In the ancient world, the way many people gained great wealth was by forming gangs of strong men, beating up their neighbors, and taking their stuff.
People still speak with admiration of men like Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar, but they were little better than gangsters who enriched themselves through armed robbery.
This was a negative sum game, and assured that people remained poor and unhappy for thousands of years.
Eventually, however, we figured out that respecting each other’s rights, building things, and trading meant that we could play positive sum games instead. We could increase the amount of wealth, and all would benefit. As a result, we moved from living in unheated shacks to living in what our ancestors would’ve thought of as paradise in only a few hundred years.
However, there are still people out there who think that beating someone up and taking their stuff is a really great idea.
It is the great task of our civilization to shun such people, as they are not fit to be part of society.
UFC event marks solidification of an entirely alternate male-centric cultural economy that the modern leftist simply has no answer for at all. Anduril, Monster, Starlink brands on the floor of the Octagon. Sponsor Polymarket bets pop up as interstitials with sponsor Meta Threads, Zuckerberg shaking hands in the audience. Each fighter’s entrance music song played live by US military marching band. Blood smeared all over the Bud Light logo. All in the heart of DC, yet absolutely not one iota of “social equity” in site. Total American kulak chud victory. Very impressive.
It’s the emperors birthday, treaty signed with Persia, gladiatorial games done in front of the Capitol in celebration.
Trump is Caesar Maxxing this weekend
If you’re wondering why men backed Trump in far greater numbers than McCain or Romney, this is why.
Nitro Circus launching backflips on the White House lawn. A bald eagle circling overhead during a UFC weigh-in on the grounds.
This is the America I grew up loving: patriotic, free, unapologetic, and proudly masculine. 🇺🇸
Biggest ipo of all time, stocks soaring, fuel dropping, war over, deportation all time highs, legal immigration gutted, foreigners fleeing the country, fights on the whitehouse lawn. Imagine insisting on negativity right now (I can’t) it is quite literally white boy summer.
they’re not jobs if they’re not valued. they’re not valued if there aren’t customers out there willing to pay them for their great work. needing the government to “create” a job is tantamount to welfare and that level of welfare resolves these individuals to a dependency on the government and lack of economic mobility. and chains our people, collectively, to a more indentured future.
you may be well intentioned but you have, and always will, fail to see the destitute folly of government as a job creation engine.
i have tried to engage you on this topic, in good faith, with empiricism and reasoning, but you have only dodged my points and pivoted to some populist refrain about the importance of taxation and the evils of productivity-driven success.
i can only assume you’re dodging these truths because you and the rest of the politburo leadership have deemed the conversation unsafe speech and put your oligopoly at risk.
let’s leave it at that then.
perhaps if your ways get their day, we can all bask in the glories of the dark ages ahead.
If, when you say regulation, you mean the dead and clammy hand of the commissar—the gentleman who has never in his life built a single thing, drafting rules to govern a thing he cannot define, to be enforced by men who cannot read them; if you mean the form in triplicate, the impact assessment upon the impact assessment, the compliance officer who breeds, in the warm dark of the org chart, further compliance officers unto the third and fourth generation; if you mean the moat—the deep cold moat that the giant digs around his own castle and christens, with a perfectly straight face, public safety—the drawbridge he hauls up behind himself the very instant he is across, lest any hungrier and hungrier man should follow; if you mean the precautionary principle, which, had it governed our grandfathers, would have banned the wheel pending further study of the hill, and left us yet shivering and raw in the mouth of the cave, blessing its excellent ventilation; if you mean the European disease—that magnificent open-air museum of a continent, which produces in our time precisely two things in great abundance, and they are regulation, and the eloquent and well-footnoted regret of cultivated men explaining at length why they have produced nothing else; if you mean the license required to think, the permission slip for honest arithmetic, the king’s wax stamp pressed upon the forehead of every new idea before it may draw its first breath; if you mean the agency dispatched, with trumpets, to slay a single dragon, which arrives at the cave, surveys the accommodations, and moves in—and spends the ensuing century laying eggs and devouring the very villagers it was sworn to defend; if you mean the startup that perishes not of the market’s honest verdict but of the filing fee, the genius decamping by the next tide to a freer and warmer shore; if you mean the law that arrives, faithful as the swallows, exactly one whole epoch too late—helmeted, plumed, and magnificently armed—to regulate the stagecoach—then certainly, my friends, I am against it.
But—but, my friends—if, when you say regulation, you mean instead the humble steel guardrail upon the mountain road at midnight, the very thing you curse on the easy days and bless on your knees the one night the fog comes down; if you mean the brakes—for it is the brakes, and not the engine alone, that permit a sane man to drive fast and yet arrive alive—and the buttress, without which no cathedral was ever flung so high, but only in spite of which, but because of which; if you mean the meat inspector, who is the single homely reason a man may eat a sausage in this republic without first composing his last will and testament; if you mean the firebreak cut clean through the forest before the dry season of the burning, the smallpox cordon, the buoy that marks the channel, the rule of the road that lets ten thousand strangers hurtle past one another in the dark at fearful speed and arrive, by its quiet grace, every one of them home; if you mean the honest scale and the true weight, the reason a pound is a pound and a dollar a dollar from Natchez to Nome; if you mean the firm and decent wall between the counterfeit voice and the widow’s bank account, between the deepfaked candidate and the ballot box on the eve of the vote, between the loosed and loveless machine and the schoolyard it neither knows nor pities; if you mean the simple plank of law that says the strong shall not, in the gray dawn, feed the weak quietly into the furnace and sell the rising smoke as progress; if you mean, in the end, the one slender thread of trust without which no citizen will ever dare to use the marvelous thing at all—for where there is no rule there is no trust, and where there is no trust there is no commerce, and a miracle that no man dares to touch is no miracle, but only a handsome and expensive ghost—then certainly I am for it.
This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise one inch of it.