UFO News

 

I can't even comment except to ask, will any of the space aliens who live amongst us be brought to justice? OK, they killed Epstein and his business partner, weird how the CCTV cut out at the appropriate moments, and jailed Ghizzy. What can we say, reverse engineered alien tech is obviously pretty good. In fact it's super stealth. 

No one saw it in the first place and if they did see it they forgot it or hid it, like the FBI. But there are exceptions to the rule, sometimes the off-worlders slip up, like at Harvard, where Claudine "Gay" got zhirself fired for copy and paste only to be awarded 900K. Yes, the Galactic Council looks after its own.

Then there's Sean Lennon. His dad was King of the Hippies who married the vocal genius of Yoko and then he got shot; clearly space aliens. But what's this, off-world Sean's come into orbit and said this, "Have you guys heard of DEI? It stands for ‘Dumb Evil Idiots.'"

Dumb Evil Idiots. Well said, Sean, come back to Terra, all is forgiven, and we have to ask: Are some aliens on our side?

Cheers,

LSP

Salve Regina

 

Disregard this at your peril.

Lacrimarum Valle,

LSP

Aaand it's Gone

That'd be the Satanic Vatican's President, "Claudine," curiously named Gay, the shortest ever-lived Prez in the Kremlin on the Charles' storied career of privileged leftist perfidy.

Defiant

Gay lost zhir seat as top Harvard ruler because zhe couldn't stop copying and pasting. Here at the Compound we look forward to Harvard's next choice of academic brilliance.

Self-Satisfied

In the meanwhile, the appropriately named "Gay" has been given a teaching slot at Satan's Vatican and a golden parachute of not much less than a million ultra leftwing Dollars. You can look it up on the internet. My, what a lucky very rich radical socialist.

RICH

Academia, those hallowed halls of academe, needs to be purged. Root and Branch. Yes, we're looking most especially at you, Harvard.

Illuminatio Mea,

LSP

Play Up Play Up And Play The Game - UPDATE

 

You'll recall Great Britain faced off the Mahdi in the 1880s, with General Gordon losing his head in Khartoum and a British Square being partially broken at the battle of Abu Klea, in which the beloved and heroic Col. Burnaby was killed by a Moslem spear to the throat. 

Sir Henry Newboldt wrote a poem immortalizing the thing. Here it is:

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night —

Ten to make and the match to win —

A bumping pitch and a blinding light,

An hour to play and the last man in.

And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,

Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,

But his Captain’s hand on his shoulder smote —

‘Play up! play up! and play the game!’

The sand of the desert is sodden red, —

Red with the wreck of a square that broke; —

The Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel dead,

And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed his banks,

And England’s far, and Honour a name,

But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:

‘Play up! play up! and play the game!’

This is the word that year by year,

While in her place the School is set,

Every one of her sons must hear,

And none that hears it dare forget.

This they all with a joyful mind

Bear through life like a torch in flame,

And falling fling to the host behind —

‘Play up! play up! and play the game!’

Play up! Play up! And play the game! It's easy to mock this,  unless you're, ahem, Texas A&M(!), and the beastly place which calls itself "Clifton," but maybe not so fast, punters. Are duty, loyalty, esprit de corps and sheer resolution in the face of the enemy bad things? I will face you, enemy of my people, and I will not give up. Ever. There's a virtue in that, call it fighting spirit if you like.

Your Friend,

LSP

PS. A schoolboy "rallies the ranks." Reflect on the line. Try saying the chorus in that very same, unbroken voice and see where it leads you. Maybe to this:

Coronation And Deadly Folly

What a scene, Napoleon, self-crowned and proclaimed leader of all the world crowns his Empress Josephine, resplendent in diamonds as the powers of the Church look on, scowling at the blasphemy of the thing. Triomphe! for the Corsican upstart and his Consort. Lesueur captures the moment, with pre-industrial grandeur:

Triumph indeed, but hubris met nemesis in the Iron Duke, Wellington, who put paid to Boney's scheme of a new world order with himself in charge, smashing the upstart at Waterloo. It's said that clubland in St. James was awakened to the fact of allied victory in 1815 by parades of jubilant people carrying captured French Eagles.

