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

 

An aging punker’s epiphany in the parking lot behind the Adam and Eve store in Piqua

Yea, though I walk in the banal attire of the Chickenshit Conformist; I will countenance no Bullshit, for I am the most cynical fox in the henhouse.


 

These and other famous last words thunder throughout the epochs of history. I still share Biafra’s contempt, but I’ve learned to apply it more critically. Speech is only truly free when it comes without the obligation to listen.

And last, though hardly least, one must know the truth in the assertion that every revolutionary becomes a reactionary the day after the revolution succeeds.

Urban America is on the precipice of every square mile being exactly like Flint, Michigan. Much of it is already there. These are the new Warsaw Ghettos, where they mean to keep you. In perpetuity.

Every new cause is a call to arms; to the streets and to Twitter, where combat is sanitized and conducted only within the set of rules established by your minders. You are all tools doing the bidding of the Ghetto Masters. And you are all fool enough to keep going back for more.

Forty some years ago we were the white punks on dope. Today you’re all just a bunch of big white dopes, marching under banners that you believe will insulate you from the long arm of the Inquisitors of the Church of the Sacred Woke.. The look upon your faces when they come for you will be priceless.

Wait… what? Vol. 66

Here at the Inn we are debating the incorporation of a weekly film feature.  Our thoughts were to select films which bear a theme in keeping with the current times. To that end we have two leading candidates:

Blazing Saddles – a film depicting one black American’s single handed struggle against institutional racism

OR

Cider House Rules – a film depicting those who write rules for others who are not beholden to those same rules themselves

 

They are both solid contenders, but we’d like to hear what you think. Let us know and we’ll get back to you.

Ford Wenty’s indispensable tips for how to deal with crocodiles

To begin, there are some essential facts about crocodiles which must be clear to all who wish to survive an encounter.  First and foremost, as far as our best science can tell, the crocodile (and it’s variant cousins) have been alive and thriving on this planet since before we were a whisper in some ape’s nutsack. A relic from the age of dinosaurs; yea even, perhaps survivors of the great meteor impact circa 60 million years ago. These facts alone suggest a species predisposed to being a badass. The secret to this longevity is an extraordinary simplicity of design. While we humans have dedicated ourselves to evolving our conscience, our reptilian counterparts have instead refined their best physical attributes so as to dominate their environment and thrive as a species.  Every moment of every day is about the survival of the individual crocodile (eating) and of the crocodile as a species (fucking).

Understanding these basic truths are critical in determining how one may deal with crocodiles. In only a few centuries, a mere blink of an eye in their context, strange mutations have occurred. We have witnessed the accelerated evolution of strange new urban varieties of this species; a crocodile 2.0, if you will. Though their habitat may have expanded, know that the basic traits have remained the same. If through some unfortunate circumstance one should find that they inhabit the same space with the crocodile, the creature has no interest whatsoever in sharing that space. The crocodile’s only interest is in mounting you or eating you. Either way, you’re fucked.

It would seem that in recent weeks we have become overwhelmed with these reptiles in certain quarters.  I don’t believe that there are more of them suddenly, but they are no doubt emboldened to show their numbers. There is much debate surrounding what should be done about them and as yet no consensus. Having some knowledge of game management, it would be my recommendation to pursue a course of eradication and relocation. As there seem to be few, if any, who actually wish to deal with this problem, I will hold my powder on offering solutions. I will, however, offer the following tips for what NOT to do:

 

  1.  Crocodiles detest solid ground. They are better suited to murky waters. The urban crocodile will attempt to lure you into it’s own environment. Under NO circumstance should one EVER attempt to engage a crocodile on it’s own “turf”
  2. Crocodiles are never benign. They may float along like a lazy log, with all kinds of cute little birds perched upon their bumpy hides. They want you to think that they are just idling lazily about the lily pads. They are not. They are waiting for something to eat or fuck; it depends only upon the time of day and the most recent satiation of either appetite which. NEVER trust a crocodile.
  3. Crocodiles are ruthless negotiators. DO NOT ever attempt negotiations with a crocodile, ESPECIALLY if one is fool enough to have been tempted into entering the crocodile’s murky waters: their home “turf”, as it were. Crocodiles are all about leverage. Even if they have not managed to attain a physical advantage within their own environment, the negotiations always begin upon the dual predicates dictating that their opponent may alternately be eaten or fucked. It’s not actually a choice. The crocodile reserves the right to exercise both options.
  4. One can NOT APPEASE a crocodile. NEVER think that by offering one’s right arm the crocodile will be contented. Since in this instance one has already signalled a willingness to be eaten, the crocodile has thus attained the desired leverage. The crocodile does not care one spit about whether you are consumed all at once, or in installments. Either way, the crocodile gets what it wants.
  5. NEVER KNEEL before a crocodile. This is an invitation to any crocodile to take your head into it’s mighty jaws and pull you down to the bottom of the river until drowned; whereupon your corpse will be drawn up to the riverbank for all to see. Then, thus rendered to a state of zero resistance, the crocodile will violently fuck your sad remains until sated. Then it will eat whatever is left.

