A Curious Tale To Mark The Anniversary Of Woodstock

Here's a short and curious tale to mark the 50th anniversary of Woodstock, the greatest hippy gathering the world has ever known.

It was a hot night in Dallas and the whisky flowed freely on my friend's back porch as we talked of guns, religion, Sergeant Majors, wars and hippies. 

Then the conversation turned personal. TH fixed me in the eye, he'd been a combat diver in Vietnam, a kind of proto SEAL.

"I'd just returned from a mission, it'd been," he paused, "difficult. And got orders to go on leave, so off I went without changing uniform. Out of the jungle and onto the plane.

"Landed in LA, and went outside to get a cab. It was right after Woodstock, and there was this hippy woman, staring, I must have looked a mess. She jabs her finger and calls me a 'baby killer.' What? I couldn't take that at all so I knocked her out, bang. 

"A cop comes over, he'd seen it, and asks, 'Do you want me to book her for assault?' I thought for a moment, no, let it be."

Here endeth the Lesson.

Rest in peace, TH.

LSP

Observations Upon A Dog

Keen-eyed readers of this popular and cosmopolitan mind blog have noticed the startling similarity of the Compound's dog, Blue Monarchist, to Prince Rupert of the Rhine's notorious canine accomplice, Boy.

Feared and hated by Parliamentarians as a devil dog and witch's familiar, Boy, a rare white hunting poodle, was applauded by Royalists for his(?) ability to speak multiple languages, prophecy, make himself and his master impervious to bullets, while wreaking bloody mayhem amongst those who dared offend him. 

All this to say nothing of the dog's preference for stained glass, oriented altars and chanted liturgy. 

Boy infuriated the mutinous, superstitious, killjoy, Christmas-banning Puritans as much as he pleased loyal servants of the Crown, who famously made the dog Sergeant Major General of the British Army. 

Notwithstanding rank or perhaps because of it, Boy chased out of rear echelon captivity to follow his master at the charge, and was shot at Marston Moor. The Royalist cause followed soon after, along with Britain's first and only military dictatorship.

Blue Edgehill, you have been warned.

Spiro Spero,

LSP

Behold The Revolution

Oh no!!! Antifa brought a unicorn. #Portland #PortlandProtest #PortlandProtests pic.twitter.com/BRRUrfIzh3

— Malissa Tormey (@MalissaTormey) August 18, 2019

Beware, readers, of its thudding hooves and goring horn. And with that in mind, behold the state of revolutionary Anarcho/Marxism in Portland, today.

KAG2020,

LSP

Dog Days

It's ferociously hot and Blue Monarchist leads the way, Edgehill's another day. But what about Naseby and Marston Moor I ask him, incredulously. 

By way of answer he sits with loyal expectancy and asks for a treat, as though that, somehow, will stop the New Model Army and advance the last gasp of chivalry. Fond imagining, but he gets one anyway.

Quarter Master over, we went out back with a good view to capturing Banbury, Reading, Oxford, and Bristol. Quite the campaign and devil take the hindmost. Charge and scatter the enemy to the winds!

Needless, Blue No Bishop No King got stuck into the Anabaptist provisions and ate my sister's dog's toy. Typical cavalier ill-discipline, raid the enemy's baggage train in the exuberance of the after-charge. And lose the war. Good work, furhead.

Chagrined, Blue Divine Right Of Kings went prowling in search of Trained Bands to destroy and defeat. Perhaps they were hiding in the cover, in a psalm-singing fit of millenarian expectancy. Good luck with that, Blue Old Service is prowling, seeking whom he may devour.

Not least the advance scouts of the enemy, Chimney Swifts. They're protected by Law, no thanks to Edwardus Coke, and doubly by a sheet of cardboard. Undaunted by pettifogging legal skulduggery, Blue Loyalist stands guard.

As did I, when I could stand. But seriously, as a loyal Son of the Crown and an irregular cavalryman to boot, let's see a bit more Divine Right of Kings and less Satanic Rule of the New World Order.

Vivat,

LSP

Regime Change?

Some say we need to sort out Puerto Rico first. Here at the Compound we say, "Whatever, let's have that island."

Nothing Says Green Like A Gulfstream

Speaking of which, the noted millionaire socialist, Illuminati celebrity couple, Prince Harry and Meghn are back from well needed R&R in Ibiza. You know, 'coz nothing says Green like a Gulfstream.

