Some Modern Women Warriors.

There are so many left-leaning, narrative-spouting, 'Zozchial-Juztitz' programs on the TV in Oz that a chap's brain could get fried watching them all, unless he retains good sense and wears armour. We had one on the other evening - just for homework. The Project. It is hosted by one Waleed Aly, a man who subscribes to a cult that advocates beating women, stoning them to death for infractions against its vicious patriarchial rules, and killing daughters who talk to boys. He was incensed that a woman defended men's rights. His brain is fried.

He, a darling of the ABC, and another woman, Carrie Bickmore, tried to do a thug-job on Cassie Jaye, a lady we have spoken of in the Tavern before. Fine gal she is. Cassie stood her ground as the hosts twisted and turned and at one point were stunned into silence. And she had not said much at all. 

The panel mentioned a woman a week killed by a partner without mentioning the sex of the partner (lesbians are the most violent of all 'sorts') nor that male partners get killed at a similar rate, nor that we are talking of around 0.000003% of the population in a year. Nor did they mention that 50,000 females are murdered in the womb every year in Oz. By abortion - the woman's carnage. 

50 vs 50,000. Think about that. 

And the 50,000 baby boys too.

No, they focussed on their mate, the Batty woman, a zozchial juztitz Orc who complains about domestic violence at every turn and whose son was killed. Cassie made the point that the son was a male.  HE was the domestic violence victim. Not her. Wally and Co were silenced.

Cassie is a newcomer to the field of finding and defending Truth in this new-age battle of the sexes. She is doing well. And there are others, tried and tested, on the field too. Let us give them some supplies of oxygen.

I was busy rushing between bars the other evening when other women were being talked about in lauditory terms.

Women speaking up for men’s rights

As a fresh-faced 18-year-old Daisy Cousens left school firmly on board the feminism bandwagon. Like many millennial women she’d been seduced by what she now sees as an “entrenched victim mentality”, convinced the scales were tipped against her because of her sex. 

“I assumed I’d have to work twice as hard as men for half the recognition and that violent predators lurk around every street corner,” she says.

It took her years to discover she’d been duped. 

“I realised the feminist view did not reflect my life experiences. I grew suspicious. I couldn’t believe that somehow in Western society women were paid less than men or had fewer rights than men. And given my experience of men, I refused to believe there was an undercurrent of misogyny among all the wonderful men in my life,” says the 28-year-old, who is part of a growing global band of female activists speaking out about the demonisation of men.  

Some of the leading lights in this group will hit our shores this month to speak at an 

international men’s issues conference.

Cousens’s turnaround happened when she was working as a research assistant at the Menzies Research Centre, which led her to start asking questions.

Always a good thing to do, and which Waleed and his mob of lying charlatans do not. 

She found, for instance, that the much heralded “wage gap” largely could be explained by differences in men and women’s work and lifestyle -choices. That was the beginning.

Cousens discovered a thriving online world questioning the feminist narrative and revealing the silencing of critical issues affecting men and boys. 

She’s now writing — mainly in The Spectator Australia and Quadrant — about what she sees as a “silent war on men”.

She is one of many women hosting screenings of Cassie Jaye’s controversial documentary The Red Pill, in which the young feminist filmmaker looks seriously at men’s issues and decides they warrant proper attention. Jaye renounced her feminism in protest against the way extremists were silencing discussion of such matters. 

Ironically Australia is the only country to ban a series of screenings in response to protests from small groups of feminists.

Cousens is confident of a full house for her screening, given the media coverage planned for Jaye’s appearance at the International Conference on Men’s Issues on the Gold Coast from Friday to June 12. 

The conference promises to be an interesting time for Cousens because, as a wannabe Honey Badger, she’ll also be meeting Karen Straughan and that’s as good as it gets.

Karen has been around for quite a while and became quite famous for her You Tube mini-lectures made in her kitchen. 

Straughan, another speaker at ICMI, is one of the founders of the Honey Badger Brigade, a band of brash, witty female activists who’ve taken up the fight for a better deal for men and boys. 

