Not Gonna Take It

 

Patriots gathered in DC today, to show our rulers that they're servants of the people as opposed to the other way around.  So who's responsible for the direct action?

Antifa, Maga, the Feds? Who knows, perhaps the action was funded by the same people profitting off Dominion and Smartmatic or, for that matter, made in China masks. Don't say billions of dollars.

In the meanwhile, Jamiroquai made it into the Capitol. Yes, the twat in the hat. Does this mean that in the new world order we'll all have to listen to nasty West London Jazz fusion?

Hopefully not. In the meanwhile, patriots and anarchists(?) climbed up the steps of the Capitol to overthrow the Uniparty. Who knows, perhaps the last Porkulus was the 700 billion dollar straw that broke the camel's back.

Your Pal,

LSP

PS. My youngest sister made it up to the steps of the Capitol then smartly went back to her hotel :)

Bridge Over The River Kwai - Election Issue

Read this short cinematic parable as you will,

LSP

 

A Message From Ted

 

Before you can say "cat scratch fever," Ted Nugent rocks:

And so does Blue Oyster Cult, representing We The People:

'

That is all.

LSP

Hellfire And Brimstone

 

"How can a country which murders its children in the womb be expected to do anything right?" I couldn't answer contrary. So here's Cash, again:

The whirlwind is in the thorn trees. You see, there's a time for Hellfire and Brimstone sermons.

DFTR,

LSP

A Short Sunday Sermon

 

This is the leader of the worldwide Anglican Non-Communion (WANC), Archbishop of Canterbury Justsin Welby.  It would be uncharitable to say that Welby brokered womxn bishop figures into the Church of England and is no longer able to touch the Sacrament with his hands. So I won't say it, but he's clearly afraid of something, unlike these nurses, have a look:

They’re not allowed to tell us it’s all bullshit. They’re showing us instead.. pic.twitter.com/Wlx90PIMX1

— Peep’s Troll 🇺🇸 (@peoples_troll) January 3, 2021

As you can see, these medical professionals are clearly overwhelmed by the catastrophic pandemic which has swept through the Sceptered Isle. Or are they sending a message? Speaking of which, the CDC is telling us some 300,000 in the US people died of the China Virus in 2020, around 0.1% of the populace.

A tragedy, but worth shutting the country down for? Well yes, if it'll help you win an election and get rid of the hated Orange Man. After all, that Chinese cash doesn't come for free you know; the Mandarins expect a healthy return on their investment. And the point of this short evening homily?

Their ruler is the Father of Lies and a murderer from the beginning. But remember, he has been defeated and his days numbered. Take heart in that and pray for angelic protection in the day of battle and the powerful intercession of Our Lady, whose offspring crushes the serpent's head underheel.

Here endeth the Lesson,

LSP

Listen Up Heathen

 

Via Adrienne:

After a speech, pro-life activist Penny Lea was approached by an old man. Weeping, he told her the following story:

"I lived in Germany during the Nazi holocaust. I considered myself a Christian. I attended church since I was a small boy. We had heard the stories of what was happening to the Jews, but like most people today in this country, we tried to distance ourselves from the reality of what was really taking place. What could anyone do to stop it?

A railroad track ran behind our small church, and each Sunday morning we would hear the whistle from a distance and then the clacking of the wheels moving over the track. We became disturbed when one Sunday we noticed cries coming from the train as it passed by. We grimly realized that the train was carrying Jews. They were like cattle in those cars!

Week after week that train whistle would blow. We would dread to hear the sound of those old wheels because we knew that the Jews would begin to cry out to us as they passed our church. It was so terribly disturbing! We could do nothing to help these poor miserable people, yet their screams tormented us. We knew exactly at what time that whistle would blow, and we decided the only way to keep from being so disturbed by the cries was to start singing our hymns. By the time that train came rumbling past the church yard, we were singing at the top of our voices. If some of the screams reached our ears, we'd just sing a little louder until we could hear them no more. Years have passed and no one talks about it much anymore, but I still hear that train whistle in my sleep. I can still hear them crying out for help. God forgive all of us who called ourselves Christians, yet did nothing to intervene."

"Their screams tormented us... If some of their screams reached our ears we'd just sing a little louder." 

Read the whole thing here.

Your Pal,

LSP 

 

What's Up?

 

What's up? In England everyone's in some kind of weird lockdown, in Canada people are getting arrested in their homes for having six people over, but in Texas the lights are on. So that's all good, unless you're in England or Canada.

BW

New Year's day was fun, and we all went to Gloria's for south of the border food on a Guatemalan tip. That meant chicken flautas and an great plate of nachos, tasty. 

An old pal called in from England later and we talked away on Ma LSP's back deck. "Come to Texas, fella," I urged, and hopefully that'll be possible when and if the English are ever allowed to leave their country again.

Fence

But today was down to business, with a trip to Home Depot to get some wood to fix a parental fence. I thought, foolishly, that there'd be premade panels which you could buy as a kind of turn key solution. 

Lights

That didn't seem to be the case unless you went down a pricey, labyrinthine, delivery and installation order. So, I guesstimated and we bought some wood. Lo and behold, the guesstimate worked and several nails later the fence was fixed. Result, unlike, say, the Anglican Non-Communion.