Come A Long Way From The D List

So what? So a lot. How dare these outrageously rich, and by extension powerful people, be such canting, commie, leftist, elite, champagne SJW hypocrites instead of working to make the world a better place. As in leading instead of goofing off to leftist platitude.

Proles Partying in Ibiza, Spot Harry & Megynn

Which they could do, given their cash, influence and standing. But no, all these Illuminati shills are apparently capable of is turning an anointed monarchy into a laughing stock. That, to me, is outrageous.

Go Green On A Gulfstream

Harry, sort it out, or others will for you.

Regime change?

LSP

Hanging Around

Ultra wealthy sex freak, Pedo Epstein, was found dead in his cell, everyone knows this. He hanged himself, apparently.

Yes, because everyone kneels on the floor of their cell and "hangs" themselves until their neck bones break.

In the meanwhile, where's GHISLAINE?

Just hanging around,

LSP

Feast of the Assumption

Some people think the Assumption's idolatrous, that we're worshiping the Blessed Virgin Mary as some kind of false goddess. Hardly, we're celebrating the holiness that brought salvation, Christ, into the world. 

Holiness in advance of Enoch and Elijah, surely. If they were taken up into heaven, why not Mary, the Mother of God.

Here's a prayer:

WE BESEECH thee, O Lord; mercifully to forgive the sins of thy people; that we, who of ourselves can do nothing that is acceptable unto thee, my be succoured by the intercession of the Mother of thy Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Who liveth and reigneth with thee.

Have a blessed Feast,

LSP

Just Driving Around In An Oven

"How's it goin' Padre?"

"A bit chilly, what?"

Meaning it's 105* in the shade and Devil take the hindmost. Undaunted by an I'm in a preheating oven kind of feeling, I climbed into the rig and drove to the Pick 'n Steal. Old habits die hard and there, predictably, was First Baptist shining in the sun.

I always wonder if being First translates to Best. Do the First Families of the town go to the  first baptist church in the town? Perhaps they do, though once they would've been Episcopalien. Well, we messed that up.

Whatever, unfold the frame and scoot across the melting asphalt to the Shamrock and the best filling station coffee in town. I tell you, the shop's AC's a welcome relief. How did Texans get by without air conditioning?

Well, they mostly didn't because no one wanted to move here before it happened. Note, Dallas and the associated metrosprawl have only ballooned out of proportion subsequently. Which brings us to shooting.

A few years ago I'd think nothing of getting out in the heat and blasting away for a day in the August sun. 105*? Whatever, pass the ACP and all the rest. Now? Not so much. 

Mind you, I don't have much choice coz the leg's busted. How's that going to work out for September 1 and dove? Set up on a tailgate with a couple of Mojos out front and a 20? 

This, as with so much in life, remains to be seen. In the meanwhile, try not to melt.

God bless,

LSP

Burlesque Of The Damned

a fabulous burlesque of people in high places acting like dishonorable idiots

A burlesque of people in high places acting like dishonorable idiots. Where to start, with Comey's pathetically failed Keystone Kops Koup? With Mueller's epic non-performance before Congress? How about the DNC and its bizarrely insecure servers, to say nothing of Hillary herself, flying into a talons-out-rage before she was sedated on that fateful night in 2016. Spirit cooking, apparently, can only go so far.

Not unlike Jeffrey Epstein, who didn't get very far at all following his July arrest for sex-trafficking and associated wickedness with the rich and powerful. And what a Black Book celebrity line up it was! Bill and Hillary Clinton, Prince Andrew, Dershowitz, Ehud Barak, Kevin Spacey, Victoria's not-so-secret Wenxler, to name just a few. Did you know, by the way, that Epstein was a guest at Windsor Castle, Sandringham and Balimoral?

And now he's dead; how very convenient, thanks to the clowns who pretended to run the MCC. But Epstein's not the point, the short glimpse his notoriety gives into the lives of the transnational elite is.

Call them the New World Order Illuminati, a billionaire class of people unbound to any nation, morality or religion. A tiny globalist aristocracy that Gulf Streams around the world to a different set of ethics as it lectures you, the Walmart slave class, on Climate Change and the necessity of more tax from the safety of their super yachts. Hey, peasant, those boats don't come cheap.

There it is, the lid lifted off the steaming hell that is our betters'  luciferian lives. So what are we going to do about it? Nothing, something, somewhere in between?

How about holding these satanic goons accountable and working to overthrow this wickedness. That means, all two of you readers, #KAG2020 and a return to the Faith. If you don't have the foundation, you won't build the City.

