Here’s the audio version of my latest rant, Speeding is good for You:
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Longtime prolific poster Me2 has left the building.
He evidently needs a site where everyone minds their P’s and Q’s while paid Soros rioters rape the corpse of what’s left of American Freedom.
— Lookee Lookee —
Nice that you have such an open site and allow pretty much anyone to post. I have very much enjoyed some of the well presented posts by some respected members. However, recently the manners and general level of intellect and respect have dropped to the level of a lobotomized football fan. Not sure what you should do about it, if anything, but I am outta here.
Thanks for the previously great site.
No need to approve this for posting, it is just for you.
Thanks and good luck,
Christopher Cantwell is the number three news story in the Chinese Browser I use, Maxthon. Small world.
Christopher Cantwell, one of the white supremacist organizers featured in Vice’s documentary about Charlottesville, Virginia, appears fearful in another video posted the same weekend as the attack.
Vice News – Charlottesville – Race and Terror
Breakfast of Champions
This is a tale of a meeting of two lonesome, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet
which was dying fast.
One of them was a science-fiction writer named Kilgore Trout. He was a nobody at
the time, and he supposed his life was over. He was mistaken. As a consequence of the
meeting, he became one of the most beloved and respected human beings in history.
The man he met was an automobile dealer, a Pontiac dealer named Dwayne Hoover.
Dwayne Hoover was on the brink of going insane.
Trout and Hoover were citizens of the United States of America, a country which was
called America for short.
This was their national anthem, which was pure balderdash, like so much they were
expected to take seriously:
O, say can you see by the dawn’s early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s
Whose broad stripes and bright stars,
thru the perilous fight
O’er the ramparts we watched were so
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs
bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our
flag was still there.
O, say does that star-spangled banner
O’er the land of the free and the home
of the brave?
· There were one quadrillion nations in the Universe, but the nation Dwayne Hoover
and Kilgore Trout belonged to was the only one with a national anthem which was
gibberish sprinkled with question marks.
Here is what their flag looked like:
It was the law of their nation, a law no other nation on the planet had about its flag,
which said this: “The flag shall not be dipped to any person or thing.”
Flag-dipping was a form of friendly and respectful salute, which consisted of bringing
the flag on a stick closer to the ground, then raising it up again.
· The motto of Dwayne Hoover’s and Kilgore Trout’s nation was this, which meant in a
language nobody spoke anymore, Out of Many, One: “E pluribus unum.”
The undippable flag was a beauty, and the anthem and the vacant motto might not
have mattered much, if it weren’t for this: a lot of citizens were so ignored and cheated
and insulted that they thought they might be in the wrong country, or even on the wrong
planet, that some terrible mistake had been made. It might have comforted them some if
their anthem and their motto had mentioned fairness or brotherhood or hope or
happiness, had somehow welcomed them to the society and its real estate.
If they studied their paper money for clues as to what their country was all about, they
found, among a lot of other baroque trash, a picture of a truncated pyramid with a
radiant eye on top of it, like this:
Not even the President of the United States knew what that was all about. It was as
though the country were saying to its citizens, “In nonsense is strength”
· A lot of the nonsense was the innocent result of playfulness on the part of the
founding fathers of the nation of Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout. The founders were
aristocrats, and they wished to show off their useless education, which consisted of the
study of hocus-pocus from ancient times. They were bum poets as well.
But some of the nonsense was evil, since it concealed great crimes. For example,
teachers of children in the United States of America wrote this date on blackboards
again and again, and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy:
The teachers told the children that this was when their continent was discovered by
human beings. Actually, millions of human beings were already living full and imaginative
lives on the continent in 1492. That was simply the year in which sea pirates
began to cheat and rob and kill them.
Here was another piece of evil nonsense which children were taught: that the sea
pirates eventually created a government which became a beacon of freedom to human
beings everywhere else. There were pictures and statues of this supposed imaginary
beacon for children to see. It was sort of an ice-cream cone on fire. It looked like this:
Actually, the sea pirates who had the most to do with the creation of the new
government owned human slaves. They used human beings for machinery, and, even
after slavery was eliminated, because it was so embarrassing, they and their
descendants continued to think of ordinary human beings as machines.
· The sea pirates were white. The people who were already on the continent when the
pirates arrived were copper-colored. When slavery was introduced onto the continent,
the slaves were black. Color was everything.
