January 19, 2022
The photo of U.S. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.) dining happily with her beau outdoors in South Beach just before the New Year confirmed what Floridians already knew: Florida had emerged as an international symbol of sanity and liberty. “Welcome to Florida, AOC!” Team DeSantis tweeted. “We hope you’re enjoying a taste of freedom here in the Sunshine State thanks to @RonDeSantisFL’s leadership.”
In his State of the State address on Tuesday, Gov. DeSantis reiterated the theme. “Together,” he said, “we have made Florida the freest state in these United States. While so many around the country have consigned the people’s rights to the graveyard, Florida has stood as freedom’s vanguard.”
The Florida gubernatorial election of 2018 may well prove to have more impact on the history of the nation than the 2020 presidential election.
There was nothing inevitable about Florida’s emergence as a vanguard of freedom. A photo out of South Beach in the COVID-panicked month of March 2020 reminded Floridians of the bullet they had dodged just a year earlier. There, in a Miami Beach hotel room, lay popular Florida Democrat Andrew Gillum — on the VP short list for every White presidential candidate — naked and incoherent among a sea of meth bags. Gillum’s “date,” a White male stripper in even worse shape, lay nearby. The charming “family man” had a lot of ’splainin’ to do.
My source on this story is an unusual one. I refer here to mob hitman and labor organizer, Frank Sheeran, the central figure in Charles Brandt’s non-fiction saga, “I Heard You Paint Houses.”
When the book was published in 2004, the media took little or no notice of Sheeran’s revelations about Joe Biden, then a U.S. senator from Delaware. When the “Irishman,” the movie version of the book, was produced in 2019, the Biden material did not make the cut.
Ironically, as shall be seen, the 1972 incident in question prefigured in a low-tech way the high-tech shenanigans that got Biden nominally elected president nearly 50 years later.
Merriam-Webster defines “insurrection” as “an act or instance of revolting against civil authority or an established government.” This being so, the one real insurrection within anyone’s memory was hatched on Jan. 5, 2017.
The conspirators met in the White House on that day to plot a quiet coup against President-elect Donald Trump. Presiding was President Barack Obama. Joining him was his national security team including all the usual suspects: the FBI’s Jim Comey, the CIA’s John Brennan, Vice President Joe Biden, National Security Adviser Susan Rice, Director of National Intelligence James Clapper and Acting Attorney General Sally Yates.
Following the meeting, Obama asked Yates and Comey to stick around along with Rice, his trusted scribe and factotum. Obama had a reason for singling out Comey and Yates. Unlike the others, they were staying on in their jobs.
“Growing up, I was told that a woman cannot pursue a man’s job,” a woman says in an FBI recruitment video. “But I want to prove them wrong. Now that I’m here one of my primary goals is to help in the FBI effort to recruit more diversity, more women.”
For the last 30 years or more, under pressure from feminist groups, local police forces across the nation have been doing what the FBI is doing now: adjusting their standards to recruit more women. As the case of Brooklyn, Minnesota, police officer Kim Potter proved, however, feminists are quick to abandon the very women their propaganda has helped recruit.
December 28, 2021
The rumor that the Netflix film, “Don’t Look Up,” is an allegory about climate change is true. Writer/director Adam McKay, a self-declared democratic socialist and Bernie fan, has admitted as much. In fact, McKay calls climate change “the biggest story in 66 million years. It’s the biggest story in the history of upright apes.” That much acknowledged, my skeptical friends on the right have found the film much more amusing than those on the left. My only question is whether McKay is Bernie Bro’ enough to have intended that outcome.
Spoiler alert: “Don’t Look Up” tells the story of a planet-killing comet hurtling towards earth. After watching the first ten minutes of it, I thought it a comedy, a pretty amusing one at that. At Christmas dinner, my Democratic friends assured me it wasn’t a comedy and warned me not to finish it before going to bed. I did anyhow and smiled all the way through to its laugh-out-loud epilogue. Yes, the movie is a comedy. It is scary, I suppose, to those like New York Times reviewer Manohla Dargis who believe that the future of the planet is “too terrifying” to contemplate and its inhabitants “too numb, dumb, [and] powerless” to amuse. “If you weep,” writes Dargis, “it may not be from laughing.”
