Some Correction Fluid for Political Correctness

As a frustrated writer who’s been creating novella/novel-length science fiction since before graduating ninth grade(but publishing none of it, probably because of Asperger’s–now called Autism Spectrum Disorder), I’ve been half-gratified and half-horrified to see some of my predictions come true over forty years of writing and looking back.

By and far the most horrifying of my predictions was political correctness. I’ve watched this mind-virus spread ever since the ninth grade, when the government-school inoculation/indoctrination program–a course called ‘Prejudice and Discrimination’–failed to immunize me against thinking for myself. (In retrospect, they should’ve put me into the House of Lords, where ‘if they’ve a brain and cerebellum too/They’ve got to leave that brain outside/And do just what their leaders tell ’em to.’ Thank you, Sir W.S. Gilbert, for Iolanthe.)

Most of my reaction was likely sheer adolescent cussedness(well, say 90%). Sturgeon’s Law tells us that ninety percent of everything is crap, and that was the ninety percent. However, the ten percent that wasn’t crap stuck in my head. Unpleasant experience taught me that whatever that school administration wanted us to think was probably more for their convenience than our benefit.(They proved this when both the principal and the vice-principal got caught skimming the soda machine and snack bar revenues; I seem to remember that both went to jail.) I found the course material so objectionable that I wrote, mostly during class time in that agitprop class, a dystopian novel about a future when that form of indoctrination became compulsory, being administered through government re-education camps very similar to those the Communists were using at the time. (I wish I hadn’t lost the manuscript, but it was in longhand and there was only one copy, in smudgy pencil.)

The evidence of my life, viewed through an Asperger’s lens, told me that most of what they taught in that course was, to quote a great and almost forgotten writer, E.E. Smith, PhD, ‘…soft-soap, balloon juice, and flap-doodle.’ (Not surprising, as that school couldn’t teach algebra either: I’d’v’e struggled a lot less if someone had told me the algebraic sequence in eighth grade instead of leaving me to figure it out in 12th grade Calculus.) Those life lessons: most black kids were dumb as lighter knot, (except for the ones in ROTC, who were on my level) oriental kids were smart but as socially clueless as I was, and Hispanic kids fell somewhere above the blacks, but generally below whites and orientals. (I could’ve written a reasonable facsimile of The Bell Curve in my senior year if the statistics were available, but the Internet was still reserved for keeping real-time communications open between our strategic military sites, the best civilian computers were Sinclairs, Radio Shack’s Color Computer, and Commodores, and even dot-matrix printers were a primitive, expensive joke.)

In college, I learned that the indoctrination program had a name: Political Correctness. I was too busy studying to give it much mind, but I kept my eyes and ears open. I watched it spread through the softer majors(journalism and sociology in particular) and marveled that people could be that stupid; calling a skunk a dozen roses didn’t make it stink any less. The evil genius Stephen J. Gould brought out a bunch of popular books–nobody seemed to remember he was a Communist–and the PC beat went on, until E.O. Wilson wrote Sociobiology and caused a kerfuffle because his theories about the heritability of intelligence couldn’t be disproved.

Two degrees later, I struggled along with work, well under my potential because the Asperger’s kept me from playing the social game. I wound up, much to my personal shame and sense of failure, working for state government as a health inspector until I finally retired. All this time I wrote to keep my sanity and to escape from a nigh-incomprehensible world. And all this time I watched political correctness grow, now more a cancer than a virus, choking honest discourse out of both politics and private life. We got a brief respite in 1994 with the publication of The Bell Curve, a book which, had it come out in 1978 or sooner, could have strangled the satanic abomination in its befouled, collectivist crib.

The century turned. Steven J. Gould died, nastily, of cancer, and researchers picked apart his work over its overt ideological bias. Then at some time in the ’00s, a Chinese geneticist named Bruce Lahn, working in the US, discovered that a gene modulating brain structure and efficiency entered the human population 32,000 years ago. He suggested, but could not prove at the time, that the source was a Neanderthal in the woodshed. He did observe that this gene was rare in Africa but common in the rest of the world. Political Correctness could not let this stand, and the fever-swamp that passes for modern journalism belched forth its miasmic bombast, ultimately claiming, in a peripherally related skirmish, the head of James Watson, Nobel Laureate and co-discoverer of DNA.

