You know how a doddery old white Irishman, Joe Biden, has just been pushed aside and replaced by a thrusting, younger, more coffee-colored ethnic replacement in terms of Kamala Harris? Well, the exact same thing is going on right across Ireland itself right now, only on a much larger, population-wide scale.

Controversy has arisen over the content of a new Irish Personal, Social and Health Education school textbook called Health and Wellbeing, which features a chapter misleadingly titled “All Different, All Equal,” containing cartoons and descriptions of two competing Irish clans, Family A and Family B. Students are invited to “close your eyes, and imagine what it would be like to live in [each] family.” The intended answers children are supposed to produce are rather different…

Textbook Racism
Family A are, to put it bluntly, a bunch of four all-white, bigoted, bog-brained Murphys who live like shit-caked retards on an isolated rural farm where they seemingly spend their days mating both with one another and the animals. These appalling genetic and moral rejects describe themselves as follows:

We do not like change or difference. All of our family members are Irish [by actual blood]…. We eat Irish food and have potatoes, bacon and cabbage every day, because it is Irish and it is our tradition…. We all play Irish musical instruments and go to the Fleadh [a domestic folk-music festival] every summer…. We love sport but we must only play hurling, handball or Gaelic football. No foreign games are permitted. It is okay for us to watch television programs made in Ireland…[but] the only movies we get to see are Irish ones, none of that Hollywood rubbish for us. We get told off if we mix with people from a different religion from ours as they would be a bad influence on us.

If you crossed out the word “Irish” and substituted in “Pakistani,” they would just sound like typical Muslims (minus the bacon-eating) and win wholehearted automatic approval from the traitorously deracinated modern-day Irish ruling class. But they are not, they are white and presumably Catholic, so must perforce be depicted as brain-dead scum. This is most unlike Family B, who are illustrated as being a fun-loving mixed-race couple, white mother and black dad, with two lovely beige half-caste offspring, one of whom is admirably and excitingly disabled. Rather than molesting livestock or their own close kin on a farm, they are shown having wholesome non-incestuous fun with pizzas, soccer scarves, and smartphones on holiday outside the Colosseum in Rome. These amazing liberal beings are described as follows:

We love change and difference. We find other cultures new and exciting. Our favorite dinners are curry, pizza and Asian food…. We like different types of music from reggae and hip-hop to classical. We have relations in London and Australia, and our family is part Irish, part Romanian and part Dutch…. My eldest brother, Flor, is partially sighted…. He is now a volunteer with the Red Cross in Syria…. Most years we house-swap with a family in a different country. It is a great way to meet people and learn about other cultures and societies. It makes you realize that, when you get to know them, people are more alike than different.

If that’s really so, then why does Ireland’s current remote ruling class, the people who write their textbooks and determine their kids’ curricula, think they themselves are of an entire different, more evolved species from the ordinary, chicken-bumming, Riverdancing Paddy-people in whose name they falsely claim to govern?

Democracy Is a Sham(rock)
Actually, Family B are rather strange. There is only one mother and one father. So how can they be “part Irish, part Romanian and part Dutch”? Presumably the only “part” of them that is actually Irish is their passports. The mother is, I am guessing, a Romanian immigrant. And, when they say the dad is “Dutch,” the authors don’t mean Dutch like Johann Cruyff or Inspector Van Der Valk, but a black immigrant into Holland from Surinam or somewhere, i.e., also Dutch by passport only, much as he is Irish by this same fake means. The implication is obvious: Ireland is now a nation of non-white immigrants (or women who sleep and breed with non-white immigrants), and these same immigrants are henceforth to be considered as being more authentically Irish than the actual Irish, with infinitely more right to live there than the Irish do.

One of the key planks of Communism-type creeds down the ages has been trying to turn parents against their children, and so it is here, with students being asked which family they would prefer to belong to, the intended answer being “The one whose mother and father are genetically nothing like my own.”

Unsurprisingly, the book caused outrage amongst the primitive white Celtic proles, with successful calls made for it to be withdrawn as being “racist against Irish people.” Of course it is, that’s the whole intention. Just look at who the Irish Unfree State has appointed as its new “National Action Plan Against Racism Special Rapporteur” this July: a peat-black “diversity and race-relations” consultant named Dr. Ebun Joseph, a name about as “authentically” Irish as Barack O’Bama. Ebun’s previous most significant contribution toward racial harmony in Eire came in 2019, when she was accidentally served a glass of blackcurrant Ribena cordial in a Galway restaurant instead of red wine by mistake—except she says it wasn’t a mistake, it was somehow deeply racist.

How, exactly? Some innocent employee just picked up the wrong glass, intended for a child menu, in error. If you put a professionally paranoid troublemaker like this in charge of spotting racism, you’re only going to end up with it being spotted absolutely everywhere—apart from, of course, in deliberately antiwhite Irish school textbooks. Here’s Ebun’s actual tweet about the incident:

I don’t want the “sick joker” or racist at @GalwayBayHotel who served me blackcurrant instead of the house red (wine) to win! So please, more Blacks go there. They can’t discourage us from going where we want!

Bring her some Um Bongo next time, see what she makes of that.

Unholy MacGreil
Are the Irish really all that racist? Traditionally, they’ve tended to be thought of more as victims of racism down the centuries, not the reverse. However, in 1977 a left-wing Irish Jesuit sociologist, Father Michael MacGreil, published a book, Prejudice and Tolerance in Ireland, that, with literal Jesuitical casuistry, argued that the fact there was then very little color prejudice on the island acted only as evidence that the place was actually secretly full of it.

A 1971 census revealed that, of 2.8m residents, only around 11,000 were foreign-born, I’d guess mostly British or other white Europeans. So, said MacGreil, the Irish probably were incredibly racist, they just didn’t have any convenient darkies to hand to actually demonstrate the fact upon: “The only reason we haven’t got a racial problem is because we don’t have a racial minority.” You do now: Thanks to globalist open-borders dogma, Guinness is no longer the only Black Stuff causing fights in Dublin.

In August, Ireland’s latest immigration figures were released. The country today has a population of 5.38m, of whom 4.54m are full Irish citizens. In the financial year 2023/24, almost 150,000 people came into the nation legally; the number of illegal arrivals, of whom there are many, was oddly not listed. So that would be 1.5m per decade. By that reckoning, in thirty years’ time, 4.5m will have landed, canceling out the 4.5m current real Irish citizens entirely. In fact, they will presumably outnumber them, as 833,000 actual Irish folk are currently aged 65-plus, many of whom will be dead by 2054. Thus, in three decades’ time, unless something is done, the Irish will be a minority in their own homeland—a despised minority, to judge by the current messaging in their own school textbooks.

Where’s the IRA when you need them? Unfortunately, in the guise of their far-left parent political wing Sinn Fein, who nowadays sit in the Irish parliament, they’re in on the whole thing too.

20:40 Vision
We are constantly told that “The Great Replacement” is a racist myth. To all non-blind people, however, unlike to the Irish-Dutch-Surinamese-Romanian disabled son of the above-mentioned Family B, it’s just a directly observable demographic fact. Ireland’s small population and prior 99.9 percent white ethnic homogeneity merely make the change particularly observable: What’s currently playing out there is only the wider West’s coming dire fate running on extreme fast-forward.

A survey carried out following elections in June showed almost a quarter of Irish voters believed that “The Establishment is replacing white Irish people with non-white immigrants” or “Elected officials want more immigration to bring in obedient voters who will vote for them.” It should be noted that, in Ireland, asylum seekers can vote in local elections—and that certain taxpayer-funded bodies are alleged to have been busing them in to voting booths en masse whilst telling them precisely who to tick a box for using phrases like “leave racists blank on the ballot.”

Media and politicians will decry this as a make-believe “conspiracy theory.” But it isn’t. Actual government documents for something called “Project 2040,” a national planning strategy published in 2019, prove it. Ireland currently has a falling birth rate like the rest of the West, yet Project 2040 assumes that, by the titular year in question, there will be “approximately one million additional people living here in Ireland,” allegedly needed to fund older white people’s pensions. Where will they come from, if not actual Irish wombs? The answer is obviously Africa and the Muslim world.

Civil servants are planning for this twenty-year scheme, even though elections come every five years. The conclusion is clear: An unaccountable, permanent technocratic class really runs the country, voters have no chance to vote for any party that will deviate from this scheme, and “democracy” in Ireland is now a complete and utter sham. It doesn’t even make any sense on its own terms. Supposedly, one reason immigrants are needed is to fill all those empty Irish jobs—but Project 2040 specifically states that civil servants will “need to create 660,000 additional jobs to create full employment.” Would it not be easier simply to import 660,000 fewer people?