Six years ago Straughan was a Canadian waitress and divorced mother of three who started blogging about how easy it would have been to use the family law system to destroy her ex-husband. She was astonished at how law and social institutions were stacked against men.

Straughan posted a blog (girlwriteswhat) that included this pithy summary of marriage today: 

“For women, marriage is all benefit and zero risk, and that’s why women are whining about men’s reluctance to tie the knot. But for men, it’s the other way around — no guaranteed benefit, and the kind of risk an adrenaline junkie would eschew.” 

Next came a YouTube video, Feminism and the Disposable Male, that has raked up more than 1.5 million views.

Through her social media activities, Straughan got to know other women interested in men’s issues, such as Alison Tieman who, with Straughan, started a Honey Badger radio show.

I remember many a chat with Alison when she went under the  avatar name 'TyphonBlue'. 

Then there’s blogger Janet Bloomfield, whose take-no-prisoners writing style soon attracted a big audience for her JudgyBitch blog promoting “the radical notion that women are adults”.

When protesters threatened to shut down a men’s rights conference in Detroit in 2011, the Honey Badger Brigade flew in to act as “human shields”. It helps to have women involved because female activists can’t be dismissed as sad losers, suggests Straughan. “Men run the risk of being perceived as dangerous or threatening when speaking up,” she says, adding that male activists tend to be “mocked as whiny man-babies or dismissed as dangerous extremist reactionaries who want to make it legal to beat your wife”.

And the name Honey Badgers? That came from a funny YouTube video — The Crazy Nastyass Honey Badger — that shows the vicious animal sticking its nose into bee-filled holes, gnawing on mice, tearing the heads off snakes and shaking off venomous cobra bites. 

It’s pretty silly, admits Straughan, but watch her shrug off the constant abuse she receives from feminists or reducing Naomi Wolf into a quivering heap on a television panel and you’ll see there’s something in it.

During Straughan’s visit to Sydney next month she will be appearing on Sky News’s Outsiders program, giving a talk at the Sydney Institute and doing a Q&A with viewers of Mark Latham’s Facebook page.

Then she’ll head up to the Gold Coast where she’ll join impressive speakers presenting at the men’s conference, including a striking number of women — such as Jaye, who is presenting a special screening of her movie.

Then there’s Erin Pizzey, world-renowned as the founder of Britain’s first women’s refuge, who back in the 1970s attracted the wrath of feminists by speaking out about women’s violence. 

Her determination to promote the truth about domestic violence — that it isn’t a gender issue — led to death threats, forcing her for a time to leave the country. 

She has been campaigning for more than 40 years about this vital social issue. Unfortunately ill-health has prevented Pizzey travelling and she’ll give her lecture via Skype.

Another Canadian speaker, Janice Fiamengo, is a professor of English literature whose hugely popular weekly YouTube program, The Fiamengo File, highlights the damaging impact of feminism in academe. 

She is scathing about women’s studies, which she believes has devolved into an intellectually incoherent and dishonest discipline replacing a callow set of slogans for real thought.

Local female men’s rights activists are excited about the chance to discuss with these luminaries how to get men’s issues on to the public agenda. Women such as Melbourne mental health advocate Rae Bonney, whose work with male-dominated workplaces reveals many of the contributors to the high male suicide rate, such as facing a biased family law system.

She says: “It’s both alarming and heartbreaking that so many of our social systems prevent men from getting the help and support they so desperately need. Every day I hear another story of a man who’s lost absolutely everything, often facing unproven accusations of violence and abuse.”

Bonney is on a high after hosting a recent Melbourne screening of The Red Pill, one of many I’ve organised through Fan-Force, a system that allows people to host local screenings of movies of their choice.

“We had nearly 200 people, including young women, couples and of course many men. There were a few tears and much applause before and after it ended. There’s a real sense that at last men’s issues are getting the attention they deserve,” says the delighted Bonney.

One can also give honourable mention to Bettina Arndt and Corinne Barraclough: one who has been at the battlements for many years and the other a fresh and vigorous reinforcement.  

And of course our own lovely Jasmin Newman. 