A week before Christmas, on the occasion of Alex Haley’s centennial year, Michael Patrick Hearn penned a lengthy tribute to his one-time Hamilton College prof. The first 4,000 words of the New York Times article Hearn fulfilled the promise of its title, as Hearn recounted in loving detail how “Alex Haley Taught America About Race — and a Young Man How to Write.”
Only about 500 words before the article’s completion does the Times reader learn there were problems with Haley’s 1976 “magnum opus”— Roots: The Saga of an American Family. Writes Hearn, much too matter-of-factly, “Haley and Doubleday might have saved themselves a lot of trouble had they acknowledged from the first that their big best seller was based on a true story.” This is Hearn’s gentle way of saying the book is a fraud. If additional irony were needed, Hearn wrote his paean to Haley under the Times rubric, “Nonfiction.”
Haley, in fact, stands accused of three counts of literary fraud. He passed off fiction as fact. He passed off another’s work as his own. And he plagiarized. Only one popular writer in recent times has faced comparable accusations. That is Barack Obama, author of his own imagined family saga, Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance. More on Obama in a minute.
I suspect that in the early stages of any great political purge, the intended victims are tempted to laugh off the ham-handedness of their oppressors. Such is the likely reaction of any sane person to the declaration of new COVID mandates by Chicago mayor and Beetlejuice impersonator Lori Lightfoot.
Said Lightfoot this week with an impressively straight face, “If you’re going into that coffee shop to pick-up and go, you don’t need to show proof. But if you’re gonna linger, you’re gonna eat that muffin, you’re gonna sit down with your laptop, you gotta show proof of vaccination.”
Lightfoot actually specified the time a muffin eater could linger, namely “less than 10 minutes.” Pity the poor barista who has to clock the linger time of the patrons and then presumably call 911 if they linger longer than Lori Lightfoot likes.
I had serious reservations about the Steven Spielberg version of the film classic West Side Story. Rumors of wokeness haunted the new movie from the first casting call through to its dismal opening weekend. I expected to wince throughout, but Spielberg did something brave and unexpected. He gave the Jets a rationale for their existence and their resistance.
The 1961 original did not. As a 14-year-old living in a “transitional” neighborhood very much like the one the Jets and Sharks inhabited and not far away, I fully identified with the white gang, the Jets. My friends, even my black friends, did as well. Despite our affection for our homies, we had a grudging respect for the Puerto Rican gang, the Sharks. Their guys were arguably cooler, their girls hotter.
Missed by liberal observers, then and now, is that vestigial urban whites saw Puerto Ricans, not as another “race,” but as another ethnic group, no more alien than Italians were to Irish or Irish were to Germans in generations past. Like Tony, we would definitely date their girls if they’d have us. The absurd racial delineation for “Hispanics” would come later.
The damning phrase that emerged from the Climategate scandal of 2009 was “hide the decline.” At that time, the “decline” referred to inconvenient tree ring data that challenged the global warming mania.
In 2021, the phrase “hide the decline” takes on new meaning. Now, the “decline” in question is the obvious erosion of President Joe Biden’s gray matter. This past weekend presented the media with a perfect storm of climate fraud and gray matter slippage following the devastating “tornadoes” in Kentucky. There was much decline to hide.
I put “tornadoes” in quotes because apparently they go by some other name now. In September 2021, Biden visited the Somerset County Emergency Management Training Center in Hillsborough Township, New Jersey, in the wake of Hurricane Ida.
Before getting to the “hole” in RFK Jr.’s new book, I would like to say that his brutal smackdown of the Dr. Anthony Fauci–Bill Gates vaccine oligarchy, The Real Anthony Fauci, is arguably the century’s most important book, and a page-turner on top of that. Buy it. Read it. If you choose not to, avoid holiday arguments with anyone who has. You will lose.
The book has real heart. There is no doubting Kennedy’s passion and sincerity. That heart, however, has a hole. I am inclined to trace the hole to the fact that RFK Jr. is, after all, a Kennedy. He is the son of a martyred father, the nephew of a martyred uncle, and also, unfortunately, the nephew of a self-serving U.S. senator who self-served much too long. On health issues, RFK Jr. speaks glowingly and frequently of Uncle Ted. That might be forgivable, at least under Cuomo family rules, had young Bobby not followed the lethal path his uncle blazed for their family, their party, and the nation.