“I didn’t realize repeatedly shooting Jesus in the face could be considered religiously offensive,” Says Swiss Muslim Politician.

How’s that for clickbait? Well, as this piece is about a truly abysmal clickbait European politician, I’m afraid I just couldn’t help myself.

Last June, Swiss soldiers took a break from defending their country from external enemies to pander toward the interests of the nation’s chief enemies within instead, being led by an army imam in a prayer toward Mecca to mark the highly important (and highly imported) Muslim Feast Day of Kurban Bayrami. This stunt sparked much annoyance, with the anti-immigration Swiss People’s Party (SVP) asking, “What’s next? Child marriages, Sharia courts, stonings?”

One Muslim only too happy to begin stoning the SVP in the court of public opinion immediately was Sanija Ameti, a prominent left-wing female politician. Ameti announced, “This is a textbook example of racism,” before implying the soi-disant “Swiss People” of the Swiss People’s Party were infinitely less Swiss than she herself was, despite the fact she was not truly Swiss at all, having been brought to the country as a 3-year-old Bosniak asylum seeker from the former Yugoslavia in 1995.

Ameti’s family had actually wanted to enter Germany illegally, not Switzerland, but their chosen people-smuggler had demanded more cash to take them on the final leg of the journey, so they ended up dumped disappointingly in the inferior cut-price Alpine version of Deutschland instead. But never mind, the distinctly ungrateful Ameti was here now, and all the bigoted white burghers had to accept she had much more of a right to define what truly constituted Swiss citizenship than they did.

As “tolerance” and “diversity” were now the chief values of Swiss public life, at least in her own swollen head, for the SVP to openly reject such things was for them to simultaneously reject being true modern-day multi-culti-loving Schweizer at all. “How integrated are the SVP members [into Swiss society]?” Ameti asked, turning her opponents’ usual critique of unassimilated Swiss-resident Muslims against them. “They are trampling on the constitution and the freedom of religion enshrined in it.”

Sanija Ameti would never trample upon matters of religious import herself, of course…would she?

Shooting Gallery
Like a latter-day William Tell, Ameti is a dab hand at shooting, and over the weekend of 7–8 September chose to demonstrate this by posting exciting (but since-deleted) photographs on Instagram of her peppering a large image of Madonna and Child full of Swiss-cheese-style bullet holes, something that subsequently proved an act of accidental self-assassination.

Although only having ever been successfully elected as a mere city councillor for the Green Liberal Party (GLP) in Zurich, Ameti has managed to become a prominent figure in Swiss political life nonetheless, due to her obsessive online publicity-seeking, which in 2021 saw her appointed to co-leadership of Operation Libero. This is an equally click-hungry liberal pressure group devoted toward ensuring closer relations between the E.U. and its neighboring non–member state of Switzerland, by using what British pro-E.U. rag The Guardian has called “fun but hard-hitting messages to tackle fear and pessimism”—i.e., handing out fluorescent pink condoms to students dancing in nightclubs in the immediate lead-up to immigration referendums.

Fame quickly translated into infamy for Ameti after her unwise September act of iconoclasm, however. Following widespread condemnation, the GLP instituted procedures to expel her, saying they “would welcome it if Sanija Ameti would take responsibility and leave the party of her own accord”—which she promptly did. She was also fired from her day job at, ironically enough, one of Switzerland’s leading PR and consultancy firms, Farner Group. Only Operation Libero kept her on regardless, although they did call her actions “absolutely stupid.”

Meanwhile, the youth wing of the SVP, delighted to expose the hypocrisy of the very same young fräulein who had accused them of Islamophobia for doing far, far less the previous year, filed a criminal complaint against Ameti for engaging in “inexcusable mockery of our Christian-Western culture” and scorning “Christianity in an unspeakable way [that] speaks the figurative language of Islamist terrorists.”

Nonetheless, speaking with her PR hat on (if she ever takes it off), Ameti still chose to play the victim, complaining of death and rape threats, before implausibly claiming she had not understood her actions may have contained the potential to offend people. Despite the fact the poster she had shot bore the highly self-explanatory title Madonna With Child and the Archangel, and clearly showed Mary and Jesus with large glowing golden halos around their heads, Ameti said that “I didn’t pay attention to the content of the pictures,” had not realized they depicted anything of a holy nature, and had only used the print as it happened by pure coincidence to be the correct precise size required to act as a shooting target from her chosen specialist distance of 10 meters away.

I know they have a long tradition of maintaining armed civilian militias over there, but are the Swiss authorities really so generous in handing out gun licenses that they now even distribute them to the functionally blind?

Picking the Wrong Target
I suppose, to wind-up merchants of the agnostic Ameti’s unimpeachably “progressive” outlook on life, such iconography must represent the very definition of empty symbols, unlike those relating to her own ancestral creed of Islam. For her, I suspect, Christian images are now little more than dead letters, meaningless fairy-tale cartoons that should no more provoke emotional reaction from the rational-minded observer than shooting at an image of Little Red Riding Hood and her wolf would do.

Islam, however, is a different thing by far—that is clearly still a living religion, one that has far more life in Europe today than it has done at any point since the days of Ferdinand and Isabella. Had Ameti pinned up and then shot at some handily target-size verses from the Koran, all those death and rape threats she claimed to have received might just have found themselves actually being followed through on.

Contemporary European Christians, though, are made of softer stuff. Most Toblerone-spined Swiss religious authorities simply turned the other cheek and begged mildly for her to blast yet another bullet through it. The Bishop of Chur, Joseph Bonnemain, guided his flocks that “Forgiveness is a gift from God that makes us approach each other again and again.” Yes, but what if you do approach such people “again and again” and all you get are more and more direct slaps in the face? It’s a good job European Christians of old like Charles the Hammer never thought (or fought) like that.

A Refugee From Reality
Being a former child refugee, Sanija Ameti herself is precisely the kind of natural open-borders ideologue who stands ready-primed to step into and exploit this civilizational void to opportunistically reshape her adopted host culture in a fashion she sees most fit.

In a 2023 interview with a Swiss newspaper, billed as being with “the phenomenon, Sanija Ameti,” the human marvel provocatively boasted of having “the self-confidence of an average white seventy-year-old.” Personally, I think she actually possesses the colossal arrogance of a 32-year-old neo-Ottoman settler-colonialist.

Once her parents arrived safely from the ongoing anti-Muslim genocide of Slobodan Milosevic’s rapidly disintegrating Yugoslavia, Ameti’s interview revealed, her admirably appreciative parents made it their main principle to keep their heads down and assimilate with the ways of their kind Helvetian hosts. Their daughter, sadly, was rather different: “I’m the complete opposite of my parents. I want to take up space. I want to be visible and thus free.”

That’s not freedom, it’s egotism. In a certain sense, therefore, perhaps Ameti has successfully assimilated into some of the core values of the always online 2020s West after all?

“I see authority as something restrictive,” she continued, another diagnostic sign of her possession by the destructive “Look at me, Look at me!” spirit of our times. “I make demands, I break stereotypes. That triggers hatred. It’s the same every time. It bores me,” she added. Stop doing it, then.

An Excessively Self-Made Woman
A constant theme of Ameti’s whining rhetoric is how, as immigrants and refugees, her core political constituents “have to reshape the country” that gave them safe shelter, so as to render it utterly unrecognizable to those naive enough to have let them waltz into it in the first place.

Her main chosen vehicle for performing such demographic gerrymandering is, naturally, the nearby borderless zone of the E.U. that, via her co-leadership of Operation Libero, she seeks to force Switzerland into “enjoying” a state of ever-closer union with, whether the intended bride wishes to undergo any such Islam-friendly arranged marriage or not.

She seems to see the E.U. as some federalist clockwork empire that acts for the greater civilizational good by keeping its constituent member parts in a state of enforced perpetual union, as with the former Yugoslavia prior to its civil war: This would make Ursula von der Leyen Marshal Tito in a dress. As Ameti explained in a 2021 interview: “For generations, we have forgotten that European policy is holistic security policy. The EU is a peace project. It is the world’s only successful [sic] answer to the central question of modernity: What comes after the Empire?”

What indeed? Another Empire, only one falsely disguised as an alleged “participatory democracy,” Brussels-style, a postmodern “Empire of the Self”:

“Because nothing erodes personal freedom as much as violence and armed conflict—I say this from my own experience—the EU is also a freedom project. All the cucumber curvature norms and other annoyances in the world about the EU cannot call into question this achievement of freedom. Switzerland must have an existential interest in being involved in this institutional project. It is our only chance for a world further away from the abyss, where we can tackle challenges such as climate, digitalization and geopolitics together [i.e., without any of this stuff actually being voted on—Switzerland has an awkward national tradition of public referendums on such matters, which elevated persons like Ameti often unacceptably lose]…. Is the most important raison d’être of the state the security or the freedom of the individual? Security is important. But only if it serves individual freedom.”