I could fill an entire wall with the photos and trophies of such fine women. 

Women can get traction on the battlefield where men cannot. They are fine allies. They bring different ways of using the weapons of Truth and their own perspectives. 

For now though, let us raise a glass to them and all those who follow.

Pax

Things we Know but Don't Know We Know

It was a quiet evening and I overheard it while wandering between bars. That, you understand, is between bars in the Tavern. You would automatically assume that people do not wander between the bars of a cell.  And I didn't overhear the quiet evening either and you knew that too. You assume I am about to talk about something I overheard on the quiet evening.

There is so much we seem to automatically 'know'.  There was an American  political chap a while back who got himself and some reporters quite mixed up when talking about Intelligence matters. That is, Intelligence in the spying sense, not the Mensa sense. 

You knew that too.

"There are things we don't know that we don't know we don't know". He said. "And things we don't know that we do know we don't know." You can fill the rest in yourself. If you have the perspective.

And I had some things brought into my 'Know now' box that I knew but didn't know I knew. It was something being said by a chap - Mark Forsyth - who makes it his job to study some matters.

Here's something : A Chinese child can converse in quite passable Chinese (Mandarin, Hokkien, whatever) by the time he or she is four.  He and his sister have picked up a lot of words and figured how to put them together: they have grasped quite complex linguistic skills without ever having sat in a classroom and been whacked over the knuckles by a schoolmarm with a ruler.

When we are learning, we need to be very careful.

English kiddies too. Not speaking Mandarin, of course, but a far more complex language. English. I did that. I could speak quite easily by four but had no knowledge available to my understanding that allowed me to do so. It is still largely the case.

Feminists and 'Progressives' have an even poorer understanding of what they say, but choose to do the knuckle-rapping whenever they can. 

They schoolmarm from morn to nigh on night, punishing wherever and whenever they can. No wonder folk are reluctant to learn. And they of course do not have to. 

They know they know everything already.

So to Mark, whom I found to be quite entertaining. So much so that I gave him free drinks all evening. He touched upon some of.......

The Language Rules we Know – 

but don’t know we know.

Over [a] weekend, [some time ago] I happened to go viral. Or rather a single paragraph from a book I wrote called The Elements of Eloquence went viral. The guilty paragraph went like this:

“Adjectives in English absolutely have to be in this order: 

opinion-size-age-shape-colour-origin-material-purpose Noun. 

With 'Number' at the start, he added. 

I can remember quite a bit from my schooling, but not having been taught this. Mind you, I played truant quite a lot.

So you can have a lovely little old rectangular green French silver whittling knife. But if you mess with that word order in the slightest you’ll sound like a maniac. 

 http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20160908-the-language-rules-we-know-but-dont-know-we-know?ocid=ww.social.link.facebook

It’s an odd thing that every English speaker uses that list, but almost none of us could write it out.”

English speakers love to learn this sort of thing for two reasons. First, it astonishes us that there are rules that we didn’t know that we knew. That’s rather peculiar, and rather exciting. 

We’re all quite a lot cleverer than we think we are. And there’s the shock of realising that there’s a reason there may be little green men on Mars, but there certainly aren’t green little men. 

Second, you can spend the next hour of your life trying to think of exceptions, which is useful as it keeps you from doing something foolish like working.

As long as you keep drinking, eh? 

Actually, there are a couple of small exceptions. Little Red Riding Hood may be perfectly ordered, but the Big Bad Wolf seems to be breaking all the laws of linguistics. Why does Bad Big Wolf sound so very, very wrong? What happened to the rules?

Ding dong King Kong

Well, in fact, the Big Bad Wolf is just obeying another great linguistic law that every native English speaker knows, but doesn’t know that they know. And it’s the same reason that you’ve never listened to hop-hip music.

You are utterly familiar with the rule of .......

ablaut reduplication. 

You’ve been using it all your life. It’s just that you’ve never heard of it.

Yeah, even unto Americans ! 

But if somebody said the words zag-zig, or cross-criss you would know, deep down in your loins, that they were breaking a sacred rule of language. 

