May 15, 2019 And if there is a smarmier bastard than Senator Richard Blumenthal [D-CT],

May 15, 2019

And if there is a smarmier bastard than Senator Richard Blumenthal [D-CT], aka “Danang Dick”, will someone tell me. “Homeric”, “Brobdanaglian”, “Ginormous”, “biblical”. I need the wit of a Johnson and the resources of a Murray, the 2 great lexicographers of the English language, to begin to describe his perfidiousness. 

I had 3 classmates who were killed in Vietnam. Blumenthal lied when he said he was a combat veteran. The closest he got to Danang was the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco. His lie doesn’t lessen their deaths; it cheapens and sullies them. They are entitled to the peaceful rest of a warrior fallen in battle. This Smarmy Bastard should be pilloried and poleaxed every time he appears in public. Bad enough he chose the White Feather but then he lied about it. And, to make it worse, not only is he a Smarmy Bastard, he looks like a Smarmy Bastard. Fuck him.

Bill Nye, “the science guy”, is another addled modern American Liberal, who should have his ass kicked for saying “the earth is on fucking fire”. Not quite the same as Ptolemy having his 15 century-long “settled science” run on where the Sun is in relation to everything else becoming “unsettled” but as Gavin MacInnes said, “Deep down, all liberals know they are full of shit”. That’s why they are so condescendingly nasty. And worthy of a Texas-sized ass whupping.

Which is why il Magnifico’s trip to a LNG [short for Liquid Natural Gas] exporting terminal - repeat - LNG exporting terminal is as geopolitically significant as anything that happened this year.

AMERICA! EXPORTING ENERGY!

I know that my Redeemer liveth!

Which brings us back to the 6-day old latke hanging out by the hissing radiator. Whatever happened to Peak Oil? Remember when the boobs and fear mongers told us that we were running out of it? That there was nothing left to be discovered? That we’ve gone about as far as we can go? [In 1899, Charles Duell, director of the U.S. Patent Office pronounced, “Everything that can be invented has been invented.” Thank god nobody told the Wright Brothers or Kemmons Wilson or Jonas Salk or Ronald Reagan or Bill Gates or somebody, anybody sitting in a cramped garage or small office saying “What’s behind that hill over there? I’m going to try to find out.” Thus, the ball is “matriculated down the field” and the people in the stands all benefit. My Uncle Adam always said, “Don’t look to the better nature of the inn-keeper if you want a meal of a bed; he may not have one. Look rather to his rational self-interest.”] I remember Nancy Pelosi raling against drilling in some God-forsaken part of the arctic for fear that it would disturb the mating habits of the notoriously shy furbish lousewort. Besides, she said, it’s only10-years-worth of oil Somehow wing-nut, moon-bat AOC found us 2 more years. You go, girl!

A special word for Nancy Pelosi. I want to be the first to tell her that when she next goes back to San Francisco her constituents have a warm welcome in store for her. Ex-Pats from “A Chorus Line” and “La Cage aux Folles” will jete Bob Fosse-style in front of her house and, in her honor, will drop their drawers and shit on the sidewalk in front of her house. Why should the tourists have all the fun? But wait, there’s more. Tony Bennett is updating his song with some topical verses. “I Left My Shit in San Francisco”.

You can never become “not a Catholic”, particularly if you were ever a Catholic. You can become a Retired Catholic, a fallen-away Catholic, a heretical Catholic, an apostate Catholic, or, as is the case with Catholic politicians who are modern American Liberals and think about abortion, a hypocritical Catholic. 

For me, it only takes incense. And not even the smell of it. A picture or a mention in a sentence and I am back in the not quite settled days of pre-Vatican 2.

This morning I received tangible evidence, evidence as real as your boot, that the Church is not quite as modern as we sometimes think it is. I get quarterly reports from the Marist Brothers of North America. The Provincial, Brother Patrick McNamara, FMS, mentions another Marist Brother, Brother Henri Verges, who was martyred in Algeria. “Martyred”? Yes. Cut to pieces by this generation’s version of radical Islamic terrorists. It would not be a stretch to say, and I run the risk of being labeled not only an Islamophobe but a deplorable Islamophobe, to say the last words he heard were “Allah Akbar”. The face-off that was begun 1287 years ago at Tours continues. It, inter alia, is where “somebody did something”.

But this time its personal.

“They” killed a man with whom I had a real connection. A man who wore garments that I first saw in Bayonne in 1957; A man who conducted himself under rules laid down 200 years ago with those rules being predicated on rules laid down 15 centuries ago.

My last 2 Brothers from Marist in Bayonne, Brother Thomas Edmund and Brother Kevin Luke, died within 10 days of each other in October, 2017. Thus, the last tie was cut. In the early 90s, when Brother Kevin was doing his last overseas duty in Notre Dame College at Dadingas in Mindanao, I sent him some cassettes of Joe Finn, Marist ’59 and my daughter Courtenay’s wedding in 1995, doing his regular act. I don’t know if the Filipinos liked him but the Minnesotans did. I sent Brother Thomas some cash 5 years ago. He wrote to say thank you because he was able to give it to one of the maintenance men who was studying to become a NYC police officer. Of course, that is a bit of as non-sequitur but entirely in character

But as I said about never being able to be “not a Catholic”, you can never be “not Marist”.

46 Marist Brothers were martyred on one day, October 8, 1936 in Barcelona. That is different than the Brother in Algeria. It is possible that he knew some of the Brothers who taught me. They were Torpedo Squadron 8 in the never-ending fight against the forces of evil. In this case, godless Communism. They went into the arena like the martyrs of old. 46 is a statistic, as Stalin said. It is an abstraction. One is real. Perhaps a return to the Church Militant will lead us to the Church Triumphant.

Deo Volente

For the same reason that a sign proclaiming Organic Produce would trigger the automatic response of “Where is the Inorganic Produce?”, I have asked the following question for as long as I can remember. “It’s been around for more than 150 years. Why is Darwin’s Theory still a theory?”

I direct your attention to the Spring edition of the Claremont Review of Books. David Gelertner reviews Stephen C. Meyer’s “Darwin’s Doubt”. Meyer poses a simple question: Did Darwin suggest an Intelligent Design without a Designer?

He posits an inconvenient truth into the conversation. When Darwin was composing his work, molecular biology did not exist. Chew on that.

You may also wish to take a peek at Tom Wolfe’s last book, “The Kingdom of Speech”. Broad shoulder help if you wish to engage in public discussions, sometimes with adult beverages available, of the subject. Which is why Amy would lean over and whisper, “Just shut up”. Wives have earned that right. Since my constant Stop Sign companion is gone, I feel duty-bound to highball it down the track of questions that are uneasy to swallow, questions that fall beyond pale. A deplorable habit? Perhaps.

I have an irrational fear of running out of pinatas. The pre-dawn announcement of NYC Mayor Bill “Red” DeBlasio running for President means that I will always be in a target-rich environment.  

A word or two about Joe Finn, Marist, ’59. As far as I can tell, he made his living singing in saloons from when he was graduated from high school until the day he died. As far as I can tell, his wife and 8 children never missed a meal. And I know that the 1000s who heard him sing for 50 years still have great memories of him. A life well lived and a legacy unmatched. Slainte!

Kevin Smith

WARRIORBARDIT@BELLSOUTH. NET