Thinking about Ayn Rand, and Ungrateful Beggars (posted 3/28/25)

I’m working on a column about immigration for Monday, which has involved doing a little research on various immigration acts that the US passed starting in the 1870s, in a period of transition between our early nationhood and the 20th century world power that we became. 

But as I was looking into that topic, an idea kept niggling at me: the explosion of resentful, entitled people who are reacting so hysterically to every aspect of the Trumpkrieg™ that is now two months old.

As soon as I noticed this idea cropping up in many different contexts, I thought of Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged, which is a terrible great book.  Or possibly a great terrible book, depending on how you look at it. 

It’s terribleness comes from three primary flaws.  Rand was a curmudgeon, and her grimly doctrinaire atheism makes large swaths of the book an irritating slog.  Her moral worldview is cartoonishly black-and-white, which often makes her characters cardboard stand-ins for intellectual tropes.  And the book is wildly overwritten; my copy comes in at 1168 pages, and it could easily be a tight, fast-moving 250-pager.

But its greatness lies in two strengths. Rand despised totalitarian leftism the way we all should: utterly and passionately.  And the central conceit of the book was an answer to the fascinating question, “What would happen to a corrupt leftist society if its most productive citizens began purposefully disappearing?”    

Written in the mid-1950s, it presciently (if exaggeratedly) predicts the flight of productive citizens from blue to red states that’s been going on over the last 30 years or more.  As CA, NY, and IL get more greedy and socialist, talented people shrug, and vote with their feet, and take their skills and net worth to TN, TX and FL.

The most direct echoes from the book involve the kind of virtue-signaling social justice warriors who simultaneously look down on and criticize the successful people and inventors they depend on.  The book is full of Bernie Sanders-es railing about how the rich don’t pay their fair share, and Musk-hating Tesla-vandalizer types – and the villains totally agree with so many in the “resistance” now.  They’re all convinced that beggars have the absolute moral right to be choosers.    

I’m seeing this phenomenon on many foreign policy fronts, now that we’re learning how much foreign aid we’ve been indiscriminatingly showering on the rest of the world.  Apparently we’ve had a non-stop convoy of C-130 flights going 24-7, shoving giant pallets of cash out the rear cargo hold at 15-minute intervals, all over the world.

And yet the Europeans want to lecture us that we’re not paying enough for the UN, and NATO, and the “March of AK-47s” program to provide Russian small arms to jihadi toddlers in Gaza.  (It’s like the March of Dimes, except that instead of collecting dimes, we’re disbursing rifles.) 

Then, when Trump suggested that we might be shutting down the money flow to Ukraine, many Europeans lost it.  In an earlier column, I referred to the six- or seven-nation poll showing that around 70% of Europeans want Zelensky to get a lot more support… but only around 20% of them want to give him any of that themselves.

Strange.  Putin is an ocean away from us, but right on their doorstep, and they are very adamant that WE do whatever it takes to keep him within his own borders.   

Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, Australian universities are freaking out after the Trump administration sent them a questionnaire asking whether they’ve got ties to commie or socialist parties, receive funding from China, or recognize genders other than the two real ones.  The wrong answers could potentially jeopardize $386 million US dollars (over a third of what Australia spends on research each year) in research grants.

The Aussie profs have their lab coats over their heads, demanding an “emergency meeting” with their Prime Minister about this.  One of them was “astounded” at the questions, saying that, “if this was any other country, it verges on foreign interference.”

Good lord!  Am I going to have to break out my Sam Kinison filter to explain to that dolt how she could avoid such pesky “foreign interference?”  (“Hey sweetie, you know what you might think about doing?  PAYING FOR YOUR OWN FREAKING RESEARCH! OH!! OHHHHH!!!!!”)

Seriously, why are we paying for Aussie scientists to do research?  Australia is a first-world, Anglophone nation.  They’re not some struggling sub-Saharan country desperately battling a snake-borne diptheria strain (which Fauci probably paid to create in a crumbling lab in Mombasa) that is the leading cause of death among their citizens!

Also, are American scientists broken?  If not, and if expensive research is worth doing, why don’t we do that here at home? 

And it’s not just foreigners who are stamping their feet in their clunky foreign shoes, and cussing us out in their comically non-English languages.  Lots of Americans are also threatening to hold their breath and give us the silent treatment if we don’t pony up the dough they’re used to getting.

Some of them are government workers in the crucial fields of grievance mongering, racial and gender bean-counting, and maintaining a minimal pulse rate while “working” from home.  And some of them are actually doing legitimate work that we can’t afford anymore, now that we’re the brokest nation in the history of nations.  