You just wouldn’t know which one.

All four of a horse’s feet make exactly the same sound. But we always, always say clip-clop, never clop-clip. 

Every second your watch (or the grandfather clock in the hall makes the same sound) but we say tick-tock, never tock-tick. You will never eat a Kat Kit bar. The bells in Frère Jaques will forever chime ‘ding dang dong’.

Reduplication in linguistics is when you repeat a word, sometimes with an altered consonant (lovey-dovey, fuddy-duddy, nitty-gritty), and sometimes with an altered vowel: bish-bash-bosh, ding-dang-dong. 

If there are three words then the order has to go I, A, O. 

If there are two words then the first is I and the second is either A or O. Mish-mash, chit-chat, dilly-dally, shilly-shally, tip top, hip-hop, flip-flop, tic tac, sing song, ding dong, King Kong, ping pong.

Why this should be is a subject of endless debate among linguists. 

It might be to do with the movement of your tongue or an ancient language of the Caucasus. It doesn’t matter. It’s the law, and, as with the adjectives, you knew it even if you didn’t know you knew it. And the law is so important that you just can’t have a Bad Big Wolf.

It’s astonishing quite how expert you are at the English language. There are so many tenses you can use without even thinking about it, and almost certainly without being able to name them. It depends how you count them, but there are about 20 that you deploy faultlessly. 

Every child learning Latin or French or almost any other language works up a sweat learning 'Tenses'. 

Many furrin languages even have gendered words.  Masculine and Feminine. In fact 'Gender' is to do with words and nothing to do with genitals.

Feminists don't know that. 

The pluperfect progressive passive for an extended state of action that happened to you prior to another action in the past, is, when you put it like that, rather daunting.

You might need to read that again. I shall pull a pint for you and wait. 

But then you’d happily say “I realised I’d been being watched” without breaking sweat or blinking. 

Think how daunting this is for people learning English. The teacher has to explain to them that... 

the English don’t usually use the present tense for things that are happening in the present. 

“I brush my teeth” doesn’t mean that you’re doing it right now, it just means that you do it regularly. 

For things that are actually happening right now you use the present progressive “I’m brushing my teeth” (but only if you can speak with your mouth full).

Progressives do not know the meaning of their self-label either ! 

And having learnt that you then have to learn that there are certain exceptions, like the verb ‘to think’ used as an auxiliary, as in “I think you’re right”. This is why, incidentally, lots of non-native speakers will use phrases like “I am thinking that you are right”. 

It sounds faintly comic to us, but we had years and years and years of immersion learning just to get all these subtleties. 

And English is complex and weird. We actually have a tense called the Future Present. Imagine having to learn that. But for us it’s just “The train leaves tomorrow.”

Some rules we really should know. It’s surprising and dispiriting how many English people don’t know the rules of stress, [particularly Americans ! ]because that’s how all our poetry works. It’s quite easy really, and we can hear it in other languages. 

Everyone knows that Italian has rhythm, it goes MAM-a MI-a BUON-a SER-a. But so does our language. And that’s how verse works. I can illustrate with my favourite limerick (or at least my favourite clean one). Try reading this aloud:

There was a young man from Dundee

Got stung on the leg by a wasp

When asked does it hurt

He said ‘Yes it does.

‘I’m so glad it wasn’t a hornet.’

That has no rhymes, but it still works as a limerick because rhymes aren’t nearly as important as rhythm. And the rhythm goes:

de-DUM-de, de-DUM-de, de-DUM

de-DUM-de, de-DUM-de, de-DUM

de-DUM-de, de-DUM

de-DUM-de, de-DUM

de-DUM-de, de-DUM-de, de-DUM-de

Which only works because we know to pronounce Dundee as ‘dun-DEE’, and not to rhyme with Grundy or the Isle of Lundy.

Ask an American to say the name 'Robin Hood'. Try not to snigger. 

It’s the subtle difference when we record a record or present a present or tell a rebel to rebel. 

It’s a difference that is very hard for people to learn, and is the main reason that, in a strong French accent, 

there’s no difference between happiness and a penis.