Plantation Nation
Predictably, this insane scheme is now causing all sorts of utterly foreseeable social problems. There is a massive housing crisis. There is a rise in migrant-perpetrated crime, of the usual kinds. There are race riots at proposed asylum accommodation centers and elsewhere. The crock of gold at the end of the leprechaun’s rainbow is fast turning into a crock of shit instead.

Consider events in the tiny village of Dundrum, whose population of circa 200 was outnumbered by the arrival of nearly 300 unwanted asylum seekers, immediately rendering the natives a minority in their own hometown. The tedious, unenlightened local spud-munchers protested and tried to stop the invasion, but the all-wise, all-knowing government just sent in a “small army” of Roundhead-style riot police to impose the colonization by force for the Thick Micks’ own ungrateful benefit, a process that has been likened to a “New Plantation.”

The original Plantation, of course, was performed across Ireland by various English armies from the 1500s and 1600s, when settlers from the British mainland were shipped in, given land and housing, and encouraged to forcibly pacify, deracinate, dominate, exploit, and “civilize” the backwards natives, like those poor, cow-tipping inbreds so contemptuously depicted in today’s Irish school social engineering textbooks. To escape, many Celts eventually just emigrated—they were literally replaced by outsiders.

Due to such historic mistreatment at the hands of others, the Irish used to be known as “white niggers.” If the Project 2040 people get their way, pretty soon they’ll just be known as ordinary black ones.

The Week’s Most Fleeting, Skeeting, and Hades-Heating Headlines

IAMS WHAT IAMS
It was a week in which Americans obsessed over the question, “Are Haitians eating cats?”

There’s reason to be skeptical of the rumors. First of all, cats clean themselves regularly, and Haitians have an ingrained aversion to anything hygienic. Haitians are far more likely to eat not the cat but what it leaves in the litter box. After all, cat saliva’s a natural antibacterial, whereas the average Haitian is a natural probacterial.

If it kills germs, Haitians don’t want it.

But still, is there any truth to the rumor that Haitian illegals are running Kentoussaint Fried Kitten joints in Ohio?

Enter far-left meme superstar Rainn Wilson, aka “Bill Hader died and a mad scientist revived him with a mongoloid’s brain and created retarded Frankenstein.” Wilson angrily declared that he’s leaving X for good because of the Haitian/cat rumors. Yes, he said, a black person did cruelly torture and eat a cat last week, but it was “an American black woman,” not a Haitian.

And the nation cheered…then stopped as a deathly silence fell upon the crowd.

Because that really doesn’t make the story “better.”

Sheriff: “Good news, Jim. We identified the serial killer, and it’s not the schizo laborer you brought to town.”

Jim: “Oh, thank God! I’m so relieved.”

Sheriff: “Yeah, it’s your own son. Well, sleep tight, buddy!”

The idea that the only proven cat-eater is someone who can’t be deported is cold cuts—sorry, cold comfort. The “main coon” told police she was masticating the Manx because she heard cats are “warm-blooded” and she was sick of them cold-ass fries.

Meanwhile in N.Y.C., “Hindu Guyanese and Indo-Caribbean immigrants” are killing pigs in religious rituals, which is legal thanks to the unanimous 1993 SCOTUS decision Babalu Aye v. Hialeah (“Babalu Aye” is when you get pink eye from a Cuban).

At the time, Clarence Thomas stated that he has no problem with Santeria cultists killing pigs…as long as he gits da feet.

LASSIE LEAVE HOME
Fortunately, Russian cats are safe. Haitians who illegally enter that country are shot out of cannons at Ukraine (germ warfare…every Haitian’s carrying something).

And those Haitians are missing quite a meal! Crumbs, a 38-pound tabby in Perm, Russia, has set a record as the world’s fattest feline. A stray, Crumbs’ rescuers overfed him, and now veterinarians are trying to slim him down. All while Crumbs does what cats do best—sit with a look of disdain for those around them, contributing nothing but a sense of superiority.

At least he’s not actively trying to murder anyone.

Last month the Tulsa fire department released footage of a fire that left a family homeless.

The cause?

Their dogs.

Footage from inside the house shows one of the dogs nibbling on an electronic device containing a lithium battery (because he’s a bad boy, a very bad boy). The dog unleashes a cascade of sparks. Initially, both dogs “flea,” but once the fire starts burning, they return to the scene of the crime and just stand there, watching in silent fascination, before showing themselves out through the flap in the back door, leaving the family to die.

“Should we bark or something?”

“Nah, it’s not a real emergency like a UPS delivery or a squirrel. Let’s let this one play out.”

People who own flatulent canines that fart themselves awake in the middle of the night should breathe a sigh of relief (though not in the direction of their hound) that that’s the worst their dog does.

Thankfully, the family was alerted by smoke detectors and escaped.

Sometimes Lassie rescues Timmy from the well, and sometimes Lassie pushes Timmy down it.

SPECIAL DELIVERANCE
There’s no road map for dealing with the aftermath of a school shooting. But in Appalachia, there’s a dirt-road map.

And while there may be no one “right” way for the killer’s kin to react, there’s most certainly a wrong one.

Winder, Georgia, home of Apalachee High (scene of the mass shooting by student Colt Gray), is located near the exact spot where the film Deliverance was set. And while it’s easy to laugh at such a school, Apalachee kids have won the gold thirty years straight in the national “blank-faced banjo-playing” competition.

Following the shooting, Gray’s aunt Annie Polhamus (sister of the boy’s meth-smoking mom) took to Facebook to attack the people criticizing her murderous nephew: “They are charging my 14yo nephew as an adult, for murder. Yall ready to see Polhamus blood in full throttle? Nah, I wouldn’t be either.”

Actually, the nation just saw “Polhamus blood in full throttle,” and it was an unpleasant sight.

Funny enough, a cut scene from Deliverance depicts the surviving rafters being confronted by Annie Pol-anus, aunt of the dude who raped Ned Beatty.

Meanwhile, it turns out the FBI had been tipped off that Gray was planning to shoot up his school, but (this is true) when visited by law enforcement, Gray claimed that the online threats were “Russian hacking,” and the agents bought it and left.

So remember, if you’re ever questioned by FBI agents, “Russian hacking” is their “Beetlejuice”: Say it three times and their credulity appears.

Also, Gray’s pappy (now himself charged with murder) bought his boy a gun after the police visit, telling the lad to “only use this to stop Burt Reynolds from killing you as you’re raping Ned Beatty.”

“I think both them’s dead, Paw,” the boy replied. “But Jon Voight and Ronny Cox is still livin’.”

“I ain’t rapin’ nobody named Runny Cocks,” the dad barked, muttering to himself, “That boy ain’t right.”

UN-CONDIT-IONAL LOVE
Some families are haunted by curses. The Condits are haunted by Cuevas.

Yes, the Condits are plagued by beans.

Remember Gary Condit? He was the clean-cut TV-dad-lookin’ California “conservative Democrat” from the 1990s. A family man, a man of faith and morals, Condit wept with the nation when his intern, Chandra Levy, went missing in 2001.

But Condit had a secret; when he needed to “leave it to beaver,” Chandra was his release. When her sexually abused corpse was eventually found in a shallow grave, Condit’s wholesome Brady Bunch reputation died quicker than Robert Reed after that night in a bathhouse.

Then it turned out it was a bean murderer all along—Salvadoran immigrant Ingmar Guandique—who’d already done time for sticking his dique where it didn’t belong.

Condit celebrated the vindication and planned a political comeback…until the sole witness against Guandique, Armando Morales—another bean—admitted to fabricating his testimony and g’won-dique was told g’won, get outta here.

With a history like that, it’s puzzling why Condit’s son Chad, who followed his father into politics, would choose to work as chief of staff for a Hispanic politico.

Because it went about as well as you’d expect.

Apparently, California State Senator Marie Alvarado-Gil—a Dem who recently jumped ship to the GOP—wanted Condit to jump her…nonstop. Condit’s suing Alvarado-Gil for giving him permanent back and hip injuries from the “sexual acrobatics” she demanded. Apparently the “wise Latina” expected constant erections (rise Latina) from Condit’s large penis (supersize Latina), which she’d crush between her legs during sex (thighs Latina); she even insisted he penetrate her with his fingers as she drove (digitize Latina).

The Mexican humping bean claims Condit’s lying. And California Republicans, who finally won a Mexican and damned if they’re gonna let her fall to these charges, are trying to find a Salvadoran who can deposit not a Condit intern but a Condit himself in a shallow grave.

SNAKE MISHANDLERS
Jeffrey Leibowitz, a teacher in Florence, South Carolina, ain’t no jittery Jew when it comes to snakes.