Non-Swiss Miss
But what if your own personal definition of freedom happens to include quaint, Westphalian obsolescences like national sovereignty, away from such centrally mandated horrors as dreaded E.U.-imposed “cucumber curvature norms”? In that case, Ameti told Le Monde in 2022, collective freedom suddenly no longer counts, and “isolationism” becomes nothing but “a fatal illusion” that has fraudulently “established itself as the expression of the so-called popular will.” The “so-called popular will” here is what we used to call “European democracy.”

Freedom for individuals, but not for nations, then? That sounds like a recipe for complete civilizational disaster: for infinite social Balkanization, in fact, a truly fatal danger you may have thought a runaway former Yugoslavian like Ameti would have been all too aware of.

Rather than realizing how fragile and precious nation-states are, in her unlimited lack of wisdom Ameti does the precise opposite. By spewing bullets at Jesus and then boasting about it online, she instead sets about trying to destroy her adoptive homeland’s main historic motivating civilizational basis in the shape of Christianity, which, if it can successfully be blown away, might well indeed help render Switzerland into the empty, blank liberal canvas her kind so richly desires.

But will those real ethnic and cultural Swiss who still remain all just lie down and let her? According to one adulatory 2023 profile, what the self-loving liberal provocateur wants to achieve above all by provoking anger through her endless conservative-trolling stunts is to become “a target.” Ameti has certainly become one of those now.

But her angry critics had better watch out: She does demonstrably possess a large gun, after all. Helvetia hath no fury like this woman scorned.

The Week’s Iciest, Diciest, and Pumpkin Spiciest Headlines

NO RHYME OR REASON
How ironic that a dispute between black and white is taking place in Green.

Green, Ohio (94 percent white, 1.4 percent black), where two white students asked two girls to the homecoming dance with a rhyming invite that some claim shows a failure of racial sensitivity:

If we were Black we’d be picking cotton;
But unfortunately we’re white so we’re picking you for HOCO.

That’s not a failure of racial sensitivity, it’s a failure of basic English. Only a liberal Robin Williams Dead Poets Society-type could’ve trained students to suck that bad at poetry. Meter, rhythm, assonance, rhyme scheme, all wrong. And while the school’s disciplined the two students in question (for racism, not illiteracy), others in town are suggesting better poems for the cotton suitors.

A few of the options:

If we were Black we’d be picking cotton;
We’d also never listen to Johnny Rotten.

Accurate, but skirts the homecoming invite.

If we were Black we’d be picking cotton;
With yo’ giant ass I’d be besotten.

Better, but not flattering to white chicks.

If we were Black we’d be picking cotton;
And I’d beat yo’ face till it’s bloodshotten.

Decent, but “bloodshotten” is archaic.

If we were Black we’d be picking cotton;
This GHB will make the rape forgotten.

Nice, but not very romantic.

If we were Black, cotton we’d be picking;
And our KFC fingers we’d be licking.

Improving!

If we were Black we’d be picking boll;
Here, take this corsage that I stole.

Almost there!

If we were Black we’d pick cotton still;
You’re as hot as fries that don’t make me kill.

Perfect! Good luck at the dance, kids!

SWAP MEAT
Last week was all about racial impostors. A Pakistani pretending to be white, and a white pretending to be black.

And to add to the confusion, both stories took place in the U.K.

First to Birmingham, where Paki chef Ehsan Hussain posed as a right-wing white guy on Telegram to lure members of the English Defence League into an ambush. For weeks Hussain built trust in the EDL chat group by saying racially inflammatory things about nonwhite immigrants, only occasionally dropping his guard in ways that raised suspicion among his EDL marks.

“This geezer seems a bit dodgy, dunnee? I mean, why’s he so concerned with me Windows havin’ malware?”

“Relax, Jocko, ’ees a right proper mate. We oughta be chuffed to ’ave a bloke from Microsoft Security on our side.”

Hussein’s charade ultimately failed when, after one particularly lengthy tirade against bride-burning Muslim-killing street-pooping Kashmir-stealing Hindus, he actually joined the EDL and helped them firebomb the Curry King restaurant (motto: “You’re a fatter man than I am, Hunger Din”).

Meanwhile in Wales, a 57-year-old white man named Barry Griffiths accidentally stabbed himself to death while trying to separate two frozen hamburger patties.

That’s what the U.K. gets for banning guns.

Upon hearing the news of Griffiths’ demise, every black American observed a moment of silence.

“Mr. Griffiths went above and beyond in the fight against cold fast food,” Ibram Kendi told the AP. “He gave his life to protest the fact that food is sometimes colder than we’d like it to be. May his name live forever as a martyr, a white man who was not only righteous, but french fryghteous.”

Farewell, Mince of Wales.

HE IS THE EGGMAN (GOO-GOO-A-RUBE)
Good news! Violent crime is down, according to the FBI. Needless to say, the press breathlessly reported the story in an attempt to cripple the crime issue for GOPs six weeks before the election.

After all, if crime’s goin’ down, Biden and Harris must be doing something right.

Which presents a conundrum that you can expect the press not to cover.

Following the release of the FBI report, an Egyptologist read from an ancient scroll that allowed Biden to emerge from his tomb to give the following statement: “None of this happened by accident. Our American Rescue Plan—which every Republican in Congress voted against—helped deliver over $15 billion in public safety funding that enabled over 1,000 state, city, and county governments to avoid cuts to police budgets.”

The solution to the crime epidemic is funding police, say the people who cried “defund the police.”

Not a single mainstream news organ that reported the FBI stats linked police defunding to the 2020 crime explosion. Indeed, the AP condescendingly explained that the 2020 spike was caused by “the massive disruption of the pandemic, gun violence, worries about the economy and intense stress.”

If it was all about “the economy,” why was there no spike during the Great Recession?

By Biden’s own admission, the drop in crime was caused by cities ignoring the Democrat call for police defunding, while the press ignores the obvious contradiction between what Biden says (“the crime spike was ended by not defunding police”) and what journalists say (“the crime spike had nothing to do with defunding police”).

These would be really great issues for Trump and Vance to mention on the campaign trail, but alas they have other priorities. Like last week, when Vance held a media event at a Pennsylvania supermarket to announce that “thanks to Kamala Harris, a dozen eggs now cost $4.00,” while standing in front of a shelf full of eggs for $2.99.

Numbers aren’t his strong suit, but hot damn he held one heck of a hoedown in the moonshine aisle.

PHONE A-DICK-SHUN
In the 1982 Canadian horror film Murder by Phone, a madman invents a machine that turns people’s landlines into bombs detonated by his call.

And why did this psychopath concoct his elaborate plot? No joke—to punish Canadians who were not polite enough.

No, it’s not a satire on Canadians as the world’s most polite and civil milquetoasts; the film takes the premise seriously that rude bank tellers and civil servants deserve to be blown up by phone.

Is this where Israel got the inspiration for its pager-bomb gag? Or can the roots be traced earlier, to Catskills vaudeville and the introduction of the exploding cigar?

Regardless, the pager story’s been a refreshing novelty in a scenario so predictable, it’s like an animatronic Disney ride: Palestinians do a terrorism, Israel does a boom, Hezbollah does a bam, Israel does a kablammo, tards warn of WWIII, everything returns to normal.

Those tards are the same folks who repeatedly ride the Pirates of the Caribbean expecting a different outcome. “This time those jailed pirates will finally get the keys! Trust me; I have a communications degree from UC Berkeley.”

Hezbollah has now banned its members from possessing all smart devices: phones, laptops, tablets, etc. And its members, at least the ones who didn’t have their testicles blown up their rears, are complying.

Ironically, Hezbollah going Luddite happened the same week California’s Governor Newsom signed a ban on cell phones in schools. Will it make students pay better attention in class?

Well, now that Hezbollah fighters have gone cold turkey on social media, texting, video-watching, and all things internet, they’ve really taken to whittling, painting, meditating, and learning the oud.

“Forget that whole ‘war with Israel’ thing,” Hezbollah Commander Nasrallah announced on Al Jazeera. “I’m building a ship in a bottle! And our suicide commandos have taken up line dancing. You get so used to using suicide vests to kill Jews, you forget how comfy they are on the dance floor!”

Will Newsom’s phone ban similarly civilize black students in Oakland?

A lasting peace in the Middle East is more likely.

RECYCLED BAGS AND BEANS
Sticking with Newsom, last week the guv also signed a bill banning nonrecyclable plastic bags in grocery stores.

This is a new chapter in a saga that’s very “California Democrat.”

In 2016 the state banned plastic bags in grocery stores, encouraging customers to bring their own reusable canvas totes. Then, during Covid, the state banned reusable canvas totes, because after repeated use they can become “disease ridden.” And now the state’s re-banned plastic bags, but the canvas totes are still condemned as germ spreaders.

