The word of the week is “€œcuckservative,”€ and boy, is it overdue. There’s been much tut-tutting about what a cuckservative is. Predictably the usual suspects in the inner and outer parties are calling it racist because they”€™re trying to consolidate their position. The Washington Post‘s disgraced journalist David Weigel, who has a history of mental illness and was fired from the paper after wishing death on conservatives in a private listserv, wrote up how awfully racist that terrible term is. Weigel has a difficult history with racism. A fellow participant in the JournoList with Weigel was Spencer Ackerman (now at The Guardian), who openly endorsed smearing conservatives as racist to protect the candidacy of Barack Obama. Weigel has never condemned Ackerman’s suggestion.

“€œCuckservative”€ isn”€™t about race but about how much power you allow the word “€œracist”€ to have over you. It’s about the fake, phony conservatives who enjoy watching the real fighters on the right get sodomized while they gleefully gawk. They crave respectability over power and the limelight over influence. Seldom paid for their performances on Fox News or MSNBC, they repeat conventional wisdom after getting gussied up”€”but you can”€™t polish a soul.

I have been mocking the cucks for a very, very long time. Some cuckservatives have made if not a career then certainly a fetish of “€œpolicing”€ the right when they don”€™t trip over themselves to be on TV shows that no one watches. This is the respectable right that makes money from losing. Some of them have lost so often that they don”€™t even know what a winner looks like.

“€œThis is the respectable right that makes money from losing. Some of them have lost so often that they don”€™t even know what a winner looks like.”€

These cuckservatives resent it when you succeed and try to block you when you”€™ve defeated them by getting more attention. This is, ultimately, why they really hate Donald Trump: He has the audacity not to care about them! I know this feeling well because I somewhat pioneered it on the right. By breaking rules and by breaking news at my website, I built followers and supporters. I was so good at it that they had to kick me off Twitter. But who wants to buy Twitter stock these days?

Yet the cucks struck back. While Michelle Malkin routinely featured me and my work on Twitchy, when Twitchy got sold to cuckservative Salem Communications I was never mentioned again. When I wrote for the Daily Caller I got hundreds of Drudge links even though I wasn”€™t technically on staff. When I work for myself I get, maybe, two. Drudge, of course, has linked to other sites stealing my content because the cucks worried about how “€œproblematic”€ I am. You”€™re not supposed to know that he has an arrangement with several big funders on the right. I”€™ve been asked by the Daily Caller’s editor in chief Tucker Carlson not to comment on the sniping from my ex-colleagues, but he’s done nothing when cuckservatives par excellence like Matt Lewis make things up about me in his publication. I even had to threaten a few cucks not to mess with me lest I expose their plagiarism. These silly fights are as pointless as they are hilarious. These losers like to status-signal how great they are, don”€™t they, Washington Free Beacon?

Cuckservatives who don’t enjoy seeing their country screwed are often too intellectually inbred to care. They don’t notice what’s really happening to their country because they, denizens of the Accela corridor, don’t really live in it. This is an old problem brought up by a young man. Thirty-year-old William F. Buckley, writing in the inaugural issue of National Review, put it thusly:

Radical conservatives in this country have an interesting time of it, for when they are not being suppressed or mutilated by the Liberals, they are being ignored or humiliated by a great many of those of the well-fed Right, whose ignorance and amorality have never been exaggerated for the same reason that one cannot exaggerate infinity.

Buckley never got to see how Twitter would amplify the ignorance and amorality of today’s cuckservatives. Whereas once Buckley’s publication stood against history yelling, “€œStop!”€ today’s National Review serves as little more than a Jolly Roger crew”€”a yacht club for the rich to hobnob with their favorite writers for a tax deduction. The cruise ship’s younger writers subsist more or less by living with roommates well into their 30s, at which point they either get married or go to law school or write books that no one reads. National Review has no problem hiring plagiarists who get traffic but spend little time thinking about having material worth publishing.

I”€™ve had more than a few brushes with the cuckservatives of my day, from National Review‘s Jonah Goldberg to Commentary‘s John Podhoretz. Goldberg demanded that no one follow or link to me. Podhoretz called me a “€œdisgusting monster“€ and a “€œsick fuck”€ whom no one should give money to for pointing out that James Foley was a Muslim and hated America…hate facts that were later reported by The New York Times. I was kicked out of Grover Norquist’s meeting because I had once noted that scientific literature explains that there are differences between the racial and ethnic populations. Just like Charles Murray. Even though I had been invited.

I know so much about the cuckservatives because once upon a time I used to break bread with them, coveting”€”and winning”€”the awards that they bestowed upon their friends for thinking the right things at the right time. Fool that I am, I wanted prestige, but found little in the diminished paycheck. I was soon to learn that nearly every cuckservative supplements his or her income by having donor class friends buy dinner. In some cases they are quite literally on the payroll or live in the donor’s guesthouse or the Manhattan apartment while the master is away in Europe or in the Hamptons. In other cases the cuckservative will run around speaking to organizations favorable to the cuckservative’s favorite causes, which are, coincidentally, whatever the richest Americans favor. One of them I knew even tailored his column to whatever group was inviting him that week to speak. Not surprisingly the candidate many of those cuckservatives wanted in 2012 was Mitch Daniels, the former governor of Indiana who was quite literally a cuckold.

