The Journal
Serving the Metropolitan Area
Since 1872
September 14th
EAT the SQUEAMISH!
By Jack Parnell - retired Congressman and Independent Presidential
candidate
Syndicated
by Acme Features
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"It's not always best, in the long run, to maximize pleasure
or freedom in the short run." |
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- Mike Barone, in the Washington Post |
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"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." |
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- The Button-Moulder to Peer Gynt |
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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 Canceleers off the left... Squeamishness, well, call it the
ugly gutbucket of the roasted plague bat, as both wings sprout from.
The Squeamish (as
distinct from Amish, who live simply and produce useful commodities like the
puppies that George Santos steals) 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, oystersm, rainforests... all of whom, mostly, wish heartily
(if often 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, declaring: "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!" and complicated problems solved in thirty minutes, less commercials.
(The police and attorney dramas – they
sometimes consumed whole hours!) A
nostalgia for such past as never existed, except on television... Anglo-Indian
journalist Shiva Naipaul comparing 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
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 Libyans and Yemenese and, after
him, we had Djonald Unchained’s
Big Baghdadi Adventure, President Joe fleeing Afghanistan, holding onto his hat
with both hands, and now 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 ostensibly
progressive gumments 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.) Like the good citizens of California decreed, those
unsightly homeless peasants as cannot afford Golden State rents must be rounded
up and sent to... not homes... treatment.
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 and tosses gifts
like some demented Democrat 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 waves and
variants of 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 and then, finally, a
miserable war which Americans avoided by pulling their blankets up over their
heads as one East Bloc nation after another was conquered and enslaved.
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 – a veritable no fly
zone!) 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
as slithered into St. Petersburg storefronts vacated by McDonalds’ sanctioneers. "It is our hope that nobody will be offended by the film," a Disney spokesperson
squeaked, last July.
Makes you wanna vote for Saint Ron,,, sort of
(but only sort of),
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. Squeamerica purged the Muppets, Potato Head, the Eyes of Texas
and Seuss but, 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. The postals did, however, 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 too much conversation 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 its 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, credit and, finally, war… committing Internet crimes,
invading Crimea, Kyiv, Hong Kong and Moldavia and the both tweaking American
elections to endorse either Donald Trump (Moscow, 2016) or Sleepy Joe (Beijing,
2020) but... if those difficulties with al-Qaida Two, ISIS Three, the
Costa-Rican solidarian bombers and Army of Horus, last year, (not to mention
the ongoing Syrian and Salvadoran diasporas – American industry not so
intolerant of all those Ukrainians replacing Mexicans in the fields, farms and
Fuddruckers because their skin color is... you know...) 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 |