Could Bernie Sanders Save America From Nuclear War?

 

Most every living American has been equipped with a natural distaste either for the now deceased Soviet Union, or today's Russia. Many baby boomers recall crouching under school desks in bomb drills. The threat of a nuclear exchange between the two super powers was indeed a reality. Since Bolshevik Revolution and the grotesque assassinations of the last Godly Tsar, Nicholas II along with his wife and children in 1918, the once mighty Christian land of Rus decayed under the deadly and immoral rot of Godless communism.

While now predictably post-Christian, albeit the Protestant strain, America rightly recoiled at our natural enemy. The recollection of Khrushchev's “We Will Bury You” speech at the United Nations fueled the sentiment of the Soviet bear being the personification of evil.

And it was. Beginning with Josef Stalin, one atheist dictator after another did his best to exterminate all vestiges of the former Russia as being the Christian land it once was. The carnage of Christian martyrs who fell under the Soviet sword (or gun, or starvation) far exceeded amateurs such as Hitler. Most of them remain unknown to anyone, save for our Creator.

To his credit, Ronald Reagan identified communism as the threat, and proceeded to bankrupt the bankrupt ideology. His successor witnessed the symbolic collapse of the Berlin wall Reagan had ordered torn down. Inside the red borders began the rebirth of the once great Christian land. The Soviet Union was dead, gone out of business without anybody firing a shot.

Unfortunately, what did not die alongside was the lingering notion among America that Russia was surely just another incarnation of the Soviet Union. In this present day, even “conservative” talkers like the clueless Dan Bongino still refer to Russia as a communist land, utterly unaware of the transformations that have taken place under an actual Christian president (Imagine that!)

America has morphed, rather obviously into a god-less nation and this was predictable, for the natural end of Protestantism in its myriad of forms is atheism. This is because the essence of Protestantism is rational, analytical and on its Pentecostal and Charismatic fringes, emotional. Included in the evangelical wing is faulty eschatological view of Russia as the evil red bear, destined to make war with the (actually) God-less state of Israel.

It's all so terribly shallow, but its adherents are devoted to a deadly view. This is because in the current state of world affairs, the blossoming land of Russia and its Christian roots may offer the best hope for mankind. Inside its borders, the Gospel (the actual Gospel) now flourishes, unhinged and unabated. Indeed, it is ironically America that is the potential mission field for actual Christianity, something we don't have a whole lot of these dark days.

Enter now a robust gaggle of neocons who extend into both American political parties. Convinced Russia remains evil, they seek to either bring Ukraine, once a part of Russia, into NATO, or send American troops and equipment to the renegade nation, to unbelievably assist in a potential war with the nation led by a clear-eyed, mentally sound and determined president, who does not enter into a dialogue assisted by a team of sycophants who place a script in front of him, so he'll know what to say. And were his fingers ever to hover over The Big Red Button, they would not be all trembly from dementia.

Odd that our leaders cannot be bothered with the goings-on at the Rio Grande. But the Ukrainian border? Well now buddy, just you back off or we'll....we'll, do something.

That something includes a first-strike nuclear option, fomented by our Joint Chiefs of Staff and muttering such possibilities into the vaccinated ears of the mentally compromised president. The notion Joe Biden could – could – initiate a nuclear exchange with Vladmir Putin should chill every American to the core. Instead, the Bonginos, Ernsts, Wickers, Grahams and Kennedys of the world evidently salivate over the idea of finally getting it on with the Bear.

Except now, the Bear is a Christian.

And America ain't, Dan.

Few bother to ask why in the world should we care about a Russia-Ukraine conflict, and that is the question. What it isn't is any of our business. Neither country represents a threat to the United States and if there were ever a time America needed to tend to her own biscuits, this is it.

I mean, really. What do you believe Putin would do at the southern American border, were he our president?

Alas, this is America, and war is our racket. We've abandoned Afghanistan and the rocket's red glare has barely worn off after what – four, five months – before we start looking around for the next war. But Russia is not Afghanistan, or Kuwait, or Libya, or Iraq. Any initiation of conflict by the United States would surely be met with a force none of us has ever seen.

Well, what of crazy Bernie? Has he weighed in on the situation? Being more comfortable with the glories(!) of communism, Bernie may well relish the opportunity to vanquish a largely Christian land.

And make no mistake. Ultimately, that is what this is all about.