In the meanwhile there's Prince Andrew, what a sex-crazed buffoon. Ghislaine Maxwell is wondrously nowhere to be found.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

May Pole

So tell me, folk music's harmless?

Your buddy,

LSP

Been All Around This World

Because this comforting mind blog's all about the serial release of Reckoning. While we're at it, you might enjoy this photo of the Democrat Primary debates.

Was this some kind of Ardennes offensive orders group?

Strike and hold,

LSP

Sunday Joy

Here at the Compound we hope you enjoy this "Letter to our subscribers, from the New York Times" as much as we do. Via Chadwick Moore at the Spectator:

Dear Valued Subscriber,

For a mere $39.99 a month, about what you pay your Guatemalan nanny, you depend on us for thought-provoking personal reassurance, award-winning arrogance, hard-hitting sycophancy, and up-to-the-minute coverage of Orange Man – who is very, very bad.

The New York Times remains the world’s most prestigious Viewpoint Validation Service because we understand the crippling emptiness permeating the wealthy liberal soul – we are that emptiness – and you entrust us to make you feel good, smart and worthy every day.

While News and Opinion whisper watered-down postgrad nothings in your ear, Style and Dining guarantee you’ll be validated on the outside, as well as inside. Style and Dining remain committed to informing you on exactly what Brooklyn thought was cool three years ago. While the city that is our namesake – and the place you’ve built your entire identity around – might be a dead, stale cultural wasteland that no one cares about anymore, our Travel section reminds you that you’re a global citizen. Times subscribers don’t have homes, they have bases.

But even the pre-eminent VVS is vulnerable to mistakes.

As some of you are aware, we failed in our commitment to ferociously guard the sanctity of your echo chamber this week. A headline appeared on our front page suggesting Orange Man spoke against racism. While the headline was factual, it was a flagrant betrayal of the service you expect us to provide and we literally stopped the presses to fix it.

We listened to our readers on how to proceed from there. The headline writer was an elderly holdover from the days when we were a newspaper. But today’s lovepaper business is different. Inspired by the Texas revolutionary Joaquin Castro, our editorial board decided to take out a full page ad in our own paper to publish his home address and pictures of his family. Then we mobilized our 52,247 interns to brigade his employer, us, with phone calls to report that we have a racist in our ranks. The writer was immediately fired. Our interns, known as TimesHelpers, chucked milkshakes at him as he sadly strolled through the lobby with his little NPR tote bag full of desktop knick knacks. Just as he reached the door we unchained Sarah Jeong and watched gleefully as she dismembered and ate him alive.

Our customers’ pomposity and fragility are important to us. We don’t use words like ‘neurotic’ and ‘repellant’ to describe our readers the way shopkeepers, waiters, and dry-cleaners might. We think your quirkiness is the natural byproduct of the cosmopolitan, emotionally lavish life that you lead.

We know if we aren’t delivering our best, every hour of every day, somewhere a Yale grad might lose an argument if she can’t reference our content as the final authority. The Times subscriber understands that reading about something makes you a better person than doing something. You depend on us to be informed daily about the wretched lives of blacks and immigrants as a fair tradeoff for keeping them out of your own communities and schools.

Point of privilege, when tens of thousands of you threatened to cancel your subscription this week, we had a chuckle. You were never going to leave. Our authority is the only thing that gives you authority. And, besides, where else would you go, the Washington Post? That lovepaper is named after a slave owner. And it’s not like you’re going to subscribe to the Wall Street Nazi.

But we still listened to your grievances. Because of your diverse needs, on Monday we will launch the most intimate Viewpoint Validation Service on earth with TimesPersonal. Our new premium service will give platinum members the option to select how they’d like to see a story reported before they read it. Platinum members will be able to pick from options like, ‘Skip to the white nationalism,’ ‘What’s the real estate value,’ and ‘Trump’s fault.’ TimesPersonal comes with our new TimesTrauma feature that algorithmically eliminates potentially triggering content from your personal edition of the Times. Going forward, subscribers can log-in to our TimesRapeWhistle portal to flag content they feel may have been published without consent from the greater Times community.

We know that from the first day you picked up our product, you’ve seen us as not just a newspaper but a social status accelerant. We will never forget our commitment to selling our subscribers more than just words, but personal brand and identity. In these dark and divided times, where 63 million white supremacists use the internet to ridicule their moral superiors with things called ‘memes,’ we have an even more important calling: to protect your truth.

Sincerely,

Dean Baquet

Minister of Feels, The New York Times Viewpoint Validation Service

he/him

******

Rather good, eh?

LSP