December 12, 2023

Kelsey Grammer

Kelsey Grammer

Source: Bigstock

At Christmastime, I tend to gravitate toward lighter topics. Because why befoul such a wondrous season with ugliness?

So on a lighter note, last week a BBC Kelsey Grammer interview went off the rails after the Frasier star was asked if he supports Donald Trump. Grammer said yes and then tried to redirect the interview to his show’s new reboot.

But the damage was done. And even though Grammer’s conservatism is known to everyone in the world not living under a rock (or living under The Rock like Pete Buttigieg, who loves nads on his neck), for some reason the “revelation” trended.

“Button-pushing war-killers can return home after hostilities cease and live perfectly normal lives.”

And it made me think of that other Grammer viral video—the one where he falls off the stage at Disneyland. It was a Disney 50th-anniversary gig for VIPs, and Grammer was the dancing monkey. So he’s walking along the stage telling the crowd how, as a boy, he used to ride Small World pretending he was “a U.N. interpreter.” And then the dumbass walks right off the stage.

To his credit, Grammer has a good sense of humor about the incident.

But I gotta tell ya, from my perspective, that video is the most offensive thing Disney’s ever produced. Because at least all the tranny nonsense is straightforward propagandizing. Which is why audiences notice, which is why Disney’s tanking.

But that Grammer video—and the corporate-approved script he was reciting about being a precocious tyke merrily wandering through Small World pretending to be an interpreter between all the magical human races—couldn’t be more detached from the reality of “child Kelsey.” When Grammer was a boy, his father was cut to ribbons on his own front lawn by Arthur Bevan Niles, a radical black taxi driver in the Virgin Islands (where Grammer was born, and where his dad ran a local newspaper). Niles, whose taxi was painted with the slogan “kill the white pigs,” ambushed the elder Grammer and murdered him as revenge for an op-ed in Grammer’s paper that criticized the black power movement.

About six years later, Grammer’s sister was slaughtered in Colorado by three black men who had planned to rob a local Red Lobster. Grammer’s sister was waiting outside the restaurant for her boyfriend, who worked the night shift, to close up. Upon seeing a white woman alone in the parking lot, the Nairobi Trio changed plans: no robbery. Instead, they kidnapped her, raped and tortured her for a full night, then drove her to a trash-filled alley and slit her throat.

It should be added that Grammer’s two teenage brothers were eaten by sharks. Yes, both of them. At the same time. Which only goes to show that the Grammers can’t stop running afoul of nature’s deadliest predators.

What offends me about that twee Disney “Small World” script is that it’s the ultimate whitewash of Grammer’s history; by his own admission, the losses he suffered turned him into a drug-addled alcoholic. Young Kelsey was less likely to be riding Small World as a carefree mini-Frasier than as a shellshocked boy traumatized by the animatronic Africans.

Still, it’s Grammer’s right, his choice alone, how he presents his past.

On a similar note, when the actors’ strike started, I was gonna write something nasty about incompetent SAG-AFTRA prez Fran Drescher. I knew her politics ran left, I knew she’s pro-Soros, pro-BLM, and that she used those issues to manipulate the last SAG election to paint the opposing candidate slate (headed by actor Matthew Modine) as racist. But I also had a vague memory that, as a young aspiring actress in L.A. in 1985, she’d been the victim of a violent crime, which I assumed—based on L.A.’s 1980s demographics—likely involved honors students.

So I looked up the details, and…Jesus.

Drescher and her husband had invited Drescher’s girlfriend to dinner to celebrate the girlfriend’s upcoming marriage. A happy night of wine and food. And then, completely randomly, two black brothers (as in, actual brothers) broke down the back door, held the trio at gunpoint, tied up the husband, trussed Drescher and her friend, and raped them again and again, forcing the husband to watch, and forcing the two women to stare at each other as they were violently penetrated.

Turned out the two brothers were on parole for similar crimes, which is why early-1990s California passed Three Strikes and why nobody but Maxine Waters laments black L.A.’s demographic decline (as my colleague Steve Sailer recently wrote, “If blacks could get their homicide rate down to twice the Hispanic rate, that would cut their homicide deaths in half,” an astonishing realization).

I’ll admit, after reading the details of Drescher’s ordeal, I couldn’t mock her. Sure, her politics are abysmal, but I can’t judge her because I’ve no frame of reference for the torture she endured. Perhaps her only way out of the darkness was to cling to the belief that these problems aren’t intractable (as I’ve written before, even conservatives have “cope” issues regarding the intractability of black violence).

In any event, it’s not my place to judge Drescher.

Black criminals, on the other hand, well, we all have the right to judge them. When we look at crimes like those endured by Grammer’s family and Drescher and her friend and thousands of people every month, what we see is an unremitting sadism on the part of the perpetrators. An up-close, person-to-person sadism.

And this relates to Gaza.