It's thread-clinging, I know. But historically, old hippies were always anti-war. Any war. This would be prime time for the old commie hippie to rise, shine and embrace his 60's era roots. He could take his president and his party(s) to task and howl loudly about how we must back off and get back to other matters, such as universal basic incomes, open borders and government health care for all.

It could be a historic moment for the senator from Vermont. Will Bernie save America? Maybe he actually could. Of course, he won't.

But he could.

Lord have mercy on us all.

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Thankful, Again

 

Annually, at least, I pause to count my blessings. My stream of consciousness list always falls short, but that's alright. I can at least put a dent in it.

I'm thankful for solo stoves. They're terrific, and found on Amazon. Best campfire ever.

I'm thankful my college footballin' Bulldogs may finally get er done. They're on point this here season.

I'm thankful I got a few years of visits with Mama Lilah, my paternal grandmother. If only they could have cloned her a few million times. I can still hear her cackling, accompanied by twinkling, loving eyes.

I'm thankful for wood. And chain saws. And BC powders.

I'm thankful Kyle Rittenhouse is sleeping in his own bed.

I'm thankful for my kids, all grown and on their way to deliver grandkids to see me.

I'm thankful for readers of books I write. May the number grow exponentially.

I'm thankful for the scent of cedar.

I'm thankful the copperhead wounded me, but didn't kill me.

I'm thankful for my wife. Pretty much required to say that, but I'd say it anyway.

I'm thankful for Sam, the cat in Sri Lanka who works for me. That he speaks English better than I do is helpful.

I'm thankful for dentistry. And plumbing. And HVAC systems.

I'm thankful for delete buttons.

I'm thankful for toboggans. Or ski masks. Or whatever you call them.

I'm thankful for ham, my preference over turkey this year, for some reason.

I'm thankful for Timberlands. Best ever.

I'm thankful we're out of Afghanistan, and that I'm not there now. Hard period there. Onward.

I'm thankful for the 1939 Alistair Slim version of “A Christmas Carol.” Subsequent efforts pale.

I'm thankful for Berkey water filters.

I'm thankful for quilts.

I'm thankful for bluegrass music.

I'm thankful for hair, but less thankful every day. Or more, depending on your perspective.

I'm thankful, although I am somewhat loathe to admit it, for closed captioning.

I'm thankful the changing color of the leaves, and that I don't have to rake them.

I'm thankful for old black and white movies, especially if Bogie's in it.

I'm thankful for the dude at the eye doctor's office who cheerfully repairs my glasses every time I sit on them. He just smiles and hold out his hand before I can say anything.

I'm thankful Johnny found June.

I'm thankful shag carpet went the way of the dinosaurs.

I'm thankful I never got sideways with Karl Childers.

I'm thankful for tax write-offs. And good CPA's, who keep the dragon at bay.

I'm thankful I discovered the late great Shelby Foote.

I'm thankful we can still cross state lines. Can't we?

I'm thankful when the warm front chases out the cold.

I'm thankful when I can drive it over 250 yards, straight and true down the fairway. Rare, though.

I'm thankful when the store has a bench.

I'm thankful I got to watch Hank hammer #715. Barry Who?

I'm thankful I don't have to fiddle with the giblets today. Always a conundrum.

I'm thankful Robert Duvall is still kicking pigs.

I'm thankful for Mr. Borden, my elementary school principal. He scouted the halls with a paddle in one hand, and a cigar in his mouth. Good times, friends, good times.

I'm thankful for Van Morrison and Eric Clapton, whose guts exceed their musical prowess.

I'm thankful for tea. But more for coffee, and lots of it.

I'm thankful for Jacques Pepin.

I'm thankful Fidel is gone, finally.

I'm thankful for calculators.

I'm thankful for sea foam, my favorite color. Ah, the beach, the beach.

I'm thankful I can get a ten minute oil change. Well okay. I'm thankful for a half hour oil change?

I'm thankful my car's warranty has not expired, and that the IRS does not have a warrant for my arrest, though people keep calling and telling me otherwise.

I'm thankful for salt. And pepper. Freshly cracked, if you don't mind.

I'm thankful the dinner bell just rang. And I'm thankful you read this.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Rush Limbaugh, R.I.P.

I first heard Rush Limbaugh in 1989, not long after the national debut of his program.  The charm and magic of the experience was in hearing beliefs I then held richly enunciated by the golden voice preaching into the golden microphone.

