#JeSuisMarkSteyn for #EverybodyDrawMohammed day: “Do your worst. I will not kneel.”

“Do your worst. I will not kneel.”

“Do your worst. I will not kneel.”

I don’t admire many people, more’s the pity. I know too much and see too much, and too much of what I see taxes me of the respect I might otherwise feel for a person’s accomplishments. A rare exception is the irreverent, irascible Mark Steyn, whom I’ve followed in the public prints since the Arkansas Mafia last soiled the White House. For all I know he kicks kittens and mines payphones for abandoned quarters, but everything I have seen of the man has inspired me, a living embodiment of the words I’ve always lived by: “Do your worst. I will not kneel.”

By way of Twitter, Steyn reminded me that today is #EverybodyDrawMohammed day. I built the sidebar you see in the image to the right on Monday, this because I have so much on the subject to link to, and because I don’t wish to imply that I am acquiescent in the deafening silence that greets every ugly display of the infinitely ugly Islamofascist temperament. I didn’t know I was celebrating a very important holiday, and yet here I am.

If you pursue the links in the actual sidebar, not the image, you can read and hear what I’ve had to say over the years, going all the way back to 9/11. There are two Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie stories in there, for comic relief, but for all of me, the best of the bunch is the video I did just after the Charlie Hebdo Massacre: Why you must never silence yourself.

And that’s a Steyn-like message, I hope. None of this matters. Allah is a petulant, impotent crybaby. Mohammed was a mentally-defective child-molester. The best of his followers are sweet but deluded, like most religionists of all creeds. And the worst of them are mooks and mutts and mongrels whose only hope of having a life is to deliver themselves unto death in the most pathetic and ignominious of possible ways – and may they writhe thereafter in bacon grease until the universe collapses on itself. But to fail to speak when speech Continue reading

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The last refuge of the Clan Testudo: How to shield your family from poisonous pop culture.

The world may be going to hell in a hand-cart, but you and the people you love most don’t have to go along.

Photo by: umer malik

A little while ago I met a wonderful family who exemplify everything I’m looking for in modern-day Hoplites: The adults share a firm and fixed moral philosophy, with dad firmly in charge and with mom supporting him fully in that executive authority. Accordingly, the children are growing up as secure, charming, self-responsible individuals.

This is the way happy families work. This is the only way families can work happily. If mom competes with dad for dominance, their Runaway Minivan is destined to crash. If dad abdicates on his responsibility to lead, so much the worse. If the children learn how to drive a wedge between their parents, they will spin out of control. But if they all live according to the ideals dad upholds, they will be as one against the world.

In Sunday’s Church of Splendor service, I talk about this family, likening their approach to the world to the testudo formation used by ancient Hoplites to march imperviously into a rain of arrows and spears.

This same kind of metaphorical testudo is how you can shield your family from the noxious cultural influences you encounter everywhere. The world may be going to hell in a hand-cart, but you and the people you love most don’t have to go along.

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Bright young man (or woman) on the make? Learn about mentorship from a master, Edward Druce.

Edward Druce, master of mentorship.

Edward Druce, master of mentorship.

I met Edward Druce last fall at The 21 Convention in Tampa, nominating him as my choice as the star of the event. The talk he gave, How to find a mentor in business, was not the most polished, but it was eminently useful, and what Druce lacked in public-speaking experience, he more than made up for in the depth of his knowledge and the extent of his preparation. I made a point of talking to him after his presentation and then again on the shuttle that took us both to the the airport.

My evaluation: A most impressive young man, a man to watch as he rises in the world. He’s an INTx high-C, in my quick ’n’ dirty estimation, working very hard to become a high-D. That’s a killer combination, a planner mastering the demanding art of doing.

As evidence of doing, Druce has gone the world one better by turning his ideas on mentorship into a book: This Is Where to Start: Find Superstar Mentors, Master All They Know, and Get Ahead in Your Career.

Why does it matter? Because genius undiscovered and untapped is genius wasted. Druce will show you the remarkable ways he has come up with for making the acquaintance of business giants – and he’ll teach you what to do to make the most of those relationships once you’ve forged them.

As a disclosure, I am thanked in the afterword, but I assure I did nothing to deserve this expression of gratitude. I’m flattered, but this work is all Edward’s, and I am eager to see where it takes him.

You can always count on me for big-picture advice, but when you get to the “Now what?” question, this book is a very good place to begin.

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A question for pro-gay-marriage libertarians: Isn’t it well past time to admit you were wrong?

Nothing says ‘libertarian’ quite like the faithful capitulation to Marxist tyranny.Photo by: Ross Angus

I don’t pay much attention to libertarians. They start wrong and stay wrong, with politics rather than the underlying ethics of self-adoration, which is why they cough up so many ugly, anegoistic cult leaders. Much worse, they’re anti-family, which leaves me wondering if formalized libertarianism might not be a Soviet- or CIA-crafted Emmanuel Goldstein false-flag op – the cult of the ineffectually childless super-stoked poindexter rebels. But, worst of all, whenever any random Marxist sneers their way, they fold like a house of cards.

I took note of them early last year, when a friend pointed out that at least one bigfoot libertarian, Stephan Kinsella, had jumped onto the gay-marriage bandwagon. This is not an anomaly. Putative friends of human liberty are forever waking up next to smelly Marxists, this going back to the times when Marxists still bathed once in a while. I didn’t care too much – the state’s sanction of marriage is plainly criminal rent-seeking, and, hence, the only appropriate libertarian response to that sanction is to eradicate it entirely. I realize now I might have cared more.