So how are Californians supposed to transport their groceries?

How about muy-recyclable Mexican kids?

Yep, that’s become a thing. Illegal beans have been crossing the border into Cali toting “reusable” kids, in order to take advantage of the Biden/Harris “here’s a hundred EBT cards!” policy for alien “families.” The kids are then shipped back to Mexico (USPS Media Mail, or in this case Mejia Mail) and reused for the next family circus act.

According to Border Patrol agents, the “recycled kids” (yes, that’s the official term) are usually sedated before the trip, sometimes with narcotics, other times with a viewing of that three-hour Kevin Costner Horizon film. And when the kids get too old for the scheme, they’re sold into sex trafficking.

So what better solution than for Newsom to use the kids as grocery transporters? Five of ’em can carry enough food for a standard American family—just stuff the kids in the trunk along with the groceries, let ’em carry the food from the car to the home, and then leave the niños on the sidewalk like electric scooters, to be used by the next family.

Newsom would be hailed as a hero: no more plastics (Mother Earth is saved!), no more canvas disease-bags, and no more kids sold into sex trafficking; they’d be slave laborers instead.

Sound crazy? Considering that the most populous state has now made it impossible to buy more food than can be held by a flimsy paper bag, there’s really no limit to how “crazy” California can get.

My pronouns are She-rah, Herbal, and Hersheys. I don’t think it’s asking too much to refer to me using those simple terms, which I’ve made up, as I’m legally entitled to do in the name of equality.

Can you believe people go on like this? The other day, I got an email from Alcoholics Anonymous replying to an email I sent to them complaining, again, about their new “safeguarding” policy, which has resulted in some people being banned from meetings.

At the end of this email, rejecting my complaint, an administrator for the General Service Office of AA GB signed off: “Best wishes, Mike. My pronouns are He his and him.” And then he put the AA helpline details. Because his stupid pronouns are more important than saving people from an alcoholic death, presumably.

Also, his stupid pronouns are nothing to write home about. They’re the obvious ones. So he’s only writing “He his him” to make a point that he stands with the trans.

In a sense, maybe his stupid pronounizing is useful, because it reveals to me that he is not going to deal fairly with my concerns, ever, no matter how many times I write. He won’t give a toss for real issues of fairness, because he is obsessed with trans tokenism.

I could fight this, write another letter of complaint. But suddenly I felt I couldn’t be bothered. This madness is too embedded. It might be easier to just accept that pronouns are more important than life itself.

It’s futile fighting it, and way too late now, because pronounification has entered into the mainstream vernacular.

When the big, bearded pop singer Sam Smith, for example, declared themselves themselves, even though this is clearly grammatically incorrect, as they is one person, no one in the mainstream media said, “Hang on a minute, he’s a big bearded bloke and we’re not letting him ruin the English language because he says he’s now ‘genderqueer’ [all one word], and we’re not going to start typing ‘they’ when we’re writing articles about a singular person, because we are professional users of grammar, after all.”

No. Since then, they (as in Smith singular) is always referred to as they, no questions asked. No journalistic skepticism or scrutiny, and no defense of the English language, which is the very tool every writer relies on.

They (as in everyone) show complete reverence to them (as in singular person Smith) by making sure they (as in everyone) trash grammar to use the plural pronoun to refer to them (as in singular person Smith). And we all know that sentence—though it fulfills equality law—wouldn’t have made unambiguous sense unless I had put all the bits in brackets.

What a load of hooey. But hooey has been piled on hooey for a long time now, and equal rights have been piled upon equal rights, and extra rights, and made-up rights, to the point that Caitlyn Jenner, whom I admire greatly for being so sensible, has said:

“Is there really a need to announce your pronouns? I don’t see it as productive or something that needs to be announced, let alone insisted nor enforced on someone.”

But the trans activists have her outvoted, and the pronounifying is unstoppable. I admit, I am starting to wonder…

As a mere boring old biological woman, I have sometimes thought that if I want to get myself treated with more respect, maybe boost my career a bit, I need to start giving some serious thought to what pronouns I want, and not just assume the ones I was given by this patriarchal cis-gendered society are any good. And maybe I need a new sexuality while I’m at it.

It’s madness, but I have been having these thoughts for a while. Why not me? Why can’t I be difficult? You see how finely balanced society is, and how if one person starts behaving in a high-maintenance way, we all could start doing that?

Maybe I’m nonbinary. I like cars and often dream of punching people who annoy me. I reckon I’m a bit masculine.

Or am I gender-fluid? Some days I get up and I put on a floaty dress. Other days I pull on ripped jeans and a vest, forget to brush my hair.

I think there’s only so much of this madness we can take before we crack and start to think, “If I cannot cope with this any longer then maybe I’ve got to accept it. And if I’ve got to accept it, then I’m so pigheaded that means I’ll do it too, to get some annoyance value back for my trouble.”

The transgender, nonbinary, 50 million pronouns thing is so batshit crazy it ought not to have got off first base, but it is so backed by the establishment and all corners of society, even the mainstream media, the only thing for any of us to do eventually will be to stop fighting it and have a bit of it.

But maybe that’s the point. It wears you down. You wake up one day and think it all makes sense. I’m a cat-gendered queer!

Yes, maybe my pronouns are Xi, Xer, and Xem. (The other ones are boring me already, sorry. No, I’m not sorry. You need to call me by my pronouns of choice even if they change every day, or several times a day…)

Once you accept you’re a cat-gendered queer, or even that someone else is, it is not far to go to a place where you accept all sorts of other batshit crazy stuff, because your brain is now fried, obviously, and you’ve swallowed the impossible chunk of nonsense they’ve been trying to get you to swallow for years. So your perception of reality is fucked.

This is Marxism. It’s about crushing your understanding of what is absolutely and self-evidently true.

Now you are all over the place, so all things are possible. They can say to you a dog’s a cat and a cat’s a dog, depending on the day, and while we’re at it, a war in Ukraine caused by us is a war in Ukraine caused by Putin, and you think, yeah, alright, why not?

If there is no man or woman, there is no stable bedrock for The Truth to be built on. There’s nothing to build anything on anymore.

Gender ideology isn’t about helping people who are genuinely gender dysphoric, or suffering because of that. We’ve been being compassionate to those people for centuries, and they have always existed.

We’ve never had a time when cross-dressers have not been admired and thought exotic and exciting and brave and glamorous.

The laws may have changed, but the laws are always asses anyway. Homosexuality was once illegal in the Western world and still is in some places. Drugs are currently outlawed in most places. People do them anyway, but the law says no, we’re going to pretend it’s possible to make it stop happening, just as it once said, we’re gonna have a crack at stopping men having sex with each other.

But even when the law was an ass, people never really frowned on men dressing as women or vice versa. We love it. Men in drag—great fun! Androgynous ladies in suits—oo-er! We can’t get enough of it.

“Transphobia,” to use the official term, appears to be an invention as a reaction to a complete lack of prejudice against interesting characters.

I cannot work out what the trans movement is about, with its male boxers punching women half to death in Olympic “women’s boxing” matches, unless it’s about hammering all our brains, not just the poor biologically female boxers’ brains, until we don’t know which way is up and which way is down.

You will accept that there is no such thing as a man. You will accept that there is no such thing as a woman. Men are women and women are men and men who are women are also whatever else they want to be on top of that, including boxers who only happen to half-murder their opponents by accident, and you will use whatever pronoun they make up…

Oh, okay. We agree. There is no such thing as a woman. And we need to have another Covid booster. And Russia started the war in Ukraine.

It’s crazy for Donald Trump not to agree to another debate. While he may not be everybody’s cup of tea, his opponent is an absolute lunatic who could do permanent damage to our country, in addition to the damage that she’s already done.

The media sure aren’t going to alert the public to this looming danger. It’s up to Trump.

Among her other plans for us, Kamala Harris is for:

— Slavery reparations;
— Defunding the police;
— Taxpayer-supported transgender operations for prisoners and detained illegal immigrants;
— Paying bail funds for violent BLM rioters;
— Decriminalizing illegal immigration;
— Abolishing ICE, (or, as The Washington Post put it, “she signaled an openness to a sweeping overhaul of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency”);
— Banning fracking, offshore drilling and gasoline-powered cars;
— Mandatory confiscation of “assault weapons”; and
— Abolishing private health insurance.

The media act as if she’s changed her mind on only one or two little things, like fracking — as opposed to on every single position she’s ever held — and proceed to coach her on how to explain these trivial reversals.

Here are a few ideas from The New York Times:

Todd Purdum: “One person’s flip-flop is another’s proof of a stateswoman’s maturation. Why not own it?”

James Carville: “The retort can be simple: I learned from my time governing in the White House. These are my positions. Take it or leave it.”

Frank Bruni: “We’re always learning and always growing, or at least we should be: That’s a sign of humility, curiosity, openness.”