Woke universities are similarly out of sorts.  They’ve been happily demonizing and excluding conservatives from their programs and campuses, and rhetorically (and for all I know, literally) fellating terrorist supporters and their cosplaying allies, while gorging themselves on grant money provided by the (despised) conservative majority in the country. 

But when Trump said that the federal money flow will stop if they don’t change their ways, they became outraged, and then terrified.  Just like the sanctuary state and city governors and mayors, when they found out that they’re going to have to face the natural consequences of their arrogant defiance of our immigration laws.   

The purest distillation of this attitude appeared in the story of Trump’s proposed changes to the SNAP (i.e. food stamps) program.  The GOP is proposing a bill to ban the use of SNAP benefits to buy junk food and sodas, and the people who rely on you and me to buy their food are not happy about it. 

In a sane world, this wouldn’t require any debate.  We know that the leading health problems among poor Americans – and many non-poor Americans! – are caused by unhealthy diet and obesity, and that taxpayers are already paying exorbitant costs for welfare recipients’ health care.   So who could possibly argue that we need to buy junk food for the poor?

Big junk food companies, beggars who are surprisingly picky eaters, and the Democrats who need the sick-and-fat vote, that’s who! 

A couple of their arguments are transparent dodges.  They say it will be very hard to alter how the SNAP program works in this way.  They also say that nobody can really define “junk food,” because hey man, one person’s junk food is another person’s healthy snack, isn’t it?

Nope. This argument is even easier to debunk than its older counterpart, “How do you define pornography?”  Because you know both when you see them. 

Show any reasonably intelligent adult Stormy Daniels in a g-string, washing down a plate of chocolate chip cookies with a Mountain Dew, and he’ll point and say, “Why is that porn star gorging herself on that junk food?”

But their other arguments are even worse.  They say that the proposed bill limits personal choice, and infringes on the freedom to eat whatever you want.  Which would be true, if you were paying for the food yourself.   

But since you’re not paying for the food yourself, you should get the same offer my dad gave me when I was a kid and looking at a plate of meatloaf (again!) that he bought with his Northern Illinois Gas Company salary:  “You’ve got two choices: take it, or leave it.”

They’re also worried that, and I quote, “The bill could stigmatize SNAP recipients, making them feel judged or shamed for their food choices.” 

Hey kids, you know what else will make you feel shamed and stigmatized?  Walking around looking like J.B. Pritzker, (D)irigible – IL, unable to feel your feet (which you also can’t see), and wondering if that means that the diabetes is almost to the point where the amputations will need to start.

So get yourself off the Mountain Dew, AND the government teat.

You’ll feel better.  And we will too.  

Hamas delenda est!

Getting Through the Storm, and a Daughter’s Surgery (posted 10/2/24)

This has been a hectic week for me, and I’ve been out of the loop re: both national news and the CO site and community.  You know it’s bad when the great and powerful CO himself texted me to say that some COers have asked if I’m okay, and he suggested that I provide a “proof of life” post for my “adoring fans.” 

Did I need to quote that “adoring fans” part? 

Probably not.  But I like the sound of it, so sue me. 

Anyway, I’m still here, and thanks for your concern.

I last posted in the early hours of last Friday, after I’d inadvertently left my wife to face the hurricane alone in Florida, while I went up to Tennessee to stay with my mom, while sis and her husband took a short trip to listen to some gospel singing in east Tennessee.     

Of course the storm had been stronger than we’d expected, knocking the power off at my house, and actually causing some flooding that devastated the Carolinas and east Tennessee, causing my sister and her husband to come home a day earlier than planned.  (By the way, our power came back on after around 30 hours, and our house and rentals and tenants were all unharmed.)

But it turned out that early on Friday, the storm became much less important to us, because that morning, my daughter Katie’s husband rushed her to the ER in Denver, where she had surgery later that day.

Regular readers will remember that Katie is the best pediatric nurse in the mountain west (references available on request), and that she is an apple of her dad’s eye.  I’m not sure how much I’ve written about this before, but she was born with Hirschsprung’s syndrome, a condition involving under-developed nerve endings in the colon, in utero.  She had a colostomy and half of her colon removed when she was three days old, and then another major surgery when she was three months old.

Thankfully, she takes after her old man, in that she is as tough as a $2 steak.  She fully recovered, and after some daunting infections and hospitalizations during her first five years of life, she has been blessedly healthy since then.

Until Friday, when it was discovered that she had many adhesions throughout her intestine, unwelcome leftovers from her long-ago surgeries and internal scarring. 