But the evidence just kept rolling in, when the Neanderthal genome was sequenced in 2010 and re-sequenced in 2012-13. Neanderthal admixture appears to have occurred right around the time Lahn’s work predicted, if not slightly before, in populations ancestral to both Europeans and Asiatics, but NOT Africans. The evidence was there but, as with the deceased Gould, “…ideological stance was supreme(Partial quote from Ralph Holloway, one of the six researchers who analyzed Gould’s The Mismeasure of Man, and found Gould’s methodology deficient).’

Political Correctness when, as always, found wanting on the facts, resorts to misdirection, calumny, and rioting, hence the recent and unpleasant controversy about the Confederate Naval Jack. PC, plus lack of critical thinking skills, has led the more mentally impoverished members of the Professionally Aggrieved class to assault,  property damage, and threats toward those who carry that Prog-abhorred symbol. (Confederate Flag Backers Upset With Treatment, Panama City News Herald, 7/28/2015, page B1; oddly enough, I can’t find it in their website) Supposedly a nearby Deputy Sheriff did nothing to stop this criminal behavior, which occurred in Okaloosa County, Florida.

At the risk of gloating, I’m forced to say, “I bloody well told you so, yer feckless wankers!” That language is reserved for the left-wingers who pooh-poohed my concerns back in the day. Some of them haven’t lived to see my predictions play out, and I don’t remember most of their names(Asperger’s will do that to you). I care only in that their ideological ‘correction’ of the language facilitated, and continues to facilitate, the political perversion called oligarchical collectivism.

At heart, I hate politics, but I’ve learned over the years to ignore it at my peril, much as those who live in the vicinity of an active volcano–if they have enough brains to pour water out of a boot–pay attention to what’s going on up on the peak, even though they’d rather be doing almost anything else. We as a nation have arrived at the point where a piece of colored cloth can get you assaulted, battered, and eventually worse(this was a peculiar danger, common in the Third World, but here confined to members of street gangs and those who lived in or passed through areas they controlled, at least until lately), although I don’t know of anyone in this century or the last who has been killed over the Confederate Naval Jack.

It’s time to push back, whatever your opinion of that venerable banner. If you suffer assault, theft, and property damage related to Political Correctness, report it to the police and lean on them until they act. If you carry concealed, and live in a Stand Your Ground state, use your weapon… as long as you have fear for your life, have favorable witnesses, and are paid up on your legal insurance. Sadly, honor doesn’t play well in court, and you can be sure your assailant has none: where’s Lt. Worf when you need him?

Please note that I am advocating neither criminal behavior nor initiation of force here, merely appropriate action in defense of life, limb, or property. Political Correctness recognizes no right to self-defense for we the politically incorrect; nation-wide, however, if enough of these bucket-heads stop a projectile, a blade, a tire iron, a 2×4, or even a fist, this cancer on the body politic will eventually wither or explode into violent overreach. In the latter case, it’ll be time to make Progressives give their lives for the political abomination they lust to fasten upon us all.

Some Progressives count on fomenting a violent insurrection to provide an excuse to deprive us of our Constitutional rights but, lacking the ability to predict consequences of actions and the future-time orientation that would require, those wights never foresee that their head might be the one curb-stomped or that their neck might be the recipient of a flaming tire(Nelson Mandela was famous for that little trick, but no Prog will admit it, because that would mean that their hero had feet of clay… or some other, more redolent substance!).

Thomas Jefferson had a quote about the tree of liberty requiring blood fertilizer, the source of which being patriots and tyrants. I’d add simpletons to the mix, since it is with the simple that Political Correctness seems to most easily take root. Sadly, it appears that, in the near future, the only correction fluid that can correct Political Correctness may be spilled blood.

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Bernie Enables Victim Disarmers

I’ve unhappily watched the apparent march-to-coronation of Hitlery Clinton ever since the harridan announced her campaign. She lacks the sociopathic charm of her wandering husband, and it is not difficult to sense, from her body-language and manner of speech, that her favorite subject is herself, and that anyone who doesn’t genuflect at her feet is worthy, in her serpentine brain at least, of disgrace, ruin, imprisonment, or sometimes death(Who remembers Vince Foster?).

