Adam Carolla has an old line about how if you want to destroy somebody’s life, just give them free rent in a shitty little house. You’ll come back 30 years later and find them still living in that shitty little house, because it was just too good of a deal for them to go out and do all the things that they would’ve otherwise done to improve their lives.
BREAKING: Marco Rubio just said the quiet part out loud.
Americans work 40+ years…
Pay taxes.
Follow the rules.
Build the country.
Then retire on $800, $900, maybe $1,000 a month.
Meanwhile, new arrivals can allegedly receive more support from the same system they never paid into.
Read that again.
The people who built America are being pushed to the back of the line.
This is not compassion.
This is a government priority problem.
America First was never just a slogan.
It was a warning.
Who comes first?
The taxpayer… or the system?
@0xexpt This is exactly the sort of thing your current suppliers have and even with no batch numbers and peptaura still backs them after tests show they sent wrong compounds.
This paragraph by C.S. Lewis hits so hard:
“Good and evil both increase at compound interest. That is why the little decisions you and I make every day are of such infinite importance. The smallest good act today is the capture of a strategic point from which, a few months later, you may be able to go on to victories you never dreamed of. An apparently trivial indulgence in lust or anger today is the loss of a ridge or railway line or bridgehead from which the enemy may launch an attack otherwise impossible.”
Of Nobel Prize winners in the 20th century, here are the percentages of atheists/agnostics by prize: Literature (35%), Medicine (8.9%), Chemistry (7.1%), Economics (5.2%), Physics (4.7%), and Peace (3.6%). For the outstandingly talented religious faith and reason seem to coexist.
Brian Jacques explains why he does not have sympathetic villains in his Redwall series:
"When I was a boy, morality was taught in school and in church but I think that is no longer true to the extent that it used to be. I try to create very clear moral signposts of what is right and what is wrong. The children who read my books are generally at an age where they need to have things spelled out in 'black and white,' without ambiguity. I often tell my readers that my baddies are bad and my goodies are good. I won't have sympathetic baddies and schizophrenic goodies in my books."
Should more writers do this?
I’m noticing a lot of foreigners who seem to not understand why we’d risk hundreds of lives, spend millions of dollars, and sacrifice several aircraft to rescue one guy. And the reason they don’t understand is also the reason people can’t be made American by a piece of paper.
The story behind the New York Times’ 1903 claim that human flight was between one and ten million years away is even worse than it looks.
Once you understand the backstory, you realize that the New York Times story is not really about flight at all but about how elites and credentialed “experts” mistake their own failures for the boundaries of possibility.
The New York Times did not dismiss the possibility of powered flight at random. There was a very specific reason behind it. At the time, America’s most prominent scientific authority, Smithsonian Secretary Samuel Langley, had been showered with large amounts of taxpayer funding to build an aircraft, the Langley Aerodrome. Despite all the money, institutional backing, and elite prestige, Langley and his team could not get it to fly, culminating in a series of very public failures, the last on December 8, 1903.
So when the New York Times declared that flight was millions of years away, what it was really saying was that if the most credentialed and well-funded “experts” cannot do it, then it cannot be done.
A mere nine days later, the elites’ proclamation of impossibility lay in ruins. Two totally unknown bicycle mechanics from Ohio achieved the first powered flight using improvised parts, a few hundred dollars of their own money, and sheer persistence.
The story of flight is, at its core, a story of the triumph of American individualism over elite credentialism. The fact that it was the New York Times that inadvertently delivered the proof is the most fitting conclusion imaginable.
There is a species of ant that approaches the edge of another colony, kills a single worker, and then takes on the dead ant’s scent.
For ants, scent is everything. Wearing that scent, the intruder walks in with no resistance. The workers pass by without concern.
The intruder moves inward, toward the queen, then It sprays the queen with a different scent that makes the workers turn on her. Then they surround her and kill her.
The intruder does not need to fight anyone. The colony does the work itself.
Once the queen is gone, the intruder reproduces. The true invader is no longer an intruder. It is the future.
This is how ideological takeover works.
A destructive foreign ideology takes the scent of familiar ideas and walks in as if it belongs.
It speaks the native vocabulary, justice, equality, compassion, rights, progress. It uses these words and quietly changes what they point to.
Then it moves inward.
It alters how foundations are perceived. Responsibility is made to smell like cruelty, law like oppression, borders like hatred, tradition like danger, history like guilt.
At that point, the civilization turns on itself.
Its courts, universities, churches, media, and bureaucracies begin treating their own foundations as threats. They believe they are defending the system.
They are enforcing what now smells legitimate. They do not see the intruder because it sounds exactly like them.
And when the founding principles are finally removed, discredited, dismantled, erased, the foreign ideology does not need to conquer anything. It inherits what is left.
The queen is gone. The colony is no longer itself.
The most effective conquest is the one that convinces a society that its own foundations are the enemy, and that killing them is an act of virtue.
I remember a psychiatrist once telling me that I gamble in order to escape the reality of life, and I told him that’s why everyone does everything.
― Norm Macdonald, 2016
A powerful scene in the Odyssey happens when Odysseus finally returns to Ithaca after twenty years of war and wandering.
You would expect the story to end with celebration, with the hero coming home, the family reunited, and order restored.
Homer does something far stranger.
Odysseus arrives disguised as a beggar, because Athena warns him that the palace has been taken over by more than a hundred suitors who have been living there for years, eating his food, drinking his wine, and pressuring his wife Penelope to marry one of them.
They believe Odysseus is dead and in their minds the kingdom is already theirs.
So the king of Ithaca walks through his own halls dressed in rags while the men stealing his house sit comfortably at his tables. They mock him, throw scraps at him, and one of them even strikes him, and Odysseus takes it. That is the remarkable part, because the same man who blinded the Cyclops and survived twenty years of disasters now stands quietly while strangers insult him in his own home. Homer tells us his heart burns inside his chest and that he wants to attack them immediately, yet he restrains himself and waits.
Instead of striking, Odysseus studies the room carefully. He counts the men, watches their habits, and quietly observes which servants remain loyal and which have betrayed him. The hero of the Odyssey does something most people cannot do, which is delay revenge until the moment is right.
Eventually Penelope announces a contest and brings out Odysseus’ great bow, declaring that she will marry the man who can string it and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads lined up in a row. One by one the suitors try and fail, because none of them can even bend the bow. Then the beggar asks for a turn. The suitors laugh at first, but the bow is eventually handed to him.
Odysseus takes it in his hands and strings it effortlessly. Homer says the sound of the bowstring tightening rings through the hall like the note of a swallow. Then he places an arrow on the string and sends it cleanly through all twelve axe heads.
In that moment the beggar disappears. Odysseus turns the bow toward the suitors and reveals who he is.
What follows is one of the most brutal scenes in Greek literature. The doors are sealed and the suitors realize too late that they are trapped inside the hall. Odysseus, his son Telemachus, and two loyal servants begin killing them one by one. There is no escape, no mercy, and no negotiation. The men who spent years consuming another man’s house die inside it.
It is a violent ending, but Homer wants you to understand something important. The real danger to Odysseus was never just the monsters and storms on the long journey home. It was the possibility that someone else might take his place while he was gone. When Odysseus finally returns, he reminds everyone in Ithaca of a simple truth: a man’s home is not truly his unless he is willing to fight for it.