Before Friday, if you’d asked me, “What is the longest and most painful four and a half hours anyone can experience?” I would have said, “Listening to Que Mala Harris trying to answer a straightforward question.” 

But now I know that I was wrong.  Because my Katie was in surgery for four and a half hours, during which my wife prayed and worried in a dark house in Florida, and I did the same in rainy Tennessee.  While we were waiting, we contemplated how we were going to get flights to Denver from two different towns in the aftermath of a storm that had caused havoc at the local airports.

Then the news arrived: her docs were fantastic, and she’d come through the surgery like a champ.  They’d initially tried to do the operation laparoscopically, but when they got inside and saw the extent of the scarring, they realized they’d need to open her up more comprehensively. She’s got an impressive scar, but thank God the docs didn’t need to take out any more of her bowel.

Before the surgery she had been hesitant about my wife making the trip out until she saw how the surgery went, but afterwards, she wanted her mom there.  (Mom was chomping at the bit, and I’m not sure it would have made a difference.  Apparently there is a Norwegian-American rule to the effect that once you’ve given birth to someone, you have the inalienable right to go see them whenever they’re sick, and regardless of their feelings on the issue.  Or so she explained.)

So it was decided that I’d keep the home fires burning, while Karen flew to Denver on Saturday.  Katie will be in the hospital for another three or four days at least, with her husband and mom nearby. 

As always happens after a very bad scare, the world seems a little more vibrant now.  Colors are brighter, food tastes better, and politics seem like insignificant annoyances.  Our prayers have been answered, and our worst fears averted, and life is good!

Tonight, for the first time in nearly a week, I started paying attention again, and watched the VP debate.  I’ll have more to say on Friday, but when our opponent confesses on tv that he’s a knucklehead, and our guy does so well that the partisan moderators have to turn his mic off, you know things went well for the good guys. 

Speaking of which, if I were in the Iranian government, I wouldn’t be answering any phone calls, pages, texts, or radio messages anytime soon.    

Hamas delenda est!

Whiny Hunger Strikers, & Hillary’s Play Bombs (posted 5/13/24)

By the time you read this, I will be flying to Massachusetts with my wife and youngest daughter, to spend the better part of a week sightseeing with my oldest and her husband, culminating in watching her receive her Masters in nursing at Amherst.  This will likely mean a cold and Simpson-less Friday (i.e. no column that day), but I trust that you all will soldier on.

In the meantime, there are too many things for me to talk about, so I’ll do the best I can.

First, I love me a good hunger strike.  In fact, I have been known to participate in a few of my own.  When I was ages three through about six, for example, I regularly conducted hunger strikes.

Most often on meatloaf night. 

I would begin by advancing my argument, which ran something like this: “C’mon, meatloaf again?  This has to violate the Geneva Conventions!  You can’t even tell me what kind of ‘meat’ this is.  It’s literally a loaf of undifferentiated meat!” (I had a precocious vocabulary at age 3.)

My dad would respond with tales about being born in the depression, and being offered rock soup with a dandelion salad, and all of it sprinkled with coal dust from the mines where grandpa worked 18 hours a day.  And all 8 Simpson kids were glad to have it, and would sometimes even fight over who could have a second bowl of rock soup. 

I would propose a compromise wherein I would give the dog my meatloaf, and I would have a bowl of Captain Crunch. 

Eventually, dad would arrive at his final offer.  “There are two choices for supper tonight: take it, or leave it.” 

Check and mate.

Fast forward to now, and students at Princeton are less mature than I was at 3. Thus the young hunger-striking woman who is now being roundly mocked for her dramatic reading – from text on her phone – of her complaint:

“This is absolutely unfair.  My peers and I, we are starving.” [Sweetheart, it’s a HUNGER strike.  Are you really complaining about being hungry during your self-imposed hunger strike?!]  “We are physically exhausted, I am quite literally shaking right now, as you can see.”

Have you ever seen video of the police interrogating a sociopath after a horrific crime?  The sociopath will often pretend to cry, looking down, covering her eyes, asking for a tissue, and using it to wipe away non-existent tears?

This was like that.  And you know how I also know that her supposed shaking wasn’t genuine?

Because SHE READ IT OFF A PRE-WRITTEN SCRIPT ON HER PHONE!  OH!  OHHHHHH!  (That’s right, I slipped a little Sam Kinison in on you.) 

The only way her bad acting could have been more transparent would be if she were to “pull a Biden,” i.e. inadvertently read her stage directions aloud: “I’m literally shaking, as you can see.  Shake now.  Pause.  Continue reading.”

Next, she actually said these lines: “We are both cold and hot at the same time.  We are all immuno-compromised.”