Nota bene: Sex outside of marriage is bound to be self-destructive. By marriage I do not mean an elaborate ceremony, with or without the state’s seal of approval, but rather the mutual commitment of the married couple to their enduring, exclusive storgic and romantic love. Without that, it does not matter with whom or what you frolic, since your ‘love-making’ is simply meat-mannequin masturbation – except that ordinary self-pleasuring doesn’t inflict you with lifelong painful memories. Even so, that much is your business. The only way most people learn to avoid self-destruction is by living through it too many times.

Likewise, the claim that homosexuality is genetic in origin seems dubious to me. That which resembles all other obsessive sexual fetishes seems much more likely, to me, to be nothing more than yet another obsessive sexual fetish – the irrational sexualization of inappropriate objects beginning with a sexual trauma occurring at (no surprise) the age of Continue reading

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What would Mohammed do? Just about anything, apparently, provided it’s petty, pathetic and cruel.

“We were watching horse racing by simulcast at the Pimlico Race Course in Baltimore, home of the Preakness Stakes, and everything in the place seemed to be old and dirty and badly maintained. No skin off my nose. You can leave your bankroll in a carpet joint just as easily as in a sawdust joint, and I lost my gamble a couple of years ago anyway.”Photo by: Fisherga

A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story

Baltimore, Maryland, May 12, 2015

“They sure have let this place go to hell, haven’t they?”

Iggy said that. I’m sure that’s not his real name, or not his full name, but I didn’t probe for better information. He was sitting one seat away from me in the cheap seats, close enough to chat, but not too intimate. Which was well, since Iggy stank. Not like a man who had showered that morning, then worked up a sweat before stopping at the track on the way home. No, he stank like a man who hasn’t worked in a month and hasn’t bathed in two.

“My pops started bringing me here when I was a kid, on the days I got to stay at his house. It seemed like high style back then, the gambling elite. But they haven’t put a dime back into the business since then.”

That was an exaggeration, but not an outrageous one. We were watching horse racing by simulcast at the Pimlico Race Course in Baltimore, home of the Preakness Stakes, and everything in the place seemed to be old and dirty and badly maintained. No skin off my nose. You can leave your bankroll in a carpet joint just as easily as in a sawdust joint, and I lost my gamble a couple of years ago anyway. But I can’t walk past an open race track or sports book without stopping in to handicap the handicappers, and Iggy was a prime specimen of degenerate gamblitude.

“Fuckin’ kikes have let this whole neighborhood go to shit.”

I had no idea how to react to that. Iggy was Jewish, I was sure of that – short, fat, dumpy, bald Continue reading

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Illuminating the Splendor of exuberant indomitability from the inside out.

Watch me surf my own elation.

Photo by: Spirit-Fire

I’m in love with the ideas of exuberance and indomitability. In the videos I have made in the three years since Man Alive was published, I’ve made a stout effort to illuminate what it’s like to live my life from the inside out. I am in an empathy of opposites with everyone else, and I want to show you what I think by showing you how I think, but I also want to show you what it feels like to think my way.

I wrote the book Nine empathies on Saturday, August 30th, last year. A serious book of philosophy, completely revolutionizing the idea of empathy, written in a single day? I don’t think the way everyone else does, and, accordingly, I don’t work their way, either.

The Grand Unifying Theory of Human Motivation – as taught to me by a turtle, and by an eternally-outraged human reptile.To read more about empathy, see me, feel me, touch me, heal me at Amazon.com.

The Grand Unifying Theory of Human Motivation – as taught to me by a turtle, and by an eternally-outraged human reptile.

To read more about empathy, see me, feel me, touch me, heal me at Amazon.com.

Even more fun for me, on the next day, Sunday, August 31st, I made a Church of Splendor homily elaborating on the book. I was beyond exhausted by then, and I was both elated and addle-pated, and, hence, the video was a choice exposition of my exuberant indomitability.

I thought I had lost access to that video, but I was able to recover it yesterday, to my immense delight. It’s embedded below. If you watch it, you’ll learn more about empathy than anyone on earth knew last year on August 29th. But even better, you’ll learn all about what exuberant indomitability feels like from the inside out.

I owe my brother men nothing, and I detest the idea of indiscriminate charity, but the gift each one of us confers upon all the others, as an unsought consequence of being alive, is the gift of his example – one may hope a good example. This video is me setting a good example, showing you why my way of thinking is better for you in every thriving cell of your body:

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#MothersDay makes for a good brunch, but the #BaltimoreUprising shows us why #fatherhood matters much more.

The people who will matter tomorrow are the children who are being well-brought-up today, and well-brought-up means well-fathered.

Photo by: Julian Povey

What’s the most important thing to talk about every year at Mother’s Day? Fatherlessness.

Last year I spoke about the epidemic childlessness of Western Civilization: No #father, no #family, no #future.

This year, I addressed a Big Picture question, my favorite kind: “I would be fascinated to hear what you think the future holds for mankind.”

Could it be that you can’t guess what will matter most to the people who will meet, greet and make the future? It’s fatherhood, of course.

The people who will matter tomorrow are the children who are being well-brought-up today, and well-brought-up means well-fathered. Underfathered children grow up late, if ever. Moreover, since males who regard themselves as men will not yield for long to feminine dominance, single mothers cannot engender well-brought-up sons (that is, the fathers of the future) without significant masculine intervention.

This is not mean or sexist, it is a simple recapitulation of painfully (murderously!) obvious biological facts: Mothers nurture but fathers cultivate, and uncultivated children very often grow up to be awful parents – repeating their own parents’ cycle of failure.

And thus to Sunday’s homily, “Mothers Day news: The future is fatherhood.”

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