Bring The Beat Back

Hillary's back in the press and rockin, in a MuMu.

Nothing quite like a MuMu to whip up the Illuminati base.

Self-justified and ancient, that's our Hill.

Lock her up and just in case you missed it the first time, time is eternal.

Stand by the JAMS,

LSP 

Rainbow Day!

I'm posting this infographic because I love it.

That is all.

LSP

Whats Up With WANC? The Worldwide Anglican Non Communion

Reeling from the Holy See's decision to turn all Roman Catholic churches, cathedrals, monasteries, convents and chapels into mosques, we turn to the venerable Worldwide Anglican Non Communion (WANC). What's WANC been up to? Quite a lot.

WANC's leader, Archbishop Justin "Chinos" Welby has been meeting with Egypt's Grand Imam. Good work, Justsin, Archbishop of Canterdhimmi. Conservative Anglicans, represented by the Global Anglican Future's Conference (GAFCON), haven't been slow either.

Jerusalem

GAFCON III was held in Jeruslalem this summer, the largest international meeting of Anglicans of its kind in decades. And more power to it, GAFCON stands against the clownish cultural marxism of mainstream, first world Anglicanism. Stand by the revealed Word of God, thunders GAFCON, and here at the Compound we agree. 

Why then does GAFCON allow its various provinces to ordain women as priests? Good question, surely not because of First World bribes and CMS fostered disbelief in sacramental priesthood. Regardless, good luck to this evangelical protest against gay marriage rituals.

A Typical Austin Tranny

Speaking of which, the Episcopal Church met in Austin, predictably, for its triennial General Convention. On the agenda? Should we make our Prayer Book Even More Gay and should every Episcopalian be able to get a Gay Wedding Ritual (Resolution B012). The former failed, the latter passed to rapturous applause.

Up until this summer, dioceses in the Episcopal Church were able to decide whether or not they'd be gay, it was up to the bishop. If the bishop felt gay the whole diocese went gay, if not, not so much.

Crazed

But this has changed. Thanks to GC79, it's up to the local priest figure to decide if the church will go gay and do a same sex marriage ceremony. Sorry, straight bishops, all 8 you, your diocese has to go gay even if you don't like it.

Demented

Leaving aside the rainbow riding idiocracy of it all, we have to wonder if Apostolic Order means anything in the Episcopal Church. Stupid question, of course not, all means ALL in Presiding Bishop Figure Michael Curry's Jesus Movement, unless of course you're a Christian. 

Inside The Cockpit

Good luck, Bishop Dan Martins et al, you'll need it.

Covenant Communion Partners Forever,

LSP

Italian Bishop Goes Full Mosque

Monsignor Raffaele Nogaro, bishop emeritus of Caserta, comes right out and says it. He'd be willing to “turn all the churches into mosques if it were useful to the cause and if it allowed us to save the lives of men and women.”

Let that sink in. A Roman Catholic bishop would rather see all of Italy's churches become mosques than stop massive Muslim immigration into his country. All in the name of charity, of course, but is charity the virtue we're dealing with or some other thing?

Imagine, for a moment, that the immigrants from Africa and the Middle East were Salvini supporters or even worse, Latin Mass Catholics. Would Nogaro be so keen to take them in? Perhaps it's just me, but I doubt it. 

Again, picture Nogaro's horror at the prospect of millions of National Socialists flooding into his country. And quite right too, no right thinking person would want to import that kind of hatred into their homeland.

But that's just what Nogaro and other Catholic bishops, including the Pope, are proposing. They're asking us to welcome millions of Muslims into our countries, millions of people who are part of a religion that hates and has been at war with Christianity and the world since its inception. 

This isn't charity, it's stupidity and perhaps something worse. Could it be that Nogaro et al are in favor of turning churches into mosques because they don't like the public expression of the Faith, because they hate the culture of the West and want to destroy it? 

After all, what better way to get rid of a despised culture than to do away with its cult, its religion, by abolishing this in the public square and turning its sanctuaries into mosques. 