Or blacks.

Florence is 51 percent black and only 2 percent Asian. What kind of Jew lives in a place with schvartzes but no Szechuan?

The kind of Jew who posts videos of himself free-handling deadly snakes.

“Free-handling” is when the handler doesn’t wear protective gear. It’s like riding bareback with the Reaper. And Leibowitz’s favorite snake to handle? The inland taipan—oxyuranus microlepidotus. And if it bites you, it’s kissyuranus goodbyepidotus. The taipan’s so toxic even Hillary Clinton won’t associate with it. And for years herpetologists have begged Leibowitz to stop posting his videos, explaining that his cavalier attitude puts him at risk, along with potential copycats.

But the Shoah constrictor refused to give up his act, posting a video last week in which he said, while swinging a taipan like it’s chicken time on Yom Kippur, “I can control him, there’s no need to be scared.”

And then the snake bit him, turning Leibowitz from influencer to toxinfluencer.

Leibowitz screamed “dangadinndu heysheeeitmanmamma fugyoomuvvafugginsheeeit,” which led one of his assistants to proclaim, “He’s speaking in tongues! He found Christ,” but his other assistant interjected, “Naw, he teaches at an HBCU. He cusses like his students.”

Making the situation even funnier, the nearest place with taipan antivenom was like, “He ain’t gettin’ any!” Kristen Wiley of the Kentucky Reptile Zoo declared, “None for dumbass. This antivenom is very rare; I need it for my staff in case of emergency.”

By the time Leibowitz got antivenom he was a vegetable, ironically no longer of interest to the carnivore that bit him.

He remains on life support.

Florence Reptile Control (motto: “Get Them Snakes Away From Me, Bitch”) euthanized Leibowitz’s collection, including his gaboon viper (not to be confused with the gabagoon viper, which extorts its victims via a protection racket).

On the bright side, doctors say it’s likely Jeff and his snakes will soon be reunited.

From time to time I receive, unsolicited, messages from insurance companies about “how to keep myself safe,” to use an odious modern locution. Mostly they are about the weather, reminding me that ice is slippery, or that the sun can be hot—for, as Shakespeare observed more than 400 years ago, sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines.

In exceptionally hot weather, my insurers tell me, I should stay indoors, or if I venture out, stay in the shade; I should wear light clothes, drink plenty of water, and so forth. This, of course, is all perfectly sensible, but I cannot help wondering how many more people seek the shade when they walk in the sun for having read the message from their insurance company.

What is the real purpose of these messages? I suspect that it is to give the impression to the recipients that the insurance companies that send them care about their welfare and not just about their premiums. It is natural egocentricity for humans to suppose that any message that they receive is directed at them, and not at the 1,350,000 other people who also receive it. The strange thing is that, however much you tell yourself that the message is completely impersonal, you nevertheless think that someone, somewhere, must be thinking of you. It is difficult, sometimes, to align our innermost feelings with what our rational minds know.

These messages do not write themselves (though perhaps with artificial intelligence they soon will). Someone, somewhere, must have written or at least authorized them, presumably under the impression that while he was doing so, he was working. Particularly in the public sector, activity is often mistaken for work, if by work we mean labor that results in something worthwhile. I do not have the figures in hand, but I suspect that at least half of human activity commonly known as work is not really work in this more refined sense. It is more like occupational therapy for those who would not otherwise know what to do with themselves; and such a class of person would be very dangerous.

Recently, however, I received a message from an insurance company that was more interesting than that to wrap up warm when it was cold. It informed me how to recognize a car accident in which I was involved that had been arranged by insurance scammers. Such accidents are apparently a growing industry (all organized activity is now called an industry, just as all activity performed for pay is work).

Such scammers take advantage of the general principle that the driver who drives into the rear of another vehicle is invariably at fault and there is no defense for having done so. The scammers have various ruses for producing such accidents. After the accident, there are various indications that the driver of the vehicle driven into is a scammer. He is, for example, abnormally calm, and neither shaken nor angry, as most victims of such accidents, when they are genuine, usually are (I once recognized a murderer by his abnormal calm after a death that occurred in his presence). He is more than usually ready with all his details, as if he had anticipated the supposed accident. He has generally chosen his victim, who will belong to a category most likely to have an accident, the young or the old. In the case of the latter, he might be very understanding and accommodating: He may offer to forget the whole affair in return for a cash payment, and may even kindly offer to take the unfortunate supposedly miscreant driver to the nearest cash machine to withdraw the money.

The insurance company’s message suggested clues to fraudulent road “accidents,” including exaggerated claims by passengers to immediate whiplash injury (an injury that does not persist in countries in which it is not legally recognized as an actionable injury and no compensation is possible for it, the possibility of compensation being the cause of much unnecessary suffering).

But it also suggested a means to avoid such pseudo-accidents, prevention being better than cure. The latter in this case would require the insurance company to fight the case in court, which it would be most unwilling to do, insurance companies being more interested in settlement that truth.

The best method of prevention, said the message, was to install a dashcam, a camera on the dashboard of your car to record all your journeys in your car. According to the insurance company, if the scammers see such a dashcam in your car, they will desist from practicing their wiles on you and rather choose another driver to victimize.

I do not know the empirical evidence that this is so, but it does not sound implausible. Nevertheless, I found the message slightly disturbing: yet another part of our lives that must be recorded, in this case to avoid an eventuality that must, statistically, remain rare. Soon, it seems, the totality of our lives will be recorded.

I first became aware of the increasing tendency to such recording when I appeared as a witness in murder trials. This was thirty years ago, when I was astonished to learn how much of our lives is now recorded on CCTV cameras. The movements of the accused in the street or in the entrances to buildings were all filmed (the quality in those days was often so poor that it required experts to decipher what was recorded, but it has since greatly improved). I discovered what I had not previously suspected, that one can hardly move in public without being watched.

When Pope John XXXIII was told that he should not make himself so visible when he walked in the gardens of the Vatican, he asked, “Why, is it that I misbehave?” But it is not because one wants to misbehave that being under constant observation makes one uneasy and makes misbehavior difficult. It is rather that such constant surveillance tends to undermine the distinction between what is properly public and properly private, to the detriment of the latter and the expansion of the former. Where everything is recorded (and we are increasingly complicit in this), we become performers rather than characters, and the boundary between the real and the bogus is extinguished.

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

In 1982 the federal budget deficit rose above $100 billion for the first time (those were the good old days!), and then-President Ronald Reagan agreed to an infamous budget deal with then-House Speaker Tip O’Neill. Democrats would agree to $3 of spending cuts for every $1 of tax increases. Reagan foolishly agreed to the deal. The taxes went up. The spending cuts never materialized.

Reagan used to fume for the rest of his presidency, “I’m still waiting for those $3 of spending cuts.”

Back then Democrats at least pretended they would cut spending. Democratic presidential candidate Michael Dukakis pledged in 1988 that he would “only raise taxes as a last resort.”

My, how times have changed. Now we have red ink multiple times higher than back then, with the Biden-Kamala baseline forecast calling for $2 trillion in deficits from now until kingdom come. The Democrats are entirely untroubled by the forecast and act as though the federal credit card has no limit.

Well, if Vice President Kamala Harris wins the election, we will put that risky proposition to the test.

Because in the wake of the largest amounts of red ink in American history, Harris has proposed zero reductions in federal spending. That’s right: not a single penny.

I’ve thoroughly searched through every Harris campaign document and declaration on the economy and the budget but haven’t discovered even one program, out of the thousands of line-item agencies in the budget, that she would shutter or terminate.

With Harris, it’s big government everlasting.

The plan is $4.6 trillion in new taxes, as reported by The New York Times, to go with zero spending cuts. That means the ratio of taxes to spending cuts is infinity to one.

Republicans are hardly blameless in the ocean of red ink. But at least former President Donald Trump has proposed a presidential commission to identify ways to cut hundreds of billions of dollars of waste, fraud, theft, duplication and inefficiency in federal programs. This commission, to be headed by Elon Musk, is a brilliant idea.

Democrats have greeted the idea with contempt. Their tolerance of government waste and fraud reminds me of the famous Jack Nicholson line in the movie “A Few Good Men”: “You don’t WANT to know the truth.” Democrats don’t want to expose the government corruption and inefficiency.

Harris’ only ideas for cutting the budget are gimmicks like Medicare price controls or revoking patents to lower costs. These are likely to hurt the economy more than help.

Now we are hearing from Goldman Sachs and other Wall Street analysts that Harris will be better for reducing debt than Trump. They seem to agree that a $4.6 trillion tax increase on business and investors is just what the doctor ordered.

Have they told their clients that?