· Here is how the pirates were able to take whatever they wanted from anybody else:
they had the best boats in the world, and they were meaner than anybody else, and
they had gunpowder, which was a mixture of potassium nitrate, charcoal, and sulphur.
They touched this seemingly listless powder with fire, and it turned violently into gas.
This gas blew projectiles out of metal tubes at terrific velocities. The projectiles cut
through meat and bone very easily, so the pirates could wreck the wiring or the bellows
or the plumbing of a stubborn human being, even when he was far, far away.
The chief weapon of the sea pirates, however, was their capacity to astonish. Nobody
else could believe, until it was much too late, how heartless and greedy they were.
· When Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout met each other, their country was by far the
richest and most powerful country on the planet. It had most of the food and minerals
and machinery, and it disciplined other countries by threatening to shoot big rockets at
them or to drop things on them from airplanes.
Most other countries didn’t have doodley-squat. Many of them weren’t even
inhabitable anymore. They had too many people and not enough space. They had sold
everything that was any good, and there wasn’t anything to eat anymore, and still the
people went on fucking all the time.
Fucking was how babies were made.
· A lot of the people on the wrecked planet were Communists. They had a theory that
what was left of the planet should be shared more or less equally among all the people,
who hadn’t asked to come to a wrecked planet in the first place. Meanwhile, more
babies were arriving all the time—kicking and screaming, yelling for milk.
In some places people would actually try to eat mud or suck on gravel while babies
were being born just a few feet away.
And so on.
· Dwayne Hoover’s and Kilgore Trout’s country, where there was still plenty of
everything, was opposed to Communism. It didn’t think that Earthlings who had a lot
should share it with others unless they really wanted to, and most of them didn’t want to.
So they didn’t have to.
· Everybody in America was supposed to grab whatever he could and hold onto it.
Some Americans were very good at grabbing and holding, were fabulously well-to-do.
Others couldn’t get their hands on doodley-squat.
Dwayne Hoover was fabulously well-to-do when he met Kilgore Trout. A man
whispered those exact words to a friend one morning as Dwayne walked by: “Fabulously
And here’s how much of the planet Kilgore Trout owned in those days: doodleysquat.
And Kilgore Trout and Dwayne Hoover met in Midland City, which was Dwayne’s
home town, during an Arts Festival there in autumn of 1972.
As has already been said: Dwayne was a Pontiac dealer who was going insane.
Dwayne’s incipient insanity was mainly a matter of chemicals, of course. Dwayne
Hoover’s body was manufacturing certain chemicals which unbalanced his mind. But
Dwayne, like all novice lunatics, needed some bad ideas, too, so that his craziness
could have shape and direction.
Bad chemicals and bad ideas were the Yin and Yang of madness. Yin and Yang
were Chinese symbols of harmony. They looked like this:
The bad ideas were delivered to Dwayne by Kilgore Trout. Trout considered himself
not only harmless but invisible. The world had paid so little attention to him that he
supposed he was dead.
He hoped he was dead.
But he learned from his encounter with Dwayne that he was alive enough to give a
fellow human being ideas which would turn him into a monster.
Here was the core of the bad ideas which Trout gave to Dwayne: Everybody on Earth
was a robot, with one exception—Dwayne Hoover.
Of all the creatures in the Universe, only Dwayne was thinking and feeling and worrying
and planning and so on. Nobody else knew what pain was. Nobody else had any
choices to make. Everybody else was a fully automatic machine, whose purpose was to
stimulate Dwayne. Dwayne was a new type of creature being tested by the
Only Dwayne Hoover had free will.
· Trout did not expect to be believed. He put the bad ideas into a science-fiction novel,
and that was where Dwayne found them. The book wasn’t addressed to Dwayne alone.
Trout had never heard of Dwayne when he wrote it. It was addressed to anybody who
happened to open it up. It said to simply anybody, in effect, “Hey— guess what: You’re
the only creature with free will. How does that make you feel?” And so on.
It was a tour de force. It was a jeu d’esprit.
But it was mind poison to Dwayne.
· It shook up Trout to realize that even he could bring evil into the world—in the form of
bad ideas. And, after Dwayne was carted off to a lunatic asylum in a canvas camisole,
Trout became a fanatic on the importance of ideas as causes and cures for diseases.