So much for Boney. Wellington stated, laconically, "They came on in the same old way and we beat them back, in the same old way." You can imagine the 50,000 casualties on the field of battle. Here's the Duke in older and seemingly kinder visage:

Josephine Bonaparte died in 1814, a year before her beloved husband met disaster at Waterloo.

Sic transit,

LSP

Space Force Skulduggery

 

Space, the final frontier of war, a vital component in full-dimensional, cross-spectrum supremacy, so thank Rods from God we've got a Space Force. Now, you probably see the Space Force as looking like this except with non-reflective black armor, which is invisible in space:

No, wrong. It looks like this, like Lt. Col. Bree call-sign "Tranny" Fram. Force Lethal or what:

After you've gotten over the weird and unpleasant uniform, note that Bree's on record as saying, "Inclusion is a national security imperative." Of course it is, because if we don't have brigades of trannies in the Space Force all those ChiCom and Russkie satellites won't die laughing.

Dear God, Kyrie Eleison, we've come to this, a blasphemous parody of a woman claiming transing's a key element of our national defense. Take note, Mr. Putin, you'd better start mobilizing the trannies if you're going to even think about taking out Ukraine and NATO. 

random Hollow earth ad

Wow, this is almost as absurd as the stupid old lie, "Trump's a Kremlin agent!" or "unless you wear a mask you're going to die of COVID! and kill me too!" Could it be that the Russkies, forever cunning in the dark arts of espionage and subterfuge, have infiltrated our beloved Space Force and are even now funding and boosting the trans green movement in hopes of irreparably weakening the West? 

A real Space War, let the reader understand

You know, as in "you've got no more industry or energy and all your soldiers, what few you have, are gender dysmorphic, so give us the Arctic or we'll mispronoun you. A lot. Until you surrender and cry in the battalion counselor's office."

I say again, 2024's shaping up for weird and bad craziness.

Your Most Inclusive Pal,

LSP

Happy New Year!

 

Well done, we made it to 2024, no small feat, and local friendlies celebrated the fact with whoops and fireworks which bombed across the firmament like the guns of Kursk. There was traditional gunfire too, off on the edge of town by the sound of it, maybe a pistol or two. All very exciting, and I joined in the fun by setting off a few strips of firecrackers, drawing a big round of Mexican applause.

Fun. Then it was time to head to bed and another installment of Iain Pears' excellent Arcadia, check it out. Today? A brisk walk with an excited dog to the Pick 'n Steal via the Olde Meth Shacke, which is being refurbed by Pedro and his crew. 

Wymmxn Priestesses

Gone are the days of ne'er do wells lolling shirtless and witless in their ragged pajama bottoms, behold instead the new advent of hard at work artisans from south of the border doing their thing. Good for them, though I miss the spectacle of meth shackery, being a creature of tradition. 

A Typical Fighting Monkey

Now, safely back at the Compound, we reflect on the coming year, what will it bring? Good question, and I'm not a betting man but I'll wager my fighting monkey against any ten of your wymmxn priestesses, yes, ten, that 2024 will be even crazier than bad old '23.

Cheers,

LSP

This One's For Jules - Something Good

 

Is this not the best 2016 election night video ever? Fellow blogger Jules thought so over medium rare steak, claret, silver and pistols on the mahogany of that halcyon November night. Wow. He actually got in. Far. Out. Of course the rest is history, here's the video:

Perfection? Near enough as dammit.

Cheers,

LSP

New Year's Eve 2024

 

Mexican music fills the air, Eduardo's exotic ducks are sleeping on the roof of his house across the yard and all seems well with this small rural haven in the North Central Texas Exclusion Zone. Later there'll be fireworks and maybe some celebratory gunfire. Just remember, kids, what goes up must come down.

Detroit, not far from the riverbank (2006)

Speaking of News Year's Eve gunfire, I remember looking across the river at Detroit from Canada at around midnight in the late '90s. Man, it sounded like a firefight was going on over there and I guess it was. Apparently some jolly revelers had opened up on each other with MAC-10s somewhere downtown. I know this because it was reported in the press, which is always honest, loyal and true.