Of the 2.2 million Americans in prison right now, about half are there for drug-related offenses. It’s a tricky number to determine because felonies such as murder, assault, burglary, arson, robbery, and even kidnapping can still be linked to the drug war. The Bureau of Justice Statistics claims, “€œBetween 2001 and 2013, more than half of prisoners serving sentences of more than a year in federal facilities were convicted of drug offenses.”€

There are no prominent right-wing politicians today condoning legalization, but can we at least start with pot? Making teenagers play videogames for hours and laugh too hard at late-night comedies should not lead to prison. How can the downsides of this insidious drug (and it is ultimately pretty bad for you) hold a candle to the intense casualties of this ridiculous war? Take my friend Paul (né Pawel Urbaniak), for example. He’s a white ex”€“pot dealer from Long Island with a thick New York accent, Drake hair, basketball shoes, and a baseball hat at a slight angle. He’s 28 now, but he’s still 22 in a lot of ways. That’s because he just got out of prison after six years for assault and battery”€”only that’s not what happened.

“€œCan we at least start with pot? Making teenagers play videogames for hours and laugh too hard at late-night comedies should not lead to prison.”€


Gavin McInnes: So what happened?

Paul: I went to buy a pound and a half of pot from my supplier and he tried to rob me with a knife so I kicked the shit out of him.

Did he suffer any permanent damage?

Yeah, he had to go to the hospital and he has scars and stuff.

Scars? Big deal. I know you”€™re telling the truth, but how does anyone else know you”€™re not lying?

They don”€™t, but I got six years for his word against mine. He was a cop’s brother. 

Weren”€™t his fingerprints on the knife?

He didn”€™t call the cops for an hour. The knife was long gone at that point and the scene was cleaned up. I”€™m telling you, they were like professionals.

What did he say happened?

He said he was trying to buy an ounce from me but I beat him up and stole $400 from him.

Here’s what bothers me about your case: If this were any other industry, you could show a track record of you buying one and a half pounds at a time. Your customers could vouch for that amount of business and it would all be verifiable. Then the jury could see that guys who have been successfully selling that amount for that long would have no reason to fake an ounce sell to steal $400.

There’s just no evidence. I”€™ve been going over my trial minutes and I haven”€™t given up. One juror said “€œnot guilty”€ when they were going through the initial verdict and she got hassled by the prosecutor until she changed her verdict. I think I”€™d have a chance for a mistrial through that.

Do you think you got six years because his brother was a cop?


How did you not go insane in there? I”€™d be plotting revenge murders the entire time.

My family was always there for me. They visited me regularly. They had my back from the very beginning and they still do today.

That’s huge. Outside of the drug war, we”€™ve incentivized single parents with welfare and that has shattered the black family.

Whoa. Easy.

I”€™m not being racist. In many ways, blacks were better off when racism was worse. Allan West recently wrote, “€œAs early as the 1880s, three-quarters of black families were two-parent.”€ In the Bronx today, 70 percent of kids grow up fatherless.

I don”€™t know those statistics. That must include a lot of Hispanics, though. I mean, when you look around the yard, there are definitely more blacks than whites, but there are also a ton of Hispanics. It was very segregated in there. White guys hang with white guys and blacks hang with blacks. It’s also very hostile.

So you got more visits than blacks and Hispanics?

I don”€™t know about that.

Can you just say that? Because it’s kind of my whole hypothesis here.

I said I don”€™t know. I can say that if I didn”€™t have my family, I”€™d be more likely to get into trouble again. I”€™m living with them right now. Where would I stay otherwise? How would I get an apartment?

How do you get laid on parole?

Something very morbid is going on in the press these days every time there’s an act of violence by a person who might have racial, religious, or ideological motives. If the perp is white, and if he has even the slightest connection to anything vaguely right-wing, the liberal press screams, “€œSee? WHITE MEN are the TRUE mass killers! RIGHT-WING violence is this nation’s biggest threat.”€ Conversely, when the perp is a Muslim, the conservative press yells, “€œJIHAD IS UPON US!”€ before all the facts are known. In response, the liberal press vows to make an even bigger deal out of the next wacky white guy, leading the conservative press to make even more of a fuss over the next manic Muslim. It’s a derby, and it’s nice to see everyone having so much fun (except, you know, the killers”€™ victims, but screw them, right? This is journalism!). The press is cheering these crimes like spectators at a relay race where both “€œteams,”€ let’s call them Team Crescent and Team Cracker, provide new racers each month.

Having said that, having dutifully slammed both sides for being irritatingly juvenile by creating the “€œhate-crime relay race,”€ I”€™ll add that there is a difference between the two journalistic factions. Generally speaking, the conservatives usually admit to having a dog in the fight. It’s hard to run a website called or and still claim to be objective. Members of the liberal (“€œmainstream”€) press, on the other hand, rarely admit bias. Their shtick is based on the fallacy that they bring you the news with no political goals and no desire to accomplish some bit of social engineering. The dishonesty of “€œmainstream”€ liberal journos makes their part in the hate-crime relay race much worse, because even though they cheer from the stands just like the conservatives, they never admit it, even if you catch them cheering.

All the same, every now and then, you can pry a revealing admission from one of them.