English is an immensely complicated language to get right, and native speakers often have no idea of its strangeness. We understand the sentence “I can’t put up with the guy I’m putting up at my house, his put-downs really put me out and I’m feeling put-upon”. 

Or “I’m doing up my house and it’s doing me in.” Literally, that should mean “I’m performing my house skywards and it’s performing me towards the interior”. 

These are called phrasal verbs and they are the nightmare of every would-be English speaker. Somebody once said of Ian Fleming that he got off with women because he couldn’t get on with them. To us that’s a simple joke, to a learner who also has to get through, get by, get down, get with it, get up… it does their head in.

English is largely made up of the rules we don’t know that we know. 

And actually the rules we know we know are a rarity. We can cling to a few of them at least. At least we all know that we know that adjectives have comparatives and superlatives. Big, bigger, biggest. Hot, hotter, hottest. Easy, easier, easiest. It’s comforting. It’s reliable. It’s something we know that we know.

But can you do it with an adjective that’s three syllables long?

Curiouser and curiouser.

The lad deserves his pints.

Pax 

Character and Muscle

The Warrior practices 'manly arts' and old warriors can take note of how the younger, far fitter and more active men are coming along. In my day a chap received his 'tap and slap' when he had proven not just his mettel but his adult, refined and tempered Character. There are many such processes these days and just as in days past we lay bets predicting who will be so lifted as to become models for the Squires. 

Consider Boxing.

So it was some weeks ago that a gentleman customer considered the contenders in a fight. For fighting is what Warriors do. And how he fights, how he persists under enormous pressure, how he conducts himself, marks the Treuwe Knight.

An aside note: This is perhaps one for the Ladies. I am well aware that men can be 'eye candy' when superbly fit, with a finely honed muscular physique.  So the ladies in the Tavern were quite interested in watching the unfolding boxing match.

So, how did Roger Alton do in his assessment? How did the contenders do. Let us see.

The age of Joshua

Every so often comes a moment that can set the history of sport on a different trajectory. I believe we will witness such a moment on Saturday when Anthony Joshua, of Golders Green no less, fights the veteran Wladimir Klitschko for the Heavy-weight Championship of the World. At Wembley Stadium, not a Las Vegas car park. This is a battle of the ages and for the ages, and it is right here in London.

 https://spectator.com.au/2017/04/the-age-of-joshua/

For those of us who were glued to barely audible radios at 3am to hear epic US fights or flogged around seedy London cinemas for a live transmission, the romance, the magic and the brutal beauty seems to have gone out of the heavyweight game. The story of Muhammad Ali, and the brilliant film of his Rumble in the Jungle, When We Were Kings, now feels like a romantic confection. But it wasn’t.

Who can forget seeing the writers George Plimpton and Norman Mailer rising open-mouthed in awe, as we all did when we watched the film, when Ali dropped George Foreman in the eighth, having exhausted him in the heat of the Zaire night with his ‘rope-a-dope’ courage. It is the best sporting documentary ever made and justly won an Oscar in 1996: both Ali and Foreman went to the awards. They had long buried their differences and Foreman helped Ali on to the stage. It is a brutal sport, but a noble one.

Joshua and Klitschko, these two gentleman giants, literally, can bring it all back before 90,000 spectators and millions of viewers. 

Klitschko is a colossus, immensely dignified and a great ambassador for boxing. He has won 53 fights by knockout and spent an average of 15 minutes in the ring over all his fights. 

But he is 41: superbly fit of course, but that is one hell of an age. 

Joshua — AJ — is just 27, the 2012 Olympic champion, hugely courteous and respectful of Klitschko, as his opponent is to him. 

Joshua has fought 18 times as a pro and won 18, all by knockout, the majority in the first two rounds. His average time in the ring is just six minutes. 

Klitschko is the experienced one and, if he can drag the fight out, there might be doubts about the younger man’s stamina and fight-savvy. But I cannot see it getting that far.

Joshua is impossibly handsome, charismatic and charming. And polite with it, always learning about the fight game, reading about fighters, reading business books.