So be careful out there and have a great New Year. Here's a prayer by way of resolution:

Almighty God, who hast poured upon us the new light of thine incarnate Word: Grant that the same light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

 

God bless you all,

LSP

Presidential Election- A Musical Parable

 

Sometimes it's better in song. 

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Presidential Prediction?

You Wicked Old Mountebank

Who's going to be the next President of the, ahem, Free World? El Senor Trump, Joe "Wicked Old Crook" Biden? Kamala  "The Whore" Harris? Good question.

For what little it's worth, I don't see the Crook getting too far, he's just too unpopular, despite his 81 million vote 2020 rig, and he's clearly ancient and demented as well as an old fraud and a crook. No one really likes him, even his own party, why would they. So the 2024 vibe doesn't seem to lie with Pedo Joe. But what about the Cackling Whore? No one likes her either, not a good candidate.

Orange Man Bad

Then there's the Orange Pinata, Trump. He's popular, no doubt about it, the man fills stadiums, but the Uniparty hates him, he's a threat to them. So do you see the Golden Golem of Greatness being allowed by our rulers to ascend, once again, to the Oval Office? I'd say that was unlikely, but even so, there has to be some kind of viable opposition to keep the pretense of our one two party state vaguely credible. You know, your vote counts, sorta thing, which it obviously doesn't, but whatever.

Cynical doomerism aside, who will the Power that controls us run against Orange Man Bad. The Old Witch, Hillary? Surely not, that pantsuit's already sailed. Feeble Joe and the Cackler are clearly a bust, so... who? Mitchell Obama, swooping in from Martha's Vineyard like an ill-omened bat? As a kind of final black Democrat rally before the Latino influx replaces that unfortunate demographic?

How Very Bipartisan

Possibly, but what do I know, not much except this. Trump is surely the only viable GOP candidate, Biden/Harris are a bust and Mitchell's an outlier, which leaves us at an impasse. There has to be someone, some person anointed by Power to act as the figurehead of State and preserve the facade of freely elected governance. Who will it be?

Your Call,

LSP

Hotel Food

 

The Berkley Channelling Melanis

Hotel food. Perhaps you've encountered its beastliness, pricey corporate slop served up as some kind of "treat." Huh. But I recall exceptions to the rule, the Berkley in Knightsbridge served up understated excellence and the Dorchester on Hyde Park wasn't shabby either. 

The Good Old Connaught

Then there was the famous Connaught in Mayfair; go to Mass 'round the corner and fall back to the Connaught for a roast, cell phones not allowed. All famous in their day, justifiably, but let's not forget the Stafford, just off St. James.

Sitting cheek-by-jowl to palatial Spencer House, the Stafford was all about Gilded Age luxury and had wartime cachet to boot, being the WWII Officers' Mess of various allied nations, namely America and Canada. Hence the hotel's American Bar.

The Awesome American Bar

I used to love the American Bar, where you could order up a Club BLT and get perfection, but got to know the dining room menu too well, to the point of exhaustion, it was a work thing. Pan to one night seated at starched linen and gleaming glassware. A waiter approaches and asks in a disturbing French accent, "Sir?"

A moment's reflection, "I should like a cheese omelette and chips." The beastly Dagenhamite sneered at my off the menu order and replied in fakey French, "Would sir like ketchup on his chips?" Stunned by his dam impudence I sat silent while Viscount Furness thundered, beating the table, "He'll eat what he dam well wants!"

The Dorchester, Obvs

The waiter retreated, suitably chastened, and returned with a very decent omelette.

Go to the Stafford if you're in St. James and enjoy the American Bar, I think it remains unscathed from the ravages of the last three decades. Avoid the dining room though, they've ruined it, last I saw.

Apotheosis of Awesome (Boodles)

While you're in the area, gaze in wonder at White's Beau Window and Boodles' equivalent, frown at the forbidding Whiggish facade of Brook's and take solace in the Carlton Club, formerly Arthur's, where, apparently, you're not allowed to smoke anymore. Rubbish.

Cheers,

LSP