black lives matter

What’s Wrong With Socialism?

Posted on by Alan Webb

This is what’s wrong with socialism: its heart of hearts is hate. Everything Marx, Engel, Stalin, Lenin, Mao, Mussolini, Hitler, and others have a core built on hate. Hate for whom or what? Hate for the bourgeoisie.

This is one thing wrong with Marx and Mao: they are addicts. I know, they are dead and so it should be “were”. Their way of life lives on in BLM and Antifa so I’ve used a present tense verb. Marx was an alcoholic and opium addict. Mao was addicted to sleeping pills. The character of a leader is lived out in those he or she leads. So it’s no accident that followers of Marx and Mao behave like dry drunks.

Here is a dirty little secret: capitalism has never been rooted out of Communist/Socialist societies. Where central control and governance fail to provide for a society black market capitalism invades like toxic mold. North Korea survives because of a thriving Black Market trade conducted by women.

The final wrong thing is violence. If you don’t believe in violence you are a fake revolutionary. 毛澤東 rose to power on a mountain of bodies. He is quoted in “Mao, the Untold Story” as being pleased with the deaths caused by his policies. His fight with Chiang Kai Shek starved and consequently killed thousands. But BLM isn’t like that. No? Then why are they rioting, looting, setting businesses on fire, and shooting people?

萬歲，希拉里·克林頓！

毛澤東的生活方式 (Mao Zedong Way of Life) is the core belief system of BLM and Antifa. So at the heart of BLM and Antifa is hate, addiction, and violence. The key demand is that we kowtow before them and adhere to absurd, violent slavery so that they can get justice and give us peace.

Followers of 毛澤東的生活方式 must hate privilege and anyone/anything that exposes their tribe as doing worse than someone else. The final solution is to bludgeon all that other into behaving in a way pleasing to the tribe. Next, you as an individual are merely an atom, an ant in a collective enterprise that gives you everything. The individual is nothing. The collective and the state are everything.

毛澤東是獨一的真神

At our core, we were founded on Christian ethics rooted in love. We are holy fire to the smoldering rot that is socialism. You can’t be a sincere Christian and a serious disciple of Mao. Liber XX: 4-6 “Non facies tibi sculptile, neque omnem similitudinem quae est in caelo desuper et quae in terra deorsum nec eorum quae sunt in aquis sub terra. Et non adorabis ea et non coles ego enim sum Dominus Deus tuus fortis zelotes visitans iniquitatem patrum super filios in tertiam et quartam generationem eorum qui oderunt me: et faciens misericordiam in milia de his qui diligunt me, et custodiunt præcepta mea.”

It is Mao that is the god-king of American Communism. Marx rejected religion as an opiate for the masses. Mao, hearing this, felt a thrill run down his leg. He could follow the lead of 儀皇帝. As a god-king, he could rule in a way much more powerful than petty-bourgeois and secular leaders like Stalin or Lenin. Getting the populace addicted to him was an awesome move he pursued diligently. And it worked, better than he could imagine.

It is to 毛澤東 that BLM looks for liturgy and theology. Mao rose to power on a Babylon tower of fear, shame, and violence. Mao Tse Tung tortured and murdered his way to a titular imperial rule. His Great Leap forward starved to death between 20 to 46 million people. Hitler was a piker.

自我譴責和生活

To be alive in Mao’s China was to fear the label 反布爾什維克 (Anti-Bolshevik). This was an all-purpose accusation perpetrated to either save yourself or cause an enemy to be cleansed. There was no need for our criminal justice process. The accusation was sufficient. The consequences were brutal torture and death.

Those that survived were forced to self-denounce their failure to be sufficiently supportive of Mao and the Chinese Communist Party. You could not be moderate. You had to love the Party and Mao with enough fervor. Any weakening of your devotion was risking an accusation of 反布爾什維克.

Why should we care? It is 2020. 毛澤東 died 1976年9月9日 (1976-9-9). That’s 44 years ago. So yesterday. Modern Socialism is better. Ok. Sendero Luminoso is still active in Peru. As for BLM, they are Maoists. They demand that we shout, “Black Lives Matter” with sufficient passion. Well-meaning intellectuals hold critical race theory training classes where the task is for white people to perform a self-denouncement of their racism and privilege. So 毛主義 is still relevant.

白猴子妓女

And here is why: the tactics of BLM are Mao’s tactics of fear and shame. You can’t be merely sympathetic to the plight of the downtrodden. You have to prove your fealty with sufficient fervor. Problem? Yeah, you can’t fulfill the demand. Nothing you do is sufficient.

If you are white? Forget about it. White people are innately evil and racist. They could flagellate themselves while chanting “Black Lives Matter” 247365 until they fell out and it would not be enough. BLM is built on hate, shame, and anger. It shares its heart of hearts with 毛澤東哲學.

This the stage on which this post is placed—I am the totem for every evil thing claimed as the cause of the oppression of African Americans. My accusers assign me power over the lives of millions of Black Folk and accuse me of oppressing them simply because I live and breathe.

IGAFDU, "I Give a Fuck, Do You". What's Wrong With Socialism?

IGAFDU

I keep repeating this. That I am accused of being a little g god responsible for the misery of millions. I don’t want the power I am accused of having. This is my larger point: you can’t serve both 耶穌 (Jesus) and 毛澤東 Máozédōng. Exodus 20:4-6, “切勿為自己雕刻圖像，或在天上，在地下，在地下的水中做任何類似的事情。 5你不可屈服於他們或為他們服務，因為我主你的神是嫉妒的神，向那些恨我的人的第三代和第四代拜訪父親的罪孽，6但要表現出堅定的愛 給成千上萬愛我並遵守我誡命的人。” Also, Matthew 6:24, “沒有人可以服務於兩個主人，因為他要么恨一個主人而愛另一個主人，要么他將致力於一個主人而鄙視另一個主人。 你不能事奉上帝和金錢.

In English: “You shall not make for yourself a carved image or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. 5 You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, 6 but showing steadfast love to thousands[a] of those who love me and keep my commandments.” and “No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.”

Mao did not tolerate any weakening of fealty to the Party. You had to compete with your kin and neighbors to show more devotion than them. Failure could get you killed. Violence, fear and shame were the three weapons used to prove you loved Mao and the Party more than anyone else. So millions died.

您必須死於世界，並在耶穌基督裡獲得生命

Or . . . an absurd story about a carpenter from Nazareth born in a stable in Bethlehem to homeless parents. This wretch taught us to love our enemies. He said we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Matthew 7:12, “因此，無論您希望別人對您做什麼，也希望他們也這樣做，因為這就是律法和先知。”

So the challenge is this. To whom do you worship? A genocidal emperor wanna-be who caused the death of millions or that crazy Carpenter who broke the Sabbath and healed the sick? No, don’t answer. I don’t actually care.

BLM says we should care about Black Lives. Then they foment riots in our cities in areas populated by Black Lives. BLM blames the cops for the deaths of young black men. They make the absurd demand that there cannot be another death by a cop in a country of 330 million people until the end of time. Or what? Or they will destroy the businesses that support Black Lives.

Yeon-Mi Park (박연미)

Three things, then. First, when threatened and told that in exchange for the removal of the threat I must comply my interest in compliance dies. I don’t care what it is you want me to do. You threatened me. That’s the first thing I will deal with. So “silence is violence” is a threat I will answer. Just not the way you want me to.

Second, I am a disciple of Christ. I belong to Jesus of Nazareth. I am at peace with the knowledge that through history devotion to Christ became a deadly choice. Tortured and told that I must prove my allegiance to ending racism just moves me to defy the demand. I’ll fail and choose torture and death before I renounce Christ.

Next, I’ve been watching Yeon-Mi Park on YouTube. Yeon-Mi chose to flee instead of fight. My takeaway is that Kim Jung Un, for all his effort to emulate Mao and succeed, hasn’t solved the problem of the Black Market. Black Market Capitalism is the hidden reason why Communism in North Korea hasn’t completely collapsed. Capitalism is a virus in Communist societies that fills the gaps created by a centralized, large, and incompetent government.

承認你的特權

Last thing. Self-Criticism vs. the Prayer of Confession. Everyone in Mao’s China and Kim Jon Un (김정은) must perform a self-criticism regularly. This is every Saturday in North Korea. There are two tasks. One must name a thing done wrong in the previous week and one must also name someone who did something wrong. From this self-criticism, there will be punishment for yourself, and for the person you named. There is no forgiveness. There is no future day in which your confessed crime is redeemed. The misery continues and moral improvement isn’t a concern.

About that before I conclude. I count this as axiomatic: for every law there is a cheat (每一個法律都有一個騙局). Which means I suspect the Saturday self-denunciation (자기 비난) in North Korea is gamed so that those attending can protect themselves. The accusations and punishments are kept minor for most people. There are, I’m sure, conflicts that leak into Saturdays which cause more serious accusations and consequences. I’ll also guess that bribery plays a part in this rite of self-denunciation. It’s not the same as the Prayer of Confession.

The Prayer of Confession is different. Part of the liturgy of many Reformed congregations is a corporate prayer of confession. The pastor will talk about some failing of the congregation related to the sermon. Where Self-Criticism ignores forgiveness and redemption Reformed churches conclude the Prayer of Confession with an announcement of Christ’s grace and forgiveness.