Give Harris credit. She isn’t disguising her master plan: the biggest tax and spend binge in American history. I just hope voters are paying attention.

Kate Middleton’s latest video presentation, in which she runs through meadows while telling us how wonderful her cancer journey has been, is just about the most disturbing thing I have ever seen on the screen.

I’ve watched Don’t Look Now with Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland, which was just about the scariest thing I’d seen until now, in terms of the unsettling camera work and the fact you don’t ever quite see what it is so deeply, deeply wrong about it until the final frame. But this is somehow more disturbing.

Kate’s cancer journey movie is a lot like Don’t Look Now, with its soft focus wandering through beautiful scenery, interspersed with disorientating camera work, setting you on edge as the thing builds and builds to its worrying climax.

Instead of scenes of Venice and the love affair between Christie and Sutherland, we get the English countryside, and the love of Kate and William, with Kate sometimes with him rapturously, and sometimes meandering in these forests and meadows alone. It’s not the Venice lagoon—but the effect is the same.

I cannot see why the Princess of Wales or the powers at the palace could possibly have thought this video would be a reassuring update, unless it’s a straightforward piece of brainwashing designed to make the masses very happy to have cancer, and bear it beautifully, just like her.

“Cancer journey.” If I hear that phrase one more time, I’ll scream. So I’ll scream a lot. Everyone says it now. Cancer is no longer an illness, it’s a journey: an exciting, wonderful opportunity, or so the purveyors of the cancer-journey idea would have us believe.

As Kate tells us about her cancer journey, she is in a beautiful white dress, floaty, like an angel. She and her children laugh and gambol in these meadows—but they laugh distantly, with an eerie echo.

They appear sometimes fractured into multiple screens. It’s possible someone got too arty with the production after getting carried away, but it appears to me as though the way it is filmed is a message.

The quality is astounding—it’s Hollywood standard. I’m not saying Kate, William, the kids, Carole and Michael Middleton, who all appear, are acting. But they appear not to act so well it is fantastically slick—as good as any big-budget movie.

As we watch the family in highly stylized “behind the scenes” footage, Kate does the voice-over about her cancer journey, on and on, ever more poetically, piling metaphor upon metaphor, until you just want to shout out, “Okay, okay! I get it! Cancer is fucking fantastic! I don’t have it, but I want it now! Is that what you want me to say?” And then we get the big reveal…

If you haven’t seen the film, do watch it. If you have viewed the film already, take a closer look.

It begins with Kate, William, and the children walking through the woods. Piano music is playing. Mournful piano music. Harmonic minor chords.

In a soft, sad voice she says: “As the summer comes to an end…”

You see, we’re not only in the woods, but in summer’s end mode. Not difficult that. “…I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have finally completed my chemotherapy treatment.” Note she doesn’t say it’s worked, just completed. “The last nine months have been incredibly tough for us as a family. Life as you know it can change in an instant…”

But wait, she’s about to lay two more metaphors on us, and mix ’em, to boot.

“…and we’ve had to find a way to navigate the stormy waters and road unknown…”

That’s a lot of navigating. Almost too much, you might say. In statement analysis, when people overstate, it’s a tell, or red flag. They’re trying too hard to convince you.

“The cancer journey is complex, scary, and unpredictable for everyone…” She and William are sitting together in the woods, her head on his shoulder. Then they’re with the kids, playing in the woods. And then the camera cuts to her standing alone in a dense area, gazing up into these massive trees, as big as redwoods are, as she tells us she’s come face-to-face with her own vulnerabilities…

Now we cut to a fuzzy, juddery take of her pushing the kids on swings, split into three shots, like it’s old footage from the attic. But wait, this is still that happy day in the woods. So why are we imagining this being their old memories, and all they’ve got left?

The tall trees are filmed gorgeously, from the bottom looking up as the light shafts from the heavens break through.

Kate now begins what amounts to a sermon, in her soft but crystal-clear voice, about how she and William have had to “reflect and be grateful for the simple yet important things in life which so many of us often take for granted—simply loving and being loved.”

Now, listen here, Your Royal Highness. I take nothing important for granted—never have, never will—so you and William must be thinking of yourselves.

Perhaps the royal family take important things for granted. But anyway…

“Doing what I can to stay cancer-free is now my focus.”

Note she’s not saying she’s cancer-free, she’s saying she is trying to stay cancer-free.

“Although I have finished chemotherapy…”

Never did anyone say that word more beautifully. She almost makes it sound like one of the most beautiful words in the English language…

“…my path to healing and full recovery is long, and I must continue to take each day as it comes….” Then she talks about “this new phrase of recovery.”

I think that’s pretty clear. Anyone who doesn’t see through all that is a moron.

Now the music changes. It becomes briefly quite scary, then it goes Irish for some reason. We are now in an Irish lament. Fiddles eek out their mournful dirge, as she says:

“To all those who are continuing their own cancer journey, I remain with you…”

Now she’s wandering a meadow of wheat and wildflowers. The violin music builds, and she makes her final statement, very slowly:

“Out of darkness can come light…so let that light shine bright!” And she releases a white butterfly from her hands—I actually shuddered—and it flies away, and the camera cuts to an upward shot of the trees, pointing into the sky.

Now the kids are running through the fields alone. Then the family is together, briefly. Then the thing cuts to a Kodak-style line of photos, as if in their memory box again.

The violins build and soar higher and higher, and the photo album shots on the screen fade to white. Pure, pure white. Intense, bright white. Nothing but white. Is this what heaven looks like?

Dear God, can anyone be so stupid as to not work that little lot out? This is nothing less than the rebranding of serious illness ending potentially in an untimely death as something positive.

Cancer is now one in two, if you believe the statistics. Neoplasms, like the one in my mother’s neck, have gone off the charts since 2021. Loads of horrible illnesses are off the charts suddenly, including in young and middle-aged and previously healthy people. Sepsis is a quarter of a million a year. Shingles is one in three. Heart attacks, well, we all know how many are having those. We don’t need the official statistics. Whether the figures are right or wrong, or cooked to high heaven with new presentation formulas, we see those in our families and social circles dropping from their hearts going bang, like my father from a blood clot, or like other friends of mine needing a new valve.

Death is all around us, and so the feeling grows, to paraphrase a song used in another schmaltzy movie.

The grim reaper is now such a frequent visitor that we could be forgiven for starting to think death has never been more normal. But it’s a big stretch to go from not questioning excess death figures to saying that actually getting really ill from cancer is exciting, and an opportunity, and I’m getting a warm, fuzzy feeling about it.

Look, I’m a believer. I believe nothing happens in God’s world by mistake. If you have a health setback, you bear it with grace if you can, and you try to make some good come out of it. I admire those who live with cancer, and those who overcome cancer, and those we’ve all lost who have died from it.

But I have to say, I don’t want to get ill, and I don’t want to welcome illness if I get it. What I really want to do is look the hell into why so many young, previously fit, and healthy women like Kate got cancer in the first place these past few years, along with so many others of all ages getting all these heart attacks and strokes.

We’ve had a headful of brainwashing for several years now, with all the celebrity “brave fights,” but this Kate video is going too far.

Kate has so much clout with the masses that it matters when she runs through meadows in a floaty dress with long, flowing lustrous hair to make a point about cancer.

She should not do it, any more than she should have told people to get the Covid vaccine in the recordings her and William made about that, and being photographed having it.

The royals should stay out of telling us what to do medically, and what to think and feel about our illnesses, as much as they should stay out of giving their opinion on Gaza.

I can understand people saying, “What a lovely film, Kate must be better.” But I would say if she just wanted to tell us she’s doing well, getting back to work, and on the road to recovery, which we hope she is, she’d just do an interview saying that, and we’d say great and wish her well.

This Hollywood style mini-movie with full-on soundtrack protests too much. With its constant pace-changing and big-reveal white butterfly moment at the end, as scary to me as the little girl in the red cloak turning round at the end of Don’t Look Now, this is about saying to all the one in twos, take your cancer on the chin and don’t ask questions how you got it, because half the population is on a cancer journey, even our beautiful princess.

This is about showing how cancer will and must take you on a voyage of inner discovery, and while of course the destination is often death, who knows, maybe death’s a journey too, even though we keep insisting we’re all atheists now.

It’s challenging, the cancer journey, but all journeys are. There will be moments where you think, “Hang on, maybe it’s that Covid vaccine, and this is a huge balls-up and I’m going die needlessly!”

