Mamma Mia Here We Go Again imgrc lsecn3oeaphwnm
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Welcome to the longest night of the twelvemonth, the moment of maximum mystification and terror for frail humanity, fretting that the sun might be going away for all the rest of time. Scanning the smoke signals from America's loudest engine of mystification, The New York Times, one searches in vain for some evidence that Joe Biden all the same exists. There is barely a cookie-crumb trail of some hypothetical cabinet appointments, plus a few plain insincere and artificial sugarplums nigh "healing the nation." Where-oh-where is the party'due south avatar and the land's savior, Ol' White Joe, in these fraught hours? Has the fabled basement go his tomb? Will his revenant float transparently out into the night sky on Christmas Eve and pass through the walls of the "residence" at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave to rattle his bondage like Jacob Marley's ghost at the foot of the president'southward bed, wailing, "I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond the awful shackles of the CEFC Energy Company — marker me! — in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our family unit's money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me! Oooooohhhhhhhh…?"
It says something, does it non, that the corporeal Joe Biden is missing-in-activity? Y'all'd think he'd be bustling around like crazy out there, trying to, at least, give some impression of beingness at-big-and-in-accuse, preparing to launch a score of battles against the enemies of peace and prosperity lately afflicting this sore-beset nation, yo-yo-ing back and forth between Jake Tapper and Rachel Maddow to reassure their cringing viewers of Wokedom come, wolfing down plates of field peas, ham hocks, and cornbread to display his allyship with the downtrodden masses of this-and-that color, gender, flavor, and texture, comforting the homeless on the pitiless streets of the ailing cities, volunteering to go stuck with vaccine needles of every pharma company on the S & P, with side orders of hydroxychloroquine, ivermectin, and famotidine, huddling with the nabobs of Wall Street to halt the sinking dollar, visiting the troops with airplane-loads of turkey dinners — you know… rallying the worried people of this anxious land in their fourth dimension of trouble….
And what of Kamala Harris? Did she steal off to some Caribbean area beach to mull over her options? It appears that she'south even so belongings that seat in the US Senate, let's face information technology, a very cushy sinecure that "fixes" its exalted members for life, and in more than ways than ane, if you know what I hateful. Of all the thoughts racing through Ms. Harris'southward skull these night days, I suspect the dimmest of them concerns the actual possibility she may actually cease upwardly as president. She acts like someone who knows something, and knows that the something she knows is non birthday a good something. Notice the giggling has ceased.
So, we pass through a weekend of predictable news that Congress has authorized another gazillion dollars to bond out stock markets and banks, under the guise of helping ordinary Americans hopelessly crushed by lockdowns and government-induced small business failures, and we hurtle toward what's likely to be the bluest Christmas in retentivity with the republic in the residue. The president… that would be Mr. Trump… is portrayed in the nervous mainstream news media every bit flailing wildly around the Due west Wing, confabbing with Krakens, battling with his "closest advisors," all importuning him to concede the ballot. D'ya recall so? Maybe, but I'chiliad non and then certain.
Something more than orderly and momentous might be playing out, and on the q.t., something that may turn-around the odious sham that was the election phase of the long-running insurrection against the master executive. Joe Biden, or the ghost of Joe Biden and the people who manage his hologram, must non exist allowed to occupy the Oval Office and seize the levers of power. Information technology should be impossible to ignore the evidence of his previously bought-and-paid-for obligations to the folks who run China, though the people who bring us the "news" practice exactly that, and are probably acting as accessories to what will corporeality to ane of the greatest attempted political crimes of history.
It also appears that, in the grade of all these fractious election hijinks, strange actors take penetrated America's most sensitive computer networks, including the treasury department, the nuke labs, and the electric filigree. Why not then the computers that tabulated the recent election? They were, after all, hooked up to the Internet, though they were not supposed to be. All this is right in the wheelhouse of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and the to the lowest degree you tin can say is that President Trump anticipated it when he shifted out the onetime DOD top management a month agone and replaced them with, shall we say, a more reliable crew. What remains to exist seen this fretful Christmas week is exactly what, and who, will exist flying over America'southward rooftops on the eve of the Great 24-hour interval.
A toast to all my readers, and even the rowdy annotate gang, this hallowed calendar week of our darkest days, and a merry Christmas to all!
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Fine Christmas Reading ! ! !
Attention Pic Producers!
JHK's screenplay in hard-copy edition
Click to order!
A Also-Big-To-Fail Bankster
Iii Teenagers who bring him down
Gothic doings on a Connecticut Estate.
High velocity drama!
James Howard Kunstler is the author of many books including (non-fiction) The Geography of Nowhere, The City in Heed: Notes on the Urban Condition, Habitation from Nowhere, The Long Emergency and the four-book serial of World Made Past Hand novels, set in a mail service economic crash American future. His most recent volume is Living in the Long Emergency; Global Crunch, the Failure of the Futurists, and the Early on Adapters Who Are Showing Us the Fashion Forward. Jim lives on a homestead in Washington County, New. York, where he tends his garden and communes with his chickens.
Source: https://kunstler.com/clusterfuck-nation/yuletide-visitations/