He had a troubled youth: run-ins with the police, drugs, a bit of ABH, though anyone trying to mix with him needs certifying. Through it all has been his Nigerian mother Yeta, always overjoyed to see him at her home in north London as the line of awards on her mantelpiece grows ever longer. 

Joshua might just be the man to revive the romance and glamour, and the glory of biff and bash.

I think he will win on Saturday and win quickly. 

He will then be on course to be one of the world’s richest sportsmen, rated alongside the great British heavyweights — Frank Bruno, Henry Cooper, Lennox Lewis — and comparable to many of the world’s greatest. 

He impresses as a person and, as a fighter, he is getting classier and deadlier. Global greatness beckons.

There is of course Character and 'a character'. We must know the difference.

More than 20 years ago Martin Amis wrote a brilliant New Yorker article bemoaning calls for more tennis ‘personalities’. For personalities, he said, read ‘assholes’. The perfect example then was Ilie Nastase, and here he is again at the Fed Cup shambles, vilely abusing Britain’s women players. Arthur Ashe recalled Nastase called him ‘negroni’ to his face and ‘nigger’ behind his back. The much-married Romanian is a ghastly man, who liked to pitch up in the royal box at Wimbledon in some insane Ruritanian general’s uniform, plus medals. 

Ho-ho, what a character.

Though he did have one good joke: when asked by police why he did not report the theft of his wife’s credit card, he said: ‘Because the thief is spending much less than she does.’

So, we put it on the Tavern Tele to see if Roger was right.

Here are the highlights for the ladies to drool over and the chaps to fantasise that it is themselves in the ring. 

So now you know. 

And what did these two gentlemen say about it? The interviews afterward are always as revealing of character as the fights themselves. One has to take a few verbals from garrulous commentators, of course.

First Wlad. "Coulda, woulda, shoulda."

And young Joshua. "Character always shows."

 Pints on the Top Table for both fine men.

Pax.

In Memoriam

I do not get out much, what with all the Tavern Keeping to do, so I was very pleasantly suprised to receive an invitation to attend the dedication of a memorial at the weekend.  It was to follow a Mass for the many who had been killed: it was a sombre reminder.

We have seen and heard of a lot of death these past few weeks, with the memory of  the Manchester and London  atrocities very fresh in our minds. Dozens of young people, little ones even, innocents, grieved over very publicly, with #hashtags and teddy bears and outpourings of lerve from Politicians and pop singers.  Bodies torn apart and limbs torn off; sharp knives chopping into tender flesh. It is difficult to 'forgive' the killers and those same politicians who have facilitated such carnage.

But this memorial was for the hundreds of thousands killed in the womb, also facilitated by those politicians. Very little is heard, very little public grief expended over these little ones. Victims of Abortion. 

So it was to Richmond, that small village outside of Hobart which retains an air of yesteryear in its architecture and its slower pace. And to the small Church of St John the Evangelist with its country churchyard.

There in a small copse of trees, calming and quiet,  set apart from the graves and personal monuments, we gathered and prayed and spoke warmly under the afternoon sunshine.

There must have been about 100 people there, old and young, some carrying personal grief from a long time ago. There were some tears and some comforting, but also many smiles and kind faces.

It was a simple memorial in two types of stone. A Marble baby in a shawl, lying on a Granite plinth. 

The ladies of The Catholic Women's League of Tasmania commissioned a local sculptor to create the memorial and he held many discussions with the Ladies to get exactly what they wanted. He was greeted and praised by all for his work. 

The babe looked peaceful in its soft shawl. 

So, while the TV and newspapers were loud and strident in their calls for 'calm' and their politically correct implorings against Islamophobia, omitting the fact that islamophobia has killed no-one, we looked to the opposite message from the same PC people that it is a woman's right to choose and she can do whatever she likes with her body.  

Translated, that means kill a baby. 

Islamic killers who use their bodies to kill innocents are not given the same excuse.  They can use a knife to randomly stab people to death and the media goes into overdrive. A Doctor can reach her knife into a woman's body and tear a baby's limbs off, crush its little chest and puncture its tiny head, and the media say nothing at all. 