Yes, if by “immuno-compromised” you mean “riddled with STDs and a severe case of narcissistic personality disorder.”   

And “hot and cold at the same time?”  That’s not a thing.  I mean, if you’re kicking heroin cold turkey, you might have alternating chills and fever.  But not at the same time.  And not because you skipped a few meals.

By the way, did you see those “hunger strikers?”  Some of them would tip the scale in the gray area between Whoopi Goldberg and Lizzo, so I don’t think going on a diet of water and (I’m guessing) surreptitiously gobbled protein bars is going to be life-threatening for them.

The moral of the story?  When I was three, stomping off to bed without eating meatloaf never forced my parents to bring a big bag of Fritos and a bowl of chocolate ice cream to my room.   

And a bunch of crybully Ivy League brats pretending to dab at fake tears with their keffiyehs ($29.99 at Amazon, made in China) and faux-fainting is not going to result in the murder of all the Jews in Israel.  Sorry kids.   

Hilarious hunger striking aside, the weekend was full of widespread interruptions of graduations.   Some ceremonies were cancelled entirely; others were disrupted by stupid chanting and walk-outs.  Jerry Seinfeld was the graduation speaker at Duke, and that event was interrupted by a bunch of selfish jerks getting up and chanting and waving a “Palestinian” flag as they marched out.

Because I’m a cautious optimist, I can see two very silver linings on this pro-terrorist cloud:

1. The shenanigans are mostly affecting leftist colleges with leftist administrations in leftist-run towns, which means that the majority of the inconvenience and disruption is being suffered by those who tolerate and even support it.  So they can suck it, Trebek.

2. The antics of these morons – wrapping a George Washington statue in terrorist headgear, blocking traffic, burning American flags, violating various vandalism, harassment and trespassing laws – are infuriating to normal people.  They’re making more people hate them every day, and they’re creating a widening rift within the Democrat party. 

So keep it up, numbskulls!  If we can’t have you dispersed, chased and charred by a pack of flamethrower robot dogs – and tragically, we apparently cannot – the second-best outcome is for you to identify yourselves to the rest of us, and build a huge backlash against your political goals.

(By the way, I was hoping to put my new flamethrower in a checked bag for the trip to MA, but my killjoy wife nixed the idea.  So if some Hamas-lovers disrupt my daughter’s graduation and are allowed to escape burn-free, she’s going to hear a lot of, “I told you so” next weekend!)  

In other news, Hillary Clinton has produced a Broadway play called, “Suffs.”  It is nearly three hours long, and tells the story of the women’s suffrage movement a century ago.  It also features an “entirely female and non-binary cast,” including a gal who plays President Woodrow Wilson.

And it is bombing.

UNEXPECTEDLY! 

The show’s promotional material notes that “Suffs boldly explores the victories and failures of a struggle for equality that’s far from over.” 

Um, the suffrage movement was about getting women the right to vote.  They won that in 1920, which my abacus tells me is more than a century ago.  So no, the “struggle” is not “far from over.” 

Judging by the box office, neither is Suffs.  In fact, I’d guess that it’s very close to over.

By the way, as I was about to post this column, I saw an update on the Princeton hunger strike, which I swear I am not making up.

The day after the “literally shaking” gal gave her brave speech from the edge of the grave, the original 13 hunger strikers ended their strike.  Because they were very hungry.  Unexpectedly!

But never fear, because as their nightmarish bout of peckishness ended (just in time!) seven new strikers took up the cause.  Or, as their press statement describes it, “In the tradition of rotary hunger strikes, 7 new strikers are indefinitely fasting for a free Palestine.” 

Is that not brilliant?  A “rotary hunger strike!”  It’s like hunger striking, but then when your stomach starts growling, you pass the baton to another Jew hater who is willing to skip brunch. 

Only instead of a baton, it’s a footlong sub sandwich.  Which you then mow through like a woodchipper, because you haven’t eaten in several hours. 

Which gives me an idea.  I propose that all of us in CO nation begin a rotary hunger strike, and we keep it up until all of our demands are met.  Or at least our first three demands: 

1. All student pro-Hamas protestors be arrested and expelled.

2. All non-student pro-Hamas protestors be arrested and deported to Gaza, even if they are American citizens.

3. The $80 billion appropriated to hire more IRS agents be redirected to the manufacture and purchase of a giant army of flamethrower robot dogs, half of which are to be immediately sent to American college campuses, and the other half to the southern border.

If we all sign up to skip just one meal, we can keep this rotary hunger strike going on definitely!  Who’s with me?

I’ll go first.  I hereby volunteer to skip supper on Meatloaf Mondays.

Hamas delenda est!