 

Here we are, nearing the precipice of our third decade in a new century. I never imagined needing to have this talk, and yet here we are. The sad fact is that crocodiles, for reasons unknown to us, actually do serve some purpose in the bigger scheme of things. That purpose is not something that we need to figure out. All we need to understand is that there is no such thing as a “peaceful coexistence” with the crocodiles. Such a coexistence may only occur peaceably in which you are meat, in one sense or another, for the crocodile.  If you’re that much into submission then please, be my guest. Just don’t volunteer it on my, or anyone else’s account.

 

Let me see if I’ve got this straight…

I was stunned to recently learn, from a source no less credible than Joe Biden, that being black has nothing to do with the color of your skin. Yeah, apparently it’s all about your politics. You can’t be black if you don’t support democrat candidates, of which he is notably one. Despite the fact that Mr. Biden is descended from an ethnic group that is practically devoid of melanin in their skin, he has been able to assume the mantle of authority on this topic. The light reflected off of that pale, flaccid ass is nearly blinding. Were it not for the thin filter of that irresistible leg hair we’d all have been rendered completely sightless by now. Though not stated implicitly in his assertion, what is implied then is that one can not be “white” without white, liberal guilt. I don’t have any so I guess I’m not white? Shocker! Who would ever have believed it?

You know who is white? Let me introduce you to one of the whitest dudes I have ever seen:

 

That is an interesting quote, isn’t it? There are more, but we’ll circle back to some more of those later.  There seem to be an awful lot of people being given air time right now who enjoy lecturing us about white privilege. Do we have a working definition for what that is? One assumes that this must be out there somewhere, though I’ve yet to hear it. In the absence of a clear definition I’ll take a stab at this. Ready? Here we go….

Martin “King Manic” Weissgerber. King Manic, or Martin the Manic, was his twitter handle before locking up the account. Marty was born and raised in Boston. Brookline, to be exact. If you are not familiar with Boston I can tell you that you will find more racial diversity at a Klan rally than you’d find in Brookline, Mass. He boasts that his father is a Belgian marxist, now a professor. And mama? Why she is none other than Kathleen McKenna, the executive producer at WBUR, Boston’s own number one NPR station. These are the sorts of careers required to pony up the price of admission in an exclusive community like Brookline. So far this is a profile practically dripping with white, liberal guilt. Still, let’s not judge too hastily. We’d better make absolutely certain he is white. One has to be careful about racial identity these days. Apparently it has become a sensitive topic.

Here is a picture from that idyllic childhood. You might be shocked to learn that he is an only child. I’d have never guessed it.

Kathleen McKenna, Martin Weissgerber (in hat), and Tate Mitchell at the Attempted Gallery at the Brookline Arts Center.

Kathleen McKenna, Martin Weissgerber (in hat), and Tate Mitchell at the Attempted Gallery at the Brookline Arts Center.

This is young Marty, circa age 12 or 13. Seems he had a fondness for caps back then too. He is pictured here with mama hovering at his left. Hovering at the left is something this family is no doubt familiar with. Attending art exhibits, working in the community garden, these were the arduous tasks that helped to define young Marty’s world view, until he went off to college.  No dodging gang members or scraping change out of the couch cushions to take to the laundromat for this boy! Nosiree!

College was the esteemed Boston University, that august institution that has produced such glitterati as Nobel Economics Prize candidate Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.  An education (if one can call it that) at Boston University costs a pretty penny. I wonder how much student loan debt our Marty is buried under? Or did mommy and daddy foot the bill? You guess. Probably reach the same conclusion as me. It seems Martin professed a profound interest in Soviet studies. Apparently BU is one of those schools where one may pursue such courses of study. We can only imagine to what purpose.

