Pioneer Column

 

Everyone's heard of Cecil Rhodes, mining magnate and driven son of the Empire, but perhaps you've forgotten his Pioneer Column, guided by the legendary Frederick Selous. The Column set north from today's South Africa to what would become Rhodesia in 1890. According to something called "Pindula":

The Pioneer Column was made up of individuals of various expertise. It was led by Frank Johnson who was formerly of the Bechuanaland Protectorate Police, and Rhodes's military advisor, before he became leader of the column. Johnson employed the services of Fredrick Selous who was a professional hunter with vast knowledge of Mashonaland. He was the guide for the Column. 

He then began to recruit volunteers to take part in the colonisation of Mashonaland. The volunteers were to be offered 3000 hectares of arable land and 15 mining claims as a reward for their services. The Pioneer Column was placed under the military directorship of an Irish Commander Lieutenant Colonel Edward Pennefather. 

The Pioneer Column was made up of 180 sappers, 200 volunteers and 62 wagons. No women were allowed. Another group soon joined the Column. It added 110 men, 16 wagons, 130 horses and 250 cattle. They set out from Mcloutsie (Fort Tuli, on the Shashe River, border with Bechuanaland) on 28 June 1890 and arrived at Fort Victoria on 12 September. The British flag was hoisted, symbolising occupation.

 

 

It's said that the 200 volunteers were chosen from amongst thousands of applicants for their exceptional qualities of character and ability. And go figure, their immediate descendants went on to create a civilised state from land occupied by hunter gatherers and savages.

Remarkable men, not least Selous himself, and, let the record show, Great Britain sold those pioneers down the river, ceding a once prosperous nation into the hands of corrupt communists, it's laughably called Zimbabwe now. What a betrayal.

That aside, and it's a large aside, can you imagine Rhodes and Curzon meeting, perhaps in the "Secret Society" or over a brandy at the Rand Club or at White's in London. "I say, Rhodes, you do try hard," pan to cigar smoke, flashing eyes and, "Yes!" Or something like that. And what can we say.

Dear Lord, Kyrie Elieson, but well done nonetheless

There were giants in those days,

LSP

Maths - You Nazi

Mathematics. 2+2=4. Simple truth, right? No, you Nazis, racist white imperialism. So let's get with Woka Cola and stop oppressing our dusky brethren persons of color with the racist assumption that they can add and subtract. How very top Nazi Cecil Rhodes.

But seriously, when you get rid of truth what are you left with? Opinion and force, to say nothing of infernal pride and the deadly, insane logic of the Pit.

Note SMLE? Or some kind of "double"?

Speaking of which, we wonder, why does Satan thrash so furiously? For the same reason that the doomed Fuhrer did in his bunker. In the face of utter defeat, burn it all down. He failed, and so has the Devil.

Your Pal,

LSP

She's A Rainbow

Until she's a backstabbing, knife in the back psycho.  What then? Fall back to your last RV, regroup, and advance to contact. Or simply run like fury :)

Cheers,

LSP

White Privilege

White privilege is great but it can get a little rusty, so I pulled the chairs off of the porch, gave 'em a quick sanding, and resprayed.

Word to the wise. Don't be fooled by cheaper sprays, they don't cover as much and the result's not as good. Use Rustoleum High Performance enamel, or something like it. Only costs a buck or two more and worth every penny.

Blue Stonewall Jackson wasn't interested in checking his privilege. No, he was all about defending it from squirrels, birds and potential protesters. He likes his privilege and wants to keep it. I often remind him that he's black and white but he foolishly ignores this, being a dog.

After a couple of hours the chairs of privilege were ready to go back on the porch, a job well done. Next step? Paint the deck, and that's tomorrow's project. For now, it's time to grill, and where's my Julep?!?

General Lee forever,

LSP

Check Your Privilege, Sorry, Uranium

So there you were, naively wandering down the street in your Red Indian costume, or dressed up all "minstrelsy" like a character from a Dr. Seuss book, when all of a sudden you realize that the jolly outfit is, in fact, racist.

Disaster. You run home, look at the packaging of your tried and true "General Lee" and see the word "traditional." You hide it, embarrassed, and reach for another costume, the George Washington one. That'll work. But no, "colonial." You reach blindly for  another and pull out the "Cecil Rhodes." No! Catastrophe.

Maybe the Chaka Zulu will work. Mistake. "Tribal." So you search, desperately, for something to wear on Halloween, something that doesn't perpetuate stereotypes, misinformation, or historical inaccuracy.

Don't say Uranium One.

LSP