But that’s to be expected. It’s normal to have irrational fears and to doubt how wonderful cancer is. But take heart. The rewards are great. You will get a new perspective on what’s important: loving and being loved, or something or other…

So if you have been diagnosed, get started on your cancer journey today (without complaining about how or why you might have gotten it). And be like our beautiful Kate…

Debate winner: CNN’s Candy Crowley. In 2012, she — the moderator — interjected herself into a Romney-Obama debate to fact-check Mitt Romney with a lie. But unlike ABC’s crack moderators on Tuesday night, at least she only did it once.

I’m exhausted from fact-checking ABC’s fact-checkers, so I’m just going to tell you about a brilliant experiment that pretty clearly established who won the Trump-Clinton debates in 2016.

The media say Trump whiffed Tuesday night, but that’s what we were told in 2016, too. It also could be that Kamala Harris came across as a smirker — MSNBC’s signature move — just like Hillary Clinton did. You’ve probably forgotten this — if you ever knew it — but notwithstanding Clinton’s allegedly devastating debate performances with Trump, she bombed. There’s scientific proof.

Feminists were ecstatic when Trump called Clinton “a nasty woman” at one of the debates, rushing out with “nasty woman” T-shirts, pins, backpacks and other merchandise. With the feminists’ usual finger on the pulse of the nation, it never occurred to them that maybe she was nasty.

Trump was responding to Clinton’s snotty aside — while describing her Social Security plans, of all things:

Clinton: “My Social Security payroll contribution will go up, as will Donald’s — assuming he can’t figure out how to get out of it — but what we want to do is –”

Trump: “Such a nasty woman.”

In order to test the feminist theory that Clinton, as a woman, was judged much more harshly than Trump, a couple of professors at New York University and INSEAD designed the perfect experiment. Two months after the election, they re-created the 2016 debates, but with a man playing Clinton and a woman playing Trump.

Professional actors were hired to reenact segments from each of the three debates, using the candidates’ exact words, gestures, intonation and stances. During rehearsals, they even had a screen with the actual debate running behind them to ensure a precise replica of the candidates’ performances, with only the genders inverted. (For you confused Gen Z’ers, back then there were only two genders.)

The professors and their (sold-out) audiences were stunned by the result. As NYU professor Joe Salvatore put it, instead of confirming their “liberal assumption” that “no one would have accepted Trump’s behavior from a woman, and that the male Clinton would seem like the much stronger candidate,” audience members found themselves hating the male Clinton and being impressed by the female Trump.

This is how Salvatore described the reactions:

“We heard a lot of ‘now I understand how this happened’ — meaning how Trump won the election. People got upset. There was a guy two rows in front of me who was literally holding his head in his hands, and the person with him was rubbing his back. The simplicity of Trump’s message became easier for people to hear when it was coming from a woman — that was a theme. One person said, ‘I’m just so struck by how precise Trump’s technique is.’ Another — a musical theater composer, actually — said that Trump created ‘hummable lyrics,’ while Clinton talked a lot, and everything she said was true and factual, but there was no ‘hook’ to it.” (Sadly, the Trump bump among the musical theater crowd was short-lived.)

One audience member said she found the [male] Clinton “really punchable.”

I suspect the Trump-Harris debate will elicit similar reactions. Trump is Trump, a known quantity. His scattershot delivery isn’t going to shock anyone. If you already detest the man, your view was confirmed. But if you don’t hate him, Trump put a lot of points on the board, while Harris said nothing, and said it smugly.

The debate sure didn’t give undecided voters what they wanted from Harris. As has been widely reported, they are waiting breathlessly for some hint of what she believes and what she would do as president. After the ABC debate, they’re still waiting. About all they learned is that Harris comes from a middle-class family. (That regular guy routine worked great for John Kasich!)

But they know that life was better under Trump. And they know that Harris, like Clinton, is a nasty woman.

Magic, the Devil, and of course our Lord Jesus were big some 400 years ago. The woods were believed to be full of spirits, many of them evil; the churches were packed with the faithful; and the Devil was perceived to be everywhere, busy trying to lure the good into sin and damnation. Christ and his angels were our sole protectors against Satan and his infernal kingdom.

The Devil did not play fair, needless to say. He did not always appear with horns and fire-spitting breath, but transformed himself into anything and anybody in order to lure his pray down under. Tales of unmitigated horrors that befell the simpleminded were a dime a dozen, told and retold around fires, in schoolrooms, even from pulpits. I suppose that is how the Faust legend began. I always thought it was Christopher Marlowe, a very talented drunk homosexual barroom brawler, who invented Doctor Faustus at the end of the 16th century. Actually, the Faustian myth began in earlier times, in Germany, where tales of necromancy and sorcery were popular heretical choices. In Marlowe’s play, Faustus has a doctorate from a university but is bored with the academic standards of the time, so he’s approached by the Devil and is offered 24 years of whatever he desires. The good doc goes bananas, becomes invisible, gets to taste the seven deadly sins, plays tricks on the Pope, and pays a visit to Helen of Troy. Then the inevitable happens: Twenty-four years are up and he has mostly wasted his time. The Devil comes to collect and carts Faustus off to hell forever.

I don’t know when the Devil’s emissary Mephistopheles came around, but he makes an appearance in Goethe’s verse play Faust in the late 18th century. The great German copped out in his second part of Faust, when he has him ascend to heaven rather than down under. I suppose it was Christian forgiveness and all that. The reason I’m going on about Faust and Faustian bargains is a recent discussion I had with my very close friend Michael Mailer about Gaza. Michael is a film producer and director and the son of Norman Mailer. I was telling Michael about a New Year’s Eve party I once gave where I introduced his father to a close friend of my wife, an Israeli beauty. “Why don’t you ever come to Israel, Mr. Mailer?” she wailed. “Because they don’t all look like you, sweetheart,” answered Norman and walked away.

Norman Mailer was a radical and Jewish, and from the discussions I had with him throughout the years he and I were friends, he acknowledged that Israel was committing a great crime in suppressing the Palestinians. The great crime was against itself, the Jewish people, and of course the Palestinians. Norman died in 2007, and things have gotten much worse since then where Israel and Palestine are concerned. In my discussion with Michael Mailer, who is half Jewish and a liberal in his politics, I mentioned that the United States must have signed a Faustian pact, otherwise the one-way traffic of bombs, aircraft, arms, and billions simply does not make sense. “Norman would probably be intrigued more by who the modern Mephistopheles is than anything else,” said Michael.

Has Uncle Sam signed a Faustian bargain, and will he be dragged to hell for it one day? Millions in Iran, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan believe it to be so, despite the fact most of them have never heard of the good doctor. If America is hated today, it is for her unstinted support of Israel, no ifs or buts about it. The good uncle was the tiny newborn nation’s greatest supporter. The Jewish people had suffered like no other, and they deserved a home of their own. The trouble is there were other people already living there, and some of them had to be moved. Those who had to move are still in refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon. Some have been there since 1948. Israel annexed the West Bank and the Golan Heights in 1967. While Israel grew in territory, the Palestinian population grew and grew under occupation. The whole area is now about to explode.

Hard-line factions are now replacing Fatah, the main Palestinian group that recognizes Israel. The Faustian bargain that I’m referring to is that of Uncle Sam and Israel. Why doesn’t Uncle Sam order Israel to withdraw from the occupied territories and agree to a two-state solution? America would guarantee Israel’s borders and safety, and continue to fund and arm the Israelis, while the West Bank illegal settlements would revert to their rightful owners. Peace and happiness for everyone would follow.

Well, perhaps in the movies, but in real life Mephistopheles has been busy down there, and he has many faces. The religious nuts who are known as the settlers are the problem. Yes, they are part of the only true democracy in the Middle East, where the rights of women and of minorities are respected, but they hold Israel at gunpoint. They don’t serve in the army, don’t pay taxes, and go around the West Bank land-grabbing and shooting Palestinians at will. Actually, the true Faustian bargain turns out to be that of Israeli governments and the religious settlers. Netanyahu is the Mephistopheles. This will have a Marlowe ending, not a Goethe one.

We may never get to see the nine-hour documentary about Prince that Netflix has paid tens of millions for because the late musician’s estate has legally stymied its release. So, it’s fortunate that The New York Times Magazine has run an enormous article, “The Prince We Never Knew” by Sasha Weiss, recounting the documentary in endless detail, even though Prince appears endlessly knowable.

The Prince documentary was directed by Ezra Edelman, a hereditary princeling of biracial America (his black mother is Clinton pal Marian Wright Edelman), who won a Best Documentary Oscar for O.J.: Made in America about how the O.J. Simpson ruckus was due to white violence toward black bodies, a thesis that sounded intelligent back during the Great Awokening.

For his follow-up, Netflix gave Edelman so much money he could work for five years on finding the real Prince.

