Well What Have We Here

 

Well what have we here. Just the Vicar of Christ on earth inviting a busload of tranny whores to the Vatican. I know, a facsim of Christ welcoming sinners, well done, but where's the admonition to "sin no more"? Stunningly absent.

Then there's Cosmo advertising Satanic ritual abortion, the Rainbow Bridge at Niagra has been targeted by Leaf extremists, a senior Pentagon official's been arrested for "pandering" in a sex sting, and Tucker's busy sending rounds into the X-Ring on social media. Here he is:

Always trust your gut. If you feel like they're lying to you, they are. pic.twitter.com/zkKYtRUbrf

— Tucker Carlson (@TuckerCarlson) November 21, 2023

A little long and maybe get a voice coach but wow, right there over the target. Tell the truth, kids.

Veritas,

LSP

Viva

 

Years ago, back before the TSA existed and life seemed simpler even on the Maryland ghetto side of the DC border, I prayed fervently for a voluntary Spanish speaking assistant priest. No small order but lo and behold, a man turned up and built up a mighty south of the border congregation. It was a big thing, literally, and the hideously lib TEC diocese couldn't shut us down because racism and all of that.

By way of example, bishop figure John Chane tipped up for an, ahem, episcopal visit in my last year there, complete with a seminarian from VTS (Virginia Theological School) seminary. Of course the young man was wearing a bow tie (What? Yes, it's true) and asked me superciliously if "we had any programs" while I was setting up the High Altar.

"No," I replied, adjusting a missal stand, "I don't think we do." Bow tie sneered at my recidivist High Churchmanship and sat down in a pew, waiting for Mass. And then the church started to fill up and there was VTS boy sandwiched between several crews of homies and cabrón all 'round. He seemed rather scared, sensibly; you'll forgive my welcoming grin.

I tell you, after 35 confirmations there we were at the end of the Mass, singing the Regina Coeli at the Guadalupe shrine at the back of the church, six deep and standing room only my friends. You see, they couldn't drop the rainbow boot on such a thing, the fighting monkey waxed too strong.

Fast forward to today. Again, I've been praying for a Spanish speaking assistant priest/clergyman and what's happened? The diocese, in its abundant generosity, has sent one, a deacon and a good man. We'll hold our first Spanish Mass at Mission #1 on Sunday, the Feast of Christ the King.

In the meanwhile, I'm furiously practicing liturgical Spanish and would appreciate your prayers.

Viva Cristo Rey,

LSP

Take The Money And Run

 

Hey now, don't discount the butcher bill. Just take the money and run, eh?

What are we, helpless?

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Sunny Southern Weather

 

One day it's Albertan ice and snow, and the next? Balmy autumnal Texas where everyone's enjoying porchlife in the temperate 70s, beautiful. Well, enjoy it while you can before the New Ice Age kicks in. Speaking of climate catastrophe, say a prayer for Linda, whose homestead's threatened by a seriously aggressive weather front. In other news, I found this uplifting, via LL:

 

“There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also isn’t an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag, and this excludes the red flag, which symbolizes all wars against liberty and civilization just as much as it excludes any foreign flag of a nation to which we are hostile. We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans of American nationality and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding house. We have room for one sole loyalty, which is to the American people.” — Theodore Roosevelt.

 

Granted, I fly several flags, not least the Bonnie Blue, but still. Then there's the NSA, which has fallen in love with the pernicious rainbow. Why, because national security?

 

Let’s start here with the Daily Wire. The NSA’s 34-page glossary defines hundreds of social justice terms, including “white fragility,” “transmisogyny,” and “settler colonialism.” If you don’t buy into the bullshit, you shouldn’t work there. “But the agency, which has been sharply criticized for its mass surveillance operations on American citizens, goes beyond openly endorsing the extreme tenets of Critical Race Theory with its glossary — it pushes queer theory as an approach that ‘critically deconstructs and challenges binaries such as male and female or heterosexual and homosexual.'”

Just think, readers, how much more secure we are as a nation for actively deconstructing binaries, you know, like "right and wrong." Awesome, now the NSA can spy on everyone with gay impunity and our beloved rulers can do whatever they want, do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law, sorta thing.

So who's in charge here, a gang of satanic Crowleyite Lao Tze Maoists? Asking for a friend.

