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Early-March 2022

Chickening Out

I hesitated for quite a while, at least during what’s quite a while for me (5 days), to completely write this essay. I felt squeamish about presenting my minor gripes about life, in the midst of the tragedy and chaos in Ukraine. Any grumblings about anything in the USA pale in comparison to the plight of those Ukrainian patriots, fighting for life and for liberty in their homeland, battling to save their nation from the grips of the putrid Putin.

Life, however, must be sustained, no matter where it is. And life consists of the smaller moments, along with the big ones. Some of my smaller moments are, in fact, the big ones, as I offer prayers to people in a land distant from me, but not from my heart.

I also devote diligent portions of my day to assessing the horrendous dis-information campaigns in American Globalist Media about Putin’s attempted military takeover of the neighboring nation. The Keyboard Class has gone into giga-mega-overdrive to “combat” (and for the Champagne Socialists, combat is a word to be highly qualified and quotationed) — reality out there. Their online frenzy is a sure sign that the enemies of liberty believe that Online World is the major battlefield for freedom of thought. The fake news proliferates that way.

May The Loonies remain mired in their delusions.  I go from them in peace.

The most ardent and efficient support of democracy begins at home. Regardless of where Home is, the war against tyrants in your midst, and at the border, must be a vigilant and sustained effort from one generation to the next, and so on, and so on.

Europe being Europe, the 30+ years of relative post-Cold-War peace got piddled away during the past decade; which, is to say, those 30+ years were actually 20 years, give or take a few years. Weak American presidents, and weak citizens, made for easy plunders by Czar Putin. Why not swiftly seize Ukraine with an installed Idiot in the Oval Office?

The two Chechen wars during those pacific 1990s of the Slick Willy era in America, those bloody battles killed somewhere in the vicinity of 160,000 people, as of the 2009 figures. As is despicably predictable with any Soviet or Russian war, the casualty numbers are always revised — upwards. The death toll is probably closer to 200,000. The Soviet mindset does not alter with the crumbling of a wall. In fact, the will to crush the enemy through bombs, starvation, even the threat of nuclear annihilation is part of the mentality of any man who believes he is the Czarist God on Russian soil.

In actuality, Putin’s Russia never intended to play by the legal rules of Western Europe, and of Western Civilization; or abide by whatever civil rules that legislators of pre-Putin Russia put into place in their post-Soviet country. By the dawn of the War On Terror — a war against Western Civilization that Europe never intended to fight, since it was all America’s doing and America’s fault — the concept of war in Europe was, yet again, papered over with EU-paper:

designer wallpaper for the fonctionnaire wallflowers to hide behind when the time came to defend freedom, democracy, the Western Civilizational way of life.

Power does hate a void. The Russian government that existed after Boris Yeltsin downed his last vodka on earth was a voluminous void that Vladimir Putin filled with skill, and with the shrewd audacity of a cold-blooded killer. The fact that Vlady might presently be downing his last bottles of vodka on earth might make all the difference for that region of Baltic nation-states that are in his bloody dictator-sights.

Historically, chickening out has been the mode of governing for most European heads of state. Winston Churchill and Charles de Gaulle were the boldly heroic exceptions to the rule. As an American, I’d held my country above that type of cowardice, especially during those magnificent phases when peace-through-strength was the only sane and sober diplomacy for my nation.

The sleazy cowardice on display to the world from the innards of the Deep State is a hideous sight to the patriots of my country. We patriots out-number the traitors in our midst, but the operators of the levers of powers have been bought and paid-for by traitors outside of our midst. That change in democracy-engineers is gonna take time. I pray for my country whenever I think of those 13 martyrs who died in 2021, the heroes who were sent on a suicide mission and then abandoned by a dementia-addled dope, and by the treacherous cabal who mis-runs this country.

Perhaps the citizens of other nations are apathetically accustomed to this type of oligarchy-run-amok. I shall never accept this surreal reality as real in America. I shall fight to reclaim whatever liberty I can from the sneak-thieves of democracy.