Britain kills 250,000 babies in the womb every year. Oz kills 100,000. There are no calls condemning such slaughter.  No enraged media. Only encouragement. What are they compared to a dozen 'victims' that we can all get incenced about?

When the small crowd went in to tea, this old, tired man sat in the sun on the seat beside the baby monument and quietly wept.

Father forgive us.

Pax

Concrete Wellies

It is time some serious action was taken. Our 'news' has been full of mayhem in London and Manchester and hours of cant, nonsense and crass stupidity at all mad stops along the underground to Dagenham, which is three stops past Barking. The ludicrous political statements are matched only by the ludicrous accusations and flammeries, mendacities and dissemblings of the talking hemlines of the media. Not that the media actually do reporting these days.

So several customers drew attention, first to Mz May, the PM of UK - a successful, savvy, empowered woman and the second female PM of the UK: a childless woman, so in the moment with all the other childless leaders of the EU and beyond who seem to lack any connection with the people she serves  rules over with a wet towel. 

She likes shoes of course. 

And to Mz Megyn Kelly, a media hemline adept at all the current modes of calumny and dissembling her owners encourage.  

She likes shoes, too.

Some quite harsh and hopefully imaginary options were suggested for Mz Kelly. Sneers were reserved for Mz May :Saint Theresa, as some people have dubbed her in the same spirit as Oz is called the 'Lucky Country'.

We start with her.  Protocol, precedence and all that. She gave a speech, thankfully short as people were alrady vomiting at the five minute mark, after the latest 'terrorist'  Mulsim atrocity.  An American gentleman observer gave her marks out of No 10: I gave a little emphasis here and there while pulling pints.

Barren Cat Lady

This is the speech from British Prime Minister Barren Cat Lady after the latest attack by Muslims in Britain. Like all modern political speeches, hers was vapid and stupid in ways that suggest the people who wrote it, and the Prime Minister herself, are suffering from brain damage. The best part of the speech was the airy and frivolous platitudes about the true nature of Islam. Funny how our pols are now all experts on Islam.

It is only five minutes long, but it is tough to take so I’ll cover the key points for you.

  http://thezman.com/wordpress/?p=10454

Barren Cat Lady wants everyone to know that the people responsible for importing millions of hyper-violent savages into Britain are on top of things.

That she was the Home Secretary for many of those years, she did not mention. Perhaps she hopes our memories are as short as her hair and we  too fail to acknowledge that she was the one who ran the import business.

That’s something you never hear addressed in public by the pols of any party or the so-called news reporters allegedly charged with grilling them. No one ever asks, “why did you import these strangers into our lands?” It’s treated as if it just magically happened like a freak storm or earth quake.

Of course, someone could start asking these questions, so the Barren Cat Lady promised to ramp up policing of the Internet. No kidding. That was her first big proposal. 

Keep Behind the Yellow Line.

She wants the British government to further stamp out speech on-line and she wants other countries to stamp out free expression in their countries as well. When your first response to an attack by foreign invaders is to crack down on your own citizens, it is not unreasonable to wonder who Barren Cat Lady is blaming for these attacks.

After she promise to crack down on the Internet, as if it is a thing with agency of its own, she makes noises about properly worshiping the gods of the new religion. She provides an example by informing us that the Muslims doing this are not practicing real Islam. 

That despite what all the Imams say and their holy books instruct, the real Islam is this wonderful thing that is going to be great for Britain. Even though the corpses are piling up, what’s important is that you don’t notice that all the perpetrators are Muslims.

Humorously, she then declares this mysterious, perverted version of Islam, that looks like all the other versions of Islam, is the great challenge of our time. She then goes on to say that “British values” of pluralistic tolerance are superior to anything offered by the preachers of hate. Well, we will find out soon enough. So far, the British people have not been able to rouse themselves from their drunken degeneracy to do anything about this challenge. 

The scoreboard says the Muslims are winning in a blowout, pun intended.