As my own political philosophies evolved far from the neo-conservatism Limbaugh embraced until his death, his show ultimately became a source of perpetual exasperation.  But that's a point for another time. This isn't about me.

Rush claimed "talent on loan from God" likely in jest, but perhaps with a wink.  For that is indeed what he had, and never was a voice more fashioned for Marconi's invention.  If Paul Harvey was to radio what Frank Sinatra was to popular music, Rush was Elvis.

Without question, Rush loved his country, and considered America to be the gold standard among the world's nations.  As much as he loved an America which no longer exists, he reviled those he blamed for its ruin, those pesky and misguided liberals who were mocked, parodied, lampooned and exposed as the hypocrites they are, for three hours a day.

And deservedly so.

Americans who play by the rules, work jobs, pay taxes and raise families are generally a tolerant, charitable and well-mannered lot.  They mind and take care of their own business.  But such Americans have targets on their backs anymore, as those who would assault and pervert what they hold dear bully their way down Main Street, ripping away at whatever is left of the nation's moral fabric.

Every neighborhood with a bully needs a hero who will stand up and push back.  No prominent conservative had ever dared mock liberal false idols, exposing the sacred cows as empty suits.  Rush barreled through the facades like a bull, one by one, and millions were liberated, laughing as he parodied the uh-Rev-er-end Jack-sonnnn, or Calypso Louie, Ruth "Buzzi" Ginsburg, Crazy Bernie, Maude Behar, Slick Willie, and on, and on, and on.

And who can forget the assorted "updates" which mocked hallowed Democrat tenets of faith, such as the environmental wacko update?  As the sound of a chain saw felling trees blared in the background, Rush pulled the rug out from under such liberal scams as man-made global warming, the evils of the internal combustion engine, or the end of the world as predicted by algore.  (His deadline for annihilation came and passed years ago.)

Rush believed in the fantasy of political salvation, finding his philosophical home in the Republican Party.  The sad reality, however, was GOP power brokers held Limbaugh and his loyal followers in contempt.  Of course, Rush knew this but politically, there was no viable alternative, at least in his mind.  So, he rallied his troops to vote for Bushes, Dole, McCain and Romney, even though no one in this sorry lot had any affection for Limbaugh and his "Ditto-Heads."

Then came Trump.  Conservatism be damned, Rush latched onto the populist candidate like a pit bull on a ham bone.  For all of his unstated faults, Trump wasn't her, the woman whose name I will not print, so as to not soil this meager obituary for Millie's son.  

What Trump did have going for him was his America-first mantra, his unapologetic, vocal support for traditional American icons:  the flag, the military, law and order.  Oh, and border security.  And Christmas.

All this resonated big-ly with Rush.  There was no space available on his show to discuss unhinged government spending, which dwarfed that of Trump's predecessor.  We were in desperation mode now, the last round of the fight to save America, and as far as Rush was concerned, Trump was our only hope.

All politics aside, Rush seemed to me a very decent fellow, his mid-western values firmly ensconced by a set of solid parents.  He was a man of enormous wealth, yet incredibly charitable.  He had a love for big houses, fancy cars, Gulfstreams, golf and cigars.  

Sounds like the perfect next-door neighbor.

Rush sold many products, the greatest of them being a daily dose of hope, consumed by millions of listeners who are now left with no equal to him. No one else had the natural gift for giving voice to what his devotees believe.  As with Presley, Rush was a phenomenon, a stand-alone wonder for which there is no sequel.  We will never see, or hear, the likes of him again.

There was life before Rush came on the scene, and life will continue.  There will be a smattering of talk show hosts attempting to replicate him, but none will succeed.  

America will continue in some form, as will life.  But it will be a little duller, at least for three hours a day, five days a week.

It was a helluva ride, Rush.  I'm glad my ears found you.  

The Fauci Effect

 

Donald Trump is soon to leave office, albeit in a predictable cloud of controversy.  Some of his own making, much of it a fog of smoke from fires set by lovers of the establishment, that Godless amalgamation of evildoers who don't cotton to populist incursions.

In short, Trump was an anomaly, a candidate the deep state, specifically the Council of Foreign Relations, failed to take seriously in 2016.  By the time they realized he was a legitimate threat, he was packing stadiums from coast to coast with basket-fulls of those dreaded, yet lovable Deplorables.

