"Whenever I go into a restaurant, I order both a chicken and an egg to see which comes first"

Thursday, April 18, 2024

When Jesus Appeared To Congress - King For A Day In The Worst Of All Possible Places

Jesus appears hundreds of times a day to evangelical congregations throughout the United States.  Just yesterday, he appeared to Letitia Jackson of the River Baptist Church in Aberdeen, Mississippi just as real as the day he emerged from the tomb, all dressed in white, cleansed of the blood that had stained his face as it dripped down from the crown of thorns, healed of the wounds of Roman soldiers, and beatific, holy, and smiling. 


'Oh, Jesus', shouted Letitia. 'You have come at last', and she rose and walked towards him.  He held out his arms to her and said, 'Come to me'.  Before she could reach his outstretched embrace, she collapsed in an ecstatic faint, and when she came to, she was a changed woman. 

Her epiphany lasted three days until the escapades of her oft-absent, philandering, drunken husband, her three drug-addled children, and hectoring, insulting mother did her in.  The image of Jesus faded into obscurity as the reality of her shithole neighborhood set in.  She never even gave Jesus a second thought, never sank to her knees and shouted a hallelujah or an amen as the gunfire ricocheted off the CVS and into her drywall. The ghetto was too nasty a place even for the Lord. 

He also appeared to Peggy Sue Brandon of Amos Corners, a dark, miserable coal mining holler in West Virginia that hadn't changed since the Depression. Tar paper shack, cornpone and fatback, barefoot, pregnant, and hungry, Peggy Sue had given up on everything until Jesus appeared to her at the Third Church of the Savior. 


Pastor Anson Phillips had just given the reading, a verse about the goodness of the Lord and his beneficence, when He appeared, a tortured, commiserating figure still bloodied and worn, stumbling down the aisle, grimacing in agony and disappointment.  His Father had abandoned him, Jews had given him up, and Romans had killed him; and there without transfiguration he stood. 

Peggy Sue ran to him, embraced him and helped him down the aisle.  They shared their suffering in that embrace, and she was bound forever to Him. 

Yet, life being what it is, the spareness of her existence, the coal dust, the five children, the shivering winters, the rat shit, weevil infested corn meal, and the dry humping of her husband howling to the rafters while she lay back and took it did her in just like Letitia Jackson.  The Lord came and went and left them with mud stains and rats. 

When Jesus appeared to the Congress of the United States, as clear as day, in beautiful white raiment, haloed, and magnificent, no one but one lone member, Congressman X noticed.  He stood up and looked above the dais where the Speaker was calling the roll and shouted 'He has risen' to which his neighbor said 'Point of Order' in accordance to which the Speaker asked the Honorable Member from ___to please take his seat. 

The Congressman refused, shaking his arms at the ceiling of the chamber, his eyes filled with tears, and his breath short and quick.  The Alabama contingent, all of whom, black or white, had been raised in small country churches where possession, epiphany, and divine appearances were common, came to his seat and embraced him.  Finally, after long decades of prayer, invocation, and hope, the Lord had finally come. 

'Down in front!', yelled a Congressman from a deep blue Northern district.  'Order! Order!' shouted the Speaker, already with a tenuous hold on a fissiparous, angry House.  'Get rid of him', yelled another member, a silk-stocking New York Democrat known to step out of her patrician shoes and axe hammer anyone in her way, a bitch of a woman who could clear the decks quicker than a South Pacific typhoon, who did not suffer fools especially this idiot in the third row. 

'But I saw Him, I saw Him' repeated Congressman X as he was escorted by the bailiff and the Alabama contingent out of the chamber. 

Now, the House of Representatives, a group of rubes, crackers, pimps, and poseurs - the very people Alexander Hamilton warned against when he argued for a buffer against the masses - had only gotten more uncouth, ill-tempered, venal and ambitious since the days of the Founding Fathers.  There were clowns, buffoons, and side show freaks divided not only by party, but by home cooking. 

There were those raised on Jesus and the promise of the Second Coming; those raised in the 'hood where Jesus was nothing but a white boy who conned the shit out the Jews; and the liberals who parsed the works of Samuel Gompers, Saul Alinsky, and Karl Marx for inspiration. 