Except the problem is, there’s no evidence that Harris has, in fact, changed her mind, and a lot of evidence that she hasn’t. For one thing, she has come out in favor of these policies repeatedly, recently and on tape. Worse, every chance she got, she actually implemented them.

Moreover, that’s a lot of positions to reverse. She’s not so much flip-flopping as completely abandoning her entire worldview. As Stalin is supposed to have said, “Quantity has a quality all its own.”

This column isn’t long enough to cover all of her (alleged) turnabouts, so I will only briefly cover her long-standing positions on law enforcement (hates ’em!) and white Americans (honestly, not a big fan).

Harris has unfailingly, aggressively, in every possible way, opposed law enforcement, while supporting criminals and illegal aliens. At the least, this is an odd disposition for a “prosecutor” (as her fangirls boast), rather like an orthodox rabbi whose hobby is curing Virginia hams.

She is on tape comparing ICE agents to the Ku Klux Klan, and on other tapes saying she wants to abolish ICE. It’s hardly surprising, therefore, that as “Border Czar” she presided over the worst border crisis this country has ever seen. (The media once touted her as Biden’s “Border Czar,” but realizing that that sounded like calling Lizzo the “Intermittent Fasting Czar,” now they try to deny it.)

When Harris was San Francisco district attorney, she released Edwin Ramos, an illegal alien and known MS-13 gang member, over the angry objections of the police. Three months later, Ramos drove alongside a father and his two sons and opened fire into their car, killing all three. (Another “migrant” just trying to make a better life for himself and his family!)

As per usual, Harris refused to seek the death penalty against Ramos.

Another illegal alien sprung by Harris managed to go a full five months before killing an American, breaking the record previously held by Ramos. Roberto Galo, an “undocumented” immigrant from Honduras, took an illegal left turn, hit 25-year-old law student Drew Rosenberg on his motorcycle, then backed over him again.

Elevated to California’s attorney general, Harris wrote the wildly misleading titles and descriptions for the two pro-crime initiatives, Propositions 47 and 57, that put violent criminals back on the streets, where they run rampant today. Imagine that on a national scale and — presto! — suddenly you’re living in Haiti.

When the BLM riots were in full swing, she endorsed the Minnesota Freedom Fund, which was paying bail funds for BLM rioters, to get violent criminals out of jail and back to doing what they do best.

She openly cheered the BLM riots — on tape — enthusing to Stephen Colbert, “They’re not gonna stop. They’re not gonna stop, and this is a movement, I’m telling you. They’re not gonna stop, and everyone beware, because they’re not gonna stop. They’re not gonna stop before Election Day in November, and they’re not gonna stop after Election Day. Everyone should take note of that, on both levels, that they’re not going to let up — and they should not. And we should not.”

Harris has said time and again that she supports defunding the police — or “re-imagining public safety,” as she puts it.

The only guns Harris wants the government to forcibly confiscate are so-called “assault weapons,” which are predominantly owned by white men, who are “more likely to have higher incomes, to have served in the military and to be Republican” than other Americans, according to The Washington Post.

Meanwhile, gun homicides are overwhelmingly committed with illegally owned handguns. So she’s cool with drive-by shootings but will institute a government confiscation program to eradicate a hobby of rich white men.

Naturally, Harris totally believed Jussie Smollett’s hoax hate crime, which stirred up real hate toward white male Trump supporters. (They’re not hated enough, apparently.) His story about being attacked by two white men shouting, “This is MAGA country!” at 2 a.m. in Chicago in the middle of a polar vortex — because they recognized him from “Empire”! — was so preposterous that, in short order, Jussie was criminally prosecuted and his acting career “re-imagined.”

But Harris immediately believed Jussie, calling his invented hate crime a “modern-day lynching” and pushing through “anti-lynching” legislation. She’s never apologized.

She has enthusiastically said — again, on tape — that she supports convening a study on slavery reparations. What’s her position on reparations today? She refuses to say. The Post reports: “The Harris campaign did not respond to multiple requests for comment on her current position on reparations.”

Can the Post ask her for “her current position” on those KKK-ers at ICE, defunding the police, the destructive BLM riots, the pro-crime propositions she helped impose on the hapless citizens of California, confiscating AR-15s, Jussie Smollett, the homicidal illegals she released, the support she gave to bailing out BLM rioters, and on and on and on?

It’s not like she doesn’t have an answer. Her answer is, “I grew up in a middle-class household and in college, I worked at McDonald’s.”

Let’s not mince words or use hyperbole. I’ve just attended the best, most glamorous ball since the ’50s, and two weeks later the best party ever, and this from a man who has been partying for more than sixty years. I will not go into details because my hosts in the English countryside and their beautiful property Daylesford, Lord and Lady Bamford, are different from the publicity-seeking Hiltons, Kardashians, and their ilk. They’ve asked for radio silence. I will only go as far as to say that the last time someone even approached the glamour and magnificence of their ball was at Guy de Rothschild’s dance, and whose château outside Paris, Ferriere, was the venue. I was in my 20s.

Two weeks later, in Paris, Arki Busson, whose parents are no longer with us but were very close lifelong friends of mine, took over Maxim’s, the most fabled Parisian restaurant of all time, and outdid even Franz Lehar’s fabled Merry Widow operetta that takes place in the restaurant on rue Royale. Never have I heard better music or seen more charming cancan dancers kicking up a storm while we drank champagne nonstop. Never have I seen Maxim’s come more alive, and it was all due to Arki. His children were present, two wonderful boys whose mother is Elle Macpherson, and his daughter with Uma Thurman. Arki’s now with a beautiful lady who’d rather be Madame Busson than the Duchess of Wellington, something that finds me in total agreement. Life can be beautiful when one has friends like Arki, Anthony, and Carole, and now that I’ve spilled the beans, here’s my incredible discovery at both parties: I didn’t see a single person talking on a mobile, proof that the two parties were unique and no one outsourced their humanity to their devices.

And speaking of these horrors, it is now accepted in the West that viewing is superior to reading. I believe that risk-averse parents are to blame. Prying smartphones out of the small hands of children is the first step. Following the parties I flew to the Bagel and made certain to look for any signs of books or newspapers on board or in the airports. Not a single one. Take my word for it. Instead, well, you know the rest. Everyone glued to those devices like slaves used to be glued to their oars, the only sound missing being the big bully banging on a slab giving the beat to those in chains.

What I don’t understand is that in America, where I now find myself, everything is disposable, so why don’t concerned parents get rid of these devices and leave their children on their own? The little monsters are bound to open a book, or are they? Perhaps I’m judging from my generation’s outlook. What I fear is that separating a young person from their smartphone will one day be considered a capital offense.

Drinking champagne nonstop gives one a terrible hangover the next day but illuminates the conversation the night before. I had some good ones: Western affluence and luxury abundance have led to exaggerated, nonexistent health problems; at least that’s what my beautiful and young dinner neighbor insisted. I wholeheartedly agreed. PTSD is now claimed nonstop by anyone disappointed over any result: an election, a football match, even a traffic ticket. An epidemic of mental illness seems to be everywhere in the West, and terms such as “bipolar” are bandied about by shyster lawyers, whereas once upon a time “shell-shocked” was used sparingly about victims of gunshot wounds or natural disasters.

Oh yes, and another thing: Have you noticed that the word “unhappy” is now favored over the word “worried”? And everyone who is anyone is permanently offended? The saying “It fell on deaf ears” is now verboten amid fears it might offend those who are hard of hearing, like Ludwig van Beethoven. Now do you shoot the first woke asshole you meet or don’tcha?

Woke jerks warn us not to use noninclusive language such as policeman, manpower, housewife, hysterical; instead we’re warned to use inclusive terms. We also have to be careful about age, disability, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, race, religious beliefs, and socioeconomic status. Woke has now reached the point of such tokenistic absurdity that people are nervous about even using the words “father” and “mother.”

These word Nazis should have been to the parties I was at. I asked a friend who is a homo whether he was going to get lucky, while another buddy screamed that I was too old to be dancing and, as I’m already half-blind, “you’re dancing with a drag queen, you fool.” In Hollywood we’d all be behind bars.

We all know that math scores have been scandalously trending downward for many years, but the folks in the government should at least be able to count.

We’re finding more and more evidence that the statistics the government is releasing to the public are increasingly suspect and unreliable. It seems like the errors are not random but perhaps manipulated for political advantage. Judge for yourself.

Let’s start with crime statistics. Former President Donald Trump said in the debate that crime is out of control, and Vice President Kamala Harris countered by citing government statistics from the FBI indicating that crime rates are falling.

But Jeffrey Anderson, former director of the Bureau of Justice Statistics, finds a surge in urban violent crime since 2019. He writes in the Wall Street Journal that “the violent crime rate in 2023 was 19% higher than in 2019.” The urban violent crime rate was up 40%, and urban property crime rate rose 26%.

