After the rapids

Cold and in pain

weary of travel

Past the rapids now

into  broad and placid waters

still deep currents run beneath

You are adrift

carried at mercy

to where jagged rocks await

Can see the impact coming

Dreadful consequence

and fallout

Can not save you

though we see the bottom

Can only call out

but you won’t hear

Can not save you

it’s not my ship to steer

The new protectionism

InkedFord Wenty profile image_LI

A Doom and Reprisal editorial from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent, Ford Wenty


 

No, this is not about the revival of tariffs or other forms of economic protectionism. For that matter this is not something new either. It is, in fact, as old as the medieval days of feudal lords collecting their tribute in the form of labor or the fruits thereof for the protections of the castle walls should their little fiefdom come under assault from neighboring lords. This is about a new application of this protectionism.

Our so called leaders are really big on this new protectionism. This protectionism is the underlying premise for every new regulation, every new law, every new decree. All of these acts are performed in the interest of protecting a public, who in their ignorance do not even grasp that they are in need of protection. These guardians of the greater good are ever vigilant to protect us from every possible danger, whether it be saccharine, faulty automotive design or second hand smoke. They have rationalized their actions as being a noble effort to protect us, the slobbering proles, from ourselves. In truth, their only motivation is in protecting themselves from scrutiny with a thin veil of faux benevolence. In so doing they remain smugly confident that we should never question who should protect us from them while they grow fat and lazy upon the mounds of tribute they collect.

Most of the great wisdom of human history is found among the ancients. Of these the words of Seneca should speak to us today and speak loudly: There are more things likely to frighten us than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.  The feckless political hacks presiding over the current shit show, though I doubt many of them even know who Seneca was, seem to be fully aware of this truth. Thus do they fervently pump the bellows, fanning the flames of fear and confusion. This fear fuels the imagination to create a false reality, one which they can hide behind. Like a mask.

Authorities, members of both political parties, have long been practitioners of the “it’s for the children” strategy for the justification of their policies. It is their go to mantra for any course which they know will be questioned. It is a wholly transparent political parlor trick designed to cloak themselves in what they believe to be the unassailable position. No matter the topic we are to believe that their motives are pure, that their only interest is to protect us from ourselves. We are the misguided fools and they are the experts. If it’s not for the children then it is to save the planet (again, to save from ourselves). Now it’s to save lives from a virus.  The public health is the new “it’s for the children”. The truth is that a virus is not any more mindful of our futile gestures than the planet is from attempts to change the climate. These people are politicians. The only thing they are expert in is lying and expanding the scope of their authority.

Lori Lightweight, the current Don of the Chicago crime syndicate otherwise known as the mayor’s office, wins the protectionist prize of the week. It is ostensibly her job as the mayor to insure the safety of the city’s residents while they attempt to conduct their business in public space. This is a job which she, as well as a long line of her predecessors, has failed at in epic fashion. She and a host of her colleagues, all members in good standing of the democrat cult, have caved to a degree not seen since the Atlanta Falcon collapse in the second half of Super Bowl LI. There is at least the sole distinction in the case of the Falcons: they actually appeared on the field of contest.

Mayor Lightweight has turned up for only one series of downs in this game, where she was shouted down and hounded by the very cannibals she has enabled. Her only response to this has been, in the tradition of Little Dick Daley, to move in the dead of night to remove Columbus statues. At least the city of Chicago managed to get a halfway decent park area as a result of Daley’s nocturnal malfeasance. And while crews removed this statuary of a man five centuries in his grave, citizens of Chicago continued to drop like flies in a storm of gun violence where there are some of the most restrictive gun control laws in the country. No worries though. We all know that gun control laws are effective, because Lightweight and those of her ilk never cease reminding us. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they start to actually work. Just like masks and lockdowns are going to save us all from the virus.