“€œAlthough most media observers know that mainstream journalists treat ethical guidelines as things to be invoked or jettisoned based on their whims, you rarely get them to come clean about it.”€

Dylan Stableford, senior editor for Yahoo News (previously media editor at The Wrap) must have been beside himself with disappointment that the Charleston church shooter was a lone white guy with no ties to a vast far-right racist conspiracy. So, being a professional newsman, he invented a conspiracy to compensate for the fact that reality had so cruelly deprived him of one. In a June 22 Yahoo piece, he pointed a finger of blame at “€œEarl Holt, the leader of a white supremacist group that has been linked to suspected Charleston shooter Dylann Roof.”€

Ten days later, Rick Newman, senior writer for Yahoo Finance (previously chief business correspondent for U.S. News & World Report) took Stableford’s ball and ran with it for the touchdown (because being a professional newsman, he knows it’s all about playing follow-the-leader). In a July 2 Yahoo Finance article, he wrote, “€œAs president of a white nationalist group linked with the murders of nine churchgoers in Charleston, S.C. on June 17, Earl P. Holt III is straddling the uneasy boundary between free speech and racial hatred.”€

According to Stableford and Newman, Holt and his organization (the Council of Conservative Citizens) are “€œlinked”€ to both the murderer and the murders. But linked how? Was Roof a CCC member? Did Holt mentor or support him? No. Roof read some pages on the CCC website. That’s it. That’s the extent of it. There was no two-way connection. In fact, reading the relevant passage from Roof’s “€œmanifesto,”€ the most he says about the CCC is that it was “€œthe first website I came to”€ in his search for information about “€œblack on white crime.”€ The extent of the “€œlink”€ is the CCC’s Google search ranking.

I”€™m no defender of the CCC, but I would think that all Web journalists and site owners, left or right, would take issue with Yahoo News”€™ assertion that if someone views a page on your site, you are now “€œlinked”€ to any crimes they may commit. I ran my concerns past the Poynter Institute’s senior faculty member for broadcasting and online journalism, Al Tompkins, coauthor of the Radio and Television News Directors Foundation’s “€œNewsroom Ethics”€ workbook. A fair and nonpartisan guy, Tompkins has received a Peabody Award and the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences’ Governors Award for his work in journalistic ethics. I asked him:

I would think that a personal link of some kind”€”actual contact between the perp and the organization”€”would be needed before the term “€œlinked”€ should be used. That seems the responsible way to do it, so I”€™m curious about your opinion regarding the use of the term “€œlinked”€ when the extent of the link is that the perp visited a website.

His response:

Yes I think you are right. As much as we might want to link bad guys with bad guys, I know of no proof that would do so. Now, if police or somebody else alleges a link, report that and ask what the “€œlink”€ is. To me, a link means a connection and a connection works two ways, not just one.

Armed with that response, I emailed both Stableford and Newman. Stableford read every email I sent him (via Facebook, where one can see when an email is read), and he steadfastly refused to comment. Newman, on the other hand, was quite chatty, attempting to turn my question around on me by asking how I would have worded his original paragraph:

Ask yourself a question: If “€œlink”€ isn’t the right way to describe the way the two interrelate, what is? Put yourself in the position of the person writing that story and tell me what words you would have used. Or would you simply not have done the story, deeming it irrelevant?

Thank you, Rick. I”€™m always happy to teach. My response:

I am very pleased to answer your question. I would have worded your paragraph thusly: “€œAs president of a white nationalist group whose website was cited as an inspiration by the gunman who murdered nine churchgoers in Charleston, S.C. on June 17, Earl P. Holt III…”€ Just seven extra words; a small price to pay for accuracy!

I also reminded Newman that “€œinterrelate”€ means a mutual relationship (the dictionary definition is “€œto have a mutual relationship”€). Unbowed, Newman spat back that his use of the term “€œinterrelate”€ was “€œconversational,”€ and analyzing it is “€œpedantic.”€ Rather than simply admitting he was mistaken, and that Roof and Holt never “€œinterrelated,”€ he did his best to sidestep the matter.

But I haven”€™t given you the “€œmoney shot”€ yet, which came when Newman addressed the criticisms of Al Tompkins: “€œI”€™m not familiar with Al Tompkins, but he’s entitled to his opinion.”€ If it seems odd that a “€œmainstream”€ journalist would be unfamiliar with one of the most respected scholars at one of the most respected journalism institutes in the U.S., dig what Newman told me about the entire concept of journalistic guidelines: “€œThis is an imperfect craft and any journalist who claims there is one true set of guidelines that apply equally to every story is a phoney.”€

I have found that, in the African-American oral tradition, if the words are enunciated eloquently enough, no one examines the meaning for definitive truth.

—Biracial novelist Mat Johnson, Loving Day, 2015

America’s foremost public intellectual, Ta-Nehisi Coates, has published a new best-selling minibook, Between the World and Me, that’s interesting for what it reveals about a forbidden subject: the psychological damage done by pervasive black violence to soft, sensitive, bookish souls such as Coates. The Atlantic writer’s black radical parents forced the frightened child to grow up in Baltimore’s black community, where he lived in constant terror of the other boys. Any white person who wrote as intensely about how blacks scared him would be career-crucified out of his job, so it’s striking to read Coates recounting at length how horrible it is to live around poor blacks if you are a timid, retiring sort.

