The Journal

 

Serving the Metropolitan Area

 

Since 1872

 

 

Septembre 12th

 

EAT the SQUEAMISH!

 

By Jack Parnell - retired Congressman and Independent Presidential candidate

 

Syndicated by Acme Features

 

 

"It's not always best, in the long run, to maximize pleasure or freedom in the short run."

 

 

 

- Mike Barone, in the Washington Post

 

 

"You're neither one thing nor the other, you see. A really grand sinner must be a man who is bold and who makes up his mind. And so you must be melted up."

 

 

 

- The Button-Moulder to Peer Gynt

          Now and again, I've made referral to the Squeamish; one of Amurka's most unpleasant constituencies as a body can encounter. Almost as intransigent and sneaky as the Russia and China lobbies, though not half so generous. As I will explain, in good time, ecclesiastical Virtuecrats tend to fly off the right wing, the neo-lib politically correct off the left... Squeamishness, well, call it the ugly gutbucket of the plague bat, as both wings sprout from.

          The Squeamish (as distinct from Amish, who live simply and produce useful commodities) live mental lives of great complexity in looking for stuff to take offense at... usually "on behalf of" lesser creatures that they look down upon with avarice and pity... children, racial, gender or religious minorities, fetii, animals, rainforests... all of whom, mostly, wish heartily (if voicelessly) that the Squeamish would simply go away. Most are well-off and educated, if superficially... "I think that activism itself is a privilege," one talking head let the snake out of that bag. "Let's face it, to be able to go to all of these meetings you have to have either some kind of economic, educational, or other kind of privilege."

          I guess that you could make the case for Squeamishness being a product of the Hollywood fifties. Black and white Caucasian sitcoms like Ozzie, Father Knows Best and the Beaver posited a rote community of white picket fences and invisible coloreds - behatted fathers with invisible jobs bleating out "hello, honey, I'm home!" A nostalgia for such past as never existed, except on television... Anglo-Indian journalist Shiva Naipaul compared Americans of the squeamish classes to the race of Eloi in the H. G. Wells book and movie "Time Machine", living off credit and selling off their ports to Dubai. They "play and fashion garlands while the ravenous Morlocks plan supper below."

          First, the Squeamish-American President appointed into office by his father's judges after losing the Y2K election decided... like a seven-year-old kissing up to her teacher... that Iraq and Syria and Egypt must have Amurkan-style democracy, whether they wanted to, or not.  And the Urban Spaceman as followed doing the same thing with the Afghans and Libyans and Yemenese and, now, we have Djonald Unchained and the Costa Ricans; they, too, mutter “Ditto!”

          Wilhelm Reich, somewhat more callously, contended that the Squeamish know exactly the consequences of their stance (rather like so many fratboys at the pandemical pool party)... "As bitter as it may be, the fact remains: it is the irresponsibleness of masses of people that lies at the basis of fascism of all countries, nations and races." Because NIMBYhood requires one to have a back yard, Adam Smith was... two centuries ago... prescient in his warnings that liberal elites, "fortunate and proud", would begin to wonder "at the insolence of human wretchedness, that it should dare to present itself before them, and with the loathsome aspect of its misery, presume to disturb the serenity of their happiness."

          (Having felt the pain of the lower orders, didn’t necessarily mean he or his cronies intended to relieve it.  To the contrary, bitter old lady Cynthias peering out their windows at the neighbor repairing his transmission in the driveway closed their blinds and called the code police; governments and corporations, on a larger scale, tweaked zoning laws, demolished slums and then ran out of money to rebuild the nice places as promised, and then built more jails to contain those problem persons.)

          Didn't help that most as raised heck in the '60s, then went disco in the '70s, had to face the ravages of time... against which the sex, drugs and rock n' roll dwindled down to an occasional Viagra, Rogaine or bootleg Zelnorm and elevator music. The zero tolerance grows tolerable once a body's own tolerance for excess flees, breeding mean thoughts of "...why should those damn kids get to be so happy?" and reality television programs like that where aspiring artistes competed to replace some Aussie in this band, as found the Bohemian life so enjoyful that he hanged himself. (Like the Rev. Dennis Peacock, I blame "Satan" Claus as a poor role model, a moral miscreant Socialist who eats too much and laughs too much to be let loose round vulnerable children.)