That’s why I’m happy to see that this perception is shared by a significant portion of the electorate, hence her high unfavorability ratings. So, some Democrats have stepped up to challenge her, the most successful of whom being Bernie Sanders, a self-proclaimed socialist. The scenario I hope to see is Bernie outmaneuvering the Bitter Half at the Democrat convention in ’16, then losing to whomever the Republicans nominate, sort of like what happened in ’68 and ’72. (Not that Nixon was much of a freedom-lover: he gave us the EPA, the DEA, wage and price controls. He also had a personal abhorrence of firearms, probably the result of his Quaker upbringing.)

But Bernie could in theory, win the convention and go on to win the election. Well okay, I thought. He’s not radically anti-gun, and unlikely to make victim disarmament the big issue Obozo has… thankfully with more failure than success.

Alas, it was not to be: Bernie waffled left because the Shrew did. I understand that coming from her, since she has the sort of sick personality which thinks it knows what’s best for Americans, will damn well give it to them, and will brook no disobedience to her diktat(Michelle Antoinette thinks the same way, but is less subtle in her expression of her lust for control.).

And there Bernie demonstrated his unfitness for higher office, along with that of any other oligarchical collectivist. The Japanese, conformist to the point of insanity, have a proverb: ‘The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.” They were merely fast-talking feudalists who roodled their people out of the right to possess firearms, a freedom deficit which persists to this day in their demographically diminishing society. Bernie promises security and employment… if you’ll just give up your freedom.

Bad bargain, Bernie. Even if you beat the virago and win the election, Americans won’t take it lying down if you come for their weapons. I don’t trust you not to use all those pistols, all that ammunition, and all those SMGs Obozo has stockpiled for whatever SS, SA, GRU or KGB he’s planning on creating as a national police force if people don’t cotton to socialism.

You see, most of us who can would rather take our chances in the free market than rely on the incompetent, cumbersome, and capricious government for sustenance. But you and your fellow travelers, along with invertebrate Republicans, have made that option more and more difficult with your alphabet soup agencies and regulations that encourage employers to send jobs overseas. You can’t win by rhetoric, so you’re trying to create enough desperation to force people to turn to the state by leaving nothing else to which they can turn for the necessities of life. To give your dependents everything they want, you must create a state powerful enough to take everything anybody else has. And when, as Dame Thatcher pointed out, you run out of other folks’ money, your gravy train derails, dumping everybody who was on it in the ditch. Then they get restless and start burning buildings, rioting, and looting. That’s when you need all those munitions and weapons to keep them in line… which you can’t very well do if they’re armed.

Very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Bernie. I wish you luck in beating the harpy, but not at the general election.

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The Progressive Morality Play, Act ‘Hulk Hogan’

Hulk Hogan got Paula Deened yesterday.

A Paula Deening is defined as an event whereby a public figure, whose opinions Progressives don’t like, is caught in the Progressive Thought-Crime Justice system, usually by saying or doing something at which Progressives take umbrage, which Progs do so often that there is very little umbrage available for anyone else. Sponsors are hectored, commercial enterprises are boycotted, and eventually the victim, facing ruin of finance and reputation, does a groveling mea culpa before fading forever from public life.

In Paula Deen’s case, she failed to fade forever, and put her name on a reasonably priced line of cookware that heats efficiently, cooks food nicely without burning, and has a superior non-stick coating. (Please note that I receive no remuneration from Paula Deen or her company; I’m just a happy customer who likes her product.)

I bought the Paula Deen cookware to replace a worn-out, mismatched amalgamation of ill-assorted pots of doubtful beauty, sketchy quality, and missing lids, but I purchased the new set, not so much because of its attractive coloration, superior functionality, and quality construction, but because I wanted to do something substantive, if small, to poke my metaphorical finger into the equally metaphorical eye of political correctness.  Paula Deen was bully-ragged out of public life–and nearly out of business–because she exercised her First Amendment rights in a way that offended Progressives. My purchase of items from her cookware line is my way of voting–with my money–against political correctness and for free speech.