Surely Nogaro and his Islamizing no borders friends wouldn't be cultural Marxists and when the call to prayer echoes above St. Peter's, would they answer that over and above the ringing of the racist Angelus?

Then again, perhaps they're betting the fighting monkey on the odds of demographic change going their way. 

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Michelle Mondays!

Here at Melania Mondays! we've been accused of being partisan, unfair, of only covering stories about America's beautiful, popular, glamorous and intelligent First Lady. But what about Michelle, even Vogue couldn't make her look good. 

We want to change that and thanks to a heady dose of owl magic, we're delighted to announce a new fragrance.

Michelle, eau de parfum isn't just a scent, it's a multi-spectrum solution, from weed killer to rat poison to stench bomb. And let's not forget the spiritual aspect.

In liquid or solid state incense form, Michelle Musk is a guaranteed draw to evil spirits, like a Draw Mo contest but for demons instead of Jihadis. Fine difference but you get the point. Crack open the Musk and... there's a demon.

Just make sure you've got an exorcist on hand, a real one who uses Latin, which Satan fears.

Cheers,

LSP

Owl Magic, A Short Tale Of The Occult

The heat came down like the beating of giant wings, suffocating, intense, taking the air right out of your lungs  and sucking it up into whatever was beyond the bonewhite glare of the sun.

So deal with it. Not easy, but I strode into the furnace and somehow made it to the Shamrock filling station pick 'n steal. A short walk across the anteroom of Hell.

"How's it going?" I asked across cracked formica in the cooling blast of air conditioning. She rose up from checking cheap cigars, Swisher Sweets, in all their lurid 99 cent, bluntish glory.

"OK. That it, coffee?" 

"And a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Light, short, box."

She had the cigarettes ready. It was a morning ritual, regular and repeated but something was different.

"You like the smell?"

Stick incense wafted on the AC, familiar enough; like the odor of tipis in Wales, Austin or San Francisco.

"I smell it," I replied, "It smells like hippies."

She giggled, suddenly coy.

"But hey, better than a toilet, right?"

"So true, better than a toilet. But what's with the owl?"

She paused, laughter most definitely over, and looked at the plastic bird glaring round-eyed from the top of a glass counter and its  sign for burned offerings. 

We gazed in silence, while darkness flickered in and out at the edge of vision, barely perceptible shadowmen, closing in. I ended the spell.

"So what's with the owl. Guarding against evil spirits?"

Liquid brown Aztec Inca eyes met mine and stayed there before another giggle. "No, he's just an owl, you know, like some stupid bird."

I walked out into the heat, coffee in hand, to return the next day; rituals bear repetition.

The owl looked down from his perch and darkness clustered, sharp and flitting, almost out of sight.

"Coffee and cigarettes?"

"That's right, same again."

"You remember the owl?

"Yes."

"You're right. He stops the evil."

"I know."

I looked at Mictecacihuatl and she at me, impassive, empty, a void, this was just the way it was. 

Vade retro, I walked into the searing light of the day, "God bless."

Behind me came a rustle of feathers and the sound of tearing, plucking, ripping and pulling at flesh. I didn't look back.

All Gods, readers, are not the same.

God bless,

LSP

Stop Gendering Your Baby Vice

Biological sex doesn't exist. I'll leave you to ponder the Satanic insanity of Tourjee's "gender is a construct" piece for the aptly named Vice. In the meanwhile, here's a helpful tune.

Gotta love the Dead but really, is that the best you can do, Marxists? Look, idiots, everyone knows that biological sex exists. Keep denying it and everything else that's true and you'll look as ridiculous as...

Hillary 20/20.

Your Old Mate,

LSP

#DemandVoterID

If they can do it once they can do it again.

With voter ID Hillary would have won.

So let's kick Putin out of the ballot box.

And save democracy.

#DemandVoterID

Love,

LSP

Scraping By

Farsighted readers of this family oriented fishing blog will remember that the Compound's HQ was starting to look shabby and we hired painting Mexicans to put things right. Good call, the crew in question do a decent job but only when they turn up.