Contrary to the article’s title, Edelman’s real Prince turns out to be pretty much who I always assumed he was, having enthusiastically followed his career from his 1980 Dirty Mind album onward. (I saw Prince live in 1983.)

Prince’s estate has vetoed allowing the documentary to stream, demanding certain revelations be cut, which Edelman refuses to do.

The worst scandal Weiss reports from the film is that Prince beat up one of his countless girlfriends (although being punched by the 5’2″ flyweight Prince sounds less painful than Nicole Brown Simpson being regularly whomped by the cruiserweight O.J.).

Otherwise, Prince comes across as fairly respectable for a rock star.

Like so many rock stars, he was not very masculine but also highly heterosexual. Despite all his tedious gender-bending costumery, he doesn’t appear to have even dabbled in gayness.

Mostly, he just really liked girls, constantly recruiting as his protégées lovely teenagers who could sing, for whom he’d compose their one hit song before growing bored with them until his next Pygmalion project came along. But, Prince showed commendable restraint: “He was careful not to sleep with them until they turned 18.”

Mostly, though, it turns out, the movie’s big revelation, to virtually nobody’s surprise, is that Prince was not a nice or a happy person.

This creature of pure sex and mischief and silky ambiguity, I now saw, was also dark, vindictive, and sad. This artist who liberated so many could be pathologically controlled and controlling…. The story of Prince that was emerging was a story of a person bent on fame and control.

Okay, but who didn’t see that forty years ago? It’s not like Prince was covering it up.

As Edelman completed his interviews—more than 70 of them—he realized there wasn’t some big secret that people were hiding. Instead, what he found were the defining traumas of Prince’s childhood and his constant recapitulating of them.

After all, inheritance of family conflict is the theme of Prince’s most famous song:

Maybe I’m just too demanding
Maybe I’m just like my father, too bold
Maybe you’re just like my mother
She’s never satisfied (she’s never satisfied)
Why do we scream at each other?
This is what it sounds like
When doves cry

That we are our ancestors’ genetic puppets is a pretty awesome topic for a pop hit. Still…

Through a sort of brute force genius, Prince’s colossal musical talent made him a famous figure in the 1980s. He had the gifts of a Brian Wilson, but he conjured them up without drugs, so his creative peak was longer. (When he eventually developed a drug problem, it wasn’t from recreational drugs, but due to the pain pills that killed him at age 57. Like his contemporary Tom Petty, Prince’s show-must-go-on work ethic of jumping off amps in high heels led to this blue-collar addiction.)

But outside of his annus mirabilis of 1984, when his Purple Rain album and movie made a fortune, he wasn’t particularly beloved, and was especially not immune to second-guessing about what he should be doing with all those gifts.

Consider one often-discussed conundrum that runs through Purple Rain and his real-life career: Should he employ a full-time band or not? Of course, he needed one to back him when he toured, but did he really need them in the studio? Or should he just play all the instruments himself?

On the one hand, having friendly colleagues around made him seem more human. I liked Prince better when he was bantering with his white lesbian sidekicks, Wendy & Lisa, who weren’t susceptible to his diminutive masculinity.

On the other hand, Prince was musically superhuman, so mortal musicians tended to get on his nerves because they could never live up to his standards.

Having gotten a lot of enjoyment out of Prince’s music, I always wished him well and hoped he’d find some lasting happiness, although that never seemed likely.

Here are a few things that the article fails to mention. Whether the documentary does as well remains to be seen, if we are ever allowed to see it.

First, it’s an interesting question whether Prince would have been blustered into transitioning if he were a generation younger. He was one of the first extremely online celebrities in the late 1990s, so he was vulnerable.

Second, Prince was never cool.

Most famous rock stars became famous in part because they had the cultural winds at their backs. For example, while the Beatles definitely accelerated the trend for longer hair on boys (a huge issue in the 1960s for reasons that are hard to explain today), it would have happened anyway, whether six or twelve or twenty-four months later.

In contrast, Prince tended to be behind or just out of step with his times. His gender-bendery would have been cool in the 1970s, but by the 1980s it was old hat: Yeah, okay, you know, dressing like that’s what rock stars do.

Other Prince innovations, such as changing his name to a nonverbal hieroglyph combining the male and female symbols and a horn—“It is an unpronounceable symbol whose meaning has not been identified. It’s all about thinking in new ways, tuning in 2 a new free-quency”—tended to be lame. Granted, he was about 20 years ahead of the world in using emojis, but when I look up “Prince emoji” today, it’s a white boy with a crown.

And let’s not talk about purple paisley.

Third, all that nonsense aside, Prince was a great American.

It wasn’t just his unworldly musical talent, but also his considered judgment on what was best for American popular music, which was healthy and true.

Prince grew up in Minneapolis, which back then had so few black people that its one funk radio station only had a license for daylight hours. So, at night the adolescent Prince listened to the coolest white station.

Like Elvis Presley and Sly Stone, who grew up listening to both black and white radio, Prince learned to appreciate both races’ music.

Prince’s 2007 Super Bowl show in the pouring purple rain struck me as a stirring advocacy of the idea that American pop music is best when blacks and whites culturally appropriate from each other.

Princes’ three covers during his 12-minute Super Bowl set included the ultrawhite Foo Fighters’ corporate rocker “Best of You” and two songs by white songwriters that had been famously covered by black performers: “All Along the Watchtower” (Dylan/Hendrix) and “Proud Mary” (Creedence-Fogerty/Ike and Tina Turner).

Prince’s peak performance, at the 2004 Rock Hall of Fame Awards salute to George Harrison, when he upstaged the late Beatle’s aged friends Steve Winwood, Jeff Lynne, and Tom Petty with his jaw-dropping solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” is depicted as a triumph over white racism:

But there’s also pain—in his wincing face, his apartness: a small, soigné Black man onstage with these rumpled white rockers…. Suddenly, this triumphant performance is given this other dimension of insecurity and insistence in the face of all doubters—the white rock establishment, his uncomprehending parents, the demons in his head.

No doubt. But there’s also the chance that Prince, who never seemed much to like the dominant rap music of his adulthood, was also trying to educate black youth that musical instruments such as the electric guitar could be a worthy instrument for black genius.

That seems forgotten now.

I know Tucker Carlson reads me and I know he’s aware of my Holocaust work. Last week Tuck interviewed someone I knew nothing about, a rabbit-looking dweeb named Darryl Cooper. Apparently he’s some blogger who, in between digging burrows, opines on “dangerous” topics.

“There’s the deadly blogger!”

“What, behind the rabbit?”

“It is the rabbit.”

While on Tuck’s podcast, the crepuscular pundit spewed Holocaust revisionist pseudo-history (that Elon Musk retweeted, only to delete a few days later with an “oopsie!”).

Here’s the Cooper quote that went viral:

You know, Germany, look, they put themselves into a position and Adolf Hitler’s chiefly responsible for this, but his whole regime is responsible for it, that when they went into the east in 1941, they launched a war where they were completely unprepared to deal with the millions and millions of prisoners of war, of local political prisoners, and so forth that they were going to have to handle. They went in with no plan for that and they just threw these people into camps. And millions of people ended up dead there. You know, you have, you have like letters as early as July, August 1941 from commandants of these makeshift camps that they’re setting up for these millions of people who were surrendering or people they’re rounding up and they’re—so it’s two months after, a month or two after Barbarossa was launched, and they’re writing back to the high command in Berlin saying, “We can’t feed these people, we don’t have the food to feed these people.” And one of them actually says, “Rather than wait for them all to slowly starve this winter, wouldn’t it be more humane to just finish them off quickly now?”

And here’s a passage from my banned 2014 book…a passage reproduced in full three weeks ago (Aug. 16) on my Substack:

What fascinated me was how Hitler and Himmler progressed from their 1940 pledge to not kill Jews, to the death camps that were created in Poland in 1942. What changed? The first thing that changed was that the plan to permanently expel the Jews into the “Asian” part of Russia was thwarted when the German front stalled that winter. But that was a practical setback. More important, I believe, was a theoretical concept expressed by Sturmbannführer Höppner several months earlier. In a memo to Adolf Eichmann, Höppner floated this idea:

“A danger persists this winter that not all of the Jews (of the Warthegau district in Poland) can be fed. It should be seriously considered if the most humane solution is not to finish off those Jews incapable of work by some quick working means. In any case, this would be more pleasant than letting them starve to death.”

“Höppner’s July 1941 suggestion had nothing to do with being ‘humane’ to Jews that winter; the ‘humane’ angle was for everyone except the Jews.”