我跟隨耶穌

I have an ask as you march on the National Mall and call for revolution to replace our evil society with a Socialist Paradise. What are you for? You are marching for genocide and hate if it is 毛澤東哲學 or some flavor of it.

As for me and my house, I choose Christ—Joshua 23:14-15, “Now therefore fear the Lord and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness. Put away the gods that your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. 15 And if it is evil in your eyes to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your fathers served in the region beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you dwell. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
「所以，你們要敬畏耶和華，誠心誠意地事奉祂，摒棄你們祖先在幼發拉底河那邊和在埃及所拜的神明，專心事奉耶和華。 15 如果你們不願意事奉耶和華，今天就選擇你們的神明吧，或大河那邊你們祖先事奉的神明，或你們這裡亞摩利人的神明。至於我和我全家，我們必事奉耶和華。」

Ego autem et domus mea serviemus Domino.

– 30 –

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Really Racist?

Posted on by Alan Webb

Y’know, I should walk away. Let go and let God. Put the folks who claim I am really racist on the list of things I cannot change. Instead, I am going to go there. So it goes, I’ve been declared really racist.

Search this blog. Scroll through facebook.com/knogeek. Look through my other social media. Hit the web sites I own. Find the place where I’ve said that a certain ethnicity is less than another. Identify the hate speech you find. When you find it put your evidence in the comments below this post. I’ll wait.

I really look forward to the comments. Somebody will find something. It’s how it goes. The triggering premise is that I am really racist. So those who believe this must confirm what they already believe. Facing a lack of evidence they’ll invent something. The ad hominem attack must affirm the orthodox narrative that I am really racist. No other option is possible.

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“When did you stop being really racist?” Uh huh. “Are you now or have you ever been really racist?” I’m that guy. The one who will agree that I am really racist in spite of no evidence to affirm the claim. Why? Because what would be the point of arguing with someone who is so full of angst and rage that their brains are on full stupid? Can’t find a reason to argue with a raging snowflake? Thought so.

Why? Why would I allow myself to say that I am really racist? It’s an absurd move. I said it because the option to be anything else has been taken from me. Simply because I have the genealogy I have and because my Dad succeeded in pursuing the American Dream I am declared bougie and thus, really racist.

Lately, the fashion is to declare white people to be irredeemably really racist. We were born in racism and we will die racist. Nothing we do or say can change that. No number of hours in unconscious bias training sessions will remove the stain on our souls. White people are really racist in their very nature.

Calvary Cross Russian Orthodox Really Racist

The Cross of Calvary

Fight or flee? Neither. There is no point in fighting someone who is so drunk on blue Kool-Aid that winning an argument with them is harder than teaching a pig to sing. Flee? That’ll go well. Our sins have a bad habit of following us wherever we go. So, an invisible third must be found.

I’ll tell you the invisible third I have in a bit. But before that, some back story. I have a two year beef between me and a user in this space named CaptWhite. About two years ago I stumbled upon Ms. White’s declaration that I was probably not a “real” Christian, mayhaps “really racist” and definitely sketchy. She didn’t know my heart and wondered if, under all that passive-aggressive talk talk about grace lay an evil man who hates black people.

CaptWhite has triggered a fair number of posts in response to her declaration that I am sketchy if not really, really racist. So here we are. Black Lives Matter and fellow travelers are filling the headlines with Maoist proclamations that white people are innately evil and thus, deserving of what the group perpetrates against them. CaptWhite seems sympathetic to their cause and their actions. This implies that I, being white, could be seen as really racist and deserving of retribution. Woo.

Stolen Story

Here is what’s worth 1500 words of a rant about racism: you stole my freedom to tell my story. I’m not allowed to have any story of my own. It must be a story assigned to me based on approved tropes about white people. These tropes are rooted in the hatred and jealousy of a drunk and opiate-addicted Karl Marx for his peers. As a WASP I am deemed to be privileged and thus, a member of the bourgeoisie. My assigned story is an accusation that I am somehow responsible for the collective misery of everyone who isn’t white.

There are only a couple of things that will make me want to fight. One is not being heard. I don’t care if you agree with me. It’s actually more fun if you don’t and can make a convincing argument. What does piss me off is failing to listen to me. I want to be heard. I get pissed off when I feel like my story isn’t getting across. The other thing is feeling desperate that I am surrounded by those who only want war. I was raised to never fight. I was bullied because I wouldn’t stand my ground. So opponents who just want injury or death scare and anger me.

I know little of BLM save for what filters through to me on social media and what I’ve read on their web site. There is that and what CaptWhite has said on her facebook page. The trigger for me was another post from CaptWhite where she would not allow replies. This is how I felt her post–she is free to say anything, even something hurtful to me, and I am supposed to just suck it up. I am not allowed to be heard.

Indelible Stain

It’s been 19 years. The last time I hit my son’s Mom was in December of 2001. In 2002 I made a promise to my son to never speak ill of her. Out of that promise came a commitment to practice giving grace first and to only desire Christ. I’d like to say it’s been a solid walk since. It has not. I lose it once in a while. I forget my promise and begin to be seduced by the impulse to break my commitment.

Why would I agree that I am really racist? Because of the cross. Because Christ martyred himself on the cross and took sin and death with him to Hell. Martyrdom is the invisible third answer between fight or flee.

I can continue to devote myself to Christ and to shedding any desire that keeps me from Him. I can also give grace first to everyone and especially to those who are enemies. Jesus’ church so deeply hated him that his church leadership demanded that the Romans crucify him. He is my example.

Die to Live

By that example, it doesn’t matter what I am accused of. My task isn’t to win the battle against those who malign my reputation or hold anger in their hearts against me because of a story imputed to me. My task is to follow and desire Christ.

This is a “do you trust me?” moment in my life. On one of my more desperate moments Jesus asked me if I trusted Him, “Yes.” “Then shut up! Stop whining about what you don’t have and what you can’t do.” Then my phone rang and it was Darlene. She needed a ride to the grocery store. Read the post about her for the full story. Darlene is a big reason why I have what I have today.

Today, there is a war between heaven and hell underway. Maoists, Sendero Luminoso, and their fellow travelers got a the green light to foment a Communist revolution in this country. Groups like BLM and Antifa are the infantry in this uprising. Christians are an enemy of the revolution and thus, on the target list. So, yeah, really racist and an enemy of the revolution, YAY!

Irredeemable

Not yay. This sucks. Am I really racist? I hope not. To be really racist I’d have to give up my commitments to Christ and to my son. I don’t believe you can be a sincere disciple of Christ and be really racist. But that choice has been taken from me. I’m not allowed to be anything but really racist.

There is a lot more in common across humanity than we sometimes admit. The archetypal heroes tale recurs around the world. Most of us live the seven stages of life spoken of by William Shakespeare in, “As You Like It.” The normie life I was raised in featured a two-parent home and a father who worked a good union job until retirement. If there is one divide it is between parents and children. You are a child until one night, the lovemaking conceives a baby. That night, you cross over into the realm of parenthood never to return. Except for that, the arc of our lives is rather similar whether you live in Manhattan or in a Zulu village. Life for the working man hasn’t changed much since the Roman Empire. We are not so different.

And yet the Maoists insist that there must be a difference. They need the proletariat and the bourgeoisie to perform their respective parts in the absurd play called Social Justice. There cannot be justice or peace.

No Justice No Peace

The peace of Christ is a threat to the Maoists. This makes me a threat to anyone loyal to Maoism. Good times. This is the end . . . So . . . I try to avoid preaching. I’m not going to end on “you should do this.” You should do you. I’ll keep practicing my faith, letting go of anything that interferes with my desire for Christ and His peace. My haters are gonna hate. My prayer is that we quit fighting and start hearing each other.

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Boogaloo Couch Slug

Posted on by Alan Webb

Charlie is useless Boogaloo Couch Slug. He howls like a wounded toddler at the suggestion that the empty bag of Cheetos belongs in the trash. Then he’ll petulantly ask you to do that for him. The empty Chinese Takeout containers? Ain’t there people for that?

Charlie the Boogaloo Couch Slug occupies space in this blog because he befriended Inger’s parents. The boy inveigled his way into house sitting and being a roommate to Inger. Mom thought he was a perfect ten. This meant that for Inger, Charlie was a perfect zero. I get it that Inger would rather have this couch slug disappear into some forgotten depth of my imagination.

The World Ended, Not

Charlie is forgettable. He’s one of many business school graduates who completed the punch list of items one does as a desirable future husband and career functionary in some cubicle at KPMG. Charlie comes to this blog as a couch slug who slimed Inger’s basement. He was invited in by Inger’s parents because they thought she’d like him, maybe marry him and settle into hausfrau bliss. They thought wrong.

In front of Mom and Dad he’s the perfect boy. Pleated khakis, Florsheim Oxfords, Phi Beta socks, Land’s End Oxford shirt, boxers, not briefs, and wife beaters. Axe body spray because his Mom likes it. Natural orange hair, blue eyes, freckles, chubby, and wreaking of Old Virginia money. It’s a beard he wears to keep Mom & Dad at bay.

The rest of the time he’s in an electric boogaloo t-shirt, pajama pants, and dear foam slippers. His living space is a shrine to empty Chinese takeout containers. Front and center is a wet dream gaming setup consisting of 9 32″ monitors hung from an Ergotron stand, an Alienware Aurora PC worth three months pay for me, Razor keyboard and mouse and Logitech G560 speakers. It’s good to be rich.