Now I’m not one to embrace the idea that white privilege even exists. If it did, then I have been seriously shortchanged. Let’s for a moment, just for the purpose of our discussion, stipulate that white privilege does exist. I suspect it would look pretty much like the life of our young Marty.  If others are prepared to step forward with a more cogent definition of white privilege then I am all ears. Gimme your best shot.

Let’s take a look at some of the product issued from the union of a Marxist professor and an NPR executive producer, and an education from Boston University. Here are some quotes from the mouth of Martin Weissgerber:

 

  • “Leave it to the Soviets to Make the Most Badass F***ing, Most Effective Gun in the World…AK (47)…The Destroyer of Imperialism and Colonization…That’s Why I Want to Get it (AK-47) Tattooed on Me.”
  • “I’ll Straight Up Get Armed, I Want to Learn How to Shoot, and Go Train. I’m Ready for the F***ing Revolution…I’m Telling You. Guillotine the Rich.”
  • “Let’s Force Them (Billionaires) to Build Roads…Rebuild Our Roads, Rebuild Our Dams, Rebuild Our Bridges. Let’s Force Them…”
  • “What Will Help is When We Send All the Republicans to the Re-Education Camps.”
  • “So, do We Just Cease – do We Just Dissolve the Senate, House of Representatives, the Judicial Branch, and Have Something Bernie Sanders and a Cabinet of People, Make All Decisions for the Climate? I Mean, I’m Serious.”
  • “The Soviet Union Was Not Horrible…I Mean, for Women’s Rights the Soviet Union – I Think – the Most Progressive Place to Date in the World.”
  • Weissgerber Reveals That His Father is a Belgian Marxist Who Participated in the May 1968 Civil Unrest in Paris, France.
  • Weissgerber Says That His Mother is “Really Left as Well, but She Can’t Make Her Views Known Because She Works for WBUR, which is NPR…”

 

Now you needn’t accept my word for it. Go to Project Veritas and enjoy the video. You’ll actually get to hear it from his very own parasitic turd holster (thanks for that one Rick Sanchez). There is so much to tackle here!

On the first point, I doubt if Marty can figure out which end of the tube that the round comes out of. He’s going to get armed? Learn to shoot? Really? He’s had since January. Surely he would have passed a background check by now. Instead of this, though, we learn that Marty is like most armchair revolutionaries: he doesn’t actually get his hands dirty. Why do that when there is a ready made, oppressed minority to carry that water for him. That’s why he was doling out antifa dollars on North High Street to young blacks in Columbus, Ohio last week.

I seriously doubt that any of those young men would stop by here to visit, much less read, but if they did I would offer them a warning. Perhaps not the warning that you all might think. Perhaps warning is too strong a word. Maybe we shall say that I would offer a caution. That would go as follows:

As a people you have been liberated from slavery for more than 150 years. I have ancestors who fell on both sides of that conflict (that would be the civil war, in case you had not heard), as do many Americans, black and white alike. We hear conniptions spewing from the commentator class at the mention of invoking federal troops to quell the riots in our major cities. You might be interested to learn that the most notable occasions in this nation’s history when this act has been used were in the south, to police recalcitrant authorities there during the reconstruction period, and during the civil rights era of the 1950’s and 60’s. On both occasions these were used to protect African American citizens. Citizens, not slaves. Since that time you have allowed yourselves to be seduced by guilt ridden, white liberals from northeastern universities. They have promised you one New Jerusalem after another. They have rode upon your backs to positions of great power and authority and many, certainly not all, but many of you still live in squalor.  You have failed to learn that these people are using you. Just like you were still all slaves.

Yes, Black Lives Matter. Especially in an election year. The revolution you have all been promised may come. It will likely fail, but in the unlikely event that it should succeed your situation will not be changed, other than to be made worse. You will fight, and bleed, be imprisoned, and some of you may even die. Marty and others like him will ride upon your backs to their promised land without even so much as a scratch. Then you will be promptly forgotten and ignored. When that day comes I say good luck to you. The chance that your fellow citizens will be roused to save you again are practically non-existent. Given your track record that would be as big a waste as giving a donor liver to an unrepentant, life-long alcoholic.