The problem was that they turned up rarely if at all and apparently didn't want to get paid. Who knows, perhaps they thought of their work as a kind of donation to the church. Which is great but left the historic Texan wooden house in danger of becoming an historic  Texan ruin. So we hired a new crew.

Guess what, they turned up and they're still turning up, every day. It's a kind of miracle and a pretty big job. First they scrape, then they power wash, then they caulk.

Scraping, washing and caulking done, on goes the primer, followed by the paint, all in 40*+ weather; it's a wonder the paint doesn't combust or even the air itself. House painting in a Texan summer can't be easy; well done, Team, for sticking with it.

At the moment things are pretty much at the scraping stage, though the North wall's been primed and's almost ready for paint. When that's done the scaffold can go back and the rest reached with ladders.

It'll look good when it's done.

Scrape on,

LSP

There's Only Two Genders

But maybe you disagree?

Your Pal,

LSP

Striper! No, Not Stormy

 

Fishing wisdom says there's not much point trying to catch fish mid-afternoon when the sun's high in the sky, it's roastingly hot at 106* and the fish are stunned into stasis by the heat. They just lay there, suspended in a kind of piscine daze, not biting. 

So don't bother fishing in these conditions, runs the wisdom, it's about as pointless as trying to get Anderson Cooper into conversion therapy.

Moral Arbiter

All this ran through my mind as I loaded up the rig and headed for water. Why am I doing this, I wondered. Because I had to get out and tilt my lance at fishing wisdom, I wanted to catch fish against the odds. 

A challenge, sort of thing. Not unlike trying to convince a Democrat that peace with Russia isn't treason, or even Pearl Harbor cubed.

A Perch

Whatever. By some miracle of modern technology I reached the lake without the truck melting into the asphalt and surveyed the scene. No one was there and who can blame them? They didn't want to be baked into an early Brennanlike senescence. 

Undaunted, I cast off with a split shot, small hook worm rig and was getting bites from the get-go, but couldn't close the deal. Small perch were obviously on the scene so I switched out the hook for something even smaller, miraculously the mono didn't ignite, and result, caught 5 perch.

Striper!

They weren't large and the last was perhaps the smallest. Put him to work! I thought, like Trump trying to cure our urban hellhole inner cities. Still, I wasn't counting on anything, it was the last cast. But what a cast. 

After a minute or two, the mouth-hooked perch seemed to get vigorous in the water and  I loosened the drag, instinctively. Good intuition because the line started playing out like fury, a fish was on as opposed to the perch playing around. So tighten it up, set the hook and reel it in.

Eye of the Beholder

And out came a voracious Striper who'd pretty much swallowed the perch whole. He went back to fight again another day and I went back to the Compound in the searing heat of the afternoon.

Reward. The Compound's Finally Getting Painted...

Moral of the story? Hungry Stripers, don't say Stormy,  will eat pretty much anything.

Tight lines,

LSP

Romanov Martyrs

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the Russian Imperial family's murder by a Bolshevik death squad.

In a melee of wild shooting, squad leader Peter Irmakov was drunk, Tsar Nicholas died almost immediately. His children and family retainers were not so fortunate.

It took a further 20 minutes of "disorganized" firing, clubbing and bayoneting to kill the rest of the family until, it's reported, the floor of room was slick with blood and brains, like an "ice rink."

Even then, two of the Tsar's daughters were still breathing when they were carried out of the building. The bodies were eventually burned with sulphuric acid and buried in a shallow grave. You can read about it here, here and elsewhere.

Early this morning, at 2.30 am, marking the time of the bloodthirsty, pitiless, drunken, raving, satanic, child killing executions, thousands of Russians marched and processed in pilgrimage to the site of the murders, where a church was built at the turn of the millennium.

The Russian Church has canonized the Romanov victims of Red Terror as martyrs and perhaps it's no accident that the peace summit between Trump and Putin, America and Russia, against globalist, atheist socialism took place on the eve of this anniversary.

Of course Bolshevism is gone from Russia. Judging from the frenzied reaction of our media and their BillSoc (billionaire socialist) overlords to Helsinki, its spirit is alive and kicking in the West.

By the blood of the Martyrs,

LSP