How can the Left keep saying crime is down? A big reason is the FBI figures are only measuring “crimes reported to the police.” More than half of violent crimes are not reported, thanks to what Anderson calls a new era of “lax law enforcement policies” in urban areas. Police in big cities also have an incentive to undercount crimes to make their performance look better.

Next, we have jobs data. The Bureau of Labor Statistics admitted last month that it has overstated job growth by more than 800,000 positions. And in just the last year the government has also overstated job growth by almost 500,000 from the original monthly headline numbers. This is an overcount of over 1 million. In 10 of the last 13 months, the errors were in the direction of announcing too many jobs.

So President Joe Biden gets the gangbuster headlines, and the whoopsie daisy comes later when no one is paying attention.

Those aren’t just random errors. Was the Biden Labor Department finagling the data? Maybe.

Then there was the decennial Census Bureau population count. The numbers from the 2020 census were wildly wrong, as the bureau admits.

In an analysis issued in 2021 called the “Post-Enumeration Survey Estimation Report,” the Census Bureau reported which states recorded overcounts of their population, and which saw undercounts. Florida, Texas, Tennessee and other red states were undercounted by some 1.5 million residents. The overcounting was in mostly blue states like New York and Minnesota. Again, was this just an accident?

The miscount may have cost Republicans three electoral seats. This means the presidential election and control of the House of Representatives may be decided because of an error in counting heads.

These government agencies are supposed to be politically independent, and historically, they have been filled with professionals devoid of bias. But when we see the errors all bending the data in the direction of benefiting one party, one has to wonder if this is deliberate misrepresentation.

I hope I’m wrong and that these are innocent errors. But we live in an era where everything in Washington is hyper-politicized. Elections have become a blood sport. The saying is that “all is fair in love and war.” And now add politics to that.

Trump’s been called “Hitler” for, what, nine years now? And always unfairly. Even with the dude’s many (many) faults, he’s not Hitler.

And in my nine years of covering Trump in this column, I’ve always been quick to slam the Hitler analogies.

Well, congratulations, J.D. Vance, for finally giving me a Hitler analogy I can go with. And in the last lap of an election, no less.

The Haitian cat-eating thing is so imbecilic, I get angry just thinking about it. You have immigrant criminals raping, killing, and assaulting Americans in documented attacks—hundreds of ’em—all across the country. Real incidents, with real dead people, real grieving families, and real perps.

And what has MAGA done? What have Trump and Vance chosen? To send us on a wild-goose chase to back up Trump’s cat-eating claims, once again making everything about riding to Trump’s rescue instead of riding an issue to victory.

This is a MAGA specialty: deploying side skirmishes to distract from winning issues.

It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve seen in a lifetime of observing politics. Typically, politicians distract from issues on which they’re soft. Only MAGAs distract from issues on which they’re strong.

I’ve written about it more times than I can recall. From the “Unite the Right” retards in 2017 killing Trump’s momentum by bringing about the totally avoidable “very fine people” side skirmish, to 2022 when Newsom, who has a thousand exploitable liabilities, was instead slammed for blackouts and power grid failures that never occurred, thus creating a side skirmish that favored Newsom because on that one issue he was being truthful (don’t dare hit him on issues where he’s weak), to the “groomer” mess of 2022 in which MAGAs, ineptly trying to defend DeSantis’ commonsense school policies regarding trannyism, shifted the focus to a debate over the definition of groomer and the “fun” of “cheesing off the libs” by calling everyone the “g” word, when the focus should’ve been on DeSantis’ effective school policies.

So now here comes Vance and Catturd and all of rightist Twitter, taking the focus off the human toll of Third World immigrant crime, instead creating yet another side skirmish about whether a Haitian ate a cat. Two weeks ago, Vance tweeted “It’s possible, of course, that all of these [cat-eating] rumors will turn out to be false,” but nevertheless he told his followers to “keep the cat memes coming!”

Unsurprisingly, last week Hillbilly Jim yodeled the quiet part out loud in an interview with CNN’s Dana Bash:

The American media totally ignored this stuff until Donald Trump and I started talking about cat memes. If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that’s what I’m going to do, Dana, because you guys are completely letting Kamala Harris coast.

Get it? The fake stuff’s necessary to put the focus on the real stuff.

And by gum, that put me in a Hitler kinda mood. In the 1920s, before Hitler came to power, he was gifted a book by Ernst Schertel, a German modern dancer, dance troupe director, sexologist, nudist, and occultist.

And yeah, he was friends with Hitler.

Can you imagine the parties those guys threw? Lots of assless, crotchless black leather chaps.

So Schertel gave Hitler an inscribed copy of his book Magic: History, Theory, Practice, and it became one of the future Führer’s most annotated tomes. The copy from Adolf’s library still exists today. And one particular line that fascinated Hitler, to the extent that he highlighted it on the page, was “False images are necessary for the recognition of truth.”

“False images are necessary for the recognition of truth.” That’s not just Vance’s MO, but that of MAGA. Fake memes, made-up conspiracies, clumsily crafted rumors, unfounded charges against opponents—it’s only through spreading false images that we can uncover truth!

How? Well, ask the Underpants Gnomenschen to explain phase 2. All I know is that phase 1 is “lie” and phase 3 is “victory!”

To be crystal clear, I’m not saying Vance is Hitler. But he’s obsessed with the same bullshit principle that Hitler was. And both men are/were wrong. “False images” (in this case, memes about cat-eating) are not necessary when you have more effective real images (immigrant crimes against humans). But I know I’m not gonna be able to convince you of that, and I’ll explain why.

You’re having too much fun.

Too much joy.

The idiotic Democrat party line that Kamala isn’t a bimbo with an annoying Joaquin-Phoenix-as-Joker cackling tic but rather a candidate absorbed in “joy” ain’t foolin’ no one. The “joy” talking point isn’t gonna make anybody who’s put off by her irritating manner stop being irritated. Of more concern to me is the “joy” on the right. Whereas the Dem leaders screaming, “It’s not annoying; it’s joy!” won’t move the needle on the election, your joy might.

With all your wacky cat memes and viral jokes and tweets, you’ve made the immigrant crime issue funny. And by doing so, you’ve robbed it of its power.

Great job. Congrats.

Watch these three Lee Atwater Willie Horton ads (here, here, and here). Did you laugh once? Did they bring you “joy”? Were they wacky?

No. All they did was work.

You don’t fucking make violent crime funny. That MAGAs have to be told that, and that even after having been told, they’ll still do it anyway, lays bare the combination of ignorance and self-indulgence that plagues the movement.

Should Trump lose, which will mean you’ll have Third World criminals coming out of your ass (yeah, even in your beloved RAYD STAYT), may the memory of the “joy” you took from the wacky cat memes bring you comfort as you grieve your raped and murdered daughters.

The truly funny thing is, 1932 Hitler didn’t need “false images.” He and his party had the economy and the threat from the Soviets to run on—both very real issues. Hence why (as I’ve mentioned in previous columns) the anti-Jewish thing was downplayed in the election as “the Nazi Party consciously toned down its antisemitic rhetoric in the early 1930s in order to win over middle-class and bourgeois voters” (Simon Unger-Alvi, Cambridge University Press).

Once dictator Hitler no longer needed to face elections, he could “fake away” because votes were now irrelevant. And his imaginary issues took over.

I hate to remind you guys, but votes are not irrelevant in the U.S. And holy shit has MAGA torpedoed one of its best issues with this idiotic but typical cat-eating side skirmish, a self-indulgent creation of Trump, MAGA Twitter, and out-of-their-league inbreds like Vance.

Accordingly, today’s MAGA-adjacent Nazi influencers have retconned the 1932 German election to make it appear that “meme” issues are what won it for the Nazis. As sieg heiler Stew Peters (651k followers and a bottomless coffer thanks to mega-donors) tweeted last week, “The people of Weimar were pushed to a breaking point, and they broke. That’s why MILLIONS supported the rise of the National Socialists. They did what ANY reasonable people would have done, to save their children from pedophelia and perversion. Pretty simple.”

Forget the economy or Soviet expansion; the Nazis won by shouting “groomer!”

The greatest risk MAGA has taken electorally is letting in, and turning a blind eye to, so many Nazis. First, it’s made Trump appear tame. Trump 2016 was edgy! Dangerous! Fierce! But such things exist on a curve. Trump was like heavy metal. Fuentes, Owens, Peters, Shields are GG Allin. Watch enough Allin, immerse yourself in Allin, and metal will seem tame, even outright gay, by comparison.

The obsession with based, the mindless pursuit of based, makes the semi-based appear tepid. But that’s just cause and effect, which MAGAs understand less than a possum understands Heidegger.

