There are so many twisted and wicked developments in the world, I would rather avoid giving them more consideration than I already do. Instead of commenting on the latest social breakdown, here is a pleasant hometown story from April in the Daily Mail: “The touching moment Down syndrome batboy greeted MLB player after home run.” I am glad that our city’s team gets such enthusiastic support from folks like Teddy Kremer.
Below is a clever illustration of fool’s mathematics, courtesy of Pa Kettle:
It does take a brilliant mind to capture rank stupidity in an artful manner. Mike Judge has his detractors, but I admire his ability to distill and to serve idiocy. Consider, for example, the argumentation about Brawndo in Idiocracy. Only genius could mock subrational discourse so well.
This is an old joke, and I do not know its origin, but I enjoy it:
An old Italian lived alone in New Jersey. He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard.
His only son Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:
I am feeling pretty sad because it looks like I won’t be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know that if you were here, my troubles would be over. I know that you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days.
A few days later he received a letter from his son.
Don’t dig up that garden. That’s where the bodies are buried.
Before dawn the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left.
That same day the old man received another letter from his son.
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances.
Speaking of lovely tomatoes, I am growing the following cultivars this year: Arkansas Traveler, Azoychka, Big Boy, Black Cherry, German Johnson, Matt’s Wild Cherry, Mexican Midget, Neves Azorean Red, Paul Robeson, and Reisentraube. Last year, my list was Big Boy, Caspian Pink, Cherokee Purple, Ponderosa, Purple Russian, and Rutgers. I am making comparisons and figuring out which works best in the yard. Enjoy your summer plantings and harvests!
It is still Eastertide for the Orthodox, but even we Easterners are starting to notice stale Peeps. Well, not me, as I despise the cursed confectionery. Nonetheless, I recommend a sweet, little morbid Off the Mark cartoon by Mark Parisi: “Marshmallow Peeps.” Poor Woodstock!
By the way, the National Harbor has a Peeps store that I visit just to indulge my curiosity in the unholy, freakish spectacle of monstrous Peeps . . . and because my mother loves Peeps, for some unfathomable reason.
Tha Crìosd air èiridh!
My friend Andrew sent me an unintentionally amusing story about accusations of racism against Doctor Who: “BBC Defends ‘Doctor Who’ Against Racism Claims.” Unfortunately, the British elite who runs the Beeb is composed of spineless toadies of the demonic Zeitgeist. They are perverted leftist trolls themselves, who are constitutionally incapable of defending against men even madder than they.
There is no way to reason against such folly. To paraphrase a colorful character from the show, feculence like this only appeals to the genocidal side of my nature. You cannot appease the perennially aggrieved, and minorities, in whatever context and if allowed, quickly become such incessant whiners because they resent not being the center of society’s show. Jealousy exists corporately, too, and one cannot feed a vice without strengthening it. This thought occurred to me recently when I read some pussified whining by Western rite Orthodox bloggers who were upset that a Russian bishop had visited them wearing traditional Russian style vestments. How dare he! I mean, the Russian Church has graciously provided a spiritual home for these folks—but only to rub their traditional vestments in the face of the poor, oppressed disaffected Anglicans. Imagine the gall! The liturgical imperialism of it all!
Diversity is not strength, especially when the hegemonic authorities feel insecure in their power and attempt to cater to the alienated feelings of the fringe from some sickly desire for equality. Moreover, the liberal soul, uncomfortable with natural and universal inequality, is pathetic—weak, unmanly, and ever unsettled. Diversity mixed with liberalism is a recipe for social disaster. Sic transit gloria occidentis.
Last week, I found a delightful story online about a woman who bought a bible earlier in the year in order to compare translations but found her sixty-five year old Girl Scout essay enclosed in holy writ.The woman—and the essay—are from Covington, Kentucky, just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. However, she found the book in her current town of San Clemente, California. How wonderfully unlikely. Here is the video from CBS Los Angeles:
It seems rather providential.