Before I retired, I participated in this kind of economic warfare by purchasing a gun any time the victim disarmament bunch made a big hullabaloo. (This is called, at least by me, the El Neil Gambit, in honor of L. Neil Smith, its originator.) I plan on protesting the nascent Confederate Flag censorship by buying and flying one or several historic flags from that period, and woe unto the fool who attempts to intimidate me into removing it or them.

The process I am resisting, with a big fat middle finger in the face, originates with Saul Alinsky, a Communist fellow-traveler who wrote a book, Rules for Radicals, about how to destroy a society’s political and moral consensus by attacking its symbols and institutions. (To give the reader some idea of how he thought, he dedicated his book to the Prince of Darkness.)

Returning to Hulk Hogan:  I recommend that he read, however be it repulsive to contemplate, this execrable work, not only to understand what happened to him, but with the mindset of how to mount an effective resistance and counterattack. Paula Deen lay low, regrouped, and re-launched, but the Progs went digging into her social media stream and found more stuff that they could use to suppress her again. This is a weakness any public figure must address. Hillary Clinton, no stranger herself to Alinskyite tactics, is attempting to choke off any unflattering emanations from the penumbra of her media image. (She failed big-time with the roped-reporters flap; I think she’ll ultimately fail in her Presidential bid.) Hulk Hogan has a deep reservoir of popularity upon which he can draw, more than Ms. Deen had and more than Hillary will ever have; a large number of his fans are plain-spoken, working, country folk who despise the Progs and their Newspeak. His period of exile should be short, and he has plenty of venues available to him while he plans his return, where Paula Deen did not.

Hulk, you hang in there. Your tormentors have no sense of proportion or humor. Besides, you could pulverize any ten of them put together without breaking a sweat.

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Of Fags, Of Mules, and Of Dolphins: The Iron Pot Calls the Porcelain Sink Black [WARNING: NC-17 content]


I’ve held off on this article for well over a year because the Supreme Court’s sodomite/catamite marriage ruling hadn’t come down, and further held off for most of this July to ponder the matter, because it required a great deal of thought. As I wrote in my previous post, A Conflicted Libertarian, my faith and my viscera abhor male homosexuality, but my libertarian principles require that I refrain from initiation of force against it or its practitioners. (Political correctness fans please note: rhetoric is not force. You score no points by stifling speech from people who refuse to affirm your moral choices, thereby evolving from the oppressed into the oppressor.) Well, the Justices (including two who demonstrated clear bias, should have recused themselves, and may have opened themselves up to impeachment should enough congressmen and senators have the guts), have spoken, and this is now the law of the land.

Some years ago, in a dissent from the Supreme Court decision that legalized sodomy, Justice Scalia predicted that the Court had just opened the door for all kinds of non-hetero-normative (a fancy word for perverted) behavior. He foreshadowed the Court’s 2015 decision, but also predicted that polygamy and bestiality would be normalized. Indeed, some polygamists have already challenged the prohibition against multiple marriages, with a good probability of success. As for bestiality, we have the immortal, immoral words of Alabama Democratic Representative Alvin Holmes,, otherwise known as the infamous ‘little mule’ quote.

Alvin Holmes, seemingly ignorant of Levitical law, is like a stopped mechanical clock: right twice a day, but not by intention. An even more unusual sexual event occurred before I reached what they used to call Junior High, here in Florida: a man had what he claims was consensual sex with a bottle-nose dolphin. (Since Florida did not outlaw interspecies sex until 2011, this was not illegal at the time.) This was not general knowledge until recently, when the man, Malcolm Brenner, published a fictionalized(names have been changed for legal reasons) account of his experience, titled Wet Goddess. His story has been made into a short documentary film: it won an award at a recent film festival.

I’ve read the self-published book; the writing is good, as behooves the product of a former print journalist, good enough that a major house should have picked it up but probably wouldn’t touch it because the subject is off-putting to most people. That noted, if you’ve ever slogged through much of what homosexual activist Dan Savage has written, then you know true grossness; Mr. Brenner writes better, although explicitly, and with more sensitivity.