Dog on a Moslem Rug

Speaking of, Mass in Dallas with the team tomorrow and then back to the country. And so, gentle and not so gentle readers, the adventure unfolds.

Cheers,

LSP

Fireworks

 

Here in Dallas, everyone's shooting their firearms into the sky. I offered to do the same, all hail the mighty Glock, but Ma LSP said no. Oh well. So here's some Handel. Fireworks, for New Year.

Best,

LSP

Happy New Year

 

Pounding rain, roaring wind, floods, construction, almost zero visibility. An omen for the coming year? Not necessarily, just another trip down I35 to Dallas and our ongoing War Against The Weather. 

Who knows, perhaps we'll rejoin the Paris Climate Accord, and raise so much tax that our old enemy, the Weather, will finally be defeated and our paymaster, China, will rise victorious from the struggle.

That aside, have fun tonight if you're in the mood and, of course, a blessed and happy New Year. 

Cheers,

LSP

Behold Genius

 

I call genius, or perhaps you  dare to disagree? Look, here's a photo:

Your Pal,

LSP

Erebus Diamond - Ladies Side

Georgiana Spencer-Poyntz Cavendish, 17th Duchess of Devonshire, looked out on the manicured lawn of Green Park from the windows of London’s Cavalry and Guards Club. 

It was mid-May in 2204 and it was raining, predictably, spring's drops tapping and patterning the windowpane. England’s foremost adventuress and landowner of not inconsiderable fortune turned to her host, “Kitchener, what earthly purpose is there in weather satellites when they can’t control the weather?”

Lord Kitchener fixed Devonshire with a friendly eye over a cup of afternoon Darjeeling, freshly brought in that very day from Her Imperial Majesty’s territories in Burma. “Earthly, Devo?” he had known her since they were children playing on the grounds of Chatsworth, “I’d say more celestial, don’t you think?” Devonshire sat down neatly and helped herself to tea, “Celestial, Field Marshall?”

“Yes, just that. To be more precise, the Celestial Kingdom.”

“You mean Mars, New China? I thought that settled business.”

Kitchener frowned, “Settled? In a sense, yes. New China isn’t about to eject our Legations, the Dowager Empress is gone and Prince Qing sits on the throne. He’s favourable to us, as well he should be.” 

The Field Marshall thought back to the high orbit bombardment his Anglo-US fleet had rained down on the Empress’ forces. A merciless hail of incandescent fury which, as if out of spite, had obliterated the Chinese Summer Palace and the priceless artefacts therein. Well, war was war, even if limited.

“You see, Devo, the raid was successful, but there’s the small matter of a diamond, the Erebus Diamond.”

Devonshire looked askance, “The Erebus Diamond? What do you mean, surely we have that?” Kitchener smiled, and instantly they found themselves in Null Space, free from prying eyes and ears, the comfort of of 127 Piccadilly replaced by the no-space of Null, a grey background surging with damping static.

“There,” said Kitchener, above the hissing sound, “The diamond. As you know, Sir Carter Headington was carrying the gem in transit when we launched our strike on the Palace and lifted the siege.” Devonshire glanced agreement, “And?”

“It's disappeared. Gone. Lost, if you’ll forgive the phrase, in the 'fog of war,  Nebel des Krieges.' We suspect the Tongs have it, which means Empress Cixi intends to have it, which must never happen. You understand.”

“I most certainly do,” remarked Devonshire, tragically widowed when her philandering husband met his end in an alcohol-fueled duel on the Crystal Palace space elevator. His opponent had been in the pay of the Chinese Dowager Empress and of course she had killed him, a matter of honour. Yes, Devonshire knew something of the danger of Cixi. But so be it, the elevator incident had left her vastly wealthy and free to do as she pleased.

Georgiana regarded Kitchener with her famously insouciant grin. He replied, “I think you know what to do, Devo, old girl. Go out and get that diamond. And by the way, should Cixi disappear, which of course she has already, that would be helpful.”

Devonshire nodded, and in an instant they were back in the reassuring warmth of the club. She descended the long stairwell in a rustle of skirts, admiring the paintings of illustrious charges. Such was Empire. Then to her Brougham and a brisk clip past the Palace, Apsley House, where the Wellington's held court when in Town, and on through Hyde Park, and the towering Albert Memorial.

Georgiana looked up at the soaring gothic magnificence of its spire, which seemed to pierce heaven itself, and reflected on the Prince Consort's cryogenically frozen head, sealed there, in its midst. Her neural implants picked up traces of Albert's refrigerated voice, vestigial waves of the mind emanating from his frosty sepulchre, What of worth has ever been achieved which did not inspire fear? 

"Quite," thought Devonshire, "if Teutonic." The Consort had been dead, for the most part, for well over two hundred years and still the people wore mourning. She did herself, perfectly, in black. 

Perhaps this was about to change, but regardless, the heroine of Olympus Mons thought on the brilliance of the Erebus Diamond and plotted a mental course for Phobos, Great Britain’s Imperial staging post for the Red Planet.

Yes, this story writes itself... I think.

Cheers,

LSP

Tom Sawyer

 

Do you like the awful Canadian(?) pop band, Rush? I don't, especially, but I do enjoy Tom Sawyer. Good work, boys.

Cheers,

LSP