read further.  It’s personal.

Read more

Banished

House & Home

…or at least locked out of my own house.

New Wife does not want me to be present today at the moving of our stuff from the garage back into the apartment because reasons.  (Mostly because I fly into frequent rages at the recalcitrance of furniture to fit through doors etc. and am likely to break things when it doesn’t.  Also, I hate packing stuff away, and she absolutely loves doing it.)

So I’ve supplied the movers (strong young backs) from a company that I’ve used many times before, and that’s all there is to it.

And no, she’s not going to rearrange our stuff so that I’ll never find it again — she is actually more a creature of habit than I am, so when I’m eventually allowed back in, sometime this afternoon, I should find the place almost ready for human habitation.

My sole responsibility is the packing away of guns into safes, and buying the groceries we’ll be needing to resume our former life, such as it was.  And that’s only scheduled for tomorrow (Sunday).

It could be worse.  Like it was back in mid-February.