No one was indifferent to religion. There was only one atheist in the House, a man who had brought up to actively dismiss religion as a perennial corrosive, destructive force derailing progressive attempts at social reform.  Not only was there no God, the man said, but his deluded followers left a trail of blood and mayhem in his name. 

Those who had said phooey and paid Jesus no mind had at least had to reject him, and thus were just as obsessed by religion as the true believer.  So it was no surprise that the House of Representatives, normally a sane and temperate body except in moments of legislative duress, reacted strongly to the outburst, censure, and removal of one of their members. 

The progressive wing of the Democratic Party had long staked its honor and reputation on the dismantling of religion in America, for it was, as the atheist in their midst loudly proclaimed, a deviating, misleading force.  One could not believe in secular social reform and believe in divine rule. Those who relied on Biblical reference for their retrograde ideas on homosexuality, abortion, and salvation had to be silenced, neutered, and spayed in the interest of progress. 

'Just like a dumb-fuck cracker' said one member referring to Congressman X whose outburst had prompted images of the holy rollers, speakers in tongues, born-again idiots that were obstructing justice on his screen. 

On the other side of the metaphorical aisle, were the desultory believers, those who attended prayer breakfasts, who were not unhappy for the moment of silence when House sessions were opened with an ecumenical prayer but who put God aside once work began.  He had no place in the House of Representatives, the Senate, the Supreme Court, or the White House.  America was a nation of strict division between church and state. 

The simple clause in the Constitution forbidding no imposition of any one religion on other, had been taken out of context, distorted, and manipulated to remove religion from civic discourse; and progressives were the first to jump on the civil rights train when it came to anything other than a bald, secular interpretation of society's rules.  The Ten Commandments were nothing more that the Rule of Law given teeth by religion. 


Tolstoy grappled with religion for his entire life, and in his memoir wrote about how for much of it he investigated every area of human intellectual enterprise to decide for himself whether or not there was a God and what were his intentions for the human race.  

He came up empty, and finally decided that if millions of people believed in Him and billions before that, there just might be something to it; but there is no such generosity in today’s radical secularism.  Religion is a putrid, nasty, thing foisted on the unintelligent, gullible, and naive. 

'Jesus appears to members of Congress' was the catty, tongue-in-cheek headline of the New York Times above an article on the insidiousness of religious fundamentalism in America. 'The curse of the unwashed', was how the journalist put it in his draft, censored by his editor, but true enough; and the copy went on to lambast the credulous 'Bible slaves' of the nation. 

Now, what happened to Congressman X? No different from Letitia and Peggy Sue who had their momentary epiphany in church, the member of Congress, surrounded by venality, badgering self-serving ambition, sludgy thinking, and downright idiocy, simply lost sight of Jesus, dismissed his vision as an aberration, too little sleep, too much Jack Black, and not enough sense and sensibility. 

The affair was soon forgotten, Congressman X was back in his seat voting for land rights, bridges, and subsidies for his constituents.  'God's in his heaven, and all's right with the world'.  

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

The Salem Witch Trials Redux - Donald Trump And 'Burning's Too Good For Him'

 Abigail Hood was burned at the stake in Salem in 1693, but not before being tortured - the water torture, the fire torture, the rack, the fingernails, the pinion...nothing made her confess apostasy or heresy, and thus she was bound, blindfolded, and set alight.  

The townspeople cheered the crackling flames, the scent of burning flesh, the agonizing cries of the dying maiden, 'Gettin' wot she deserves, she is', said one burgher to Parson Weems, at this trial and burning only a spectator, but his turn would come.  There were ten more women waiting for exorcism or death in the cells of Salem jail. 

The women in the crowd were just as jubilant as the men for Abigail was well-known as a fornicator and husband-stealer, a tart, a hussy who should have been rounded up and roasted long before this.  The children, unsure of what they were seeing but judging by their parents' reaction assumed it was just a bonfire, a community gathering of good cheer. 

Her screams subsided after what seemed to be an excruciatingly long time, and the people of Salem thanked God for their deliverance from evil.  Some said that the burning was a cleansing of her soul, a casting out of Satan, a fiery defiance to the forces of evil and the rising of a pillar of flame to the Lord. 