Coates”€™ lack of physical courage is a common and perfectly reasonable trait, although writers typically cover it up. For example, Hunter S. Thompson transmuted his recurrent paranoia about impending carnage (which beset him even in venues as family-friendly as the Circus-Circus casino) into hallucinatory comedy in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Coates, however, is humorless. Worse, his fans have encouraged him to believe he is the second coming of James Baldwin, egging him on to indulge in a prophetic-hysteric-postmodern style that is easier to parody (e.g., just repeat endlessly the phrase “€œblack bodies“€ and the distractingly stupid formulation “€œpeople who believe they are white”€) than it is to endure over even the course of Coates”€™ very short second autobiography. (As with the president, both of Coates”€™ books are memoirs.)

“€œCoates has thus elaborated a theory of history in which everything bad ever done by blacks is the fault of American whites (whom he describes”€”metaphorically, I hope”€”as “€˜cannibals”€™).”€

White writers have seldom had the courage to confess their fear of black violence so fully, at least not since 1963, when Norman Podhoretz responded to the hullabaloo over James Baldwin with an essay about growing up in Brooklyn in the 1930s and 1940s:

And so for a long time I was puzzled to think that…Negroes were supposed to be persecuted when it was the Negroes who were doing the only persecuting I knew about”€”and doing it, moreover, to me…. A city boy’s world is contained within three or four square blocks, and in my world it was the whites, the Italians and Jews, who feared the Negroes, not the other way around. The Negroes were tougher than we were, more ruthless, and on the whole they were better athletes…. Yet my sister’s opinions, like print, were sacred, and when she told me about exploitation and economic forces I believed her. I believed her, but I was still afraid of Negroes.

In the 52 years since Podhoretz’s “€œMy Negro Problem”€”And Ours,”€ overwhelming evidence has piled up validating the prescience of his boyhood traumas at the hands of black juvenile delinquents. But it’s precisely because the scale of black violence over the past half century is so blatantly obvious that white intellectuals have been largely self-silenced on the topic”€”even as the most cunning minds among today’s liberal whites plot to reverse the mistake their grandparents made in fearfully ceding much of the best urban turf to black criminality.

The central real estate question of this century has become: How can big cities drop their hot potato of poor urban blacks in the laps of naive suburbs and small towns? That helps explain the unhinged reaction among elites to Donald Trump publicly pointing out that Mexico isn”€™t sending us its highest-quality citizens to be our illegal aliens. The unspoken plan is to continue to use the more docile Hispanics newcomers to shove the more dangerous African-American citizens out of desirable cities; thus, only a class traitor like Trump would dare allude to the unfortunate side effects suffered by the rest of the country.

Despite all the violence Coates has suffered at the hands of other blacks, his racial loyalty remains admirably adamantine. Thus, his ploy, as psychologically transparent as it is popular with liberal whites, is to blame his lifelong petrified unhappiness on the white suburbanites he envied for being able to live far from black thugs.

Unfortunately for Coates”€™ persuasiveness, white people, unlike blacks, have never actually done anything terribly bad to him. The worst memory he can dredge up is the time an Upper West Side white woman pushed his 4-year-old son to get the dawdling kid to stop clogging an escalator exit. She even had the racist nerve to say, “€œCome on!”€

Coates reacted as unreasonably as a guest star on Seinfeld would. Ever since this Escalator Incident, he’s been dwelling on how, while it might have looked like yet another example of blacks behaving badly, it was, when you stop to think about slavery and Crow (not to mention redlining), really all the fault of whites.

The central event in Between the World and Me is the fatal shooting in 2000 of an acquaintance from Howard U. by an undercover deputy from Prince George County, the country’s most affluent black-majority county. Coates refers to this tragedy repeatedly as proof of America’s demonic drive to destroy black bodies. (The dead man’s family, I found, was eventually awarded $3.7 million in their wrongful-death suit, much like the $3 million awarded to the parents of a teen gunned down by an undercover Obama Administration agent in a shooting that I investigated in 2010. You have never heard of my local police blotter item, though, because the victim was white.)

Since I”€™m a horrible person, my immediate response to Coates”€™ tale was…okay…black-run county, affirmative-action hiring, and poor police decision-making…you know, I bet the shooter cop was black.

And sure enough, the Carlton Jones who shot Prince Jones turned out to be black. Coates eventually gets around to briefly admitting that awkward fact, but only after seven pages of purple prose about people who believe they are whites destroying black bodies.

I call “€œfalse advertising”€ on the Washingtonian. Its July 24 piece by Benjamin Freed promises that we”€™ll “€œMeet the Guy Who’s Protesting a Maryland Theater’s Production of The Producers.”€

But it doesn”€™t quite deliver. The “€œguy”€ in question, one Jeffrey Imm, is described as the leader of an “€œanti-discrimination group”€ saddled with the lumpy handle Responsible for Equality and Liberty (REAL).

That final word in the group’s name must have been picked solely for its acronym-friendliness, in the same way that many a garage band has chosen its drummer because he was the one who had the garage. I say that not only because some of us persist in believing that “€œequality”€ and “€œliberty”€ are patently incompatible but also because it’s surely a funny kind of “€œliberty”€ that tries to shut down a play.