Lightweight is but one of many wannabe despots presiding over the patchwork of urban fiefs of wokedom, traced by the dark blue stains upon the national electoral map. They continue to serve their citizens kool aid in paper cups while trying to convince us all that it is Chateau Lafitte in crystal goblets. In Seattle, Portland, Minneapolis, Baltimore…. the story is the same over and over. When real, material help is offered in the form federal resources to aid in restoring some order, not to assume control of the city, the reaction is to throw up every possible barrier.  Even after Lightweight has agreed to accept the deployment of two-hundred federal agents for this purpose, the mayor’s office adds:

“The Mayor has made clear that if there is any deviation from what has been announced, we will pursue all available legal options to protect Chicagoans.”

That is more political doublespeak. Here is the translation:

We are unwilling or unable to protect you from real threats to your security. We have been reluctantly compelled to accept help from outsiders who are, in the opinion of the mayor’s office, the true enemy. The minute any of these outsiders actually start to make any substantive difference in dealing with these problems we will use every measure at our disposal to protect ourselves, er….uh, Chicagoans from them.

In the lexicon of Lightweight’s world protect means something entirely different from what one may find in Webster’s.  I am reminded of another ambiguous application of the word protect from an old BBC series titled The Young Ones. In one episode the four college flatmates are visited by the parents of Neil the Hippie, who is one of their number. In the course of this meeting there is some mildly derogatory reference made to Felicity Kendall, a heartthrob of the time featured on one of BBC’s treacly sitcoms. This elicits a response from Neil’s father, in which he professes his affection for Kendall and states that he is filled with an urge to “protect” her. The house anarchist, Vivian offers his own well timed response to that statement: “Hmm. I’ve never heard it put quite that way!” This is the implication of Lightweight’s “protection”. She says protect. She means violate.

The exodus from Chicago, and the rest of Illinois, will continue. It will likely be accelerated now. The citizens will bail until none are left to fill the coffers of these corrupted administrations. There will be no productive citizens left to tax, only a dependent class. There will be no wealth or assets left to seize, only crushing debt. They are already well on their way to this end and when it comes, whether it is Lightweight or some other incompetent, they’ll be eager for federal help then. That is, provided that the help comes in the form of tax dollars from their fellow Americans. The only thing these fools mean to truly protect is their own sorry asses.

 

Ford Wenty report end, 27 July 2020

 

Does anyone else wonder whatever became of “my body, my choice”?

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Another Doom and Reprisal editorial from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent, Ford Wenty


 

Welcome to the ascendency of the Karen Kommandos.  Karens, like other brands of assholes, come in various stripes. They don’t ALL look like anime wannabes, just a large number of them.  I happened to run into one the other day who was of a sufficiently ambiguous identity that I could conclude that “it” was a male at birth (the Adam’s apple the dead giveaway), somewhere in the transition to female and still trying to decide if “it” wanted to identify as an anime character.  Speaking for myself these are not encounters that occur frequently; thus, they are approached with great caution.

This was not in any circumstance where any of these matters should have made any difference, but I nonetheless readied myself for the obligatory pronoun lecture. Thankfully this did not come, yet I was prepared with my standard response: Hi, I’m Ford, I am a man and my pronouns are I don’t give a shit and go fuck yourself.  One might well imagine that this response does nothing to endear me to those professing their gender fluidity. And that is just fine with me. I’m not looking to make friends and am perfectly content with my own company. This particular encounter, however, was not without some measure of controversy.

The venue of this event was at a merchant who shall remain nameless. It is an establishment, like many, who have posted the obligatory signs on the door indicating the governor’s mask order, but one that does not go to great pains to enforce the mandate. Apparently the management of this store have rightly concluded that it is not their job to act as the impotent executive’s hatchet man. Apparently this clerk did not get the memo.

I entered the store without a mask, got my coffee and a couple of biscuits. Up to that point this visit was without incident. Arriving at the counter to pay I was greeted with a heavy sigh and a quite pronounced rolling of the eyes from our clerk. I’ll call it Pikachu.

“Is there a problem?”

“No…will there be anything else for you today?” The tone was snarky.