Mr. Brenner has also made history by having the first known sexual relationship with a non-human sapient being, a milepost which may not seem like an event of great magnitude in light of Star Trek, (where Tripp went there first, Kirk did it almost every episode, and even Data scored) except that this star-crossed love occurred on Earth before man even sent a lander to Mars. (If you believe Von Daniken and Sitchin, then Mr. Brenner wasn’t the first human to have sex with a nonhuman intelligent being, not by thousands of years, but he still would potentially be the first to have sex with a non-humanoid sapient. In Star Trek terms, Captain Archer came close with the Wraith.)

To temporarily divert back to the subject of the Obergefell vs. Hodges decision, I’d like to make the case that Mr. Brenner has a higher moral standing than Mr. Savage and his fellow-travelers in the sexual realm, as foreshadowed by the title of this post.

1) Mr. Brenner’s relationship with the dolphin was consensual: The consummation took place in the water, and if a dolphin in its element does not want attention of whatever kind from a human, it can–and some have done so–express its displeasure with fatal results to the human. At one point in their romance, the dolphin got jealous of Mr. Brenner’s human date and inflicted corporal punishment on both humans. I suspect that most homosexual relationships in correctional facilities are not consensual, and President Bush (Jr.) must have felt the same way when he signed a federal law designed to address that situation.

2) The dolphin, Dolly, was a female, so the relationship was heterosexual. Although the Obergefell decision imposed the legal recognition of homosexual marriage, most societies throughout history, whether ‘tolerant’ or otherwise, have held same-sex relations not to be equivalent to heterosexual ones. Even backward societies held male + female marriage as superior (the incident in Africa where a man was forced to marry the goat he was caught shtupping comes to mind) to other models of relationship.

3) Mr. Brenner, in his book, maintains that the dolphin could sense his thoughts (and he hers when he was stoned), establishing a somewhat superior-to-verbal form of communication; Dolly complained that he could not hear her high-frequency vocalizations, and that she could barely hear his lower-frequency speech. (Mr. Brenner has said that his book was fictionalized, so I cannot be sure if the telepathy was real or was part of the fiction.) What is evident is that they communicated information, ideas, and affection. This point is not central to my argument of the moral superiority of their relationship, but it does establish at least an equivalence in the area of communication. Most animals, discounting parrots, mynah birds, and crows, can’t communicate in human language (although if you’ve watched Misha the husky dog on YouTube, you’d probably have to say that Misha’s vocalizations are intelligible and in context.), and hence cannot consent, although some barnyard aficionados have maintained that horses (and presumably Alvin Holmes’ hypothetical mule) can kick a human suitor to death if they don’t like the tilt of his kilt.

4) Her brain was larger than his. This is relevant only because it addresses the issue of sapience. Most who condemn bestiality rightly presume it equivalent to pederasty in that it involves an abuse of power by a superior over an inferior, which points to issues of consent that I have previously established. Dolly, on the other hand, was a sexually mature female of an intelligent species who propositioned a sexually mature male of another sapient species.

In summation: they were both sexually mature sapient beings, they communicated in a higher-than-verbal format, they were male and female, and she consented to penis-in-vagina sex, yet no court in the world, even today, would issue, or would have then issued them a marriage license because Dolly was chattel property, and her sapience was not recognized: a legal disability that didn’t stop horny slave-owners from siring half-caste children on their chattel property! Indeed the relationship between human and dolphin had little possibility of offspring, (for which traditionalists might condemn it) yet two males applying for a marriage license for a joining from which there is even less possibility of issue than from Malcolm and Dolly’s coupling cannot be denied one.

I won’t spoil the ending for anyone who might want to read Wet Goddess, (it does possess artistic and literary merit, probably more than Madame Bovary, Lolita, and everything by Kurt Vonnegut all put together) except to say that the romance between Malcolm and Dolly was not happily ever after (which, ironically, gives it part of its artistic and literary merit to the extent that popular prejudice among critics tends to assign greater gravitas to tragedy). I also won’t recommend anyone to try dolphin dating at home, although it probably will happen again and, should the Lord tarry, human-dolphin communication, if not marriage, will become a reality. At that point, the Church will have to face this challenge: do non-human sapient beings require salvation and, if so, do they accept it through Jesus’ blood and righteousness as humans do? And if, the answer to these questions is yes, can a Christian dolphin and a Christian human marry if they are one male and one female?

