DRESDEN WAS *NOT* DA BOMB

Those always classy antifa femen, here nakedly endorsing genocide.

by Andy Nowicki

I couldn’t possibly add anything to Colin’s excellent summation of the Allied atrocity of the firebombing of Dresden, Germany at the tail end of World War II. This premeditatedly murderous attack on innocent and helpless men, women, and children—overwhelmingly civilians who had nothing to do with the German armament effort—was certainly one of the most grievous war crimes ever committed in human history. We hear little about it today, because history is recorded by the victors, and it was the Allies, the eventual winners of the world’s most recent global conflagration—in the specific form of Great Britain’s Royal Air Force—who were responsible for raining down an unrelenting barrage of incendiaries upon a populous city center in eastern Germany on February 13 and 14, 1945, incinerating tens of thousands and maiming thousands more in a planned terror campaign of untrammeled brutality.

"TOMORROW'S GETTING HARDER": BON JOVI AND EXISTENTIAL DOOM

by Andy Nowicki

To properly engage with his subject requires both confidence and willing vulnerability on an artist's part. Thus, an artist’s best work is often accomplished when the ravages of age cause him to fear that he may have exceeded his arbitrarily-assigned—but no less real and ever-looming—expiration date. Cockiness born of the arrogance of youth is replaced by the easier, more graceful self-mastery which can only derive from, and consequently be tempered by, a sobering awareness of one’s undeniable limitations, itself a scarcely-avoidable by-product of aging.

THANKS FOR NOTHING

                                                 by Andy Nowicki

I am not stoical by nature, by temperament, or by habit. To my everlasting exasperation, I find that I continue to crave the applause, admiration, and approval of my fellow man. Horrifically enough, I still have hope for the future. I still cross my fingers, hold my breath, and get butterflies in my stomach when I anticipate the possibility of obtaining some manner of temporal success or victory in life. When someone pays me a compliment, I find my inner Sally Field-- "You like me; you really like me!!"-- annoyingly asserting herself. (Yes, the part of me that gushes in such a manner is unquestionably a woman.)

INDICITING THE AUDIENCE(S): WE ARE ALL "BASTERDS" NOW

                                                      

                                                               by Andy Nowicki

Inglourious Basterds marks a return to form for Quentin Tarantino. It is a brilliant, hilarious, artfully crafted, and wildly entertaining film, in every way on a par with 1994's Pulp Fiction, the director's last brush with cinematic greatness. It is also the most disturbing movie I've seen in a while. Inglourious Basterds (the double misspelling is Tarantino's) glorifies wartime brutality to a grotesque extent, yet at the same time seems aware of its own excesses and subtly critical of them. It is a movie where the "good guys" commit several horrendous atrocities, and the camera never flinches from recording the full extent of their savagery.

IMMORAL EQUIVALENCE

by Andy Nowicki

Say what you want about the cult of Martin Luther King-worship which has been legally sanctioned (complete with its own sacra-secular Holy Feast Day) and rendered socially mandatory in the U.S. for decades. Indeed, I heartily deplore the avalanche of bombastically sanctimonious rhetorical treacle which vomits forth from the mouths of our cultural betters each year on the third Monday of January. And let’s not even talk about the enforced platitudinous reverence we are asked to assume for all approved expressions of negritude during those insufferable “Black History Month” festivities in February.

TOTALITARIAN PANSIES

                                                 by Andy Nowicki

In his hilarious, horrifying, and profoundly insightful short book The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis assumes the persona of a mid-level administrative demon in Hell instructing his infernal nephew, a guardian Devil on Earth, in the myriad ways to steer his client down the slick and well-trod road to damnation. At one point, the infernal bureaucrat narrator exults at just how cleverly demonic propagandists have trained the foolish humans to be on guard against the very type of wrongdoing that is least likely to happen in a given era’s Zeitgeist:

The use of Fashions in thought is to distract the attention of men from their real dangers. We direct the fashionable outcry of each generation against those vices of which it is least in danger and fix its approval on the virtue nearest to that vice which we are trying to make endemic… Cruel ages are put on their guard against Sentimentality, feckless and idle ones against Respectability, lecherous ones against Puritanism; and whenever all men are really hastening to be slaves or tyrants, we make Liberalism the prime bogey.

'THE PATRIARCHY' AND PROPER MANHOOD

Be a "man of steel," not a "playa"

by Andy Nowicki

Recently The Patriarchy, a Facebook page geared towards young nationalist men, ran a series of posts, each of which featured an eye-catching picture of a highly attractive young woman possessed of an apparently impeccable traditionalist orientation and mindset. In each case, the text below the comely lass took the form of a pep talk: “Come on lads, don’t give up! Play your cards right, get your shit together, and something like this could be yours!!!”

Responses to these posts, which I am paraphrasing here, ranged from  expressions of sullenly cynical Return of Kings-esque bon mots (“No way a girl like that really exists in the West – these days, they’re all a bunch of fat, skanky liberal feminist sluts!!!”) to effusions of simple mouth-agape admiration (“Whoa, she’s HOT!!!”) to displays of good-naturedly brazen, jovial braggadocio (“Get away from her, you bunch of losers… she’s MINE!”), to general declarations of approval with the overall message of the post (“What an inspiring speech! I won’t give up!”), each post more emphatic than the last (as signified here by the copious exclamation marks).