Chicken Fried Steak

Here is my beef with Charlie. He has no opinion. Actually, he has your opinion until your opinion is something he disagrees with. Then he gets this face like he’s shit his pants. And his normal baritone shifts up to right where the vocal break is. So he sounds like a prepubescent tweenie struggling to sound grown. Suddenly he is full of opinions on what you need to do so that he can be happy.

Also, Charlie snores–Boogaloo Couch Slug snores. I made the mistake of letting him crash on my couch this summer. Great bellowing, sleep apnea snores filled my night. I spent too many homeless nights sharing a church social hall with 39 other guys in an unconscious chorus of elephant seal snores to be OK with this.

Eeyore Boogaloo Couch Slug

Stop Smiling

Next, Charlie is melancholy. He’s an Eeyore. Everything is OK until it isn’t. And it mostly isn’t OK. The sun is out and it’s too hot. It’s cloudy and he’s worried about the rain. It’s raining and I have to listen to him talk about a tropical storm somewhere in the Atlantic that is going to wipe out D.C. and cause Mama Pelosi to be queen—the worst dystopian nightmare ever.

I can’t do Charlie. Charlie the Boogaloo Couch Slug is like having whiskey in the house for a recovering drunk. His social chameleon thing scratches an itch to be contrary just to get a rise out of him. I have to fight urges to slap him silly so he’ll have an opinion of his own.

You can disagree with me. I like it when someone believes in their opinion enough to argue with me. Charlie weasels about until he figures out if you are red or blue and then changes his skin to match. He does this with stupid stuff like picking from a bbq menu. On politics, he has the opinion of whatever headline is on breitbart.com. Or whatever he thinks will ingratiate himself to you. Religion? He was raised Synanon, so there is that.

Free Will is Scary

IMHO, Charlie has a few major malfunctions. The first is his presumption that he does not have free will. He has no agency, no ability to act in his own self-interest. So he molders on a couch of his choosing and binge watches YouTube videos of other guys winning at some random VRPG/D&D thing. Next, he is a victim of the evil Maoists who won’t let him shine. Yeah, let that rattle around your stomach for a bit. Last is his morose character. One more, he’s more choleric than melancholy. Oh, and the Walking Dead was a documentary, fact.

I’ve started to describe Charlie’s safe space. He built the first one in the basement of Inger’s Stuart Street house. If you are a gamer you would kill to own his setup. The equipment was kept pristine. The rest of the living space was a shit-hole.

He dug his current safe space into the yard of his farm in Goochland. The bunker is 1600 sq ft. The house has gone to seed. The only evidence of the bunker is a sunken storm door near the house. OTA TV, shortwave radio, satellite Internet, and so on are on antennas on the roof of the barn and cabled to the bunker by underground lines. Electricity is solar backed by a Tesla PowerWall and underground lines to Dominion Power. There is a well and a creek on the property. Sewer is done with a septic system.

He bought the property with the contents, including a tractor and equipment for growing and harvesting hay. Locals have tried to contact him about selling the tractor and equipment. Or farming with it. Charlie is nonplussed. He’s too busy with Rift.

Understand that Boogaloo Couch Slug Charlie is Right

One more thing about Charlie the Boogaloo Couch Slug. Actually, it’s the same thing mentioned above. Charlie has your opinion until you stumble across something he disagrees with. Then, it’s not that you are entitled to his opinion. I have a lot of family members who believe they are correct and you need to get used to that. Charlie goes further. Now the fangs come out and you discover that not only is he correct but his approval depends on your compliance with his advice. You have to do as he says or there will be trouble. There is trouble. I don’t take kindly to being ordered around and Inger doesn’t either.

Charlie failed a shit test when BLM was in Richmond this summer. He was at the Lee Monument standing at the fringe of the crowd. A girl dressed in some sort of goth/black block/club hot outfit walked up to him holding a rattle can of fluorescent pink paint, “Hey! Want to do something real? Go up there and spray ‘F12’ on the Lee Monument.”

Charlie got a look on his face as if someone had just shoved a chickenshit covered glass dildo up his ass, “Uhm, yeah, so . . . I dunno . . .”

Wrong answer, “are you for real or not?” He is not, “Hey, so, uhm, sorry but I have this thing I have to go to,” and he headed east on North Lombardy.

A Black Man’s M3 Wish Matters

“You SUCK! BLACK LIVES MATTER!” shouted the fashy goth girl as she melded into a gaggle of black block protesters. Charlie’s thing was his M3 parked in the Kroger parking lot. Shit test fail.

Inger, for her part, has been at her home (sort of) on East 16th Street from her bar-tending job. There is a door to Paradise in her 16th Street house. So, yeah, she’s home but not really. She watched the riots through local TV news. Black Lives to Matter to her but not at the cost of her city on fire.

When it comes to social justice or the fight against Communism Charlie ain’t shit. Fashy girl discovered he’s a titan on reddit and a total loser IRL. He’s good as long as he looks awesome in his selfies while he cheers on the Boogaloos.

Zero Sum

I’m not done ranting about Charlie. He’s transactional. You’ll have to forgive a bit of mansplaining. If you know, you know. If you don’t, well . . . nothing is free with these people. Nothing is free with Charlie. He has a memorized ledger for everyone he believes owes him or worse, he owes. It’s a loss of face for him if he owes someone.

So I can’t do any favors for Charlie because kindness creates a debt. The stint on my couch meant that I started getting hentai manga. Hot? No. I like my women warm-blooded.

He found some beef jerky coated in dried red pepper branded Ming-Ha. My ex, the Empress, has a similar first name. Big yucks for Charlie, big zero for me.

No Hope of Return

Why do I care about transactional people? First, the Empress is a brilliant and talented trader. She tends to win against white monkeys like Charlie. I could never win with her because I grew up with pink panty parents who felt entitled to their upper-middle-class lifestyle. They were not transactional so I never learned how to fight like that.

Second, the way I practice my faith is self-sacrificing. I do stuff for people with no hope of return. This is offensive to the Empress and to Charlie. Good. Moving on.

Last, this post is one of 16 that lay out the story I’m building related to Inger’s finger. In previous posts, I wrote about Paradise and the doors you use to get there. Charlie owes Saito-san some huge gambling debts. So his key is shut off. Which would deter most reasonable folk. Charlie isn’t reasonable. What he’s been doing is sweet-talking other key holders into letting him use their key. Trouble? Do you think?

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Black Lives Don’t Matter

Posted on by Alan Webb

Karen is an archetype symbolic of all the things folk hate about some women. She knows that you are entitled to her opinion. Second, she also knows that you are the problem. Last, she knows with scientific certainty that the answer is the manager. He’ll fix it so we can be happy. The manager can make us all stop saying that Black Lives Don’t Matter.

The Karen spoken of in this piece is deeply concerned about the fate of downtrodden black men who are prey to evil white cops. She is sure that there are secret meetings in the basement of local pizza places where they choose their young buck to hunt and kill. Karen, here is the thing. Black Lives Don’t Matter to you.

Karen and her friends while chanting “Black Lives Matter” express a hidden message that on some level, black lives don’t matter. There can’t be successful, contented African Americans. The only Black people they acknowledge are oppressed and downtrodden. Karen and her friends spend hours at Cafe Strada fretting over the desperate lives of those living in the Alcatraz Apartments. It’s exciting to fill the street outside the cafe with a cloud of smoke from Gitanes and sip doppio espresso while bemoaning the tragic lives of those living in Peralta Village. They love to show how much they worship Mao and are down for the cause of battling whiteness.

Karen Cares and You Don’t

Karen is all about her brand. She cares and wants to make sure that you know she cares. Her house is a temple to the things you can buy at Whole Foods. She can’t offer you lunch without a 30 minute PowerPoint deck on the work that went into the PBJ stuck to the roof of your mouth. I mean, the cows from Humbolt County on a farm owned by a friend of hers and are fed the trimmings from hemp plants so the milk has a little CBD in it and it’s raw milk, of course. The peanut butter is hand ground by women who live on a collective farm in Santa Cruz. And the jam she gets from a chef retired from Chez Panisse who makes it from wild blackberries collected from briars still growing on Native American land on Albany Hill.

This is how Karen connects to the “Black Lives Matter” slogan. Karen cares about the downtrodden with a high intersectionality score. She believes her words when she screams, “Black Lives Matter” into the face of a white cop. It’s important to Karen that you know this. It’s also important that you know she was on Harrison Street near Fourth in Berkeley painting “Black Lives Matter” on the sidewalk outside Bette’s Diner. She even got a selfie with one of the cooks.

Karen, here is the thing—you can’t chant, “Black Lives Matter” loudly enough, with enough emotion, to gain the approval of CHAZ/CHOP. I know you have a good heart and mean well. I get it that you hate having anything in your nest that isn’t right. None of that matters, baby.

Fight the Whiteness

Baby, you are white. That makes you the reason The Social Justice Party, Sendero Luminoso, Black Lives Matter, and Antifa are miserable. Eliminating you is their answer to ending their misery. You still live because they need you so that they can keep a veneer of being diverse. Soon enough they won’t need the veneer and your whiteness and bougie ways will be what kills you.

I understand, sweetie. You think that the problem is the statues staining the visual landscape. They are a bitter reminder of our ugly past as slave owners and traders. The statues hurt your eyes and trigger you. So getting rid of them will solve it. Your nest will be made safe.