The factual practicalities and realistic philosophies of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher die hard. The enemies of those irrefutable truths are that cabal, their prostitutes, known as politicians, and all of the mouthpieces and attention whores who have formed a last stand against the people of their own nation, against their very own nation.

Contemplate, for a few minutes, that appalling evil: Individuals born in the greatest country on earth, working to destroy it.

That sad fact is true of oh so many free nations on earth. Stolen, bribed elections are not an American invention, or a Russian tradition. The mail-in vote quickly became the mauled vote, in terms of the franchise. When the Queen of England commands Voter I.D., enough has been said. It’s time, it’s past time, for action.

It’s a mere matter of time before the barbarians at the gates who are the enemies within — fall. They’re falling, one by one, upon their own swords of greed, crime, and corruption as I type these words. They’re falling faster than any of the media goons dare to acknowledge, because, well, those barbarians in three-piece suits and spandex-y dresses pay by the syllable for the trashy propaganda that has taken on the form of lunatic farce.

I’m not laughing anymore at the array of vulgarities on-screen.

Stalinist Agitprop redux on Globalist Media is a freak show of muttering muttonheads and photoshopped morons. They play no hand in the dizzying turn of current events that they did play a hand in fomenting and foisting upon innocents, millions of innocents. Their time is up. They are no longer needed. Perhaps a job at going-broke Netflix awaits them. They’ve helped build those bare-shelves back better than even Jimmeh did, during an era when those snot-nosed punks were little spoiled brats. Now they are big spoiled brats.

How many big spoiled brats does America need, particularly of the vile female kind?

Look at the Ukrainian women and their children — making their own Molotov cocktails to hurl at the invading Russians. The breweries have become bomb factories. The modern American brats would demand their cocktails be delivered to them, fast, through Prime, in netscape-time, from that nasty jungle-selling platform, so their pix can be posted quick — on Instagram #PrettyPartisan. And the eco-micro-brewery is anti-war, so forget about that production-for-use!

The fates of free men and free women are literally in their own hands. The hand of God is at work in all of this faux-Western-civilizational collapse being pronounced in hyperbolic news-pinion. Are the NewWorldOrder wusses chickening-out in the face of the utterly predictable chaos that an utterly predictable war is bringing?


The Old World Order, the nations whose citizens are used to war more than peace, those countries have lessons to teach the soft democracies that must, sadly, learn the facts of life where liberty and life are concerned. Because of the political corruption of my nation (Burisma, hush-hush-hush), I avow that prayers are the sum total of powerful weapons from the Americans to the embattled Ukrainians.

Faith, and prayers, can move mountains, and maybe even tilt the balance of power toward people who have known, for too many centuries, savagery, and genocidal cruelty from the Russian overlords. For now, the faith of our fathers must join forces with the faith of their fathers.

“Now” can last a long time. “Now” can also vanish in a moment because of that divine hand of fate, moving swiftly over the land of enviable freedoms known as the United States of America.

The minor gripes of this essay started out in draft form, five days ago, but I hesitated to post them on my website. Since She who hesitates is lost, I found a broader focus for these words. That focus is to call out the chickening out of the elected cowards in the Golden State, and in Corporate America, and in the Capitol of America.

Theirs is a symbiotic relationship of parasites who currently are cannibalizing, after having feasted off of the miseries of others, here and abroad, for decades. Those decades of presumed peace in our time, with that much-ballyhooed peace dividend, were, in fact, the epoch of carving up the graft-pie for the porkers in politics, while the labourers of the world got screwed, again and again, by their Elected Advocates in Action — secretly and swinishly acting against their own constituents and country.

Here’s a blast from my childhood in New Jersey: the latest rationing is for H2O!

A few months ago, I ate a cheeseburger from In-N-Out Burger. During those peace-time decades, this company had a very rough time surviving the anti-business climate in California. To help further flatten their earnings curve, the covid-scamdemic came along to put the screws to another sector of the working class. Admittedly, I only ate at In-N-Out every few months, mostly during warm weather when I savoured the overall sensibility of the place, and the flavorful, mostly nutritious food.