Now, you wouldn”€™t know it from reading the Washingtonian, but this isn”€™t Imm’s first adventure in unapologetic Constitutional violation. A second’s Googling revealed that Imm was one of the jerks who got the 2010 AmRen conference canceled. (Which in turn got him sued.)

“€œIn a career spanning over 70 years, Brooks has made three slightly above average movies, and all three had one thing in common: Gene Wilder.”€

That same search also revealed that, weirdly, Imm had been active in the counter-jihad movement for a few years before that. “€œWeirdly”€ since those folks are typically too busy trying to hold their own conferences without getting killed to consider violating others”€™ rights to do likewise.

My pal Robert Spencer at Jihad Watch told me via email that yes, this was the same Jeffrey Imm, and that since publicly denouncing him and Pamela Geller, “€œhe has gotten nuttier and nuttier, culminating in calling for Mel Brooks to be banned.”€

Specifically, Brooks’ play The Producers, the Tony-winning musical adaptation of his 1968 film about two Jewish losers (sorry: a schnorrer and his schlemiel sidekick) who scheme to make a killing by intentionally staging the worst musical in Broadway history. (See, if a production bombs, hapless “€œangel”€ investors don”€™t get their money back.) And what could be better guaranteed to fail than a revue called Springtime for Hitler, right?

Do-gooder Imm objects that there’s nothing funny about Hitler and the Nazis and the Holocaust. He may want to tell that to the Germans, who, according to this guy, were telling concentration-camp jokes before and during World War II”€”and to the Jews who were telling them in them.

And yet Imm, in his own flaky fashion, is onto something. It’s not that those topics aren”€™t funny.

It’s that Mel Brooks isn”€™t funny.

Yes, I risk my semiannual ZOG check for saying that, but it’s true.

In a career spanning over 70 years, Brooks has made three”€”count them”€”slightly above average movies, and all three had one thing in common: Gene Wilder.

Wilder got a deserved Oscar nomination for The Producers, should”€™ve received another for Blazing Saddles“€”which I”€™ve complained about at some length here before“€”and was perfect in Young Frankenstein. Wilder”€”the Nicolas Cage of American comedy”€”tempered Brooks”€™ otherwise coarse films with his eccentric yet strangely sensitive turns. (Note for instance that all three of his collaborations with Brooks feature weirdly touching portrayals of male friendship beneath all the fart jokes.)

Devoid of Wilder’s inimitable manic gentleness, Brooks”€™ other films range from the mercifully forgotten (The Twelve Chairs, Life Stinks, Dracula: Dead and Loving It) to the unwatchable (Silent Movie, High Anxiety). I hear tell that Robin Hood: Men in Tights and Spaceballs have their defenders among 10-year-old boys, but I don”€™t count many in that cohort among my acquaintances.

It’s bad enough that so many of Brooks”€™ self-indulgent “€œjokes”€ frankly make no sense whatsoever (“€œI”€™m a concierge.“€ “€œFrau Blucher.“€) And that he encourages his actors to mug shamelessly in direct violation of the old comedy rule”€”displayed to perfection in Airplane!“€”that performers should play even the craziest situations dead straight.

The American political class has failed the country, and should be fired. That is the clearest message from the summer surge of Bernie Sanders and the remarkable rise of Donald Trump.

Sanders’ candidacy can trace it roots back to the 19th-century populist party of Mary Elizabeth Lease who declaimed:

“Wall Street owns the country. It is no longer a government of the people, by the people, and for the people, but a government of Wall Street, by Wall Street, and for Wall Street. The great common people of this country are slaves, and monopoly is the master.”

“Raise less corn and more hell!” Mary admonished the farmers of Kansas.

William Jennings Bryan captured the Democratic nomination in 1896 by denouncing the gold standard beloved of the hard money men of his day: “You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.”

Sanders is in that tradition, if not in that league as an orator. His followers, largely white, $50,000-a-year folks with college degrees, call to mind more the followers of George McGovern than Jennings Bryan.

“Compared to Trump, all the other candidates, including Hillary Clinton and Jeb Bush, are boring.”

Yet the stagnation of workers’ wages as the billionaire boys club admits new members, and the hemorrhaging of U.S. jobs under trade deals done for the Davos-Doha crowd, has created a blazing issue of economic inequality that propels the Sanders campaign.

Between his issues and Trump’s there is overlap. Both denounce the trade deals that deindustrialized America and shipped millions of jobs off to Mexico, Asia and China. But Trump has connected to an even more powerful current.

That is the issue of uncontrolled and illegal immigration, the sense America’s borders are undefended, that untold millions of lawbreakers are in our country, and more are coming. While most come to work, they are taking American jobs and consuming tax dollars, and too many come to rob, rape, murder and make a living selling drugs.

Moreover, the politicians who have talked about this for decades are a pack of phonies who have done little to secure the border.

Trump boasts that he will get the job done, as he gets done all other jobs he has undertaken. And his poll ratings are one measure of how far out of touch the Republican establishment is with the Republican heartland.

When Trump ridicules his rivals as Lilliputians and mocks the celebrity media, the Republican base cheers and laughs with him.

He is boastful, brash, defiant, unapologetic, loves campaigning, and is putting on a great show with his Trump planes and 100-foot-long stretch limos. “Every man a king but no man wears a crown,” said Huey Long. “I’m gonna make America great again,” says Donald.