Trump rallies lacking energy? Too many walkouts? The level of excitement and engagement lower than in 2016? Well, sure, dummies. Your embrace of Nazis has made Trump look not just weak but like a sellout. Why, he’s not even talking about Jews drinking baby blood, which according to Candy Owens happens every day!

The MAGA geniuses (including Elon Musk) who were like, “Let’s let in every wacky idea! It cheeses off the libs and upends the establishment,” never considered that once you convince enough people that Jews are prowling the streets every night looking to suck the blood from children, discussion of inflation or sentencing enhancements or amnesty reform seems not just dull but a dodging of “the real issues.”

It’s an inversion: The real issues are dismissed as fake and the fake issues are embraced as real.

And the effect of such madness? All those liberal blue-city white people (mainly women) you see on the news who’ve been assaulted, raped, or robbed of a loved one by immigrants-of-color or native blacks, and who proudly proclaim, “I forgive Assabango or Guanomatica or Daquilious—I hope they get the help they need via counseling, not prison”…well, those whites haven’t lost their sense of justice; it’s just been “detoured.” Those “I forgive Jorge because he has better food” whites do still see villains…just not ones they can see literally. Their hatred has been rerouted from the blacks who kill them to the “one percenters” who “keep the world in poverty.” The “climate criminals and polluters” who are “killing Mother Earth.”

Democrats have hijacked their followers’ natural desire for justice (and vengeance) and redirected it toward invisible entities that exist outside the daily reality, the daily lives, of voters.

Theoretically, Republicans exist to re-ground the crime issue—to undo the leftist damage and refocus voters on the in-person villains who physically threaten them. To stay rooted in corporeal reality, not fancy abstracts. But no…now rightist influencers have done their own rerouting—forget street-level wrongdoing; focus instead on Baron Rothschild and the Elders of Zion!

So the crime issue gets torpedoed by “mainstream” MAGAs who drown us in wacky memes and, in doing so, rob the issue of gravitas, and Nazi MAGAs who are the right-wing version of “ignore what’s in front of you; direct your anger toward unseen foes who are melting the ice caps.”

It’s the ultimate corruption of Steve Sailer’s “noticing,” which was originally intended as “notice what your eyes behold on your own street,” now perverted as “notice patterns in the clouds high above.”

Between the MAGA influencers who only care about the “joy” of kooky viral memes, the extremist ideologues who purposely redirect rightists away from worrying about crime to worrying about the Frankists and Jew vampires, and morons like Vance who take a topic filled with real, provable case studies that impact voters and say, “Naw, I’ll rely on fakes instead because only falsity can put focus on truth,” we see the GOP not just repeating but one-upping Trump 2020’s brilliant plan to own the crime issue by tweeting “law & order” a hundred times over.

And that worked so well, didn’t it?

So glad you’re feeling the “joy.”

Sorry I can’t join in.

Back when I was a child, in a 99.99 percent white school in England, we used to call our Anglo-Saxon peers unfortunate enough to possess excessively curly or frizzy hair “wog-heads,” a “wog” being a now almost extinct racial term meaning anyone non-white whatsoever.

Today, however, we are increasingly commanded to view curly-wurly wog-heads of all races in a positive light. A campaign has just been launched in the U.K. by a niche single-issue campaign group called World Afro Day (WAD), calling on MPs to update the Equality Act 2010 (an oppressive piece of anti-white, anti-straight, anti-normal, DEI-type legislation) in order to make all stereotypically black hairstyles, primarily Afros, an official legally protected characteristic.

Actually, something called “race-based hair discrimination” in places like schools, offices, gold mines, submarines, and brothels is already banned under this same 2010 anti–Magna Carta. But never mind, pretending it somehow isn’t gives the boring WAD people and their MP allies something else to fill their days with endlessly complaining about in public.

Who Let the Wogs Out?

Over in America, you already have your own absurd Afro protection laws in shape of the CROWN (Creating a Respectful and Open World for Natural Hair) Act.

Introduced in California in 2019, the whole idea was devised and sponsored by the cosmetics and personal grooming giant Dove, in a move that was not at all in any way related to the fact that they nowadays have a whole range of potentially very profitable hair-care products aimed at black people.

In the years since, similar CROWN Acts, banning evil white employers and schools from inhumanely preventing their workers and students from looking like extras in a 1970s blaxploitation movie, have been introduced into a further 23 U.S. states, although not as yet on a nationwide federal level, despite Dove’s very best efforts. Gillette’s recent selfless campaign to get the Supreme Court to fully legalize throat-slitting for all in order to boost sales of its excellent and very sharp razor blades has been similarly unsuccessful, as has Lil-Lets’ crusade to likewise legalize stabbing.

Hair-Dos and Hair-Don’ts

According to one glowing write-up of the CROWN Acts, from the Extremely Pathetic Individuals at the EPI (Economic Policy Institute, a once-sensible body now reduced to typing nonsense about big hair), they are “a jewel for combating racial discrimination in the workplace and the classroom.” Someone should kick them in the CROWN jewels.

For the EPI, it seems that the true purpose of traditional school and workplace hair policies was not to maintain professional standards of smartness and normativity, or to prevent kids sat behind Sideshow Bob Jr. at the back of the classroom from being able to see the blackboard, but in order to “preserve white spaces” by keeping John Shaft and the Jackson Five perpetually locked outside in the cold away from the sickeningly short-back-and-sides Caucasians.

I appreciate that many non-whites’ hair is naturally somewhat frizzy, and they should not be compelled to go out and immediately and expensively straighten it all out in favor of classically Aryan Haircut Himmler sideswept undercuts, but it only balloons out into the rough size and appearance of a neck-mounted spherical sheep like the CROWN malcontents want it to be if they neglect to bother shearing it whatsoever for several consecutive weeks or months. I suppose, if I had never bothered to trim my own locks during boyhood, it would have trailed long down my back like that of my esteemed Viking forbears; does the fact that I, too, would have been prevented from doing so by the oppressive school rules also make me a legacy victim of sinister “hair racism”?

Allegedly, the only reason “natural [black] hairstyles like afros, braids, bantu knots and locs [i.e., dreadlocks]” have ever been banned is to give teachers and bosses another excuse to expel or fire unwanted fuzzy-wuzzies without having to openly admit to their true motivations. Firing someone for their mad hair is supposedly an excellent means of hiding the secret fact that you actually sacked them for their skin color, the EPI say, citing testimony from the NAACP. So why did the “racist” employer hire them in the first place, then? The EPI mysteriously do not explain.

Hair-Raising Schemes

And how are “braids, bantu knots and locs” natural hairstyles anyway? They don’t just magically grow like that of their own accord, any more than pigtails on a comedy Chinaman do; you specifically have to take the time and effort to style them that way. Do they think Elvis hip-swayed out from his mother’s womb complete with his famous quiff?

The World Afro Day website features an inadvertently amusing slideshow with various other “natural” black follicular follies, including one woman who has shaped her curiously 2-D hair to look like a negroid Pac-Man, and a freckly young lady whose head, if dunked in water at bath time, would strongly resemble a large semi-submerged sea mine. One of the “triggers” on this same cranial sea mine, and one alone, is dyed as bright orange as a Dutchman’s turd: Again, how is that “natural”?

I recall numerous white kids being suspended from my own old school for having equally artificial and forbidden show-off hairstyles like buzzcuts, tramlines, and green-hued Joker locks, which were likewise in contravention of the institution’s strict hair code. More victims of the racist Hair Hitlers who ran all the West’s institutions back in the bad old pre–CROWN Act days? No, my old teachers just didn’t want any unnecessary skull-based distractions in the classroom. Silly hairdos were banned for much the same reason top hats, astronaut helmets, and multicolored clown wigs were.

Yet the EPI disagree, and assert that, in America’s wonderful new CROWN court regime, “no one should be forced to leave parts of themselves behind when they show up to work or school.” Try telling that to amputees and lepers.

Just Combing for Offense

As with so many other dire contemporary social evils, from AIDS to BLM to Taylor Swift, this idiotic hair-brained attitude has now drifted inevitably upon the epistemological Jetstream across the Atlantic toward Great Britain, hence the recent U.K.-based World Afro Day campaign mentioned above. This month, WAD established some kind of “drop-in clinic” in parliament, spearheaded by one Paulette Hamilton, who proudly described herself as “Birmingham’s first black MP.” I believe her predecessor was the city’s final white one.

WAD scribbled out an open letter to British MPs, “FIX THE LAW, NOT OUR HAIR,” demanding they amend the 2010 Equalities Act to say something it already says anyway. Calling hair discrimination “a pernicious form of oppression which dates back to the slave trade,” like everything else bad now suddenly does, “when African heads were routinely shaved,” WAD wanted it ending, TODAY! What’s more, they had the hairy black public on their side: WAD triumphantly asserted that “95 percent of people with afro hair want the UK law updated to specifically prohibit afro hair discrimination,” something about as surprising as hearing that “95 percent of rapists want the UK law updated to specifically prohibit arrest for committing rape.”