Never underestimate the power of an idea. Here’s where I believe we find the reason for the change in attitude from “we can’t kill them—that would be Bolshevist” to “it’s okay to kill them.” Höppner provided a perfect rationalization. When the “Bolshevists” liquidated entire peoples, they did so in the cruelest possible way—sending them to Siberia to slowly freeze and starve to death. Höppner’s take was, if you don’t want to be Bolshevist, don’t let those poor wretches freeze and starve. Rather, do the “humane” thing—euthanize them quickly and “pleasantly.”

See what he did there? He took Hitler and Himmler’s desire to do the opposite of what the Bolshevists do, and he turned it around, allowing them to now define “not being Bolshevist” in a way that would be most practical for his needs.

A new rationalization was born. Now, the “anti-Bolshevist” thing to do was “humane” euthanasia. And that pretty much sealed the fate of the Polish Jews.

I’m an easy guy to steal from. Banned from having a book on Amazon, banned from Twitter, banned from YouTube, and unacknowledged by most who read me. So I’m a sitting duck. But I can’t sit by while a dimwit mangles what he cribbed.

As I make clear in my book, the “humane” angle—which I purposely put in scare quotes every time—was a cynical ploy by Höppner to make his life easier. Similarly, Höppner’s suggestion didn’t make Hitler and Himmler decide to kill Jews; the Jew-killing had already started. Rather, Höppner’s suggestion helped solve two problems. First, it gave H&H a new clear-conscience vigor for the deadly work, by addressing their shared desire to eliminate Jews in a manner that was not Bolshevist. Wartime leaders often fall for their own ex post facto justifications (“war expert” Tucker should know that).

H&H were already killing Jews in summer 1941, but they welcomed an angle that made them feel “less Soviet” about it. Also, Wehrmacht leaders were bitching that their soldiers found the brutality of the SS commandos “Bolshevist” (see the report of Generalstabsoffizier Helmuth Groscurth and his chaplains). So H&H weren’t looking for a reason to kill—they were killing already. They were looking for a rationale that would make them feel less “Bolshevist” while also mollifying the Wehrmacht.

Second, Himmler’s Einsatzkommandos were dealing with serious mental breakdowns on the part of the soldiers who shot Jewish women and children (besonders starke seelische Belastung, “particularly severe mental stress” in the words of Einsatzgruppe C Commander Otto Rasch). After being lectured by Higher SS and Police Leader Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski over his men’s seelische Belastung, Himmler ordered Einsatzgruppe B’s Arthur Nebe to find a murder method “less stressful” than shooting.

The point? Himmler was searching for a “humane” method to kill Jews who were already being murdered right then and there, that summer. They were not going to be around in winter. Höppner’s July 1941 suggestion had nothing to do with being “humane” to Jews that winter; the “humane” angle was for everyone except the Jews. It was for H&H to alleviate their concerns about appearing “Bolshevist” while committing murders they’d be committing anyway, it was a quick fix for Wehrmacht complaints about “Bolshevist” killing methods, it was an excuse for Höppner to reduce his “useless eaters,” and it was a way to quell the seelische Belastung of the SS men.

What it wasn’t was genuine concern about being “humane.” It was cover. Military and ethical cover. A true historian would be wise to that, not a gullible dupe falling for a murderous regime’s cover story.

In an October 1943 speech to the Reichsleiter and Gauleiter at Posen, Himmler very frankly stated the reason for the Jewish umbringen (“killing”), and it was not to “be humane.” It was to ensure that “this people disappear from the earth” (dieses Volk von der Erde verschwinden). But Himmler assured the assembled that the murders were carried out in a manner to avoid “our men and their leaders” suffering “damage to mind and soul” (Schaden an Geist und Seele).

Himmler would repeat that talking point three times at Sonthofen, assuring SS generals that precautions were taken so that the executioners didn’t “become raw/brutish and no longer respect human life” (roh werden und menschliches Leben nicht mehr zu achten).

The “humane” ploy was for the benefit of the murderers, not the murdered. But Cooper spoke the word humane with the greatest of sincerity…ironically reviving the ploy 83 years later. To this imbecile, yes, it really was about the Nazis accidentally finding themselves in a troublesome position and trying to be kind to the Jews.

You have to be incredibly simple to believe that. You also have to be ignorant of Holocaust documents.

Not to put too fine a point on Cooper’s pinhead, but I’ll cite Max Taubner, an Untersturmfuhrer tried by the SS in 1943 for killing Jews in too bestial a fashion. In expelling Taubner from the SS and sentencing him to ten years imprisonment, the court said “The accused shall not be punished because of the actions against the Jews as such. The Jews have to be annihilated (vernichtet) and none of the Jews that were killed is any great loss” (es ist um keinen der getöteten Juden schade, also translated as “it’s not a pity for any of the Jews who were killed”). But Taubner “let himself be drawn into committing cruel actions that are unworthy of a German man and an SS officer,” actions that “jeopardized the discipline of his men.” The court concluded “It is not the German way to apply Bolshevik methods during the necessary extermination of the worst enemy of our people.”

Again, the “humane” angle was for Nazi consciences, not Jewish comfort.

And as Tucker sat there “haw-haw-hawing” as Elon who banned me cheered and his coddled deniers sent Cooper’s nonsense viral and nobody can get a copy of my book anywhere and no publishing company will touch it because an Amazon ban is the mark of death, I had to sit there and take the fact that my work was being used to spread pseudo-history to millions of people while (just last week) Macmillan published a book calling me a “prominent hardcore Holocaust denier” knowing full well that I’m completely disenfranchised and can’t fight back and honestly, at this point I’ve lost the ability to take this shit with grace.

Fuck these people. All of ’em.

Okay…back to my futile endeavors.

Cooper declared, regarding uncertainties in Holocaust history, “We’ve spent the last seventy years in Europe’s case like literally throwing people in jail for looking into the wrong corners, right?” (BTW, anyone who apes the retarded fad of ending every other sentence with “right?”—a favorite verbal tic of Kamala Harris and every talk-show mouthbreather—should be dismissed on sight.)

Putting aside that most laws against Holocaust denial only came into existence in the 1980s and ’90s, and only a small number of people have ever been tried under them, and most were fanatics who willingly challenged those laws (that doesn’t make the laws okay; they’re not), as someone who spent time in Europe in the early 1990s with Zundel, Irving, Faurisson, and Guillaume (Faurisson’s publisher), I can tell you that they had all the freedom they needed for research. Yes, anti-speech laws are foul. No, they didn’t hobble denier research. The deniers fail to make their case because they have no case, not because of Europe’s draconian speech laws.

Were I angling to go on Tucker’s show (and I’m not), I’d point out that I’m the only party in this debate who’s truly frozen out. The ADL and Wiesenthal Center have the run of the mainstream, Musk boosts the deniers, Tuck platforms the pseudo-historians. Everybody gets a platform but ol’ Dave, who’s banned everywhere.

Why doesn’t Tuck ever ask, “Hmm…why is that? What’s Cole saying that’s so dangerous?”

C’mon, that coward won’t even admit reading me.

Though I suppose it is dangerous to be the only person not pandering to the ideologues. Not dangerous to me, but dangerous to the zealots, who fear anyone who jeopardizes their game by speaking with no agenda.

Freezing out the no-agenda guy is always the one goal that unites opposing extremists.

As I find out daily.

Haw haw haw.

Can Americans today really sleep safely in their own beds at night? Not with so many militant homosexuals wandering around.

In late August, the media revealed that a highly qualified lady (she’s brown, left-wing, female, and obsessed with DEI) named Sneha Nair had been appointed as Special Assistant at the Nuclear Security Administration, the atomic security branch of the Department of Energy. So what? Just yet another Democrat DEI hire, like that ridiculous Harley-Quinn-in-brownface woman who’s currently running for President on behalf of the Party? No, because this particular overpromoted minoritarian moron specializes in one particular niche field of DEI above all: queering nuclear weapons.

How can you possibly make nuclear warheads gay? There was a genuine 1990s plan for the U.S. military to construct a so-called “gay bomb” filled with aphrodisiac chemicals designed to make all male troops begin uncontrollably making love not war with one another on the battlefield, meant for specific shame-inducing use against Muslim enemies, but it never got off the drawing board. If you can’t make literal gay bombs, though, then how about making heavy ordnance go gay theoretically instead? That’s a nice little sinecure for some public-sector parasite with enough chutzpah to be prepared to fill it.

Nuclear Arse-nal
People unfortunate enough to have actually read any of the stuff will know that Queer Theory’s main true aim all along was not simply ensuring equality of treatment for deviants, as is only right and proper, but the far wider goal of dismantling the nuclear family wholesale, as a means of ushering in a utopian Marxist Brave New World from its irradiated ashes. Likewise, the subdiscipline of Nuclear Queer Theory seemingly aims at dismantling the West’s atomic defenses wholesale, thereby to usher in an alternative Marxist Brave New World—one dominated by non-white, non-capitalist, non-Western people. People like Sneha Nair, for example.