Compared to Trump, all the other candidates, including Hillary Clinton and Jeb Bush, are boring. He makes politics entertaining, fun.

Trump also benefits from the perception that his rivals and the press want him out of the race and are desperately seizing upon any gaffe to drive him out. The piling on, the abandonment of Trump by the corporate elite, may have cost him a lot of money. But it also brought him support he would not otherwise have had.

For no group of Americans has been called more names than the base of the GOP. The attacks that caused the establishment to wash its hands of Trump as an embarrassment brought the base to his defines.

Last week President Barack Hussein Elijah Muhammad Obama visited his alcoholic deadbeat dad’s homeland of Kenya, where he found it incumbent upon himself to lecture the nation’s president for not being nice enough to gaybirds and lezzies.

At a press conference with Kenyan President Uhuru Kenyatta, Obama said that as a half-black American, he knew how painful it was to be treated differently and that Kenyans should stop causing pain for Kenyan homosexuals by treating them as if they were somehow, you know, different. Obama’s apparent goal is to see fit that everyone”€”no matter his, her, or its sexual orientation”€”experiences an equal level of pain.

In the most diplomatic manner imaginable, Kenyatta told Obama to go get fucked by a tree stump. He said his countrymen had more pressing concerns than gay rights, which he called a “non-issue.” He also implied that for Obama to meddle in Kenyan culture would be a fool’s errand: “It’s very difficult for us to impose on people that which they themselves do not accept.”

Compared to America, Kenya is highly impolite to homosexuals. The country makes it illegal to be either a faygele or a muff-diver, with potential penalties of up to 14 years in prison. According to a 2013 Pew Research Center study, a mere eight percent of Kenyans approve of homosexuality.

“€œDon’t you understand that not only is colonialism bad”€”it’s so bad that it gets worse once it stops?”€

Still, that’s better than Senegal, where a piddling four percent of the populace approves of its citizens faggin’ off. It’s also better than Ghana (three percent) and Nigeria, where only one in 50 respondents said that people of the same sex taking off their clothes and touching one another’s private parts was OK in their book.

Africa has a reputation”€”many would say it’s well-deserved”€”of being uniquely unkind to the gays. Homosexual behavior is illegal in two-thirds of the continent’s 50-plus (it’s always changing) nations. Three African countries provide the death penalty for homosexuality and another three provide for life imprisonment. Many Africans condemn homosexuality for the mere fact that some of its practitioners EAT DA POO POO.

Why, it’s almost as if you can’t blink in Africa without hearing about lesbians dying of AIDS because they were gang-raped to cure them of lesbianism, about drag queens being decapitated, and about gay men being slashed with machetes and bludgeoned with hammers.

Evidence suggests that Africa’s national leaders encourage this behavior. These cats ain’t exactly waving rainbow flags, if you catch my drift. Some especially tasty quotes:

Every man who has sex with another man should be arrested.
“€”Former Kenyan Prime Minister Raila Odinga

[Homosexuals] behave worse than dogs and pigs….[Homosexuality is an] un-African…white disease….[It] destroys nations, apart from it being a filthy, filthy disease.
“€”Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe

We will fight these vermins called homosexuals or gays the same way we are fighting malaria-causing mosquitoes, if not more aggressively….If you [practice homosexuality] here I will slit your throat “€” if you are a man and want to marry another man in this country and we catch you, no one will ever set eyes on you again, and no white person can do anything about it….[T]his evil empire of homosexuals will also go down the dirty drain and garbage of hell.
“€”President Yahya Jammeh of The Gambia

[H]omosexuals must be condemned and rejected.
“€”Former Namibian President Sam Nujoma

They’re disgusting. What sort of people are they? I never knew what they were doing. I’ve been told recently that what they do is terrible. Disgusting.
“€”Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni

Same sex marriage is a disgrace to the nation and to God. When I was growing up, homosexuals could not stand in front of me, I would knock him out.
“€”South African President Jacob Zuma

Whoa! Totally homophobic, dudes!

Why do Africa’s homo-hatin’ homies take it to that other level?

The Week’s Most Curious, Furious, and Spurious Headlines

A troublesome fact about American history”€”one that’s been kept almost entirely hidden from the public”€”is the fact that many black men served as Confederate soldiers during the Civil War.

Anthony Hervey of Oxford, MS, would likely rank as an oddball no matter what angle you were viewing him from”€”he was a black man who’d often appear in public wearing Rebel soldier regalia and hoisting a huge Confederate battle flag. He was also the author of Why I Wave the Confederate Flag, Written by a Black Man: The End of Niggerism and the Welfare State, whose title description includes this passage:

What makes this book dangerous is its raw honesty. Mr. Hervey lifts the veil of Black decadence at the same time he exposes the lies and political correctness of modern day America. Mr. Hervey said ‘I show that the Civil War was not fought over slavery and that the demise of my race in America is not of the White man, but rather of our own making. In this book I show how Blacks in America ran away from physical bondage to one far worse—mental bondage.’

On Sunday July 19th, Hervey attended a rally in Birmingham, AL, to protest the city’s decision to remove the Linn Park Confederate Monument. Hervey gave a speech, as did his friend Arlene Barnum, a black woman from Oklahoma.