Cheers,

LSP

Dixie

 

I wish I was in Dixie and hey, so does a massive chunk of California, Alberta and everywhere else. But what am I saying, I am in Dixie and thank God for that. But what do you know about Dixie, so-called "LSP," if that's your real name, which we doubt, aren't you a Brit?

Yes, famously, but not so fast, loyal Sons of the South, Ma LSP's people helped settle Denton, Jagoe style. Is Texanicity determined by... female bloodline? Yeah it is, everyone knows this, and you can imagine raised eyebrows when she married a Yankee and went to England on the Queen Mary France. Think, back when travel was civilized.

turn it up

Speaking of which, I recall an afternoon at the Denton Country Club. There we were, sitting in some kind of attractively unreformed 1950s anteroom, full of club diners, nice. And what does Pa LSP do? Announce loudly, mas gusto, I think I'll vote Democrat. Per the fickle beast of memory, you could've heard a pin drop.

My, what an old terrorist! And he confessed, over whatever offerings the DCC happened to serve up on that teak paneled day, "The parties have reversed." Right on, Pops, good late '90s insight, but he was smart, Canon Theologian and all of that, he saw Dixie was right.

I won't bang on, all hail the WEF and its NWO satraps.

Your old Pal,

LSP 

Zadok

 

I feel we need this,

LSP

Nutcracker

 

You no sooner get home to the mobbed mayhem of DFW's Terminal C than you notice Target, yes, Target, America's family store supermart, is up to its old tricks. That's right, they're pushing POC rainbow "Nutcrackers" and a POC Santa in a wheel chair, paraplegic Santa. Look, here He/Him is:

Wow, what a cutting-edge marketing strategy, picture the scene at Target Corporate, "Seriously, ths brand is tired, Target is yesterday's suburban mall has-been, like JC Goddam Penny, Sears or that supermarket no one even remembers, what was it? Yeah, Kroger and Piggly Wiggly. We need to shine or we go down into the trashcan of history."

Enter Erik Thompson, Target's Senior LGBTQIA+ Segmentation Strategist & Pride Lead, who goes by the username "gaycruella" on Instagram, "Time to whip out the ... Glitter & Hellfire ... flamethrowers and rip that old world to shreds darlings."

Round of stunned applause in the conference room and net result? Nasty Christmas ornaments which appeal to a tiny fraction of the nation and offend "that old world" which Target so badly wants to sell to and, apparently, "rip apart." Target must feel it's riding the rainbow unicorn wave of a revolution all the way to profit. But here's the thing.

Why hasn't the Old World, call it Christendom if you like, stood up to this risible affront to Christian sensibility, to say nothing of common sense. Lack of nerve for sure and more to the point, outright apostasy, and could it be that our major stores are run by the rainbow? Surely not, as if.

That in mind, if everyone who goes to church on a Sunday in North America were to boycott Target they'd be even more sunk than they are already.

Have at it,

LSP

Climate Change

 

Here's the thing, the land of the ice and snow was more like the land of t shirt and shorts for most of the past week. Obviously someone remembered to pay their carbon tax, and then they didn't. Yesterday dawned grey and chill, with the cold seeping into your Arctyrx fleece as a harbinger of things to come, Winter.

the climate has changed

So I took the young 'un out for an enormous burger at the Inglewood Diner, tasty, and prophesied, "Son, it feels like snow." He agreed, and sure enough that's exactly what happened. A biting wind kicked in at around 6 pm and white supremacy fell from the sky, indifferent to the fate of the oppressed.

random Canadian fridge magnet

"Look, Dad," exclaimed Junior LSP, "A winter wonderland!" And so it was, "Welcome to Narnia, Son." We spent the rest of the evening watching John Wick movies along with superlative Chinese food ordered up from Chinatown. Big fun.

brrrrr

Today dawned clear, crisp and bright, beautiful. Climate Change, you see, has its benefits and to celebrate this I shoveled the sidewalk and scraped ice off the car. Then SL's rig pulled up from High River and off we went to the airport, mission accomplished.

Stay Frosty,

LSP

High River BB Gun

 

Drive about 45 minutes out of Calgary and you get to High River, which is "a vibrant, People-First community and the back door to the Kananaskis." Marketing aside, it was fun to get out of the city and visit family within sight of the mountains; there they were, at the very end of the road, and you can imagine the toughness of the people who pioneered this place, in the winter. Like Texans but Brits and Scots in the snow for months.

what a daisy

War against the Weather aside, I was knocking about in the backyard, watching the grass grow, when all of a sudden I spotted a Daisy lying nonchalantly against a wall. Yes, it was loaded, and there was a tin can.