Pastor Jacob Allen who presided over both the trial and the burning was pleased with himself.  He had acted in accordance with secular justice and divine law.  The woman was given a fair chance to prove her innocence, but God demanded absolute, unequivocal retribution.  Both the laws of God and Man had been satisfied. 

'How about a nice cup of tea, Pastor?', said a gentlewoman in the crowd, coming up to him to thank him for his service and anxious to keep on his good side, just in case.  She had not defied the Lord, praise be to God, but had been tempted. Who in the growing followers of Martin Luther and John Calvin would condemn her for intent, when the devil was in the doing.  Yet the Church had been known to put women to death for 'immoral intent', had inscribed the sin in both liturgy and theological proceedings, so it was better to be circumspect than accused. 

Before the scorching flames had burned themselves out and turned themselves into smoldering embers, Biddy Martin and Pastor Allen went off to the rectory for a blessing and a reward. There seated among the elders of the church, they talked of God and his divine Creation.  Wasn't it fortunate, the Pastor said, that lowly Salem had been chosen to do His work? 

Biddy Martin agreed, bowed her head and recited the Lord's Prayer.  The elders followed suit and in unison prayed for God's mercy and forgiveness for their sins. Only occasionally did the eyes of Biddy and the Pastor meet, but she had accomplished what she had come for.  This man of God's head had been turned. 

The trials were necessary tribunals, for the Puritans of New England never saw themselves as arbitrary, capricious judges of morality; but bound by Scripture and Biblical Law.  Rather than burn known witches summarily, the deacons of Salem felt obliged to hear evidence and only then pass judgment.  Of course they as well as the community knew who was possessed and who wasn’t; but the trials were testimony to Puritan sanctimony and Christian justice. 

Image result for images cotton mather

As far as Pastor Allen was concerned, the witch trials were a feather in his cap, and he had been noticed by Boston which despite early reformist rumblings in the Massachusetts Bay Colony church hierarchy had renewed their Calvinism and dedication to the administration of God's harshest, most punitive justice.  Allen had even been noticed by John Davenport who, rumor had it, was to leave the Colony and found other, more severely Calvinist communities, and he wanted to consult with Allen on this way to New Haven. 

The more witches that were discovered, tried, and burned, the higher Pastor Allen's stock rose.  Soon he would rise in the church hierarchy, and who knew, he might even be considered for important secular office.  The New Haven Plantation would need a solid religious core, but it would also need governance, and who better than he to be the man? 


After all, God had always assumed that Church and State would co-exist but with the state subsumed within the church, never the other way around; and Pastor Allen's brand of disciplinary Calvinism and enlightened community stewardship was highly prized. 

There would be other trials before the arrival of the Davenport mission, and Pastor Allen hurried them up except for the case of The Madwoman of Salem, the vixen, the harridan, the succubus of the North Shore.  She was known to call up the tempest which doomed a hundred whalers as they were returning from the South Seas, the fire that burned the grange, and the barbaric disembowelments of three children by wolves in Hamden Forest.  She would be tried and burned in the presence of Davenport himself, a show of commitment to the faith and the administration of swift justice. 

In New Haven in the new, renewed Calvinist Colony, he was no less of a star than had been reported to Boston.  Davenport did not approve of burnings at the stake - he let it be known that Salem was a necessary, important phase in the establishment of God's Kingdom on Earth, but one now in the past.  His governance in New Haven would be just as severe, just as punitive, and just as respectful of the will of God, but it would move from demonic possession to immorality.  Although the Devil might be behind the misdeeds of his citizens, he and his courts would try them as lawbreakers first and foremost. 

Of course the legal system of early 18th Century New Haven always had God in its scripture, and its magistrates knew apostasy when they saw it; and besides, bringing God in as judge and prosecutor assured a quick and expeditious trial.  As such petty crime was stopped dead in its tracks; and as Davenport, Pastor Allen, and the other elders of the community came to realize, their authority was increasingly unchallenged.  God was on their side, the harsh blade of the law was in their armory, and the town could be ruled quietly but absolutely. 

By the time Davenport's children decided to expand their father's influence farther south and send an expedition to the promising new territories of New Jersey, this second generation had become less known as men of God than powerful, ambitious politicians; and when the new colonies to the south were established, the rule of law was their law. 

