The Lost Republic Diaries – Part XIX: Be Of Good Queer, My Friends!
Another entry in a Diary that chronicles the End Days of The American Republic. Another example of why The Republic is terminal and why we must work to save what we can however we can…
From Mark Steyn, we see that, when it comes to weird and bizarre behavior, African Despots ain’t got nothing on their Western counterparts:
According to Amnesty International, the Gambia’s National Intelligence Agency claims to have a “device” it can insert into your bottom to determine your orientation. Hmm. Lacking such cutting-edge technology, Oxford University is forced to rely on more primitive means of final adjudication. So its rugby players will be obliged to ace “anti-sexism class” before they’re permitted to play in this year’s Cuppers Final.
Laura Rosen Cohen calls this “a gradual process of castration“: a sustained effort to harass and hector the last redoubts of masculine culture into getting with the program, from the campaign to replace Britain’s “lad culture” with “good lads” – ie, the usual new-male eunuchs willing to stand in the street, glassy-eyed and smiling, while holding up approved slogans – “A Good Lad …understands that feminism isn’t a dirty word” – to the politically correct US Army ordering its men to “walk a mile in her shoes“. Objections to the latter led to one of the great headlines of our time, from The Washington Post:
Army To Review Decision To Have Male Cadets Wear High Heels
That’s an early frontrunner for this year’s Epitaphs for the Republic competition.
The Gambian government makes gay men learn the Koran. The US Army makes straight men march down the street in red high heels. And we think the Gambian guy’s weird.
I don’t. These days The West is definitely more queer in it’s behavior. In fact, it has cornered the [un-Free] Market in the grotesque, creepy, and strange.
Every nook and cranny of Western Life has been touched by the Perverse, the Abnormal.
One wonders how long the Sane can hold out, how long we will be able to resist.
Luckily for We The Living [aka: The Normal], we have been given a license to act because the Left has made sure we have nothing to lose by mounting a Resistance through their declaring of us to be outside the pale, UNMUTUAL, as it were. Their goal is our utter destruction, as they have explicitly and implicitly stated.
And, as the saying goes: the freest man in the world is the man who has nothing to lose.
We have the freedom now to act to preserve The Founding; we are at Liberty to to operate in what has become the Enemy’s territory. We can gather together and Restore the Precious Gift of The Founding Fathers in territory we achieve control of. We are the Outlaws and we should act accordingly.
We will see some very cruel times, but we have a Duty to our Posterity to preserve the Gift wherever and however we can. We have a duty to those that came before us and sacrificed for us to pay any price and bear any burden to see that Freedom and Ordered Liberty survive in some form. If we do not at least try, we shall be damned before all of Mankind as those cowards who did not attempt to preserve the last, best hope for man on God’s Earth.
We must Join Or Die.
Our vigilance and our union are success and safety. Our negligence and our division are distress and death. They are worse—They are shame and slavery. Let us equally shun the benumbing stillness of overweening sloth, and the feverish activity of that ill informed zeal, which busies itself in maintaining little, mean and narrow opinions. Let us, with a truly wise generosity and charity, banish and discourage all illiberal distinctions, which may arise from differences in situation, forms of government, or modes of religion. Let us consider ourselves as MEN—FREEMEN…—separated from the rest of the world, and firmly bound together by the same rights, interests and dangers. Let these keep our attention inflexibly fixed on the GREAT OBJECTS, which we must CONTINUALLY REGARD, in order to preserve those rights, to promote those interests, and to avert those dangers.
—John Dickinson – Letters from a Pennsylvania Farmer, Letter XII