No Safe Nest

It will not, babe. Your nest will not be made safe once the statues are gone. The Social Justice Party is invested in a long game where the only allowed art is work that celebrates Islam and Mao. I saw you seated outside Bette’s Diner. You won’t be able to wear the Martins, fishnets, hot pants and sheer tank top. The pink hair will get shaved off. All that hotness is offensive to the revolutionaries you believe are your friends. There is a burka in your future.

Everything that isn’t Muslim or Mao is offensive to these revolutionaries. Lately, we were told that soap is racist. Soap. You take pride in showing up to work on time, saving and investing wisely, working hard, and planning for the future. All of these are symbols of your white privilege and consequent deep racism.

Girl, listen, I understand. You want to make the world a better place. You want to feel safe. The Social Justice Party spoke sweet words in your ear and promised you an end to your fear and poverty. Your whiteness and love of the cause is the very thing that puts you high on the target list.

Twitter Said, “Orange Man Bad”

I stopped following you on FB and twitter. There is no point. You are drunk on blue Kool-Aid. I get blue team platitudes and slogans anytime I comment or engage with you. It didn’t take many memes in your feed to understand that you hate Trump. BTW—those basement meetings you worry about are not plans to murder young black men. They are plans to seduce you into becoming a prisoner on a train headed for Manzanar. Your BLM friends are the people behind this, not the Orange Shitweasel named Trump.

Maybe you don’t know why you hate Trump, tbh. And you want to like Biden but he keeps doing stupid shit. It can’t be that the evil orange man could be the answer. He is, though. He is, tbh. Biden and the Democrats don’t want an election. They want a revolution that destroys this country and replaces it with a totalitarian, National Socialist Government. Biden won’t be president. He’s too far gone. There is a cadre of revolutionaries behind Biden that see this as their Great Tribulation. This is their path to the post-apocalyptic paradise with a god-king at the head of a new empire.

Yeah, I’m nuts. The Social Justice Party just wants to create a fairer, more just society where no one suffers from lack. I wish this were so. Marx and Mao created a way of life that only knows strife. They can’t win because success would make them bougie and thus evil. It would also end the strife that is central to being a disciple on the Shining Path.

It’s Your Fault, Cracker

You carry the collective guilt of everyone who isn’t black by your whiteness and privileged upbringing. It is because of you and everyone like you that there is so much misery and oppression. Nothing you say or do is enough to redeem yourself. Your racism is in your blood by your ancestry. No amount of graffiti on Harrison Street changes your innate, deep racism. You were born this way and no amount of encounter sessions to cure you of your whiteness will ever be enough. Karen, these people hate you.

They hate your whiteness. They hate your cute little flat on Northside just up the hill from Euclid. The psuedo-goth leather and lace gear offends their souls. Your good fairy card at Whole Foods makes their hair hurt. It’s a sin that you volunteer at a pet rescue for cats. Your Prius pisses them off. These people hate you just because you are you. Welcome to the cause.

By your incessant shouting that “Black Lives Matter” you expose yourself as a racist. That chant is a tacit admission that you accept the lie that black lives don’t matter. You agree with your Social Justice friends that white folk carry an indelible stain on their lives. Far from being someone who foments love, your fight for the cause is primary evidence that you hate yourself and your kin.

Angerier

I was angrier. My name is Alan Webb and I am a recovering wife beater. I know anger as a drug that is as powerfully addicting as meth. It took me years to recover from a lifelong addiction to anger. Staying sober is still a core spiritual discipline for me. You feel your anger as righteous indignation. The list of things wrong with the world is longer than anyone can recite. The answer is a liturgy of slogans shouted with gusto by the Social Justice warriors in your circles of influence. Never uttered is a solution that could be implemented.

Rock bottom is a thing. Anger has long term health risks. It cycles our bodies through destructive explosive events followed by depression and illness. Anger addicts eventually suffer from heart disease, gastrointestinal problems, and insomnia. Anger destroys relationships. It leaves the addict abandoned and desperate. Anger eats your soul. Life at rock bottom.

I got sober through giving grace. I never asked for grace or mercy from anyone. God asked me to start forgiving, to give grace first. Later on he asked me to serve others through small acts of kindness done with great love. The third element of this trinity is to desire only Christ.

Peace Be With You

I’m just sharing. I’ll never ask you if you are saved. I’m not the guy who will badger you into uttering the prayer. This is a holy fight happening in your heart and the heart of many others. It is God’s fight and I have faith that he will win in the end.

I’ll end here. We all die. Some of us may go to heaven. That’s not important to me. What’s important to me is today, how we live and impact each other today. Choose the Social Justice way and its perpetual unrest or choose life as another lamp lighting the way of mercy and peace. Peace be with you. تصحبك السلامة

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Before the Fall

Posted on by Alan Webb

Everybody likes to say that Eden before the fall was perfect. Adam and Eve could not sin because they did not know of good and evil. I disagree. Adam and Eve could do evil things in their innocence of good and evil. So sin was possible. God made us with free will. We have the free will to use a baseball bat to play a game. We can use that same baseball bat to kill someone. Today we know which is good and which is evil. Back then, maybe not so much.

God before the fall

God made Adam in His own image. In his own image, he made him. One thing was missing, though–knowledge of good and evil. God thought this was a good thing because it insulated Adam from some of the consequences of his behavior. If Adam didn’t know he’d done a bad thing then was it really a bad thing he’d done? Yes. Knowing or not knowing doesn’t change the impact of our behavior. You shit in the nest every morning. You make a new nest somewhere else every day–because you shit in the nest every morning. Shitting the nest is still bad even though you think it’s fine, Adam.

So there was Lilith. Jews and Christians don’t acknowledge Lilith as part of the canon in the Torah or the Old Testament. She’s a shunned folk tale from Hebrew literature circa 3BC. Lilith, the tale says, was made from the same soil as Adam and was his first wife. She claimed equal status with Adam and would not subjugate herself to him. The fight got so bad she threatened to kill all of Adam’s offspring. Angels intervened and got her to agree to only curse Adam’s children and flee Eden as an owl.

Lilith before the fall

Lilith

Lilith predates Eve. She was made of the same soil as Adam. Lilith also predates the story of the fall. So Lilith could not know that she was doing anything wrong. She just knew that Adam was an asshole for saying that she was subjugated to him. She also knew that they were homeless because as soon as she left the nest to go wash up that motherfucker shit the nest.

God was Lilith’s father. I can’t take God’s name in vane. It’s enough to say that Lilith’s curses for her father can’t be spoken. Here is God’s problem. Lilith and Adam have done bad things they don’t know are bad. God made them in his image except for knowledge of good and evil and immortality. This was done to protect Lilith and Adam from sin. That went well.

Divorce was not a thing in Eden. Without Lilith, there would never be more than two people made in God’s image. Lilith’s fury over being forced to surrender Adam was so great the only answer was to let her escape Eden never to return. That’s a problem.

Eve before the fall

Eve

So . . . Eve, who God made from Adam’s rib. She’s not got it much easier. Adam still shits the nest and treats her like a pet cat. For more on this, you can read, “It’s Eve’s Fault” Also check out “Adam’s Defense“. The serpent says she has a better shot at getting him to come correct if he ate from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The same tree Adam says God told him not to eat any of its fruit. Life for Eve as it was or risk death? Eve got there, got where death started to sound like a plan.

Eve didn’t die. God banished them from Eden. Survival meant hunting and farming. It was a hard life but a good life and they had two sons, Cain and Abel. Things worked out.

And there is your metaphor for utopian societies. People know of good and evil and still, do bad shit. Protesters are shocked that their tantrum hasn’t stopped evil in the world. As they screamed and rioted and looted and burned buildings a cop shot Rayshawn Brooks. Shit happens and somehow that’s something that can be changed, must be changed.

Antifa

The Free Will Problem

This is the problem for BLM and AntiFa. Both of these have a free will problem. To accomplish their goals free will has to be abolished. It can’t happen. They want something even God couldn’t get—perfect obedience and perfect free will.

Perfect obedience is on a sliding scale with perfect free will. To have perfect obedience free will has to be eliminated. To have perfect free will you have to risk losing perfect obedience. Further, even if you achieve a nation with the objective of achieving perfect obedience there is always that small minority that fucks things up. That annoying little bunch does bad shit in spite of all that is done to get them to comply.

Eden before the fall was destined to fail. Lilith saw it. She fought with God and Adam to keep her equal footing and lost. Eve saw it too but took a different path for her fight. She chose to defy God and disrupt an untenable situation. She lost Eden and gained a family farm.

Rayshawn Brooks before the fall

Plus One Murdered Black Man

So . . . George Floyd and Rayshawn Brooks are tragedies. It should not happen but it did. We are right to mourn their deaths and ask for better behavior from our cops. I don’t have a problem there.

My problem is with some of the Shining Path folk who want a pre-fall world. They don’t like it that we know of good and evil and still do bad shit. The standard they set is of a utopia where people would always make a perfect choice. That perfect choice is the one they feel is the right choice in hindsight. The choice their god would make in a pre-fall Eden.

In the case of Rayshawn, we have an encounter with the cops that went south. The mistake I see is continuing the fight as Rayshawn fled. It’s so hard in the heat of that fight/flee response to shut it down. We pay cops to fight when needed. So it’s what we want them to do when forced into a hands-on encounter with a suspect. Rayshawn was fighting to flee from the two cops that had detained him. Three men dealing with a bad fight gone south.