“Hey, I’m a big boy. You got something to say? Well spit it out.”

Again the eye roll. “You’re supposed to wear a mask.”

“Why? I’m not robbing you.”

“Well the governor….”

“Lemme tell ya something. I don’t give one fiddler’s fuck what that piece of shit says. You either sell me this shit or I can go and get the same damned thing at a drive thru.”

I had exact change. It took the money and I collected my merchandise. As far as I was concerned this transaction was concluded. Then, as I was walking away I heard Pikachu mutter under it’s breath “Why didn’t you just go to the damned drive thru then”.

I wasn’t in any particular hurry. The store really wasn’t busy at the time. So I turned….

“Well because if I had gone to the drive thru I would have missed this enchanting encounter.”

It blushed. Apparently Pikachu thought I wouldn’t hear.

“I don’t have any quarrel with you, friend. I understand what you’re being told. How many people come in here without a mask ? Half? Do you do this to all of them?”

I didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t get one. It was at that moment that I realized that I was looking at a Karen. Maybe not full grown yet, more of a proto-Karen. There have been some fine women with the name Karen. It is a shame that the name has become synonymous with the busybody, the whiner, the fink. Unfortunately it is not only names that have been co-opted to other purposes, all in the headlong march to a shameless society. A culture of shame conducted by those without any of their own.

I don’t know if I’ll see Pikachu again, at least not in the same place. Pikachu will probably end up at Chipotle, serving bowls of diarrhea to other cartoon characters. Or Starbucks, serving frappes with the same eye rolling snark. And that’s just fine by me. They deserve each other. Pikachu is a player in this tale, but it’s not about him/her/it.

I hearken back to a simpler time, just a year ago, when Karen Kommandos were up in arms over Ohio’s “heartbeat bill”; another in a long succession of poorly crafted legislation. It was then that I had witnessed another herd of these blue and purple haired crusaders picketing with signs, “My body, my choice”, and decrying Mike Dewine as the devil incarnate. The bill did not ban abortion, but did place some serious restrictions upon the practice. I concede that it is faulty (again, as is nearly all legislation), but I take issue with that being conflated into a full blown assault upon “women’s reproductive rights”. This is quite typical of leftist ideology. It is not enough to accept, to co-exist, to reach a compromise. No, their ideology must be wholeheartedly embraced. Anything less than that and you’re Hitler.

That protest was no more about women’s health issues than the current crop of mask scolders are about public health issues. It’s about politics. Theirs. They have injected politics into every aspect of society. The proof is in the fact that the very same mob who marched beneath a banner of “My body, my choice”; the same brand of strident, screeching harridans who had placed a bounty upon the miserably misshapen head of the governor, now embrace the notion that the very same man possesses the godlike authority to rule the very air we breath. And you had all better comply. Or else.

Irony is alive and well in 2020. It parades about the streets like some hyper-defined bodybuilder, wearing a speedo, all oiled and jacked up on steroids. It strolls without shame, ready to turn it’s roid rage upon any heretic who should dare to call it out. It suggests that we should accept and embrace a script wherein if one should disobey the governor’s orders and not wear a mask, then you are killing grandma and grandpa. Yet when the same governor signs a bill that prevents snuffing out the life of a child after a certain number of weeks into a pregnancy, then it is time to launch the revolution?

When opinions are formed from a lack of information this is ignorance, an ignorance born in innocence rather than malice. Opinions formed from misinformation are a cancer and our current body politic is fast approaching stage four. Perhaps we should be striving to find a cure for this too, because if not this will kill far more than this virus could ever hope to.

 

Ford Wenty report end, 23 July 2020

 

 

Wait… what? Vol. 67

I just made a very disturbing discovery.  When writing about the current Ohio governor I tend to use shorter forms of his name and or title within the context of the narrative. My designated name for him is “bug eyed sack of worm shit”. Then I started looking closer at this…. B – ug E – yed S – ack O – f W – orm S – hit.  BESOWS…..BEZOS ?

Naaah! Couldn’t be!