Probably the most laugh out loud line in the sermon, and yes, this was a sermon, was when Barren Cat Lady said that “we have to be less tolerant of extremism. And yes, that could mean some embarrassing and difficult conversations.” 

Embarrassing for whom is never mentioned, but we know. The reason we know is after the last Muslim attack, the one last week, the Brits went around arresting white people for saying mean things about Muslims on Faceberg. Being arrested is embarrassing, even when you’re innocent.

What was revealed by this speech is that outside of the public eye, the people in charge of Britain have no emotional or moral attachment to the British people. 

As far as they are concerned, the people are just a burden, whether it is the hyper-violent oogily-boogily people that arrive over the channel or the native Brits. Barren Cat Lady sees no difference between a Muslim from Pakistan and an Episcopalian from York. She just sees grasping hands demanding her time when she would much rather be elsewhere.

Prior to watching this speech, I figured that this event would get the sane Brits out to vote next week for the Tories. Labour is led by a deranged lunatic who should probably be locked away in an institution. No matter how bad the Tories have been, incompetent is better than radically deranged. 

Watching Barren Cat Lady, I think I’d be switching my vote and going with the black pill candidate, Burn it down. The only hope is to wipe out the people who put Barren Cat Lady in charge and then have the final battle with the crazies.

This is the same problem we face in the US. Instead of Barren Cat Lady, we have faggots fools¹ like Caitlyn Graham and Paul Ryan supposedly leading the charge against the nihilistic death cult called the American Left. 

Trump is the black pill, which is why so many of us voted for him, despite what it most likely meant. The only way the West has any chance of defeating the demographic and ideological challenges facing it is to.... 

first hang all of the people currently in charge. 

Then new leaders can emerge to lead the fight.

Some people took exception to his firm view and language. Of course. We can't have language.

¹ It has been brought to my attention that otherwise respectable and sensible gay males will use the term “faggot” as insider language and they would take offense at my use of it here. In short, I was unintentionally insulting faggots by calling Paul Ryan and Caitlyn Graham that name. My sincere apology to all the faggots in the reading audience.

I did have to point out that 'faggots' mean something quite different in English than it seems to do in American. But that is by the way and I still pulled him a pint.

Then we had our attention turned to Megyn. Oh dear.  She knows how to attract attention. "Listen: not look", she says. She has this 'Russian Interference with American Elections' as her swan-song before she departs the stage entirely. Having recieved several awards whacks already she is determined to make a name shame for herself. As they say, if the shoe fits....

News? Look at my Shoes.

She has a deep-state go at Putin over several sessions, getting from him little more than an enigmatic smile. Oh what he could have said to her.
Let us see her stiletto's in action, shall we. This is thankfully only twice as long as Mz May's speech, so attend while I pull you a pint. You will need it.

I do have to give the points to Putin. He keeps his cool. Just think how he might have replied.  A customer - his name is secret, of course - has a 'source': close to someone who 'knows' someone. He claims  that the American-supplied translator speaking into Megyn's ear what Putin was saying, was saying something quite different from what Putin actually replied to Megyn. No wonder the news is all so difficult to grasp. He says he heard the real translations but will only admit to his friend saying that another friend had seen a copy. Putin actually said:

Tell me, Megyn, who zees people are in your 17 Intelligence agencies  -( (aside), Dimitri, how myany do ve heff now? )– and shyow me the documents you speak of. Name me zome names. I will tell you who zey work for. Uz or you. 

And jysust what did they actually say? None of this ‘sources’ biz. Your friends of my friends may heff misheard.  No allusions. No hairy-fairy, is zat how you zay eet, stories. Ve vood lake to zee some facts. Do zis or I will tickle your feet.

Megyn, can you move the wire you heff on. It is interfering vis the RDIF chip ve heff embedded in your bra label. You zee, ve know the name off the lady in Bangladesh who makes your underwear. Zat is vy it is so expensiff.

Megyn, I luff your shoes. I have some friends in Amerika who can make you some from concrete. 

Shall I zend ze boyz around?

Not that Putin would interfere with the Free Press, of course. 

Drink up.

Pax.