Barnum was in the passenger’s seat of her SUV allowing Hervey to drive home Sunday night when she says a group of four or five visibly angry black males in a silver car drove up alongside Hervey and began taunting him. She says Hervey tried to outrun them but they again caught up alongside the SUV, this time on the passenger’s side. She says Hervey shouted something back at them before veering off the highway and then flipping the vehicle multiple times. Barnum says after they landed upside-down and she said something to Hervey, he did not respond.

That’s because he was dead.

“€œ‘Nigger’ is clearly the most expensive word in the English language.”€

While still strapped into the vehicle, Barnum posted the following two messages to Facebook:

‘HELP.. They after us. My vehicle inside down.’ [sic]

‘Anthony Hervy [sic] pinned in ., gas leaking.’

Barnum was rescued and taken to a hospital. She subsequently told a reporter that, like Hervey, she had ancestors who fought as Confederate soldiers: “€œI don”€™t like it when black people attack me on this, I think it’s an attack on my Southern heritage.”€

You may not like it, Ms. Barnum, but they’ll continue to attack you.

Ben Shapiro is an editor at who is confirmed to be Jewish and appears to be short.

At a recent taping of the TV show Dr. Drew on Call, panelists were asked to discuss whether it was brave for Bruce Jenner to suddenly declare that he’s a chick. Shapiro questioned why America was “mainstreaming delusion.” He also insisted that Jenner remains a biological male:

It turns out that every chromosome, every cell in Caitlyn Jenner’s body, is male, with the exception of some of his sperm cells. It turns out that he still has all of his male appendages. How he feels on the inside is irrelevant to the question of his biological self.

Bob Tur was a male helicopter pilot who one day sprinkled magical pixie dust on himself and reemerged as Zoey Tur, who now is a “transgender reporter” for TV program Inside Edition. Tur was sitting next to Shapiro when the latter dared to deny that Jenner is now also magically a woman.

Tur grabbed Shapiro by the back of the neck and told him he doesn’t know anything about genetics. After Shapiro called Tur “sir,” the easily angered transgender reporter said:

You cut that out now, or you”€™ll go home in an ambulance.

Tur proceeded to call Shapiro a “little man” and regurgitated the currently popular veiled threat about “hate speech” having “consequences.” After the taping, Tur reportedly threatened to assault Shapiro in the parking lot. Security guards escorted Shapiro to his car, and the diminutive Hebraic conservative blogger later filed a criminal complaint against Tur.

On Twitter, Tur nodded approvingly at someone’s suggestion that Shapiro be “curb-stomped.” When gently reminded that placing Shapiro’s upper row of teeth onto a curb and then smashing his head into the ground would be violent, Tur responded that “being called Sir and mentally ill is violence.”

This sort of thinking runs rampant among “trans” activists”€”they can literally threaten to send you to the hospital in an ambulance, but that’s not violence. But if you merely state that they are men who suffer from the delusion that they are women, you have committed a literal act of violence. These chicks are crazy!

I hate sweet drinks”€”Coca-Cola et al.”€”so passionately that I grow angry whenever I see someone buy or drink one. I hate their taste, I hate the horrible plastic bottles in which they come; to see people carry them around with them as if they were dolls or comfort blankets infuriates me. It appalls me worse that anyone actually likes them. The drinks don”€™t relieve thirst, they merely create it and make their drinkers wish for more: a perfect recipe, from a certain unscrupulous commercial point of view. 

I was therefore secretly pleased to read in a paper published recently in the British Medical Journal that those who drink these disgusting concoctions are more likely than others to develop type 2 diabetes”€”the type that is increasing throughout the world at an alarming pace, and in some countries even threatening to reverse the increase in life expectancy to which of late decades we have grown accustomed as part of the natural order of things and now think of almost as a human right. Such diabetes is not only the wages of sin”€”gluttony”€”but of something that affects our everyday lives even worse, namely mass bad taste.

Of course, the paper in the BMJ can be criticized. A statistical association is not by itself proof of causation, though I should be surprised in this instance if the relationship were not causative. Again, in my heart of hearts I hope that it is. It would restore my faith that the universe is just.

“€œWe need more self-control in matters of food consumption than ever before, unfortunately just as self-control has been derided as an inherently oppressive or even ridiculous notion. “€

Things are worse in Britain and America, of course, than anywhere else, because the populations of those two great nations, having no proper culinary tradition of their own, are so childishly attracted to mass-produced muck. Only in such countries could you sell industrially prepared doughnuts with blue icing; people eat with their eyes, not with their mouths, and consider two qualities to be of supreme importance: color and quantity.

As to color, what attracts them is brightness, that is to say colors rarely or never seen in nature but only in Disney cartoons and in the logo of Toys “€œR”€ Us. They choose like magpies, but without the excuse of having a bird’s brain. The colors of MacDonald’s restaurants bear this out: They offend the eye of anyone except a very young child.

As to size, it obviously matters. But in what kind of culinary culture could a product advertise itself, apparently with success, as a Whopper? The answer, of course, is crude and childish. We are almost back to the stage of some of the Stone Age tribes of New Guinea, who, at a feast, eat so much pig meat that they die of acute protein poisoning afterward. Except that we do not have their excuse of living in conditions of food insecurity in which the possibility of feast is very uncommon. Increasingly in our supermarkets it is difficult to find small portions of anything, which is a paradox because more and more of us are living alone and therefore need small portions. But once you have bought more than you need it is tempting to eat it because not to do so seems a waste, though in fact it is just as wasteful, and bad for your health to boot, to eat more than you need or even want as it is to throw it away. We need more self-control in matters of food consumption than ever before, unfortunately just as self-control has been derided as an inherently oppressive or even ridiculous notion.