To add credibility to their campaign, WAD tried to organize a “100 Voice, 100 Words campaign” in which 100 prominent and well-respected non-white figures would sum up in a single paragraph precisely why it was suddenly absolutely essential for them to be able to walk around with heads like big round lollipops covered in wool. Unfortunately, Thomas Sowell and the Reverend Calvin Robinson told them to fuck off, so the best they could manage was former Spice Girl Mel B, who explained heartrendingly that “My hair has always been a personal statement—all my life.” Yes, that’s the whole problem in a nutshell here, really, isn’t it?

Although often told to cut it by whitey, this arrogant zig-a-zig-arsehole explained how she refused as “it was my hair and I wasn’t going to change it—for anyone.” I bet she would have done if Kim Jong-Un had told her to do so. It was wrong to tell black kids with messy hair to shorten it, said pube-brain Mel, as it represented “their identity and their culture.” I was going to suggest that anyone who genuinely considers a haircut to represent the concept of “culture” must have severely limited cultural horizons themselves, but then I remembered that Mel B was of course one of the Spice Girls.

School of Hard Locks

As usual, all this is to be pumped direct into the conveniently hollow coconuts of schoolkids, with WAD having a special webpage for schools, where they advise children be taught that “Afro hair is the most unique racial characteristic of African people.” Not their black skin? They should also be reliably informed that “Hair is a human right’s issue,” an “issue” evidently far more important than that they learn how to use apostrophes properly.

WAD generously offer to appoint chosen students as “Afro Ambassadors” from their schools to…somewhere, it’s not really clear. Wakanda, maybe? Or possibly even the U.N., where, alarmingly, WAD’s founder was once invited “to represent children with afro hair,” albeit hopefully not on the panel of the actual full Security Council.

They also offer to allow schools to participate in an annual livestreamed “Big Hair Assembly”—which, I notice, is sponsored by Superdrug. U.S. readers may be unaware that this is not a euphemism for fentanyl, but a large U.K. pharmacist-type chain that, just like Dove, sells various personal grooming products, nowadays including things like special Afro combs, etc.

I recall an old BBC Reeves and Mortimer comedy sketch in which a geography teacher educated his class by stroking around a nearby black man’s Afro and repeatedly chanting the words “The world is round! The world is round!” How long before WAD themselves begin offering this same service for real? Although, to be fair, Candace Owens might actually benefit from said demonstration.

Hair-Trigger Sensibilities

Another colossal figure lending his Very Important Voice to WAD’s campaign is Patrick Hutchinson, a black man who apparently “made a move that would change the course of history” back in 2020, when he slung a drunken white man over his shoulder to prevent him getting beaten up at a BLM rally. That’s it. That’s why he’s supposedly “famous.”

On WAD’s website, Patrick explains how, when they go to school, rather than obeying universal school haircut policies like everybody else has to, amazing black students should feel “free to be their authentic selves,” thereby helping them to “build strong self esteem.” As if it isn’t strong enough already these days.

Feeling free to “be your authentic self” is no good, if your “authentic self” happens to be that of an arrogant, self-entitled, socially destructive, identitarian, BLM-loving moron. Schools and workplaces have dress and hair codes for good reason: to enforce the normative common standards of conduct necessary to glue wider society together as a capably functioning unit.

Otherwise, we just end up with dismal cases like that of the Quentin Crisp-like English worse-than-naked civil servant whom it was recently alleged by embarrassed colleagues regularly turned up to work wearing transgender fetish gear because that equally well reflected his “authentic self”: that of a ridiculous, self-obsessed solipsist with no consideration whatsoever for the social well-being or comfort of other people around him. It’s a wonder he didn’t turn up sporting an Afro too.

Back in the days when people still respected their elders, they always used to say that white hair was a sign of dignity. It still is, just in a rather different way.

The Week’s Most Pluvios Plumber, Grandiose Hummer, and Adios Summer Headlines

HEZBOLLOCKS
Last week “Hezbollah” became a question. As in, “His ball? Uh…it’s over there,” as the Israelis turned Hezbollah’s pagers into tiny bombs that blew the nads off the wearer.

The Jewish geniuses invented the Ellen Pager—sex change by phone.

And why were all Hezbollah fighters wearing outdated comm gear you might’ve seen on the streets of Compton in 1991? Because Hezbollah had sworn off “smartphones,” out of fear Israel could hack sophisticated devices.

In the prologue to Frank Herbert’s Dune, humans rebel against computers and ban “thinking machines,” reverting to steam power and buggies. This is known as the “Butlerian Jihad.” In Hezbollah’s real-life attempt to do the same, it turned into the Dicklerian Jihad, as several thousand jihadists saw their “Air Johnsons” go flying across the room.

It was, in terms of sexual satisfaction, the worst “blow job” ever.

Not to mention that every fighter who has finger injuries along with the penile ones will forever be looked at with disdain by his Imam.

Muslims may not eat pork, but they had one hell of a loin cookout last week.

As for how Hezbollah plans to maintain its communications now that it can’t use phones or pagers, Hezbollah leader Nasrallah, who luckily still has his Nadsrallah, suggested carrier pigeons.

Cue scientists in Tel Aviv thawing out those avian flu specimens.

Hezbollah leaders remain defiant, sending a telegram to Benjamin Netanyahu that was brief and to the point: “Nuts to you!”

CALL ME MA’AMMAL!
Call it Turner Syndrome and Hooch. In the U.K., a tranny and his dog are wasting taxpayer money faster than Keir Starmer can send it to Ukraine.

Gleicon Analha is the Brazilian-born Equality, Diversity and Inclusion Vice-Chair of the Cambridgeshire County Council. On a recent Zoom call with other councillors, Alalha presented his dachshund Pablo, decked out in a fancy dress, announcing that even though “Pablo has a penis,” he identifies as “gender-fluid.”

BTW, when the famously sex-addicted Picasso met a woman who didn’t care for his art, his last-ditch pickup line was “Pablo has a penis.” The phrase was resurrected decades later as a taunt Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar would send to family members of men he’d dismembered.

Anyway, after introducing his tranny dog, Analha was left (in his words) “literally shaking” when lesbian council member Lizzy Pitt shot back, “Your dog is a male.”

And then all the other council members started “literally shaking,” with no concern that it might be Parkinson’s.

Analha complained to the council elder, Lord Mumbleton Inbreedingham III, who levied a fine against Pitt for making everyone shake. But then Pitt complained to the British courts that she was fined for merely speaking a truth. Justice M’lud Fossille Dementshire agreed, awarding Pitt compensation.

Now it’s Analha’s turn to sue again, after telling the London Times, “I grew up in Brazil seeing inequalities in my community, for example, on the same street millionaires’ houses and ‘favelas’ made of cardboard, I have seen friends dying of transphobia.”

Note to Analha—those “friends” probably died of exposure from living in cardboard. And if those “millionaires” are next door to cardboard houses, that neighborhood must have one crappy HOA.

So far the entire dispute has cost the government more than £63,000 ($83,000). Hopefully Pablo is getting extra food out of it…most likely Kibbles & (surgically removed) Bits.

A SASSY NATION!
It’s about time American assassins bring the nation some entertainment, because previous assassins were all about robbing Americans of it. John Wilkes Booth destroyed an enjoyable evening at the theater for several hundred patrons (the Yelp reviews the next day were brutal). Hinckley so badly befouled the name of Jodie Foster, middle-aged men couldn’t even masturbate to Foxes without feeling like a perv. Leon Czolgosz drove the Pan-American Exposition into bankruptcy (“Food! Fun! McKinley killed with a gun!” was a lousy marketing slogan). And Giuseppe Zangara totally blew FDR’s game by firing shots at the president-elect’s motorcade, causing FDR to jump out of the car and run away like Curly going “woo-woo-woo-woo-woo,” exposing the fact that the polio thing was just an act (it was an excuse to not have to sleep with Eleanor).

But Trump’s newest would-be shooter, a laughing blue-haired leftist maniac named Ryan Routh, tried to make assassination fun again, by camping outside Trump’s golf course for twelve hours just to remake Caddyshack, but this time with Judge Smails getting more comeuppance than a lost bet.

Routh (being led away): “I want a hamburger…no, cheeseburger. I want a hot dog. I want a milkshake. I want…”

Secret Service: “You’ll get nothing and like it!”

The only thing missing was the gopher, which had been exterminated by RFK Jr. (“Hey, I killed a bear and sawed the head off a whale. That gopher was nothing”).

Elon Musk, of course, had to add to the farce, tweeting, “And no one is even trying to assassinate Biden/Kamala.”

Turns out when you hand your platform to Nazis, all decorum leaves the site.