More Than Three Lives Changed

So now one man is dead and two men are accused of murder. The Shining Path folk are mad that all their violence and crime didn’t achieve the objective. Another black man dead at the hands of a white cop.

We live in a broken world. Nobody knows when the end times will come and Jesus restores the kingdom. Until then it’s more shitshow. Another black man will die at the hands of a white cop. I can’t predict where and when, just that with such a large and old empire the numbers on the side of it happening again.

We can’t riot and loot our way out of this. The only other escalation is war. Even then the survivors have to figure out how to carry on. So . . . sorry, but the only answer left is compassion. Forgiveness gives us the peace we’ll need the next time we lose another black brother at the hands of a white cop. Riots and the Shining Path can’t do what God does through grace.

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Defund the Cops Already

Posted on by Alan Webb

The protesters are high on adrenaline, “defund the cops already.” “Pigs in a blanket, fry them like bacon“. So much emo. There is a lot we say in the thick of a tantrum that makes so much sense and then once we calm down feels really stupid. We are not calm enough yet to figure out that disbanding the police departments across the country will not diminish white cop on black man violence. Nor are we able to agree that anarchy in our streets isn’t better than what we experience now.

Kiddos you learned the Boomer God Way too well. We taught you that you could have all of the seven deadly sins and none of the consequences. You understood that you can refuse responsibility for your own well being or the results of your choices. The BoGo Way doesn’t end well. Sorry that you grew up believing it could.

Who do you think would replace the cops in your neighborhood? Right. Community Boards would manage Community Policing in each neighborhood. Cops would be warm & fuzzy and unarmed. We’d teach them the talk rock technique so they wouldn’t interrupt us when we screamed, “you evil bastard pig. It’s your fault. Stop killing babies and making grandma eat cat food” before throwing a Natural Lime White Claw at their face. Awesome sauce.

Rue Paul for Police Chief

I’ve got stories about lawlessness. More than three. But for this piece, three are enough. First, I joined Taxi Unlimited in 1984. Taxi Unlimited was one of Berkeley’s surviving collectives. It’s heyday had long past when I joined. Taxi Unlimited believed in Marx and Proudhon. They hated the cops. Fights would break out at the office on Blake Street. We dealt with them ourselves.

That’s one. Next, I was an Oakland, CA cab driver when Felix Mitchell’s empire was sun setting. I have a scar on my scalp from two guys who wanted to rape and behead me. No, not good with that. I fought for 15 minutes before the cops showed up.

You know what . . . fuck this. Defund the cops? Y’all crazy. As I listened to talk radio today it turns out that defund the cops really means, “give us more money.” Give who more money? Local ward captains, Democratic Party Community Organizers, Social Services Bureaucrats, the usual suspects when a block grant is posted to the budget. Blue State legislators and governors are sweating because they are broke so the money part of fear and money is gone.

Defund the Cops Already Rin Kokonoe

Kinder, Gentler Cops

Let’s brainstorm a bit. What would a committee of social justice warriors create if given a blank slate and tasked with designing a cop? S/he has to have a high intersectionality score. So no white cops and no cis-hetero-men. You know, actual guys. Right, sorry, binary gender isn’t a fact but a cultural construct. I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s go with a transgender who identifies as a woman. Let me translate for the flyover country people: a fucking drag queen.

Fashion. The uniform is huge. It can’t be triggering. Instead of a gun belt equipped with a flashlight, a nightstick, extra magazines, tear gas, a taser, handcuffs, radio, and holstered sidearm our cop will have a cute little backpack made of patent leather–so fash. S/he’ll wear a wool miniskirt fastened with velcro and a Japanese school uniform tunic. Shoes will be platforms with acrylic soles. We can even put little screens in the souls of the shoes that play N.W.A video on repeat. White knee socks, obvi! And of course, thongs and a push-up bra. Gotta give the girls some support!

Gear. All that heavy stuff that is so violent looking needs to go. We’ll give the cop an iPhone and Air Pods, lip gloss, nail polish, a compact with a mirror, kleenex, brochures explaining the talk rock techniques, and an easy overview of Sendero Luminosa principles, a Tide stain pen, ky jelly samples, clean needles, condoms, an 18″ soft dildo, and an iPad. Much better than that scary utility belt. CUTE!

Tuk it In

Patrol car. We should give them a better vehicle. “Ford Explorer” sounds gross. What are they exploring, hmmm? “Ford Taurus” isn’t much better. It’s so misogynistic and homophobic. We need to defund the cops and these obscene cars. Both the Explorer and the Taurus come with twin-turbo V6 engines making almost 400hp. Nobody needs that. I mean, testosterone and a powerful car is just trouble.

We can supply them with an electric Tuk Tuk. These have a range of 55 miles so our new police can’t get into too much trouble. Top speed is 25mph so no more worries about anybody getting chased. Rue Paul can help with the design. It’ll be so awesome!

Precinct buildings. These so need to change. What are these guys doing in there? Paperwork? You can do all that on an iPad. Get dressed? Ok. I can see that. But not lockers. A girl has needs. There is hair & makeup to do. Showers, yeah . . . those are hot. So tear down the locker room and give each cop a vanity with a mirror and lights. Better.

The jails are just wrong. Why are we putting people in cages? Why can’t they just do time-outs in their own neighborhoods? Seriously. If we have to have places to put people while they do their time-outs, can we include a stage with a brass pole? Light the place with UVB lights so everybody will look fabulous. And put in a bar so you can get a free Sex on the Beach and a burger. When we defund the cops we have to make jails that are more fun!

Teach Hair and Makeup

Training. Of course, they don’t need to learn to use a gun because we’ll ban & confiscate all the guns. They do need classes in safe sex, though. And how to instruct someone to safely inject themselves. For conflict de-escalation, we can equip them with triggered kits containing a fleece blanket, juice boxes, fruit roll-ups, coloring books, and crayons. We’ll make special golf carts equipped with mobile safe spaces so people can have a moment when they need it. It makes me want to have a conflict just thinking about it.

All of the above and I can’t get this eye-worm out of my head: a fat, WASP cop with years of experience on the force facing his locker day one after all these reforms are passed. He’s got to take his 60lb beer gut and wrap it in a stripper skirt, learn how to put on a bra correctly, and walk on stripper heels. Then spend ten hours in an electric tuk-tuk responding to calls looking like Divine.

It’s a repeating story. A group of dissidents invents a utopian vision. They conclude that the path to that vision must include abandoning everything that came before it. Scorched earth, start from nothing. American Church history has more than a few examples of utopian movements where the choice was to separate from the larger society and create a walled garden to live in rooted in the movement’s idea of a utopian life. Most of these utopian efforts failed. We still have the Hutterites, the Amish, the Mennonites, and others. To survive these have had to learn to coexist with the rest of the country.

Rinse Repeated

Antifa took over District 3 in Seattle and declared it to be an autonomous zone independent of our country. They invited some homeless people and banned the cops. The homeless people took all their food so now they are posting on Twitter that they need food. AntiFa failed to consider us, the outliers, and how we treat young romantics who believe they can do utopia better than their parents. These young romantics are prey.

Also in District 3 a local drug lord paid them a visit while they were painting graffiti on a building. He told them to stop, they would not, so he fought them and won.

There might be some cops who would suck it up and wear the drag outfit and patrol in an electric Tuk Tuk. A whole lot more would walk off the job and pay a visit to the gun store. Very soon after the cops are defunded the unintended consequences of anarchy will injure the people who thought this was a great idea. The cosplay drag queen cop shtick would be a growing non-starter.

Already, “defund the cops” is turning into “fund Democrat Party NGOs so we can get paid“. Blue states and blue municipalities are broke. They need a new hustle since Trump has been yanking the IV lines they’ve had that are supplied by hanging bags of Uncle Sam’s money.

A Nap Sounds Awesome

We are fine, America. The more asshat dissidents are losing so they are doing desperate things to stay in the headlines. The trend is away from them. The news got their traffic, politicians got their 15 minutes, and the rest of us realized we wanted to keep our jobs so we went home. When the asshats demanded more rioting we told them we wanted a nap.

These things have a cycle similar to the abuse cycle. Abuse cycle? Yes. Event, apology, depression, honeymoon, and tension building. The event happened so we are past that. We’ve been doing a lot of apology these last two weeks. People are accepting the apologies mostly. BLM and Antifa can’t because they are Shining Path and it’d be a carnal sin if they ever gave up the struggle. So next up is depression and honeymoon. Then we shall see.

–303–

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Fake Virtue

Posted on by Alan Webb

Fucking hell. Facebook is full of angsty posts from well-meaning friends trying to say something that proves they are not white privileged racists. I can’t do Facebook with all the fake virtue signaling showing up in my feed.

Two things. First, I am a white privileged racist. Why? I was born this way. My hateful adjectives: white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, from upper-middle-class parents, boomer, old & bougie. My intersectionality score is 5. So eight adjectives that make me hateful. Next, Black Lives Don’t Matter to BLM.

My son has joined the fake virtue crowd and started posting helpful suggestions for the rioters on ways they can protect themselves from evil police. He’s decided he needs to belong to the cool kids. This means he worries about his halo. It has to be the right shade of blue and have the right flair pins on it so his personal brand makes the right signals.