During WWII, sadism mattered when assessing war crimes. Sure, the Allies incinerated millions of Germans and Japs from above. But the Nazis shot babies in the back of the head, up close. The latter type of killing was judged worse than the former. But then during Vietnam, it became hip for leftist professorial Oygenflaygins to wail “HOO ARE WEE to say bombing’s not as bad as the Holacauwst? HOO ARE WEE to say pushing a button to kill from afar isn’t as bad as doing the deed up close? Death to Kissinguh and Nicksin!”

That became leftist canon, and these days it’s non-neocon rightist canon, too. OBAMMER’S drone-bombing and Israel’s missile attacks are no better than Hamas’ October 7th baby-stomping rape-fest.

But there is a difference. And it comes down to the fact that button-pushing war-killers can return home after hostilities cease and live perfectly normal lives. Yeah, they killed from afar. But they never stuck a blade into a baby’s neck or held a woman down lacerating her vaginal wall while getting off on her screams.

Fun fact: Ed McMahon, the jolly fat Tonight Show sidekick, flew 85 combat missions over Korea. Then he came home and lived a pleasant, law-abiding life.

It’s actually quite hilarious to think that thousands of Koreans pray to dead ancestors who were killed by Ed fucking McMahon.

“The last thing grandfather Seong heard before his demise was a booming cry of ‘Hey-yoooooooooo! You are a corpse, sir.’”

Up-close violence requires a sickness, an abnormality. Whatever you call it, the people who possess it are unsalvageable in a way that button-pushers aren’t. There’s no rehabilitating them. And even if there were, the risk to innocents is too great to try.

Israeli button-pushers will go back to their homes when the war is over and be kind, loving parents. The murderous rapist Gazans are lost causes. Whatever you want to claim created them, they exist. Palestinians and black sadists alike always shift the conversation to, “But society made me, man.” Don’t fall for it. The only answer is, “Maybe we made you, maybe we didn’t. But now you gotta be vaporized; leave your origin story for the tombstone.”

Circling back (right?) to Kelsey Grammer, it can be argued that if he has bias regarding his history with blacks, it’s shown itself in the mostly white casting choices of his shows (interestingly, Drescher’s as well). But outwardly, Grammer’s conservatism is very Christian, very “we all bleed red.”

Again, that’s his right.

Grammer’s always been at the forefront of the “make movies to change the culture” Breitbart/Friends of Abe/Daily Wire mania. And over the past week rightists have been sending Ben Shapiro and Jeremy Boreing so much cash to watch their new paywalled “comedy” Lady Ballers (watch free here, if you must), Shapiro’s yarmulke’s gone platinum and Boreing bought a Lotus silk toupee.

Regular readers know how I feel about those grifters; no reason to revisit that here.

But you know what? Wanna actually make a movie that impacts the culture?

Do a straightforward retelling of the Wichita Massacre. Make a movie of that. Tell the story of the Carr brothers, two blacks who broke into a suburban Wichita home one December 2000 evening as a group of five white friends were having a dinner party. The Carrs held the friends at gunpoint, and over the course of the night they raped the women, forced the men to engage in sexual acts with the women and each other, forced the women to do unspeakable things, tortured and killed the dog that belonged to one of the victims, and ransacked the house for valuables, in the process discovering that one of the male victims had intended to propose to one of the female victims that night by hiding a ring inside a box of popcorn. As the Carrs stole the ring and ridiculed the beaten man and the vaginally bleeding woman, the planned magical moment became one of pure horror (this scene, a woman in the middle of a massacre discovering that her boyfriend had a hidden engagement ring, would be used in the 2003 Texas Chainsaw Massacre reboot…but with white hillbilly perps, of course).

After a night of torture and theft (each victim was individually driven to an ATM; none fought back), the Carrs marched the stripped-naked whites into the snow and shot them in the head.

One woman survived, the bullet grazing but not hitting fatally. She played dead and then ran a mile, naked, freezing, to a nearby house.

Tell that story in a movie, “change the culture” impresarios. Don’t invent a thing; take every line from the trial transcripts, from the testimony of the survivor and perpetrators. Don’t make the idiotic error Clint Eastwood did with Richard Jewell, when he invented factually questionable subplots that allowed critics to cry fakery. Don’t portray one thing that isn’t part of the trial record; don’t embellish, don’t editorialize. Do the film quasi-documentary-style, like the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. And show everything that occurred.

And you know what? You’ll have a film that might not “change the culture,” but it might save lives. Put that incident in the faces of whites. Show them the 100 percent true story, a story that mirrors thousands of other true stories. Show that compliance meant death. Being unarmed meant death. Begging for mercy meant death. Just as Jaws kept people from the beach (for silly reasons), maybe this film could influence white actions…for very not silly reasons.

Do that film, Boreing-Shapiro.

Yeah…that’ll be the day. Cowards.

Anyway, like I said, I like to keep my columns light during Christmastime.

Ah…shit.


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