As a Christian, I am confident that the answer to the first two questions is yes, and that the third follows the others. As a libertarian, I look forward to having this conversation with a dolphin. As a straight, I look forward to watching the radical homosexual activists struggle with accepting the right of nonhuman sapient beings tomarry humans and if, as some researchers maintain, some dolphins practice homosexuality, with a proposition from an intelligent life-form whose penis is as much as fifteen inches long.

P.S. As a courtesy to Mr. Brenner, I have refrained from linking to his website without permission. Anyone interested can find it with a search engine. I will, however, recommend the purchase and perusal of his excellently-crafted book about his interspecies romance.

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More Motorcycle Madness

I just took the black bike, newly gussied up with ape hangars, diode taillights and a properly aligned chain-and-sprocket assembly, out for a short test run. From this short jaunt, l learned three things: 1), our new outdoor cat, T-Bob Cat-Underfoot Esquire, hates motorcycle noise; 2) the bike is scary-fast now, and 3) motorcycles are a great way to beat the heat… until you reach a stop sign.

None of these observations really relate to the never-ending parade of government silliness we have recently observed back at the old address. The Panama City Beach City Council, because of several factors–ID10T error by riders and drivers, disgruntled morons who forget they were once young, stupid(er) and liked thrills, and politicians afflicted with Dosomething’s Syndrome–decided to arbitrarily put the scooter-rental businesses out of business over 3 years, with an immediate ban on new registrations of rental scooters. In response, the owner of one of the rental businesses is running against one of the coprocephalics who voted for the ban, and I support the business owner (or would if I still lived out there).

What I don’t support is the notion that we need cities regulating rental businesses, period. If this is a legitimate function of government–a point I don’t concede–it belongs at the state level if at all.

The seldom-enforced, unlamented Tenth Amendment would seem to require as much:

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people. [Emphasis mine]

Odd that I don’t see anything about cities, counties, taxing districts, or zones, but I couldn’t see any ’emanations of the penumbra’ either, unlike certain erstwhile Supreme Court justices. That is how far we have retrogressed in this country; when the Tenth Amendment was ratified, folks were like as not to heat up the tar and raid the pillows for feathers when officious officials started talking about telling them how or if they could run their businesses. That custom declined, and government metastasized.

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I’m Feeling Old

I can remember those same times the author of the above article remembers. In 1980 I wrote stories about a society that lost its curiosity, declined, and required a bloody revolution to get back on track.

Now I’m watching things I predicted in my stories turn from fiction into headlines, with political correctness being the foremost of those things. I recently reconstructed one of those stories(novel-length) from memory, and was scared by its almost prophetic quality.

The villains of the piece I called Eco-Socialists, but today we call them Progressives, environmentalists, or Al Gore. Most were wealthy or at least comfortable, and they all manipulated the masses to amass and retain power. I figured that, in the ‘real’ world, they’d gradually lose influence and become a pathetic, hectoring bunch of fruitcakes nobody listened to and most people despised, but the actual result is closer to what I wrote: a soul-sucking nanny state where the environment is god, frequently granted lip service but actually given the respect dogs give trees and fireplugs, and the government its consort, the true master and deity of the world. Mind you, this book was drafted before I was familiar with the Apocalypse of St. John, more commonly known as Revelation.

One of the first things the bad guys in my book did was attempt to shut down any space travel, manned or otherwise, outside Earth orbit: if you want to be world dictator, you can’t give many people the opportunity to get off your world. (Satellites for communication and spying were fine with them… something else I got right, alas.)  But one good guy,( kind of like John Galt… which is odd, because I still haven’t read Atlas Shrugged) two talking dolphins, and one of the bad girls who got the dirty end of the stick from her superiors, managed to bust loose, pep up the counterrevolution, and get the interstellar drive working in time to save the world from a new, darker Dark Ages.

(I recently finished the book, but it’s NC-17 and not exactly Levitical, although the protagonist is explicitly a churchgoer and saved. Caveat emptor when I get it on Amazon Kindle, assuming the Apocalypse doesn’t come first.)

But, book or not, I feel depressed to have been so right. The Apocalypse predicts that the beast will make war on the saints and defeat them. (I hope this is out of context or refers to something symbolic, but recent events and the ineffable stupidity of our leaders are no cause for hope.) How odd that so many atheist sf writers–Wells, Orwell, Huxley, Hubbard before he went bananas and founded a screwball cult–predicted a dystopian future that closely mirrors the structure of the Revelation before the Return of Christ!

