Sunday, August 25, 2019

The Cane



Here's the thing. The broad path of licentiousness, of "do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law," of "No Gods No Masters!" is all very well until you get to the rodeo and end up with 3 screws in your femur. Don't do that, enter by the "strait gate" instead, or its anemic friend "narrow door."




Lectionary notes aside, the Recruit suggested I try out a cane at Walmart and guess what, it worked. This means bye-bye walking frame, hello cane. And I tell you, I like the evolution. So does the dog. The appalling frame confused Blue Eschaton. But perhaps you're asking "is there a sword in that stick?" and "if not why not?"





Don't worry, we'll sort it out. In the meanwhile, the kid's with Uncle Sam, waiting to fly out to Ft. Benning tomorrow. More on that later.

Cheers,

LSP


Saturday, August 24, 2019

Trans Genius



Beautiful, right? But here's @XplosiveTweets:



There's genius and there's genius. I won't comment because that'd be redundant.

BREXIT, KAG,

LSP

Friday, August 23, 2019

#MillSoc Mountebanks




Millionaire socialists Barack and Michelle Obama, estimated net worth $135 million, loved their seaside summer rental so much they decided to buy it, for less than $14.85 million. 

That's right, this socialist paradise of a summer house, featuring seven guest rooms, servants quarters and so much more, costs less than $15 million. And it's a prime oceanfront property.




But wasn't global warming going to raise sea levels, flooding out the coasts? Wow, that's really serious, like War on Weather serious, which is why Barack said this in his 2015 State of the Union address, "No challenge – no challenge – poses a greater threat to future generations than climate change."

Yeah, that's why you bought a mansion on the Atlantic coast, you #MillSoc mountebank. But hey, at least it cost less than $15 million so when the waves wash it all away, not so bad. Plenty more cash where that came from, and we have to wonder. 




"There’s only so big a house you can have,” said Barack to South Africa,  “There’s only so many nice trips you can take. I mean, it’s enough.” Quite.

Leaving aside egregious #MillSoc hypocrisy, are the Obamas corrupt, ignorant, deluded, living-in-a-bubble liars, or all that together? Have they reached Marie Antionette (RIP) levels of hubris? Your call. 




And their multi-million dollar house is common.

Best,

LSP

Thursday, August 22, 2019

The Democrat Slate



Nailed it? Via Armed And Dangerous:

How the D candidates would introduce themselves at the next debate if they were honest
Hi, I’m Joe Biden. I’m the perfect apparatchik – no principles, no convictions, and no plan. I’m senile, and I have a problem with groping children. But vote for me anyway because orange man bad.
Hi, I’m Kamala Harris. My white ancestors owned slaves, but I use the melanin I got from my Indian ancestors to pretend to be black. My own father has publicly rebuked me for the pandering lies I tell. I fellated my way into politics; put me into the White house so I can suck even more!
Hi, I’m Elizabeth Warren. Even though I’m as white as library paste, I pretended to be an American Indian to get preferment. My research on medical bankruptcies was as fraudulent as the way I gamed the racial spoils system. So you should totally trust me when I say I’m “capitalist to my bones”!
Hi, I’m Bernie Sanders. I honeymooned in the Soviet Union. I’m an unreconstructed, hammer-and-sickle-worshiping Communist.
Hi, I’m Kirsten Gillibrand. I used to be what passes for a moderate among Democrats – I even supported gun rights. Now I’ve swung hard left, and will let you just guess whether I ever had any issue convictions or it was just pandering all the way down. Tee-hee!
Hi, I’m Amy Klobuchar, and I’ve demonstrated my grasp on the leadership skills necessarily for the leader of the Free World by being notoriously abusive towards my staff.
Hi, I’m Robert Francis O’Rourke. I’m occupying the “imitate the Kennedy” lane in this race, and my credentials for it include DUI and fleeing an accident scene. The rumors that I’m a furry are false; the rumors that I’m a dimwitted child of privilege are true. But vote for me anyway, crucial white-suburban-female demographic, because I have such a winning smile!
Hi, I’m Pete Buttigieg. I was such a failure as the mayor of South Bend that my own constituents criticize me for having entered this race, but the Acela Corridor press loves me because I’m fashionably gay. And how right they are; any candidate you choose is going to bugger you up the ass eventually, but I’ll do it like an expert!
Hi, I’m Bill de Blasio. I’m as Communist as Bernie, but I hide it better. And if Pete thinks his constituents don’t want him in this race? Hold…my…beer!
Hi, I’m Cory Booker, and I’m totally not gay. OK, maybe I’m just a little gay. My city was a shithole when I was elected and I’ve done nothing to change that; I’m really just an empty suit with a plausible line of patter, especially the “I am Spartacus” part. But you should totally vote for me because I’m…what was the phrase? Oh, yeah. “Clean and articulate.”
Hi, I’m Marianne Williamson. If elected, I will redecorate the White House so it has proper feng shui. I am the sanest and least pretentious person on this stage.

Here at the Compound we hope you appreciate this lighthearted satire.

Your Progressive Pal,

LSP 

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Ursula von der Leyen Zapfenstreich!



Germany's outgoing Defense Minister Ursula von der Leyen got quite the sendoff  on her way to become President of the European Commission. Look, here's a short video.




I like martial tradition, a lot, but where have we seen this sort of thing before? The "great replacement" might want to take note of precedent. 

That aside, the German military are obviously pleased to see their Defense Minister go, and who can blame them? They've been training with broomsticks, their planes don't fly, their subs don't work, and they have these weird little tents. Hardly good for morale. 




Not to worry, Fatherland, Ursula's taking her, ahem, warlike qualifications to Fortress Europa, where plans are afoot for a grand EU Army.




The world quakes at the dread prospect of the rainbow legion! Except that it doesn't. You see, behind every dark cloud there's a silver lining.

Your Old Friend,

LSP

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Greenland? Our Land.



Yes, '45 is an APEX TROLLMr. President, that island belongs to US. You see, yet more happy news.

Your Friend,

LSP

Monday, August 19, 2019

Love



Tired of an endless stream of negativity? Maybe Donna will help.

Love,

LSP

Up To Their Old Tricks or Rank Hypocrisy in High Places



Celebrated royal eco-warriors Harry and Meghan are exhausted from their mission to tell you to save the planet. That's why they climbed on another private jet, again, to visit Elton John's rainbow palace in Nice.

Nice if you can have it, which we don't, but not to worry. "Sir" Elton's promised to pay a "carbon tax" to offset the royal couple's expenditure in fossil fuel. Big sigh of relief. 




Thanks, Elton, and behold your new reality, serfs. A transnational elite flying Gulfstream to visit each other while lecturing you, their slaves, to pay up, pay up, and the pay the game. 

Oh, and by the way, don't you dare accuse a jowly old pop star of being anything other than normal. That's be racist, homophobes.




Hey, don't worry, your city might be a hollowed out, asset-stripped wasteland but at least you, the serf, has access to trans toilets. So everything's rainbow alright. Celebrate that, peons, while your betters climb aboard their Gulf Streams.




Halfhearted rant aside, I'm a loyal servant of the Crown, a Monarchist, the Old Service. Can someone please tell these Green Imposterf that privilege comes with responsibility? Otherwise watch out for pitch forks down the Mall. 

And that, friends, is the very least of it,

LSP

Sunday, August 18, 2019

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

Saturday, August 17, 2019

Behold The Revolution


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