May 27, 2017

27 Coptic Christians – The physician who examined and treated me on Wednesday last is a Coptic Christian – in Egypt, on a bus going to an 1800-year-old shrine to pray, were gunned down by – Dare I say? – radical Muslim terrorists. Let me change that. Radical has lost its sting. How about feral? How about not quite moderate practitioners of a religion known for its irenic practices?

It would be fraud if I failed to mention that another true son of the Prophet, and blessed be his name, blew up 22 people in Manchester, England. His target was young girls attending a concert for young girls. Always hunt where the ducks are knows no doctrinal boundaries.

The shrine that they never did get to pray at predates the arrival of Mohammed, that goat humping paedophile, by 4 centuries. Orwell, and can we ever thank him enough, told us that if we control the past we control the present.

Spare me the usual modern American Liberal bullshit about “outreach”, about “inclusiveness”, about “diversity”, about “tolerance”, and such nit-wit clap trap as “sanctuary cities”. These are infantile terms that preclude the existence of concupiscence and man’s inclination towards evil. The Western elite have been denying it since a bunch of Jews were killed at Munich in 1972. They were killed by “filthy little gutternsipes” who told us how great their god was as they pulled the trigger or sliced the nearest throat. 

Israel had a simple defense policy. It’s how they got past 1947. It’s how they survived ‘til today. “Shoot back” and, if possible, “shoot first”. A score of Barbra Streisands singing perpetual choruses of Kumbayas and “Imagine” would not have deterred one burnoosed killer from the swift completion of his appointed rounds. [I may be going out on a limb here but since I declared “Imagine” the worst song written in the 20^th century and since the only way I make it to the end of the 21^st century is in the fading memories of my granddaughters’ grandchildren – Who was the good-looking guy with the beard and the mysterious grin that Grandma always talked about? – I declare, nihil obstat, that “Imagine” is the worst song of the 21^st century also. That’s a risk worth taking.} 

How about getting the old band together, men like General Sherman, Sergeant Cutter, Dirty Harry, Sergeant McChesney, Aeschylus, Chuck Wepner, William F. Buckley, Bear Bryant, Bill Benak, C.S. Lewis, El Cid, Sergeant McChesney, Donny Nowicki, Chuck Yeager, Jackson – Andy, not Jesse, Lt. Cdr. Ernest Evans, Cervantes, another Brave Horatius – Clio tells us that there will always be a gate that must be defended, the heirs of Torpedo Squadron 8, Roland, Henry the 5^th, Vinny Curfaro, Milton Friedman, inter alia? Send them forward to smite the invader, wherever they may be.

As recently as yesterday, as far back as almost 1400 years ago, snarling mad men come howling out of the desert and tell me in plain language that they are going to kill me, rape my wife, crucify my son, and sell me my daughter into bondage. It’s not their fault that no one believed, believes, them. In fact, many intended victims, John Adams for example, made excuses for them. It was Jefferson who reversed that dumb-ass national policy while giving rise to the word “Leatherneck”.

I am reminded of a sermon I heard 60 years ago, about a farmer selling his mule. He tells the prospective buyer that not only is this the hardest working mule in the county but he is the smartest. He tells the mule that it is time to go to work. The mule jumps up, sharpens the plow, puts his harness on, and charges out of the barn. A week later the buyer calls and says the only time he gets up is to eat and pee. Plus, he laughs at me. The seller goes to his neighbor’s barn where he picks up a 2x4 and hits the mule right between the eyes. The mule jumps up, harnesses himself, and heads to the field for plowing, stopping only to fix a broken post.

The seller apologized to the buyer as he tells him “I forgot to tell you that first you have to get his attention”.

WOGs, mules, what’s the difference?

A thousand years ago, for whatever reasons, they turned inward. They began to eat their own seed corn. They turned their backs on reasoned discourse, critical inquiry, the scientific method, and the healthy skepticism that says “Prove it”. They stopped refreshing their genetic pool which is why so many of them can look through a keyhole with both eyes. You don’t have to be in the shower to count the distinctly Muslim names on the Nobel Prize winners list. 

In January, 1974, after fracking my first well in Duval County, I drove to Houston to meet the son of my father’s first cousin. [Duval County is where Lyndon Johnson came to be known as “Landslide Lyndon”. Aided by his good friend Abe Fortas, LBJ managed to find 4,000 uncounted votes, most of which were in alphabetical order, with 99% of them voting for Johnson. 1948. Congressman Johnson became Senator Johnson. The rest is, alas, History. The Vietnam Wall began close to the King Ranch. Look it up.]

After stopping at the cemetery to salute his parents – in both our houses there was no such thing as a large whisky – he told me of how he came to have a Master’s degree in Chemical Engineering and was the general manager of an oil refinery. 

In 1919, his father, along with 2 dozen other Irish-Catholics. left Bayonne, NJ on a barge bound for Pasadena, TX. Their job was to build an oil refinery for Jersey Standard, now Exxon. As the company provided priest was saying Mass one Sunday morning, the KuKluxKLan, the same one that Senator Robert Byrd {D-WVA}, one time head regional Kleagle belonged to, came thorough and shot the place up. A week later the Bayonne Irish-Catholic emigres shot back. The Klan never came back. Not long after, his father came to be the first Grand Knight of the Knights of Columbus in Houston.

Civilizations must protect themselves. 

No one else will. No one else can.

And yes, we must draw a line, a red line, in the sand.

And, yes, we must defend it fiercely.

Belloc told us more than a century ago that beyond that line “we are watched by large and awful faces and on those faces there is no smile”.

“Once more, dear friends, once more…’

KEVIN SMITH

WARRIORBARDIT@BELLSOUTH.NET