Iron Sights Matter

Black lives don’t matter to the organization that titled their organization, Black Lives Matter. Why? Because the goals of BLM don’t include advancing the enfranchisement and freedom of blacks. Instead, BLM seeks a Cultural Revolution that destroys the country to rebuild it in their Sendero Luminoso image. African American enfranchisement and freedom are collateral damage. The “What We Believe” page of Black Lives matter is a laundry list of utopian ideas straight from Sendero Luminosa.

To achieve this utopia, Constitutional Republicanism and Capitalism must be destroyed. All the troubles experienced by the peasantry can be traced to the bourgeoisie. Bougie folk are anyone who isn’t black. Also, blacks who oppose Black Lives Matter. And black folk who have jobs, pay their bills on time, and a net worth that will mean a comfortable retirement. All that and anyone else in the iron sights of BLM.

You are either 100% devoted to the Shining Path or you are dead. Central to the Shining Path is a core belief that people are divided into peasantry (good) and bourgeoisie (bad). White people are bourgeoisie on their face. I’m white, so I’m bad. I was born this way, get used to it.

My Original Sin

Because I am a WASP, BLM will tell me that I have subconscious racism. These people don’t know me and yet they claim that I hate black people. What do I say? If you agree that I am racist simply because of a few adjectives that describe me, fuck you.

Too many on social media are trying to placate a small, abusive minority intent on destroying Washington D.C., destroying our government, and initiating a Maoist Dynasty. These well-meaning sheeple are busy polishing their online brand with fake virtue so BLM leaves them alone. This isn’t about George Floyd’s death. This is civil war by people bent on revolution. My son thinks he’s being compassionate by suggesting ways for his friends to protect themselves from the cops during a protest. He is a fucking idiot.

The easiest way to stay safe in a riot is don’t riot. My son could volunteer at United Way. There is also the Greater Boston Food Bank. Third, the Boston Rescue Mission. Volunteering doesn’t properly show your support for Black Lives. It’s hard work and nobody cares that you do it. So he won’t do it. Because selfless, chosen misery doesn’t fit the narrative.

Sendero Luminoso dice: “Practicamos la aniquilación selectiva de alcaldes y funcionarios gubernamentales, por ejemplo, para crear un vacío, luego lo llenamos. A medida que avanza la guerra popular, la paz está más cerca”.

The Narrative Matters

Son, you have been taught a narrative that foments hate. Your schools and peers tell you that the reason you are oppressed is me. Fat, old, white bastard father. I have privilege I don’t deserve. If I was a good father I’d steal a shopping cart and put a few clothes in it then ship to you everything I own. Matthew 19:21, Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”

The problem is evil in the hearts of those who follow Sendero Luminosa. For the proletariat to be victorious the bourgeoisie must be vanquished. Funny, though, as the bodies fill mass graves the supply of bourgeoisie doesn’t diminish. There is always one more who has a bit more ability than the proletariat.

The cops are not the enemy. The enemy is within anyone that has chosen Sendero Luminosa as their way of life. They are their own enemy because they live a story that foments hate. My son believes he is doing the right thing telling his friends how to be safe while protesting.

Jesus Is the Way

I’m not a Sendero. I am a Christian. The Way of Christ is a splinter group of dissident Jews that worship a martyred carpenter from Nazareth. We are a revolution that has changed the world for 2,000 years. Add being Presbyterian to the prior list of eight reasons why I am worth of hate. Christ told us that we are in this world but we are not of this world. We are judged by God, not by a social credit score that rises and falls with the changing news speak each hour.

Fake Virtue Broken Halo

I owe no one an obligation to prove that my halo is proper. TBH, my halo is in a pawn shop in Hades. I hocked it to pay for gas so I could go to work. The pawnbroker gave me $5.00 for it out of sympathy then sold it to a gym owner. You won’t see me writing long, passionate apologies to Sendero Luminosa who insists that I say something to ameliorate their fury.

I don’t want my son to experience jail for the first time because a senderista told him he could be more popular if he’d throw a brick. Posting ideas for body armor on Facebook is tantamount to throwing that brick. There is no middle with Sendero Luminosa. Dithering around the edges just gets you a punch in the face from a senderista you thought was your friend. So my son must find a brick to throw or accept a punch in the face.

Sheeple Way to Fake Virtue

His way to thread the needle is to post memes on social media signaling his support for the cause. This just makes him sheeple. He says I am sheeple because I won’t genuflect before a home temple to Abimael Guzmán. I signal Christ and that’s just wrong. I’m supposed to signal the orthodox virtue of the day after watching CNN’s, “New Day”. Not gonna happen.

My son is a good guy. He’s got a job at a credit union as a teller. He’s building an adult life after a childhood with some fucked up parents. His Mom was abusive. His Dad was absent. He’s half white and half Taiwanese. So he’s stuck in the middle with no clear racial identity. Is he peasantry or bougie?

My son the prince was born in Oakland, CA. He spent his first seven years living in Oakland and San Pablo, CA. We moved to Richmond, VA in 2001. He finished his youth living in Richmond, VA. This is important because he has a classic public education. He was taught that American History is a history of bitterness and racism. He went to church with his Mom. So he’s had an education in Christian basics from a Chinese Baptist Church.

Fake Virtue PuYi

Prince Egg

雞蛋王子 is thrice screwed. His father is a WASP and therefore innately racist. His mother is Taiwanese. Not even Chinese Chinese, but Nationalist Chinese. The Taiwanese government is Democratic and Nationalist–two hateful things for the Sendero Luminosa. Third, he’s so bougie. 雞蛋王子, thus, is showing support for a Sendero Luminosa affiliate group that hates him.

He works at a credit union as a bank teller. In addition to being the wrong kind of Chinese and his original sin inherited from his father, he sold out to a bank. His idea of being oppressed is discovering that Starbucks is out coconut milk for their Iced Pineapple Matcha frappe. tbh, the struggle is real.

Yet he would be wounded if he was told this truth: BLM hates him because he isn’t a peasant. He’s got no virtue-signal from his Mom to help this. She’s a food chemist with a Bachelor’s of Science from a prominent Taiwanese University. That’s bougie. Not good for my son.

Fake Virtue Riot Gear

The protestors in Hong Kong were fighting against a Maoist government for democracy. The Seattle protesters are Sendero Luminosa affiliates fighting against our constitutional republic and capitalism. Their end game is a 革命勝利之光 (Sendero Luminosa Revolutionary Victory). The Seattle protesters are fighting for what the Hong Kong protesters oppose. The prince is on the side of the Sendero Luminosa. Woo.

Fake Virtue Black Lives Matter

BLM Hates Bougie Blacks

Black lives don’t matter for BLM because their goals are the destruction of anything in the way of their revolutionary victory, blacks included. They believe that the extant government and culture must be destroyed before a Sendero Luminosa Revolution can replace it. Everything must go. Including music, dance, theater, sculpture, story, any evidence of something prior to the Revolution. You better not get in the way of this. If you do you’ll learn exactly how much you matter to BLM.

Black Lives Matter started from a lie about the death of Trayvon Martin. Since then they have traded in hate for every death by cop experienced by a black man. The claim is that black men are being killed disproportionately by white cops. Another lovely, emotional generality that has some exceptions.

耶穌基督的道路

The Jesus thing. You can’t be a disciple of Jesus of Nazareth and be a racist. We’ll start with the beatitudes in Matthew 5-6. Next is Luke 6:31 (ESV), “And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.” Or, for the youngins, treat others as you wish to be treated. BLM and similar Shining Path organizations want us to treat them as they wish to be treated. There is no obligation on their part to treat bougie folk as they wish to be treated. Bougie folk are fair game.

I am a disciple of Jesus of Nazareth. Yet because I am a WASP my racism is endemic. It’s in my birth to my father and his ancestors. Never mind that I have followed Christ to one degree or another my whole life. My story doesn’t matter because I am bougie. I have to somehow live in a manner pleasing to BLM because of my heritage.

We have to defeat this. Sendero Luminosa and BLM are evil. They are founded on hate that burns within the souls of their disciples. This isn’t something that can be reasoned with or placated. It has to be defeated. I pray my son lives long enough to learn this. He’s allied himself with haters.

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At 300 BoGo Left

Posted on by Alan Webb

This is not what I wanted my 300th post to be about, “at 300 BoGo Left”. 300 blog posts is an accomplishment. Then my risk-averse friend asked me to look at a news story from San Jose, CA.

https://www.ktvu.com/news/police-arrest-suspect-accused-of-running-over-two-san-jose-protesters

George Floyd has pushed COVID-19 out of the headlines. Floyd died under the knee of Derek Chauvin. Chauvin had his knee on Floyd’s neck for almost 10 minutes. Another man died while in contact with the cops.

Then the protests in Minneapolis turned violent. Protests erupted across the country. Because stealing Cheetos from CVS is righteous. Today I learn that the protests are happening around the world. https://www.cnn.com/2020/06/01/world/george-floyd-global-protests-intl/index.html Woo.

Where is God?

You hear, “Where is God?” in the video that starts this post. God is there. He’s just not the Big Lebowski.

Boomers have a god. He’s a drag queen named BoGo, short for Boomer God. S/he checks off all the boxes on the intersectionality scale. Brown, some blend of African-American and Latinx, gay (lesbian?), living in public housing, no legitimate employment, and collecting TANF and stamps. BoGo is an indulgent sugar daddy who will help us fight, fuck, eat, and drink to our heart’s content while preventing any negative consequences from our debauchery. BoGo was there in San Jose last Friday.