But perhaps the biggest clown act of all belonged to the Libertarian Party of New Hampshire, which tweeted, “Anyone who murders Kamala Harris would be an American hero,” followed by “sic semper tyrannis,” Booth’s assassination catchphrase (he changed it last minute from “The Booth, the Booth, the Booth is on fire!”), following that up with actual exhortations to murder politicians.

When the NH Libertarian Party leaders started getting death threats themselves, they hypocritically whined about it on Twitter.

Seems many Americans would prefer that libertarians stop following the NAP and take a dirt one instead.

POO-POOSA
Speaking of death threats, leaders in Springfield, Ohio, claim they’ve received 33 bomb threats since Republicans began spreading rumors of Haitian illegals eating cats. The city leaders can’t understand why there’s anger that their schools will soon be majority-Haitian.

Perhaps that question can be answered by visiting an American city that’s been majority Third World for a while now—Chula Vista, a bean border town in San Diego County.

In April, school district officials launched a student project to clean up the sewage-filled waterways in Tijuana. The kids “voluntarily” wrote letters to Governor Newsom demanding aid for the hombrecitos.

“Dear Gobernador Newsomos, please send dineros to Tijuana so they can stop swimming in caca!”

And the Gobernador listened, replying, “Dearest niños, I shall send mucho dinero so that those who sell us date rape drugs and meth can have only the most dulce of agua.”

Really brings a tear to the eye!

Along with vomit to the mouth. Because it turns out that the same school district has refused to employ a single janitor or custodian since January. Nine months. At the start of summer vacation, the school toilets were left filled with feces, and when students returned this month, even the Tijuanans could smell the stench.

As could the parents, who greeted their kids after the first day of school with “That’s not normal Mexican stank!”

Kids needing to poop were forced to use the urinals, as the toilets are “piled high.” And Newsom? Not one dinero in aid.

But before you non-Californians smirk, Chula Vista’s an “agricultural hub” for the entire nation, and many high school students are already working in the fields. So wash those lemons, celery, beans, cucumbers, oranges, strawberries, potatoes, barley, and grains (all of which come from Chula Vista) a little more thoroughly. And be happy that while you may die of E. coli, the Tijuana whores are using only the finest California-paid water to keep their donkeys hydrated through the encore performance.

BLAQUES REMOVE PLAQUES
In 2023, upscale, overwhelmingly Democrat Manhattan Beach, California—75 percent white, 0.4 percent black—righted a historical wrong by returning an area called “Bruce Beach” to the black family that operated it as a black resort in 1912, until the city confiscated it (it wasn’t racial; the city was going bankrupt from overtime for the lifeguards who had to keep hauling bodies from the surf).

To commemorate the return, the city commissioned a bronze plaque for the site. At the cost of a hundred thousand bucks, city leaders consulted with everyone from Ibram Kendi to Nikole Hannah-Jones to ensure that the plaque was “culturally sensitive” (most of the hundred grand went to Hannah-Jones so she could get her hair and nails did in one of the city’s fancy salons).

And then about a week later the plaque was promptly stolen.

Turns out there’s a lucrative trade in black-market metals. A month after that, thieves in one of L.A.’s last remaining black enclaves—Carson—stole every bronze and copper plaque from the city’s only historically black mausoleum. “It’s a tragedy,” caretaker Aisha Woods told NBC. “This cemetery tells the story of black L.A.”

A look at the tombstones confirms it does, from the 1990s when gangsta rap and AIDS were all the rage…

Here lies the body of DJ Quik,
A skid-row-dwelling hooker made him real sick.
Losing his T cells wasn’t part of the plan,
He confessed on his deathbed, “I’d no idea t’was a man.”

To the more recently interred…

Here rests the soul of Inglewood Willie,
Beat up a cashier ’cause his fries were too chilly.
The restaurant manager shot Willie dead,
An unhappy meal: cold fries and hot lead.

And the niches holding only meager remains:

For LaRhonda McGuggins we mournfully grieve,
She tried to save money with an excelsior weave.
When she lit up that blunt, her whole head went “poof.”
All they found in the ashes? One single gold toof.

Will blacks still vote Gascon in November?

You can bet your death on it.

Twenty-seven years ago, a British newspaper discovered—I don’t know how—that I hadn’t watched television for twenty-five years. At the time, this seemed almost incredible, or at any rate very odd, as if I had just landed from Mars.

The newspaper contacted me and asked me whether I would be prepared to watch television for a time to report on its emanations. They would send me a television; and I agreed on one condition, namely that after a week they would take it away again. The newspaper kept to the promise.

The television duly arrived, and, with some difficulty, I turned it on (the controls had become a good deal more complex since I last watched).

The first program that I saw after all those years—it was in daytime—was one in which the production company had sought out a pathological family and exhibited it for a kind of mockery before a live audience. First came the mother, complaining that her daughters, aged 14 and 12, had run away from home to take drugs and become prostitutes—or sex workers, as we must now call them. The mother complained bitterly about them, the anxiety they caused her, the trouble they had always been.

Then the compere asked the audience to give a warm welcome to the two girls, who emerged from somewhere behind the scenes, tripping down a few stairs like Mary Poppins, and sat opposite their mother. The audience gave them a rapturous welcome, as if running away and becoming prostitutes were a fine accomplishment.

The two girls immediately started to scream accusations at their mother that she was a negligent drunk who had made life intolerable for them, for example by never feeding them properly. At this point, I managed to turn the apparatus off. I could quite see the fascination of this kind of voyeurism, that it might even be addictive. It would be easy to sink into the depths of one’s sofa and pass one’s days watching such scenes! O brave new world that has such people in it!

As is often the way, my first contact with a phenomenon soon led to others. Not far from the hospital in which I was working lived three sisters of whale-like proportions who had all had children by the same man. Their father with whom they lived was an alcoholic of less than charming manner. I have to admit that the insemination of one such woman seemed to me an improbably physical feat, let alone three, and was in a way admirable, or at least evidence of considerable determination.

A television company learned of this strange ménage and paid them a large sum to appear on yet another modern equivalent of a Victorian freak show. But the question of how the television company came to know of them in the first place occurred to me, and was not answered until a little time afterward, when I met the daughter of a friend of mine whose first job in television was finding the most dysfunctional families or households possible. They were advertised for, and it was her job to sift them for their telegenic qualities, that is to say (in this context) for their deliberate ugliness, querulousness, vulgarity, coarseness, and utter shamelessness, indeed pride, in their dysfunctionality. There was no shortage of postulants.

The television had come just before the election that brought Mr. Blair to power in Britain. My wife and I saw him being interviewed, and we both thought it must be some very clever satirical impersonator rather than the man himself, insofar as there is a man himself where Mr. Blair is concerned, so fatuous and empty did he seem. No such person, surely, could be Prime Minister?

The few glimpses of so-called political debates that I have had on television since have not encouraged me to spend more of my time on them, important in a sense as they may be. (What is important is not necessarily good or worthwhile in any other sense.) I therefore had little difficulty in refraining from watching the “debate” between Kamala Harris and Donald Trump. Such debates are more like schoolyard quarrels than a disinterested search for truth, or even exhibitions of rhetorical skill.

From the reports that I have received from persons whose judgment I trust, it was a contest between well-rehearsed and smooth dishonesty about her past opinions on the one hand and disorganized, incoherent, rambling, irritable, and egomaniacal irrelevancies on the other. If the political class were Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy could with justification say to it, “Here’s another fine mess you’ve got us into.”

But of course the political class, while often regarded by citizens as a class apart completely from themselves, are not like aliens of a science fiction film who have invaded Earth from outer space; they are a dialectical reflection of us. If they are shallow and mendacious it is because that is what we want or expect them to be, and probably are ourselves. No arguments difficult to grasp or uncomfortable in their implications, please! What we want are slogans: Yes we can, make America great again. Come over to Marlboro country.

To return briefly to the television program that I saw when I turned on the television all those years ago, it would not have been made if no one wanted to watch it. Whether the supply created the demand or the demand created the supply is a question that probably cannot be answered definitively, but the end result is the same: a general lowering of public taste.

This is curious. The Flynn effect is the supposed increase in the IQ of the population, brought about by social, medical, and nutritional improvements in the past century and a quarter. The average IQ remains at 100, but that is so because it is made so by statistical definition; actually, people are better at doing the tests than they were because they are more intelligent. Certainly, they spend much longer in education than they did.

This makes the downward spiral in the quality of public discourse all the more puzzling. The debate between Nixon and Kennedy was Plato by comparison with what we have now, albeit that Nixon’s five o’clock shadow played some part in the public assessment of it. We are more intelligent and better educated than ever, but somehow public discourse becomes cruder, more stupid, more ill-tempered, less concerned with truth, as our cognitive level improves.

As my examination essay papers used, after putting forward a doubtful or ambiguous proposition, to order its examinees, “Discuss.”

Theodore Dalrymple’s latest book is Ramses: A Memoir, published by New English Review.

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