          So declare war on cellulite, dive for the cellphone and call the cops! One by one, outposts of risky hedonism colonized in the '50’s, 60s and 70s have been squished under the thin, sour high heels of left, right and dead center Squeamishness like unwanted kittens and puppies, euthanized in humane societies "for their own good". AIDS happened, turning sex "cool and mean", reflected Michael V. Miller, spawning a sublimation industry of dirty words, bitter games and hollow interactions, then along came Coronavirus-19 and “emotional distancing” with the Zika Three sex pandemic waiting in those batwings still being munched by Chinese gourmets as we mentioned above.

          Sea World Orlando threw up a "Key West Village" with mechanical manatees and plastic palms, Hemingway-spouting pizza servers and ceiling fans (but no homosexuals, gnats or alcohol) before Hurricane Irma took both the real and fake crap down. "Pretty pathetic!" scoffed Jimmy Weekly, City Commissioner for the real Key West. Disney, speaking of Papa, released another animated version of "The Old Man and the Sea", reprogrammed with singing fishes and fishermen, too... the big fish got away at the end, so the Old Man settled for curly fries at one of those new Caribbean Pirates VII fish franchises. "It is our hope that nobody will be offended by the film," a Disney spokesperson squeaked, last July.

          Orwell warned us that... once the State finishes with our bodies... our minds, history and heritage become next course on the Squeamish menu. We're not quite far down the well-intentioned Squeamish road to thoughtcrime as the Euros or Iraniacs, among others, but we do have all these new "civility" laws as allow politicians to gavel down and close off public comment that they don't appreciate and tear down statues of past Americans (especially memorials to the fallen soldiers of wars past) as might have said or done something politically incorrect.  Sacred in memory… losers and suckers in life and death.  At least that vote to boot Babe Ruth from the Hall of Fame for obesity and drinking failed last winter, as did another attempt to kick FDR off the dime for alleged adultery… but the postals did airbrush Freud's pipe off'n his stamp as, also, cigarettes from the lips of Jackson Pollock's 67-centers, our sliced and diced SCOTUS upheld the Minnesota schoolmarms as banned Christmas and Valentine’s Day as “insensitive to the multicultural community” and the good city patriarchs of Fort Worth bobbitted this cattle sculpture as turned out long in more than the horns…

          "We had requested a steer," Roland Mackie of Sundance Square Management joined the apology brigade. "We got a bull."

          And then there are the Oscars – but we’ve had enough about smooth little golden men these past years…

          Them Squeamish remind me of this joke that Russians told during the Commonism (as seems to have been hijacked by the Deep State as pull strings on the Biden puppet): Three farmers eked out miserable livings on a collective farm 'til, one day, an angel appeared... part of the heresy since, of course, there weren't no such things as angels in the atheist U.S.S.R. Anyway, this angel granted the usual three wishes... though, being Russian, that broke down to only one apiece. The first wished for a chicken, for eggs, the second... a little cheekier... for a cow, so he could have his own milk. The angel gave them what they asked for, then approached the third. "I'm a true believer," he said, "in the necessary equality of all men, even under a God as doesn't exist. Kill my neighbors' livestock!"

          The Commonists are gone, now, went the ever- persnickety National Review, their Russian and Chinese inheritors gone to selling us petroleum, electronics and credit… committing Internet crimes, invading Crimea, Hong Kong and Moldavia and the both tweaking American elections to endorse either Donald Trump (Moscow) or Sleepy Joe (Beijing) but... if those difficulties with al-Qaida, ISIS, the Costa-Rican solidarian bombers and Army of Horus, last year, (not to mention the ongoing Syrian and Salvadoran diasporas) haven't convinced the Squeamish of the existence of real evilment splintering through American skylights... we in the CNC, at least, are keepin' one uninsured eye out for such real Morlocks as lurk behind the alcohol and caffeine-free, organic lite-microbrewery.

    

CLICK the CATFISH to go to PAST and PRESENT EPISODES of "BLACK HELICOPTERS" and to OTHER JACK PARNELL COLUMNS

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