For the first time in my life I feel my age, and I don’t know whether to sit around and let history unfold as all indicators say that it will in the hope that I don’t live to experience the hell on earth that I see coming, to hope for the Rapture of the Church and the first plane out of here, or to be a mean s.o.b. who hangs around with the avowed intent of making the Progs, the Greens, and the Commies fearful, miserable, and dead for what they’ve done to us.

Any thoughts?
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“I may detest what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”

This approximate quote is generally attributed to Voltaire. It is excellent advice for personal behavior in an open, free society.

It has also been forgotten by most of the country or, if not forgotten, practically ignored.

I was sharply reminded of this when I posted a comment to a fascinating blog by a retired Army fellow who’d logged plenty of years as a civilian Air Force employee. He’d posted a hub on the Milgram experiment:

To say the Milgram protocol was creepy seriously understates the facts: most humans are so conditioned to obey authority that they will administer what they think are painful electric shocks to an experimental subject when prodded by an authority figure.

Well enough; it sadly proves that we as a species have a long slog ahead of us if we are to stay free and get freer. But the blogger, who’s really a decent sort although I think he and I are poles apart in our politics, wanted to correlate this morally blind following behavior to right-wing thinking.

(As a libertarian, I don’t fit into the linear political spectrum that holds sway in this country. For instance, Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Soviet Union, like Rosie O’Grady and the Colonel’s Lady, were sisters under the skin in the way they treated the people under their misrule. Here is a more honest bi-axial effort at a political spectrum: .)

My problem with such a position is simple: while conservatives often abhor freedoms Progressives (the lefties reeked up ‘liberal’ so horribly, they had to go back to what they called themselves when my dad was born) claim to cherish–aka pot legalization–the Progs abhor equally the freedom to be armed, and the freedom to say anything with which a Progressive might disagree.  Stupid and sheeplike reverence for authority is not a right-wing monopoly; if you don’t believe me, research the anti-First Amendment speech codes on college campuses nationwide.

A libertarian, unlike conservatives or progressives, tolerates any sort of freedom that doesn’t involve initiation of force, although the exercise of some freedoms may turn the libertarian’s stomach.

A sample of such a freedom is ‘gay marriage’ or, in strict anatomical terms, the right to insert tongue, penis, et al, into the anus of another willing male–or insert penis into another willing male’s mouth–then call the act marital relations, have that behavior solemnized by a judge or (apostate) minister, and to thereafter receive all the rights and emoluments conferred by government (God doesn’t recognize the relationship as legitimate, no matter what the state says) upon married couples. (The anatomical equivalent for females is the other side of this peculiar coin.)  As the reader may guess, I find the acts involved in the male version (but not the female version)gross and abhorrent.  It is, for me, the rough equivalent in grossness to this:, with the major caveat that a mule is not a sapient being and incapable of consenting, which makes the act morally questionable… and illegal in most states, although not in Florida until recently.

Yet as a libertarian, I refuse to advocate that the force of the state be applied to prevent–or to promote–what I personally regard as a repellant travesty, whether a union between two men, or between a man and a mule.

Some of this thinking went into my comment on the blog entry. And here is where Voltaire was forgotten, if he was even known in the first place. At least two other people commenting on my comment took my visceral reaction to the concept of anal sex as a personal insult and reacted–far more politely than I expected–accordingly.

I was forced to explain, at length, that such revulsion is hardwired (by citing an example wherein the Toxoplasma parasite biologically reverses the avoidance reaction to cat urine in both rat and human hosts) but that, despite feeling deeply dyspeptic about anal sex, I wasn’t going to act on my disgust. I also went on to make a point about the sensory integration disorder that comes comorbid with my Asperger’s (which has been scrubbed from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual Five, or DSM-V) and how that disorder amplifies my disgust with feces to the point that I have a hard time scooping the litter boxes for my cats. I explained that I would not permit my queasiness with the concept of things going into and out of an anus to provide myself with an excuse to seek a law forbidding such behavior between consenting adults.