There was a new permeability between church and state, a fungible set of opportunities for both governors and the governed.  The new American nexus of private enterprise, complaisant government, and flexible church had begun, and the innate corruption within it began apace.   

Progressives are convinced that Trump is evil.  Not only do sexism, racism, and homophobia alone qualify him as immoral and dangerous; but no one person, let alone the President of the United States, could possibly be afflicted by all three at once; and therefore some unknown but compelling force must have lent a helping hand.

These progressives are therefore bent on applying the spectral test, the touch test,  and especially the witch cake test.  In this voodoo-inspired test, the ingredients were rye meal… and urine from the girls said to be afflicted by the witch’s evil incantations. The test had dogs eat this cake, after which the alleged witch should scream out in pain – for in the process of her cursing the victims, she sent invisible particles of herself (the embodiment of pure evil, that is), which would show up in the urine.

Donald Trump is exactly right in calling the current inquiries a witch hunt, for the investigations, far from secular, have taken on a religious tone.  Since progressives have branded the President as evil, then removing him from office and burning him at the political stake is the only possible outcome.  Whether he is hanged, guillotined, shot, electrocuted, or immolated is irrelevant.  He must be punished no less severely than the witches of Salem.

It there any truth to the allegations? Who knows and in fact who cares?  A witch hunt has nothing to do with the truth, the facts, or even good or evil.  It is, purely and simply, the act of exclusion, expulsion, and elimination of an enemy deemed unholy. 

No President has been the subject of so many irrational fears and allegations.  The progressive Left created this monster, and once he became President, they had to justify their actions and  burn him at the stake.  Nothing else would suffice.  If they truly believe what they  have said about him, then they have no other recourse than to light the fire.

Many progressives have called Donald Trump evil because the sum of his beliefs cannot be explained away on any rational basis.  While one might take each of his political positions separately and analyze them objectively and in course, it is hard to ignore that when taken together they represent a man who is profoundly racist, sexist, and homophobic.

His policies and programs, these progressives say, are tantamount to a degrading, humiliating denial of basic human, God-given rights.  Anyone who would act in such an anti-social, anti-humanistic, and anti-Christian way cannot be described in any but the most damning ways.

Media mogul Barry Diller had some harsh words about Donald Trump.

There's nobody that I've ever known, ever, that's risen to the presidency that was actually of evil character," he told CNBC's "Squawk on the Street." Anybody who attacks people in the manner that he attacks people … that's evil."

None of this is surprising. If it happened to Joan of Arc; if it happened during the Spanish Inquisition; and if it happened in Salem, Massachusetts, it can happen now.

Image result for images joan of arc

It's worse.  The witch trial mentality, so pervasive, so universal, so inspired over centuries of Puritanism and God-bound justice, has infected the purely secular.  Progressivism has become a secular religion with tenets, codes, doctrine, and liturgy and has become the revival - the incarnation - of Salem, persecution without God present, burning at the sake for ascribed evil. 

No matter, get rid of him, and by the way burning is far too good for him.  

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

The White House - This Racist Name Must Be Changed! The Racial Evangelism Of LaShonda Ellis

LaShonda Ellis was the leader of Black Women For Racial Justice, a group organized around the principle of eliminating any and all traces of white supremacy from America.  Many streets in her native Northern Virginia had been changed, and her greatest success was the renaming of both Lee and Jefferson Davis Highways, major thoroughfares in one of America's wealthiest counties.

Since Virginia had been the heart of the Confederacy, the task had not been an easy one.  Robert E. Lee was its most prominent general, and Jefferson Davis its Father. No matter how much white, unreconstructed crackers hammered on about the integrity of history, learning from the past, and the complex legacy of a state which produced Washington, Jefferson, and Madison, LaShonda and her crewe of radical reformers were undaunted.  

The South, region of racial hatred and segregationist brutality, would have to be removed from history, expunged, deleted.  Only complete erasure would clean the slate.  No longer should little black children have to be reminded of their ancestors' oppressors and their bullying, ax-handle wielding, attack dog hatred. No longer should the descendants of these white, backwoods coon dogs be recognized.  Her battle against the Old South was a scorched earth campaign against white America. 

'Obama? Fuck him', she said. 'He was a white boy in black skin, an Uncle Tom, more like his lily hippy mother than his African father, put into office as a political sop to black people and Jews'.  This said when she launched into her 'White' House tirades.  

