George Harrison sitting cross-legged in his rented house on Blue Jay Way in the Hollywood Hills back on August 1, 1967. Fresh off the release of Sgt. Pepper, George spent time in Los Angeles relaxing and soaking in the West Coast vibe. It was right at this very house where a foggy night inspired him to sit down at an organ and write the hypnotic Magical Mystery Tour track Blue Jay Way. Photo by Ed Caraeff.
Amazing how fast the Pentagon’s self-anointed Hall of Sacred Stars turns into a bunch of hysterical old bitches the second Pete Hegseth starts touching their furniture.
For years these pricks ran the place like their own private country club with security clearances and taxpayer-funded bar tabs.
Lose wars? Get promoted.
Botch the Kabul disaster so badly that Americans got left behind and working dogs got abandoned? Circle the wagons and protect your own.
Turn the force into a DEI clown show that prioritized race, gender, and feelings over combat power? Call it “progress” and hand each other medals.
Let retired generals and admirals linger over the active ranks like vultures waiting for their next board seat or cable news hit? That was just “mentorship.”
They built a perfect machine: command a division, lose some wars, retire, then cash in on defense contractor boards, think tank sinecures, and “distinguished” speaking fees while still whispering in the ears of the officers they left behind. And if anyone asked too many questions, the whole rotten club would close ranks and call it an attack on “the institution.”
Now Hegseth walks in and starts yanking out the people who helped turn the United States military into a taxpayer-funded sociology experiment with guns, and suddenly these same arrogant bastards rediscover “norms,” “process,” and “institutional integrity.” Spare me the theater.
This was never about keeping politics out of the military. It was always about protecting the people who already politicized it, institutionalized it, and then decorated themselves for doing it. Hegseth didn’t bring politics into the Pentagon. He found their political machine already installed, running at full power, and guarded by men with stars on their chests and future paychecks in their eyes.
And now that machine is getting smashed.
The howling you’re hearing isn’t concern for the troops. It’s the sound of a corrupt old boys club watching their racket get dismantled in real time.
(article below)
USA. My neighbor's mailbox has a small red flag, and yesterday I watched him raise it like a banner before battle.
I asked what he was declaring.
"Outgoing mail," he said. "Flag up means the mailman takes it."
I need you to understand what this means, because my neighbor clearly did not. You place your letter in the box. You raise the flag. And a sworn officer of the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, seeing your signal, stops at your gate and carries your words anywhere in the nation.
The flag is a SUMMONS. Every house on this street has the power to summon the federal government with one finger, and they use it for birthday cards.
In Japan, we carry our letters to the post office, humbly, as petitioners. Here, the post office comes to YOU, because you raised a tiny flag. The samurai of my province summoned messengers with seals and lanterns and rank. You people do it with a red stick, while in pajamas.
I tested it. Of course I tested it. I wrote to my brother in Japan, placed the letter in the box, raised the flag, and stood watch at the window.
Three hours. I made tea. I regret nothing.
The carrier arrived. Saw the flag. Stopped. TOOK THE LETTER. Lowered the flag — closing the covenant — and drove on, as if the miracle were a Tuesday, which, to her, it was.
It works, America. The signal works. It costs nothing. The republic ANSWERS.
A man does not ask the republic to notice him. He raises the flag, and is noticed.
My neighbor says I "send a lot of mail now." Correct. I have written to my brother, two museums, and the company that makes my preferred tea, who replied with coupons and kind words. The flag has been up four times this week.
A man with a summoning flag and nothing to send will find something worth sending. That is not an excuse. That is a philosophy.
The flag is up right now, America. What did I send?
Wouldn't YOU like to know.
It is dorayaki. For Devin at the drugstore. He will not understand, and he will eat them anyway.
Brits in England: “This is the worst world cup ever!”
Germans driving a Mustang through Georgia with the top down to a game: “🎶AND I’M PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN, WHERE AT LEAST I KNOW I’M FREE!!!🎶”