No more.

I consumed less than half of that cheeseburger because the thing smelled and felt funny, looked half-cooked, and tasted “off.” That night, my stomach was in knots. During the next week, I got myself over what I suspect was a mild case of food poisoning. I did not contact the County Food Authority Central, as I’d done in the mid-1990s, when some cole slaw from a Boston Market almost turned into a Boston Massacre for me. I truly thought that I was going to die; the food poisoning was that bad.

This decade is NOT the decade for anyone to go to a hospital, at least not in California.

In-N-Out Burger is out. The burger is off. I’ll not ever eat again at what had been the last eatery for me to enjoy in California. When In-N-Out Burger has been scratched off my public-food-list, that list no longer exists.

Part of me still feels that my statements of complaint are trivial. And, yet, that dismal digestive incident is emblematic of the whole shooting spree that a craven, money-grubbing Government has perpetrated on restaurants in this state.

Yes, I’m better off making my own hamburgers and french fries, at home, which I’ve done, happily and deliciously. My home-cooked repast is superior to a glorified take-out meal. I understand that fact. That sad reality nonetheless reveals the unpalatable mess that has been flagrantly, and repeatedly, made by the pinhead politicians for the working men and women in private business, not only in California, but in the entire nation of America.

I hope those pompous pinheads choke on their cake while the proles give them the business.

Chickening out also involves a certain brand of soup that had been my first choice whenever I had to make a last choice for a meal. For many years, fifteen or so, Progresso Soup was a staple in my pantry for those times when I wasn’t able to place yet another culinary masterpiece on my dinner table.

No more.

Last week, Dear Husband ate an entire can of the chicken noodle variety. He spent that night, and the worst part of a week getting over a nasty response to that corporate soup. He thinks the fluid chicken part (aka broth) got loaded up with an extra dose of glutamate, of some sort. The entire covid-subsistence era was one of gluts of some victuals, amidst shortages of other ingredients, materials, elements, components, additives, preservatives, and who knows what else that got commandeered by Governments under the now-infamous Emergency-for-Use-Against-The-People powers.

Foodstuffs got stuffed with secret sauces and covert chemicals, all for the purpose of starving out a victorious President from his reward, a re-election. No horsey-sauce.

Yes, those chickens can all stuff it, where the American People are concerned.

I have since mastered a chicken noodle soup that cannot be purchased; it’s that good!

The egg noodles from Lehman’s Non-Electric Store online have offered me the real path to braving out the coming scenes of chickens chickening-out, and running around with their heads cut off. Those foul fowl never had much in the way of heads to begin with, so I’ll opine they’ve imported the craniums onto which they can plaster their Chi-comm manufactured wigs.

The Spreading-Love Diana Ross wig on the Wicked Witch-Queen of America was replaced by the Gloria Steinem hairpiece, and then replaced by the Vintage Saloon Girl toupe, which then got replaced, post-2016, by the Melania-wig, but that fake-hair got ditched more recently for the Long-Haired-Millennial-Model. (I’m thankful the crazy lush didn’t perform sacrilege on the lovely Raquel Welch wigs.)

The balding, liver-spotted pate of the Puppet can’t keep a wig on, so he calls a lid and the media-whores get muscled out of the Propaganda Room by the ever-increasing Handlers. Heaven only knows what’s getting handled behind the scenes.

These greedy geezers are all flipping their wigs. The mental declines of these traitors all go hand-in-hand with their physical declines, as the doom of truth encircles them and the very people who counted on them to deliver the goods.

Those goods won’t be delivered. BareShelves are the fate of this nation lacking a Head of State. The crusty vultures are chickening out. They’ll be fully chickened out once the moments to fully enact In-N-Out are upon the patriots, and we rise to do our civic duty:

to save democracy, to save America, and, maybe, just maybe, to make a stab at saving Europe from itself, again.