I have so much good happening in my life right now. Writing about yungins wrecking the city they live in isn’t something I want as my 300th blog post. Yet here we are in RVA, under curfew with blackened store fronts and police in riot gear chasing protesters out of Monroe Park. A woman in San Jose has been arrested for attempted murder. Woo.

I’ll get to the good stuff in my life deeper into this post. And more about God. The next thing is that these riots are only nominally about George Floyd. Floyd’s murder is just the trigger. The tension has been building for the last twelve weeks.

We Have Needs

Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs, at 300 BoGo Left

The heat for this began in March when we were asked to quarantine ourselves. Young men need things. They need food, jobs, sex, respect, and a sense that they are making an impact. Youngins hunger for significance. We took all that away just as Spring was blossoming. The youngins were told that they had to stay inside, study online, tolerate the parents and their fucking annoying siblings, and like it.

I’m sure most did. We’ll never hear about the normies that behaved. It’s good that the normies are not news. We need the normies. The news and I write about edge cases. We write about folk who worship BoGo and Mao.

Where is God when the city erupts in violence because a cop killed a black man? Why can’t God intervene and George Floyd live? If God is a Loving God, why does this shit keep happening?

Shits Been Happening

I have bad news. More bad shit will happen. We live in Satan’s paradise. Our world is the devil’s playground. St. Lucifer is a predator who eats our souls. Bad shit happens because we abuse our free will.

Welcome to the Shit Show. Settle in because this is a century long ride featuring unending misery. The latest insult is a worldwide panic attack in response to COVID-19. We told everyone to stay inside. It’s not gone well.

With an empire as big as ours it’s a matter of time before another black man has deadly contact with the cops. Yet every time we are screamed at, “NEVER AGAIN!” Ok. Good luck with that. Get back to me when you figure out how to get 380,000,000 people to 100% behave the way you want them to in perpetuity. “NEVER AGAIN!” feels great when we are pissed off. It’s just not possible in the shit show we live in. Sorry, but BoGo lied to you.

So is God Dead? No. BoGo is a god for children. Father God is a god for grownups. The rioters believe in BoGo, not Father God. They believe in a buffet faith built out of Maoism and BoGo. Maoism teaches us to be angry at what we can’t change. Mao tells us that our misery is perpetrated by the bourgeoisie. So bougie folk are fair game. BoGo teaches that the Seven Deadly Sins are a task to accomplish and s/he’ll protect us from our debauchery. Followers of Mao and BoGo are on the menu for St. Lucifer.

Plus Two

The two people who were hurt by the car could have been killed. Thank God that they lived. The crowd wanted that car to stay put so they could sate their blood lust. Thank God the woman was able to escape.

Which isn’t what the news will tell us. The news will bend the story around so it fits this narrative, “a white supremacist viciously murdered two brown people by slamming his car into a crowd of protesters.” Hannah Graham’s murder will be invoked. The truth will be a bit more complex.

Since we are in the Shit Show as featured players, what to do? There are Recovery Fellowship meetings 24/7/365 filled with people who worshiped BoGo. BoGo worship gets you a repeating cycle of jail, hospital, rehab until you either die or stay in recovery. Giving your life to Christ gets you early escalated misery that pays off down the road.

Consequential Choices

We have a choice. No, you can’t opt out of the Shit Show. You are here. It’s the world you were born into. We can choose how we live in the Shit Show. God’s creation includes free will as a core principle. The rioters in San Jose chose violence and prayed to BoGo for protection. BoGo failed them. God did not fail them.

Choices have consequences. Terrifying a Latinx driving her SUV through a crowd of protesters has consequences. Driving an SUV through a blood-lusting crowd of rioters has consequences. Followers of BoGo pray to be protected from their choices. BoGo provides, so it goes. Then two people get run over and a man can be heard in the video asking, “where is God?”

God is where he always is. His resurrected kingdom lives in the hearts of His followers. The Way of Christ is a 2,000-year-old revolution that infested the Roman Empire. It was started by a dissident, no-account Jew carpenter born in Bethlehem. Jesus of Nazareth was martyred on a cross between two other convicted criminals. Over a century later Constantine gave a deathbed confession after a life-supporting Christians.

The Kingdom of Christ

2,000 years later Christianity is one of the world’s dominant religions. The Roman Empire fell in 476 AD, nearly 140 years after Constantine’s confession. My speculation but the spread of Christianity through the Empire had an impact. These days, the Extra Enlightened Woke worship Mao and BoGo. So, how is that going for you, EEW’s?

Enough pissing in the wind about things I can’t change. Some people are Devil’s Food cake. The world is a shit show. Bad shit happens too often. That’s three things I can’t change. Let’s talk about things I have changed.

Transit Webb car

Resurrected

I became a saved Christian when I was 14. That was 1973. The same year a schism arose in the Presbyterian Church in America. It wasn’t enough for my non-denominational friends that I was baptized Presbyterian. I’m a good kid who wants to get along with his peers. So if that means renouncing my Presbyterian baptism for a Pentecostal, Non-Denominational youth fellowship, put me down.

Jesus appeared to me for the first time in Summer Camp that year. He told me to go home. I thought he meant go home to my parents. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties searching for answers that I understood he meant going home to the Presbyterian Church.

I was living in Berkeley, CA at the time. It was another of my moaning, panicked moments when I thought everything was over. I was done. My Non-Denominational Friends had platitudes for me when I raised questions like, “if God is a loving God, why is my life so miserable?” I loved BoGo. BoGo was going to provide me every bit of the Seven Deadly Sins. Jesus had other plans.

Non-Denominational Friends?

The NDF’s didn’t like questions. They’d chant John 3:16 in panicked cadence whenever I asked about predestiny. If I suggested that God was Dead they’d go all holy roller on me, flop on the floor and sputter, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken“. Doubt made them nervous.

I thought maybe BoGo had better answers. BoGo definitely had the best weed. BoGo’s followers, though, sounded a lot like the NDF’s. They didn’t like questions. When I asked about history they’d foam at the mouth, flop on the floor and mutter quotes from Nietzsche. What to do?

I’m Presbyterian through and through. My Dad met my Mom at a youth fellowship at the First Presbyterian Church of Haddonfield. I went to Sunday School every Sunday against my will for the first 13 years of my life. Jesus has a way of infecting your heart. He got me good at Summer Camp in 1973.

By BoGo’s Way

It’s 1984. I’ve just started as a member of Berkeley’s Taxi Unlimited. Most of the collective followed BoGo and Mao. It was annoying to see another collective member have a seizure because I asked about God. The closest Presbyterian Church was an easy walk from Blake Street. Earl Palmer was preaching.

Reverend Palmer, I’m another of your saved souls. After the sermon I managed to squeeze in a question about predestiny and your eyes lit up. You asked me to meet you in your office later that week. Here was a minister who didn’t flip out when questioned. My kind of minister.

So . . . all good, right? No. I had a lot to work through before I could give a confession of faith. I joined the First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley because I wanted to begin a quest for truth. Somebody had answers and this church felt like a good place to start.

Quest for Truth

I’m still on that quest for truth. I’ve learned a lot since 1985. First on my mind these days is the need to begin with mercy and grace. Next is to evangelize by missions and service. The third is to pray and tithe.

Whatever. Right? Kind of. We have youth who we made desperate by stopping the economy in the name of flattening the exponential curve of COVID-19. The tension has been building for twelve weeks. It just needed a trigger. George Floyd’s death is that trigger. God was there in Minneapolis.

He was also there in San Jose as rioters threw rocks and bricks at an SUV driven by a LatinX. It could have been worse. I pray the virus of the Holy Spirit infests some of the rioters. May some of the rioters question the truth BoGo and Mao taught them. Maybe some will go to their first meeting. I pray this in the name of Jesus.

God is Only a Prayer Away

God is only a prayer away. He is there if you ask. I’m not the usual guy to give the altar call. We need that today. We need those who worship BoGo and Mao to come to Jesus. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life Everlasting.

Here we go: if today is your day, the day when you are ready to give your life to Christ, then start with this prayer of confession, “Dear God, I want to be a part of your family. I accept Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior. I accept my salvation from sin through your death and resurrection on Calvary.” There is also the Nicene Creed if you want to go deeper.

Many will tell you that everything is a blessing from here. Hardly. The early days of this are going to suck. Your heart isn’t used to the searing heat of the Holy Spirit as He burns sin out of your life. Don’t go it alone. St. Lucifer and BoGo are going to be pissed that you are now apostate. You escaped the slaughterhouse and that’s a problem.

There is Strength in Fellowship

Find a church. Engage with that church. Start your quest for truth. Surrender the things you can’t change, change the things you can, and let Jesus show you the difference. Last, welcome to the fam.

This post is number 300. At 300 BoGo left. God showed up. He’s been showing up for me since 1973. I lost my job at Altria almost 21 months ago as of this writing. It’s not been honey and roses on this pilgrimage toward heaven. It’s been shit most of the way.

I can bitch with the best of them. I’ve got plenty that didn’t go well. Yet here I am, sixty years old and grateful for what God has blessed me with. BoGo is badass but Jesus is better. Jesus is the Way.

The Good News

I own Baugh Holding Company. BHC owns Transit Webb and Arts Fire. Transit Webb is my ride-share business. I work with Uber and Lyft to get people from A to B. Transit Webb pays the bills while I figure out how to expand. Arts Fire is an artist management company that manages me. One day it’ll manage more than me. This guy, this near-do-well who keeps getting fired is a small-business owner.