But nobody would listen to him. He was a dirty old man in the wilderness, crying out
among the trees and underbrush, “Ideas or the lack of them can cause disease!”
| Kilgore Trout became a pioneer in the field of mental health. He advanced his theories
disguised as science-fiction. He died in 1981, almost twenty years after he made
Dwayne Hoover so sick.
He was by then recognized as a great artist and scientist. The American Academy of
Arts and Sciences caused a monument to be erected over his ashes. Carved in its
face was a quotation from his last novel, his two-hundred-and-ninth novel, which was
unfinished when he died. The monument looked like this:
(There are numerous line drawings throughout the text which are omitted above)
Breakfast of Champions ending paragraphs
I got out of my rented car. I did it noisily, so his ears would tell him a lot about his
Creator, even if he was unwilling to use his eyes. I slammed the car door firmly. As I
approached him from the driver’s side of the car, I swiveled my feet some, so that my
footsteps were not only deliberate but gritty, too.
I stopped with the tips of my shoes on the rim of the narrow field of his downcast
eyes. “Mr. Trout, I love you,” I said gently. “I have broken your mind to pieces. I want
to make it whole. I want you to feel a wholeness and inner harmony such as I have
never allowed you to feel before. I want you to raise your eyes, to look at what I have in
I had nothing in my hand, but such was my power over Trout that he would see in it
whatever I wished him to see. I might have shown him a Helen of Troy, for instance,
only six inches tall.
“Mr. Trout-Kilgore-” I said, “I hold in my hand a symbol of wholeness and harmony
and nourishment. It is Oriental in its simplicity, but we are Americans, Kilgore, and not
Chinamen. We Americans require symbols which are richly colored and threedimensional
and juicy. Most of all, we hunger for symbols which have not been
poisoned by great sins our nation has committed, such as slavery and genocide and
criminal neglect, or by tinhorn commercial greed and cunning.
“Look up, Mr. Trout,” I said, and I waited patiently. “Kilgore-?”
The old man looked up, and he had my father’s wasted face when my father was a
widower—when my father was an old old man.
He saw that I held an apple in my hand.
“I am approaching my fiftieth birthday, Mr. Trout,” I said. “I am cleansing and renewing
myself for the very different sorts of years to come. Under similar spiritual conditions,
Count Tolstoi freed his serfs, Thomas Jefferson freed his slaves. I am going to set at
liberty all the literary characters who have served me so loyally during my writing career.”
“You are the only one I am telling. For the others, tonight will be a night like any other
night. Arise, Mr. Trout, you are free, you are free.”
He arose shamblingly.
I might have shaken his hand, but his right hand was injured, so our hands remained
dangling at our sides.
“Bon voyage? I said. I disappeared.
· I somersaulted lazily and pleasantly through the void, which is my hiding place when I
dematerialize. Trout’s cries to me faded as the distance between us increased.
His voice was my father’s voice. I heard my father— and I saw my mother in the void.
My mother stayed far, far away, because she had left me a legacy of suicide.
A small hand mirror floated by. It was a leak with a mother-of-pearl handle and frame.
I captured it easily, held it up to my own right eye, which looked like this:
Here was what Kilgore Trout cried out to me in my father’s voice: “Make me young,
make me young, make me young!”
==· Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., is the son and grandson of Indianapolis architects. They were
painters, too. His only living sibling is a distinguished physicist who discovered, among
other things, that silver iodide can sometimes make it snow or rain. This is Mr.
Yankees are odiously Pro-Inhibitionists. Especially the Blue State Yankees. But also the Red State Yankees.
Their is the iron Yankee fatwa of safety. Safety uber alles. Well not over all the other fatwas. But over any thing a mundane might do.
Every act is either Safe. Double Plus Safe. Or ungood un-safe, and thus verbotten. There is only the letter of the law. There is no you. There is no me. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao-Sahfy7Hg . There are confederates like us, that would rather die, than give them control. But we are of no consequence, nor of any veractiy.
Things that are haram are simply off limits, full stop . Any non-safe infidel risks getting horse whipped in the public square. Being fined or thrown in the mosque of penance. Having his head removed. Being hung by a construction crane.
For every flavor of safety There a Mullah for that. There is a plethora of institutions of Mullahs who scientifically prove the legitimacy of every manner of safety. Even things no one does, or are not yet possible.
If something has been can be or might be done. Ever. By anyone. There is already a Mullah who has written his hadiths about said acts.