The fact that a faux black man, a pseudo-brother had been President did nothing to dim her crusading vision.  The name of the White House should be changed now and forever.  'White' house had been the perfect name for white, slaver-mentality, political grandees ever since Washington and Jefferson, plantation-owning rapists and fools. 

By this time she was seething with hatred and feeling invincible thanks to the complaisance of white liberals who had agreed with her.  These black wannabes, these white trash pricks who think they know something about the black experience, will get what's coming to them, she said. They will be dumpster fill, racial detritus, worth nothing, ground up with diapers and chicken wings and used for landfill.

She became unhinged, the Mad Woman of Chaillot, Queen of the Asylum, a ranting Old Testament prophet, an avenging angel, a crazy, demented wild thing. 

Her supporters, even the near-hysteric, wild wolverines of Black Lives Matter paused at her increasingly deranged attacks. While they supported her principles, this maniac was stealing headlines from them, the legitimate black insurrectionists of America, the group that stood for racial retribution, vindication, and restoration.

Even those teddy boy hooligans from England had got it right:

I wanna see it painted
Painted black
Black as night
Black as coal
I wanna see the sun
Blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted
Painted black, yeah

'Paint the fucker black', LaShonda shouted to her supporters gathered on Farragut Square opposite the White House, turned from the crowed to the white shibboleth across the street, and spat and snorted and sneered and raised her fist in anger and protest.  'Black now, black tomorrow, and black forever', she shouted in a deliberate reprise of George Wallace's segregation forever speech before the doors of the University of Alabama. 


'Black is good, white is bad' sang the crowd in unison, their dimwitted, unconscious reprise of Orwell's 'four legs good, two legs bad' revolutionary chant.  

'What's it all about?', the President asked his Senior DEI Advisor. 'They're mad about something'; and she tried to explain the group's grievances and agenda.  'Paint the White House black?', the President said completely nonplussed. 

On second thought, maybe these black people had a point, Why stop at renaming a few schools, streets, and military posts? Why not go after The Big Kahuna? It certainly would send a message to good, otherwise thoughtful white Americans.  Of course it could never happen.  The Constitution forbade it.  Or did it? Something about the three-fifths rule, Negro partial suffrage, but whites had always been in rightful control, as it should be. 

Here the President shook his head in disbelief that such apostatic thoughts could have popped into his head. There was no such thing as rightful white anything, and this LaShonda woman was bloody right! I must ask her to come in and have a chat, he thought. 

Meanwhile The Scourge Of The Beltway, as LaShonda Ellis had been dubbed, continued her slash-and-burn campaign to rename every street, byway, school, public building, and golf course.  The list of prominent black men and women was sparse, and all schools could not be named Malcolm X or Elijah Mohammed, so she resorted to African kings like Mansa Musa and Shaka Zulu until a lieutenant in her legions reminded her of the slave trade that went on universally in African kingdoms. 'Can't have that', said LaShonda and gave Huey Newton and H. Rap Brown to James Madison and Thomas Jefferson High Schools.


'Black thugs', said one conservative member of the school board who had done his homework.  'Jailbirds, traitors'; but LaShonda was not easily cowed and said while they had suffered at the hands of the white man, they were her people's heroes and giving the schools their names would restore them to their proper place in the American pantheon. 

These were all brushfires, LaShonda opined, skirmishes that distracted her and her movement from the real prize, the White House; and while she was at it, the Capitol, built with slave labor to house a cabal of redneck white boys, the C&O Canal, also built by enslaved men and used as a commercial trading route to build white supremacy. There was no end to it. 

It was only when LaShonda had become a whirling dervish, a St. Vitus' dancer, a totally unhinged prophetic lunatic that her seconds yanked her from the stage, muzzled her, and kept her out of sight.  She was so far gone that she didn't realize she had been removed, and only thought that the nice frilly, lace-curtained and macrame bedroom where she was interned was a reward for her efforts. 

Her successor was not quite as loose-marbled, and had none of LaShonda's maniacal passion, so the whole White House thang was forgotten, an alliance with Black Lives Matter and access to their sumptuous resources negotiated, and all was back to normal in racial radicalism.  Predictable howls, taunts, and demands, but nothing as loony as a black White House.