Not long ago I read a book by Dr. Robert Lustig about the evils of sugar. It was abominably written but came, persuasively enough, to the conclusion that John Yudkin, a professor of nutritional science, came to 40 years ago or more: namely that sugar was the root of all evil (Yudkin’s famous, but also neglected, book had the splendid title Pure, White and Deadly).

I think back to my Greek childhood and longing for the once coziest and most romantic of cities overwhelms me. Actually it’s too painful to think back, all the blood spilled during the Communist uprising, the beautiful neoclassical buildings destroyed by greed and lack of talent, the impeccable manners of the people that showed respect for the elderly, the church, and the nation. They all went with the wind, that horrible sirocco from the south that has been used as an excuse for crimes of passion committed under its influence. This ache for a lost past is nothing new. Elsewhere and memory are most vivid in one’s mind, as is loss and the innocence of childhood. Mind you, the distilling process of memory can play tricks and is also extremely selective. The extreme poverty, the beggars, the sick without medical insurance—all these I’ve tucked away, just like the extreme poverty of the miners in Yorkshire during the turn of the last century did not dampen the spirits of house parties in stately homes of the region.

Holding the world at a remove should not become a permanent state of mind. In my case, Greece has become such a mess, removing its past helps. The biggest irony is the anger of the present bunch, brought up as hardcore Marxists while sustained by EU funds, and employed in worthless jobs invented for them by an omnipotent state. This bunch who are angry and at the helm right now bring Philoctetes to mind. Philoctetes was hardly mentioned in Homer, yet Euripides, Aeschylus, and Sophocles wrote tragedies about him. There are incomplete accounts of the plays by the two former, and only Sophocles’ drama, which presents Philoctetes in exile and does not have a typical tragic end—it actually almost ends in comedy—supplies us with what resembles our modern Greek politicians.

“What a pity the three great Greek tragedians are not around nowadays. What terrific subjects they would have to investigate and dramatize.”

In brief, the demigod Heracles has himself burned on Mount Oeta after being poisoned by Deianeira’s dress, and persuades Philoctetes to light the pyre. He rewards him by bequeathing him the bow given to him by Apollo, one that never misses its mark. Philoctetes joins the Greek leaders in the Trojan War, but is left behind on the island of Limnos suffering from a snakebite that makes him stink like hell. The Greeks go on without him and get bogged down for 10 years, while losing their greatest hero-warrior, Achilles. (Believe it or not, I knew about the smelly one at a very early age, as my great-uncle—prime minister, chief justice of the Supreme Court, and a great classicist in both German and Greek—had told me about him in the context of being clean in order to get along.)

The mysterious wound never heals. In the meantime, the Greeks kidnap the soothsayer of the Trojans, who predicts they can never win until they have sent for Achilles’ son, Neoptolemus, and brought over Philoctetes and his bow. In one play, the wily Odysseus is dispatched to bring the stinky one and his bow to Troy, and ends up stealing it. In another drama, Odysseus is not recognized by the sick man in Limnos, but presents himself as yet another Greek warrior who had been wronged by the Greeks. The moral theme in both dramas is like the theme of the wrath of Achilles, the conflict between the passions of the individual and the demands of duty to the common cause.

In Sophocles’ play, Neoptolemus seeks out Philoctetes in his wretched cave, where the sick one begs Achilles’ son to take him back to Greece. The youngster pretends to consent, but as they are about to embark, Philoctetes’ poisoned foot erupts and he implores the boy to throw him in the crater of a Limnos volcano. The boy refuses—he is, after all, honorable—but then Odysseus appears and demands he grab the bow and to hell with the smelly one. Again the boy refuses, and Odysseus, always prudent, beats a retreat.

At the end, the son of Achilles and the Limnos patient are rescued by Heracles, who advises them to go to Troy and carry the day for the Greeks. All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Which brings me to the present. Philoctetes is obviously the present Greek state. Impoverished, humbled, abandoned by the rest of Europe, exacerbated by hardship and chagrin. The Greeks fighting in Troy are obviously the meanies of the EU. They first played up to Phil because he possessed a bow and arrows that never missed. (A Europe without Greece is like Lady Thatcher without her handbag.) Odysseus has to be the Greek character, cunning but resourceful. (Lend us the money, but we are not obliged to pay it back.) Neoptolemus is what used to be the Greek people—this according to the ancient dramatist Taki—brave, honest, fair, and compassionate. The poisoned foot is the most obvious of all: the EU, and the stink being Jean-Claude Juncker and the rest of the bureaucrats.

What a pity the three great Greek tragedians are not around nowadays. What terrific subjects they would have to investigate and dramatize. There is nothing more corrupt than the EU, nothing less democratic, and nothing more delusional and worthless than Greek political life. But perhaps Aristophanes would be best. Both sides—the Greek politicians and the EU tyrants—are comic figures and should be laughed at until they leave center stage.