Put two and two together and what do you get? No, not maths racism, but a backyard shooting range, so I set to, practicing abominably rusty off-hand with the little BB monster. Big fun, watch that can pop around the lawn. It brought me back to my youth and an air gun, a BSA pump, in Oxford. Sorry, birds, I genuinely apologize.

gotcha

No sooner were hundreds of BBs exhausted than feminine cries echoed from the kitchen, "Please, please get us Poutine! It's just at the end of the street!" Huh. Off I went to the end of the street and there were the mountains, most majestic, but no poutine shop, so I recced around, miraculously found the place, and all was well in High River.

note horse totem

Maybe I need to invest in an air gun when I get back to Texas, just for backyard plinking and keeping the eye in, sort of thing. Shooting is, well, shooting, eh?

Cheers,

LSP

Remembrance Sunday

 

In the States we honor veterans on November 11 but in Commonwealth countries people mark the date as Remembrance Day, looking back to the terrible slaughter of World War I, which ended with the "passing of the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month." In respect of this, churches keep the following Sunday as Remembrance Sunday and St. John the Evangelist, Calgary, was no exception.

Except perhaps it was, with a full Requiem High Mass, complete with Catafalque, Absolution at the Bier, two minutes silence, both Canadian and English national anthems and a heartfelt homily by Fr. B. I was moved and so was my youngest son. The liturgy began with an Act of Remembrance:

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We shall remember them.

And the Mass continued according to the Anglican Use of the Roman Rite for the ordinariates, designed for Anglican converts. Pretty much Anglican Missal or for all you RC trads, the Extraordinary Form but in Cranmerian liturgical English as opposed to the attack language of 1970s worship experts. It was good and you knew you'd been to church.

Here's Flanders Fields, included in the Mass bulletin:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

Lest we forget and God bless you all,

LSP

Be All You Can Be

 

I'm confused, why are there no trannies in this recruitment vid? And here's another, check it out.

This is weird. Yet again, not a tranny in sight, just some white guys jumping out of a plane like soldiers. What does this mean, are we actually going to war or is the Army bizarrely trying to recruit from its natural demographic. 

On topic, would you fight and die for the rainbow?

Your call,

LSP

Welcome To Calgary

 

The plane touched down and off we went into the frozen expanse of Calgary's airport. It's larger now and the new terminal seems a bit less friendly than the original but whatever, it works, and some 30 minutes and a taxi later there I was in Inglewood, right off of downtown. Hippies? Use the backdoor, without exception.

a typical Calgarian kitchen scene

Entering appropriately through the front door, the fun began, beginning and ending, curiously, at the Swan pub. Nice. It was good to be back in the land of the ice and snow and I like this part of Calgary, with its shops and eateries and downtowny vibe on a UK meets US tip.

Colonel McLeod

The next day was all about strolling around town, which isn't hard because the city center's only 20 minutes walk away. March over the bridge from Inglewood to Fort Calgary, admiring the Bow river to your right, with its excellent fly fishing, salute the the statue of Colonel McLeod, then walk with purpose through East Village towards the hideous new city library and find yourself on Stephen Avenue.

Stephen Ave

All good, but gasp in dismay at the Hyatt's bar, why, you fools, did you remove the BISON HEAD from above the fireplace? Walk away in disgust from that place. Also wonder at hideously overpriced steak houses as you mourn the loss of the Arctyrx/Mountain Adventure shop. Huh, I guess COVD got you while sparing the unpleasant Patagonia store. 

Just look at this hideous concrete portrait of tyranny

So yes, the scamdemic claimed a few victims in this High Street and there you have it, but think of all the money others made; rejoice for your rulers. Speaking of which, on your return take time to walk through the brutalist concrete nightmare that is Calgary's Town Hall.

 

Is that a Bofors gun sitting idle?

Then, safely back in Inglewood, detour by Crown Surplus. What a neat little store, complete with artillery in the yard. And there you have it, what a lot of fun to be back in Calgary, I like it here.

More on this exciting adventure as it unfolds,

LSP