And do you know, the blogger came to my defense! I’ve met a decent Progressive (he calls himself an ‘Active State Liberal’). Turns out he feels the same reaction as well–and also suppresses it for the sake of getting along in society.

I doubt I’ll ever get over the way my brain is wired to respond in that direction. But I have a choice to act or not to act on my emotions, either politically or personally (I’m not gay, so I don’t have a dog in this fight.), and I don’t have the right to a society free of offensive persons, places, or things.

To illustrate my point, here’s a really offensive place/thing: not a family exhibit!

Now that you’ve choked down your gorge (or admired the artist’s work, or picked yourself up off of the floor weak from laughter), you can do one of several things: 1) Pester politicians to outlaw the Sugar Sphinx; 2) Pester the museum to take it down–they will, and soon, anyway–or 3) decide that it’s gross, great art or funny, or some combination of all three, and try to get it out of your head unless you find it just such grand comedy or such a powerful work that you don’t want to, but otherwise do nothing. (Of course if you like it, you could affirm it and agitate in support of this ‘art,’ but for the subject of this column I am supposing that you do not wish to do so.)

I don’t recommend the first option; it involves forcible state sanction. Number 2 involves the legitimate course of peacefully  expressing your ire, or withdrawing your assumed approval–and possibly your treasure if you donated to the host museum–from the sponsors of the exhibit. It’s legal, it’s persuasion–not force–and it’s your right. (I don’t know if this bizarre parody of the Sphinx was taxpayer funded, but if it was, I strongly recommend writing to and pestering politicians/administrators against it, because tax money is money expropriated from its owners with the threat of incarceration and/or violence, and should not be wasted on anything that could and should operate with voluntarily given money–which might not be forthcoming.) Number three is the most civilized response if this weird exhibit is privately hosted and financed.

My personal reaction was ROFLMAO, especially at the perverted selfies people posted after posing with the giant statue. The humorless politically correct folks who want to prevent such parody(including one man who took up a post at the highly anatomically detailed, NC-17 rear end of the exhibit for that purpose) represent a large part of the problem; with their self-importance and immunity to humility, they are the spiritual kin of book-burning dictators in their lack of respect for any free expression that offends them.

Personally, I don’t give a shrill soprano hoot in a hot place if people spend their money to see a titanic, sugar coated, anatomically detailed sculpture in an old sugar refinery, or if other people take crazy-funny sicko pictures posing with it; such neither breaks my leg nor (as long as its creators didn’t accept taxpayer money) picks my pocket. The ones in the wrong are the ones who want to intimidate the exhibit’s visitors out of making fun of the ridiculous thing.

In a civilized society, any self-expression short of the initiation of force or fraud should be permitted. This sword cuts both ways, which the people who responded to my blunt but honest blog post forgot. They wanted to shut my down my truthful expression of my disgust with the practice of male homosexuality, although I was not going to act forcibly on that disgust. They believed they had the right not to suffer offense–which they felt although none was intended–from my reaction to their self-professed behavior, although I was neither interfering with nor attempting to forcibly forbid that behavior. They did not want the tolerance I offered, but the affirmation I denied them.

Affirmation is given out of love and respect in the private sphere, whence it may eventually spread voluntarily to the public sphere. To compel public affirmation of anything is no different morally than the Red Chinese compelling all of their citizens to read Mao’s little red book, or the Nazis compelling Germans to ‘heil right in der Fuhrer’s Face.’

I titled this article, ‘A Conflicted Libertarian,’ because my personal tastes and distastes sometimes conflict with my stated political position. I shall never act to enforce my dislikes or likes on other people, but equally I shall never disavow those personal attitudes should the subject come up. This is no different than ordering a sandwich without mayonnaise or politely declining a serving of parsnips if one detests either mayonnaise or parsnips. Such a refusal may indeed give offense, but freedom does not require one to affirm what one detests, only to permit others to like the object of one’s detestation. Neither party in the transaction is permitted to force its tastes upon the other, and the mere expression of those tastes cannot be construed to be an initiation of force… as long as nobody is outlawing the consumption of mayonnaise and parsnips in Bloombergian fashion and, equally, nobody is using the law in Obamian fashion to compel these two alleged foods to be eaten.

And that, somewhat less succinctly, is what Voltaire was getting at.





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