Some of my first world luxuries:

  • A rented two-bedroom, single-family home
  • Two cars, a 2019 Ford Flex and a 2013 Subaru Legacy
  • A Lenovo T-Series laptop, Lenovo Tab 4 Android tablet, and a Motorola G7 smartphone
  • An HP A-I-O laser printer.
  • The house is furnished
  • The lights are on and I have running water
  • I have food in my fridge.

That’s seven. That’s enough. There is a lot more but a fuller list doesn’t strengthen my point. My monthly cash burn is about $3,500.00. For the majority of the world that lives on about $2.00/day it would take them almost five years to earn what I spend in a month. I’m poor by the standards of my heritage.

Some Shit Show Truth

George Floyd is dead. Derek Chauvin is in jail. BoGo failed the protesters in San Jose and other places. Turns out the choice to tear up a city can get you hurt. We will work through the criminal justice process for Chauvin, Thao, Keung, and Lane. There is almost universal consensus that Floyd’s murder was wrong. It still doesn’t excuse an orgasm of violence perpetrated in our communities. More violence won’t bring Floyd back from the dead. Bogo sucks.

Post 300 is an inflection point for me. There is a lot more good on my horizon. Around me is a lot more shit show. The easy thing is to get triggered by the shit show and immolate. I’m too old for that rage against the machine. So I live on to write post 301 and more until Jesus calls me home.

COVID-19, Floyd, and other Shit Show? Nothing lasts forever. We’ll be fine. Things you can do are here. Do the Jesus Way. It’s better than the BoGo Way.

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Let’s Do the Numbers Again

Posted on by Alan Webb

We are a nation of roughly 324 million people. We are the third most populous country in the world. African Americans are about 13% of the population, or almost 39 million people. One article in the Huffington Post says that at least 136 African American Men were shot by cops this year. We have this down to a script now. Cop shoots Black Man. The drumbeat starts. CNN goes 247365 repeating ceaselessly the headline, which is about 15 seconds long. The usual suspects say the usual things. There is SnapChat video. Riots, protests, and yet again the vigilantes want the cop’s head on a spear and a law demanding that no cop can ever shoot another black man. A black man can shoot a cop, that’s fine. Hell, we need more people shooting cops just so they understand that you can’t shoot black people. Just never the other way.

08shooting5-master315You are more likely to die of a heart attack than you are to be shot by a cop. Cardiovascular disease killed 46,000 black men in 2016. From 2010 to 2011 4,906 black men were murdered by other black men. A measly 0.00035% of African American men are shot by cops based on the Huffington Post story. But, so says the talking heads on the TV, it’s an epidemic and every African American is in danger.

Ways to Die for a Black Man

Death by Cop 1 in 236,000
Death Black Man 1 in 7,950
Death by Heart Attack
1 in 848

It was an epidemic in the 1980’s when the claim was made that you could not drive while black and complete your trip without being pulled over by the cops.

Here we are again taking the narrow specific case and making the claim that it is general. A tiny percent of African American men are shot by cops. The odds that no Black Man will ever be shot by a cop again are very bad for those who insist it cannot ever, ever, ever happen again. Odds are, it will. The script will get pulled out of its filing cabinet and we’ll do the thing again.

I have a friend who is a prominent physician. His daughter has gotten caught up in the hype and so is going to unfriend some of us because she believes we don’t care. Has she read my blog lately? The answer is, “Do it. Delete me from your friends list.” The risk of this daughter impacting my life by unfriending me is even smaller than the risk of another black man being shot by a cop. The daughter, though, has taken to heart the propaganda and by inference, decided that she too is fated to die at the hands of a white cop. It’s just a matter of time.

As I listened to the radio this morning I was reminded that about twenty years ago the talking heads were accusing the cops of profiling, of assuming that a car full of young black men must be up to know good. I can remember driving to pick up a fare near Market & 62nd Street on the Oakland/Berkeley border. It was in the wee hours between bar closing and Saturday morning weed-whacker reveille. Ray Taliaferro was humiliating yet another hapless conservative who had called in to say that we are overstating the case that all cops always arrest every driver who is black.

Then, like now, there was no talk of owning the reasons a cop might stop somebody. No, it was the cops who were unfairly arresting and ticketing black folks. Back then, it was just assumed that a white man could piss on a cop’s shoes and he’d get a laugh and a hearty handshake. A black man would get his dick shot off. Cray cray is old.

As I made my left on to 62nd street to pick up my fare a car flashed by me, music blasting, a passenger half-out of the window laughing and hollering at a woman on the sidewalk. The car accelerated and as I made my turn I heard screeching tires and a couple bangs.

The fare turned out to be an airport run to SFO for a couple headed to New York for the week. That night as I listened to KGO there was a report of an accident on Market Street that triggered a road rage incident in which several people had been shot. One of the victims was in critical condition. The car was being driven by a star football player for a local college. He escaped serious injury but his friend riding shotgun was the one in intensive care. As usual, though there were bullet holes in people, nobody knew nothing.

Don’t go digging through the Internet to find the above story. I wrote it. Don’t forget that truth suffers in service to story in this space. The paragraph is there because several trigger words will set off images of the boys in the car. Ditto the shooting, the road rage and the football players. I haven’t named their ethnicity because I know the phrases I used will build an image in your head of a presumed ethnicity.

Nothing? No back story growing in your mind? Ok, a little more help. On the news that night was a helpful blonde talking head holding a microphone in the face of the football player’s mother. She decried the treatment of her son by the police because they left him there bleeding in the street for a long time. No first aid for the boy. The kicker? The race card. Mom said her boy didn’t get prompt medical attention because he was black and dressed like M.C. Hammer.

The police were asked about this. The Berkeley Fire Department was on-scene within 3 minutes of the first call, which was estimated to be about 20 minutes after the incident occurred. No, kiddies, nobody had smartphones then. Telephones were in houses and had cords. It took a while for the neighbors to call an ambulance. Paramedics got the football player to Alta Bates inside the golden hour. So, he was alive, a good thing.

We can’t help reading a narrative and having images evoked in our imagination by what we read. My craft is joyous because I get to live rent free in your head through the way I tell my stories and write my essays. Our mental picture of the car and its passengers is built out of our own story up to the moment when we read a story. It matters, though, what that picture is and what our own imagination says and how all that influences our behavior. We can change if we change the way we tell the story.

Cops have been accused of high crimes and misdemeanors committed against African Americans since at least the 1980’s. Just on what I’ve found online and posted here it is again a narrative that is resonating for some folks on a deeply emotional level. They feel this to be true so it is. It becomes self-perpetuating. Black folks ‘spose to get shot by cops because, well, they are black folks. It’s what they do. Instead of an examined life and perhaps a different story, the story pushed on black folks is taken on as fate and enough do what they feel they have been told to keep the narrative alive.

I chatted with that doctor’s daughter last night. She’s fully committed to the pop-culture animus toward cops. Her friend list on FB is smaller as a result. It’s sad that she’s heard the drumbeat and started tapping her feet to a rhythm that is a lie. Yes, cops shoot people. Cops shoot black people. Every death is a tragedy. The lie is that cops shoot black people in high enough numbers that the usual tropes are affirmed. I’m surprised the number of deaths of black men by cops isn’t higher. What would the press say if 46,000 black men died at the hands of cops in 2016?

What would Obama say if on his watch more black men died at the hands of cops than died of heart disease? I’ll spare you my usual blather about owning your shit, living an examined life, shedding yourself of the things that keep you from God, loving all, enemies especially. That’s always there to do. This time, before you jump into the street to protest, to punch a cop, to believe the hype, ask yourself, “who wins because I was suckered into believing the propaganda?”

We won’t stop the killing by killing. More riots and violent protest feeds the narrative and makes Charlie Rose get all gushy and happy. There are plenty who have crossed the divide and engaged those they fear. We need more of that instead of more SnapChat video of yet another protest because there is another body.

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Dallas

Posted on by Alan Webb

Dallas Police Deaths

If you read this post yesterday then you know I had this lovely paragraph about Detroit that was based on a mistake. I forgot that the 5 police officers were killed in *DALLAS* and not Detroit. This space is not a news site. It is a narrative and features and scandalous words site. It would not be out of character for this space to write about Detroit as if it was the city that lost 5 cops. But even this space has its limits, its sense of right & wrong. Thus today’s correction.

I said this on Facebook, “Dallas. Sh*t. There is no equivalency. 2 more dead African American men and 5 more dead cops. You can’t kill enough cops to make it right. Just stop killing, stop the violence. There are too many stories in history of the lives destroyed by civil unrest, civil war, bloody revolution and so on. This is not the way.”

Candyce Collins quoted U2 on Facebook. I wasn’t going to say anything about the death of 5 police officers in Dallas yesterday. It shouldn’t happen. Nor should we know of the death of 2 African American men in the last week. We do. 5 people gone too soon.

I fear we are witnessing the end of an age. 5 police officers gunned down by a veteran who managed to acquire an assault weapon. Please let’s not rehash the “less guns=more safety” conversation. The bodies in the streets are a bellwether of a generation long end to the American Experiment. It’s going to get worse, much worse.

Today is not a day for words for me. I need music. My musical answer to Candyce’s U2 is Mick Jagger:

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