Unknown to most Americans, the CFR vets presidential candidates, which is why, with rare exception, the last two standing are about as different as a bowlful of peas and carrots.  Or carrots and peas, if you prefer.  A prime example would be the 2004 election, which pitted CFR candidate A against CFR candidate B, both good and faithful Skull and Bones men.  Here is a club which inducts fifteen men per year.  What are the odds two members, George W. Bush and John Kerry, wind up as the two finalists in the presidential beauty contest?  Just one of those things, one of those crazy things.

(For more on this, see Antony Sutton's America's Secret Establishment:  An Introduction to the Order of Skull and Bones)

Trump was likely well-intentioned when he assumed office, and despite four years of unceasing mad, unhinged opposition, he survived, even with notable accomplishments.  He made worthy judicial appointments, and kept the nation out of a major shooting war.  But watching him throw barbs toward his enemies was worth the price of admission.

The establishment seethed, and stopped at nothing to see him defeated.  Many Americans could not overcome the insult of the behavior which is commonplace in Queens, and joined their voices in the cacophony of outrage, preferring a doddering old D.C. stalwart to Bad Orange Man.

Now we'll be back to business as usual, only on crack.

Make no mistake, what happened to Trump is the same thing that happened to JFK, only without bloodshed.  This generation of Americans just got bitch-slapped by the establishment in grand fashion.  The message is clear:  this will not happen again.  We select the presidents, not you.

(But what of Reagan? you ask.  Reagan slipped by as well, but became acceptable when he selected a CIA man as his Veep.  For eight years, Reagan was a figurehead.  It was a Bush White House, with Bush senior advisor Howard Baker serving as the Gipper's Chief of Staff.  Baker filled the administration with Bush loyalists.  Reagan turned out to be a big government guy as well.  Conservative in rhetoric only.)

Early prediction for '24:  President Harris versus oh, I dunno.  Who's a younger version of Mitt Romney?

Anyway, even with The Don in The Oval, not much really changed.  As he exits, government has grown larger, as it did with Reagan.  The unfathomable federal debt stands at 27 trillion, up from Obama's 17.

Why is this?  It's The Fauci Effect.

On the advice of Anthony Fauci, states began killing their economies, while Trump stood to the side, having yielded his bully pulpit to the statist mask-wearing - oops, not mask-wearing, munchkin whose directives did anything but "promote the general welfare."  Every time the lil' bureaucrat opened his mouth, a torpedo was launched into the hull of the sinking Re-Elect Trump ship.

 Somewhat ironically, Fauci assumed his office on November 2, 1984, assimilating into the establishment under the watch of Ronald Reagan.  He's been there ever since, and will be waving goodbye when Trump flies away on Marine One for the last ride.

He is indicative of the real problem in America:  this scourge of unelected bureaucrats, administrative lifers whose careers outlast that of presidents.  Bureaucrats set policy, administrate it, enforce it, and taxpayers have little recourse to resist.  No matter who takes the oath of office, the rats remain on the ship.  Be it a Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Obama or Trump, they remain, going to office parties, sipping cocktails, and smirking if anybody ever makes mention of those smelly Wal Mart people.  All that happens in House and Senate chambers is a shuffling of cups, a rearranging of deck chairs on the Titanic.

Here's the dream scenario:  A presidential candidate who actually knows what's going on magically slips by the CFR vetting process, and announces:  "The day after I am elected, I will send a letter to all federal department heads, asking for their resignations.  We will then begin a review of whether these positions warrant being filled, or eliminated."

Sends a tingle up my leg just typing that.  Actually, it's not an original idea.  Evangelical lunatic Pat Robertson uttered these words when he ran against Bush The First in 1988.  After I heard him say it, I became a volunteer in his campaign.

Prior to becoming #45, Donald Trump excelled at firing people, even famously.  Save for the evil James Comey, and the incompetent Jeff Sessions, he cooled his jets on terminations.  He shouldn't have.

Of course, Trump was never a conservative.  He's always been a big government man, but one who refused to bend his knee to the D.C. Club.  He wasn't one of them.  That's why they hated him.  He could not be controlled, so, he had to be eliminated.

Trump got his four years.  A government full of Faucis saw him come, and will now watch him go.  They'll be there long enough to see Harris succeed Biden, and they'll be there whenever she leaves.  Eventually, they'll retire, fully vested with  handsome and generous taxpayer-funded government pensions.

Presidents come, presidents go.  The Fauci Effect never changes.

At least, until The Great Default.