Nair has not invented this ludicrous nonsubject, but eagerly jumped aboard a preexisting DEI bandwagon. In December 2022, the Vienna Center for Disarmament and Non-Proliferation (VCDNP) think tank hosted a singular webinar, “LGBT+ Identity in the Nuclear Weapons Space.” Here attendees were allowed to vomit words about “the pressures queer people and others face to edit themselves” in the public arena, e.g., when guarding nukes at a missile silo whilst dressed in ordinary military uniforms, not random red leather gimp suits.

After outside observers criticized the webinar as a waste of time after seeing advance notices, U.S. Special Ambassador to International Organizations in Vienna Laura Holgate (she/her—because she’s a woman), who proudly poses as an avowed “ally to the queer community,” spoke up to explain why gayness was now utterly essential to Western military security. Firstly, “DEI is and should be the moral imperative for all organizations,” she explained, regardless of what they are, and how seemingly unrelated to matters queertastic. The use of the term “moral imperative” here demonstrates just what an outright religion diversity has now become in the minds of these fanatics.

For any skeptical non-fanatics out there, however, Holgate needed to come up with vaguely more rational-sounding pseudo-justifications for why nuclear security must now go gay, the best she could manage being this: “Today’s challenges in nuclear weapons policy affect everyone, so we should include as many perspectives as possible in addressing it,” even the utterly irrelevant perspectives of gays, lesbians, and trannies. Why? Because “If you’re not at the table, you are on the menu,” an inadvertently bigoted statement that could have been considered highly offensive to members of the gay consensual cannibalism community like Armin Meiwes.

The Hunt for Pink October
Did anyone ever ask Robert Oppenheimer or Leo Szilard for their considered opinions on the layout of the Los Alamos Gay Club? No, because, being mere humble nuclear scientists, rather than amazing sainted sodomites, they wouldn’t have known anything about such subjects, and so would have had nothing useful whatsoever to offer on pressing issues like what shade of pink the walls should be, or the ideal circumference for the en suite glory holes. Likewise, why should gays automatically have any insights worth listening to about subjects like nuclear deterrence?

According to fellow webinar participant Ray Acheson (they/them), of the Reaching Critical Will peacenik organization, homos are inherently suited toward stopping Xi, Kim, or Putin from irradiating America because their chosen Queer Studies discipline “helps to break down binary choices (such as nuclear war or nuclear deterrence)” and provide alternative scenarios and outcomes instead. Like what?

I understand, at least in theory, that there are other fictional options between the polarized gender binaries of male and female written neatly down on little bits of paper in today’s HR departments, but what are the nonbinary options available between “been nuked” and “not been nuked,” exactly? Can you now be “half-nuked” somehow? Perhaps quantum physicist Erwin Schrödinger and his famously nonbinary cat-in-a-box were homosexualists too? Considering that they enjoy a distinctly Sam Brinton-esque state of wave-particle duality, maybe photons are trans as well?

Using transgenderism as a theoretical model to base your nation’s nuclear defense doctrine upon is, all things considered, just not very sensible. What next? Maybe the USAF could build a network of giant floating arseholes to hover at strategic aerial entry points over the country and gape magnetically open whenever a new phallic enemy missile comes shooting over, thereby to contain the subsequent explosion joyfully and harmlessly within their special lead-lined rectums? Workable nuclear defense requires Game Theorists, not Gay Theorists.

Weapons of Ass Destruction
Once the webinar participants had finished mining one another’s uranium live on film, the inevitable fallout began. Skeptics started tweeting the VCDNP mocking messages like “They should not allow mentally ill people near weapons of mass destruction,” although, given the Queer Theorists’ favored logic of allowing persons with nonstandard outlooks upon the world to meaningfully contribute to military policy, perhaps that is precisely what the U.S. military should now do?

In Pride Month 2023, VCDNP webinar convener Louis Reitmann teamed up with the new Biden-Harris DoE appointee Sneha Nair to pen a pointed rebuttal to their critics, “Queering Nuclear Weapons: How LGBTQ+ Inclusion Strengthens Security and Reshapes Disarmament.” This was not published in some low-rent partisan gay rag like Pink News, but by the prestigious Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, guardians of the famous Doomsday Clock (the “l” now being silent). Here they bemoaned how “Nuclear deterrence is [traditionally] associated with [straight, masculine qualities like] ‘rationality’ and ‘security,’ while disarmament and justice for nuclear weapons victims are coded as [queer, feminine qualities like] ‘emotion’ and a lack of understanding of the ‘real’ mechanics of security.”

As if to prove it, the pair then went on to make a whole series of completely irrational powder-puff assertions of their own, such as bemoaning how the U.S. government currently wastes $60b annually on maintaining its mean and nasty nuclear deterrent instead of spending it on “education, infrastructure, and welfare” and cute babies and kittens. As an alternative, “the queer lens” prioritizes “the rights and well-being of people over the abstract idea of national security.” Except national security is only an “abstract idea” up until the point it is physically breached, and enemy nukes or other ordnance come raining down on you like atomic bukkake.

Ukraine used to have nukes. It gave them up in 1994. In 2022, Russia invaded, which it would presumably have thought twice about doing, had Kiev maintained its arsenal of deterrence. Try telling the Ukrainians national security is only an “abstract idea” and see what their response is.

Nair and Reitmann may not much believe in the “abstract” possibility of nuclear holocaust, but they certainly believe in the far more politically fashionable idea of climate Armageddon, speaking of how, following disarmament, the world’s total nuclear defense budget of $100b per annum could be far better used “to address the climate crisis, which could kill up to 83 million people by 2100.” Yes, but if the U.S., U.K., and France gave up their own nuclear weapons unilaterally, Russia, China, and North Korea could kill rather more than 83 million utterly defenseless white Western imperialist scum not by 2100 but by basically tomorrow—still, that’s decolonization in praxis for you, isn’t it?

Uranian Uranium
Perhaps you are still unconvinced by the idea of DEI for WMD. If so, the authors warn of how, unless black Muslim mutant homosexuals, etc., are allowed to staff missile launch sites, such locations may be vulnerable to attack from sinister unseen forces only they can help spot. For example, if all guards happen to be straight white males, then they will never suspect any other straight white males who work there of being evil Aryan supremacists who may attempt to steal spare warheads to commit acts of nuclear race-terrorism with, like blowing up Harlem or the BLM mansion. However, “women, people of color, and the LGBTQ+ community” are more likely to spot such hidden insider threats, even though they do not appear to actually exist, making them the best nuke guards of all: because they’re utterly paranoid against anyone except themselves.

In another 2023 paper laden with sadly unironic inverted commas, Nair argues that “The hegemonic construct of a [nuclear] ‘threat’ creates an ‘us’ versus ‘them’ dynamic that ‘others’ the threat by creating a preconception of the threat as ‘foreign.’” I think that means Americans should really fear getting nuked more by the KKK than by the CCP…even though only the latter organization actually has any nukes at all.

In terms of wider nuclear strategy, argue Nair and Reitmann, the old doctrine of MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction) should be torn up and replaced with a policy of GLAAD instead. Supposedly, “Studies in psychology and behavioral science [i.e., ones performed by ideologically compliant left-wing psychologists and behavioral scientists] show that diverse teams examine assumptions and evidence more carefully, make fewer errors, discuss issues more constructively, and better exchange new ideas and knowledge.” For example, “Informed by their life experiences, queer people have specific skills to offer that are valuable in a policy and diplomacy context.” Like what? Offering to fellate Putin under his big desk in return for giving Zaporizhzhia back?

Given that the main pseudo-rationale of DEI in defense is that it allows access to all perspectives upon military matters, not just phallocentric, heteronormative, conservative white male ones, it does seem rather curious that said unfashionable viewpoints shall, alone of all outlooks under the sun, henceforth be excluded from the woke strategy meetings of tomorrow. Nair and Reitmann’s conclusion to their woefully absurd paper is that, when it comes to those who disagree with them, any “Arguments to the contrary are as stagnant and outdated as those who voice them.” That’s not a very diversity-welcoming attitude, is it?

According to the newly queer-friendly Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, due to the sad state of contemporary geopolitics, the globe’s Doomsday Clock currently stands at a mere 90 seconds to midnight. Thanks to the best efforts of bizarre identitarian Dr. Strangeloves like Nair and Reitmann, it seems America’s own domestic civilizational Doomsday Clock is already significantly more than 90 days, weeks, months, or even years past Zero Hour.

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