The War of Ugliness Against All That Is Beautiful
We are clinging to a shit-rope, suspended above a pool of steaming shit.
We recently brought home a small chest of drawers, an antique that had belonged to my wife’s late grandfather. She wanted to use it as an end table and I set about repairing it, including getting the lower drawers unstuck. Lifting it onto my bench, I heard some rattling and sliding of small heavy objects inside. Diamonds? Third Reich War souvenirs?
Well, one cool thing we found was a vintage Pong video game, from the mid-1970s. My wife remembered playing it when she was very young. Behind that was an amazing find. There were four ping-pong paddles, quite old, in mint condition. It seems at one point the old man had considered buying a ping-pong table for the kids but never got around to it.
Look at this picture.
The frames have a heavy, substantial, solid feel virtually unknown today. They are so hard I first thought they were steel, but I figure they must be bake-light. Bake-light is fascinating stuff, once used for everything from bowling balls to automatic rifle magazines and kids’ toys. I used to have a bake-light toy P-38 fighter plane that had belonged to my dad during the war. Steering wheels of cars used to have bake-light surface, up until 1968 or so. Those severely cracked steering wheels revealed the flaw in the material – it shrinks and cracks in sunlight. Otherwise, great stuff.
The pads and grips of these paddles appear to be natural rubber which you would certainly never see today. If you don’t know, rubber is made of the sticky sap of an exotic jungle plant. Synthetic rubber, a petro-chemical imitation, became available in the 1960s, but natural rubber was still in demand for automobile tires and sporting goods. You still occasionally see rubber soles on shoes, such as Converse High Tops or Sperry deck shoes, LL Bean boots, that sort of thing.
Each of these paddles in emblazoned MADE IN USA. Wrap your head around that. Someone, some American investors, entrepreneurs and workers, manufactured high quality sporting goods for consumption on the domestic market. And they are clearly meant for the mass market, having no branding or pretense of being “Official Olympic Team USA” items. Just good, honest, high quality ping pong paddles for good, honest, high-quality American families.
Old cars, old guitars, old furniture, old guns, old houses and commercial and civic architecture and old sporting goods; three are examples here and there. Examining or using them, you can see how much we take for granted nowadays, the general and pervasive shittiness of goods and products today. Everything is shitty and trashy. Shopping for a new gadget today, the consumer can choose between the cheapest available which will last about one year, or the very best available, which should hopefully hold together three to five years.
You might make an exception for cars, as there are many today which rattle over 300,000 miles whereas nobody in the old days kept their cars that long. But comparing today's cars to the cars from the 1970s is misleading, as by then America was deep, deep into the sweeping shittification agenda. It was the Shit Generation, a generation of shit, and we were all on board. Shit was so popular, so trendy, that people were even getting their sex thrills by mimicking sexual intercourse – brace yourself – in each other’s shit hole! I shit you not.
I grew up in the 70s and 80s, and because we were poor, we had cars from the 50s and 60s. They were awesome. Even the cheapest cars were brilliantly engineered and well made. The Volkswagen is of course the ultimate example of this.
The only reason modern cars are seen as superior is the rust protection is much better today. Other than their primitive engineering and slow performance, old cars are much, much higher quality than even high-end cars today. Go test drive a well maintained ‘59 Nash Rambler sometime. You’ll be amazed.
Anonymous Conservative recently linked a story about plans in Germany to remove lots of classical statues and memorials, fearing the sight of artifacts harkening back to Western culture might offend the vibrant street-shitters. AC writes, “They are claiming Muslim migrants will be offended by Renaissance-type art of women who are partially clothed, and not in burkas. But it may just be a cover story to remove real art, which they do not want us to see for some reason.”
Certainly this is correct and we can see it everywhere. Obviously this is a coordinated agenda to deprive us of any concept that life can be beautiful, sweet, meaningful and that cheap pop-culture manufactured subversive pornography and shit art is reducing us to the level of beasts. In civic art, pop art and in fine art, quality is microaggressive towards marginalized internationalists, and an affront to the lived experiences of Black and brown Bodies Of Color (BbBOCs).
Where once was grace, sophistication, discrimination, quality and beauty, now there is squalid, sweaty shittiness. Where once art elevated man, inspired transcendence in men who aspired to immortality, today we have shittiness.
This process has been ongoing since the early 20th Century and it began in the fine art world when galleries and critics began shilling the Abstract Expressionism shit. And of course we’d be dissembling to pretend not to notice that these artists, critics, promoters and investors were closely ethnically and culturally tied. While their kinsmen in Hollywood took the slow, steady course, transitioning from quality to shittiness incrementally for over the course of five or six decades, the art world went full-on shitty, with a giant bucket of shit, right in your face, the minute these Ukraine-rejects got off the boat on Shit-Rat Island, aka Ellis Island.
Say what you want about Paul Joseph Watson, but he nailed it seven years ago.
The Dove Soap big fat she-boon spokes-beastie story is the funniest thing in weeks. The Babylon Bee might just as well shutter its operation, we have no want of farcical absurdity in Current Year. I’m sure there is universal approval for giving that big crispy “Lovely Lady” a generous supply of soap, but the comedy, or tragicomedy, in listening to her speak. Seriously, if you missed it, listen to this:
Somebody, some disgusting college professor, pumped that poor lost creature’s head full of shit. Made her memorize and whole mess of big $5 white woman’s words she don’t even know and repeat them back in order. Literally her entire rant about fat acceptance is indecipherable nonsense, tomfoolery and pollyrot. This – THIS! Right NOW! -- is her fifteen minutes, her one opportunity to speak, while the whole world is listening. And her professors, agents and handlers convinced her to squander that opportunity to vomit oral diarrhea into the culture, to no good purpose whatsoever.
What gives?
She is now the laughing stock of the whole country, and yes, I laugh as hard as anyone, but its kind of wretched, her handlers sent her out to clown herself. Soon she’ll waddle back to obscurity and meaninglessness in a shitty world of gibberish and all she’ll remember is, I said exactly what them white folks said I was supposed to say and I got laughed at and shit. Sheeeeeyutttt.
And I guarantee her handlers at college and at Dove will make monstrous money off the whole deal, and have a fine laugh at the humiliation ritual they put her through.
Not Christian behavior! Not at all! Listen, I believe in segregation, totally, but we have a responsibility, when dealing with diversity types to not abuse them or take advantage of their low intelligence for cruel amusements and political manipulation.
But this sort of shitty behavior is entirely mainstream now, in the Clown-world Shittyverse.
Remember Drag Syndrome?
How many people went to jail for that shit? Precisely zero, as far ad I can tell.
Here’s some civic art from a century ago.
Here’s some Modern Civic Art.
In 1910, a man of some accomplishment might raise his family here.
A man of modest means in 1920 could opt for this home.
Today a successful man might live here.
A hard working laborer of steady employment might call this home in 2023.
Two hundred years ago we had a president who declared full on war against the DC swamp – and beat them mercilessly.
Today we have presidents who look and smell like this.
I did most of my schooling in buildings that were erected by the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp) in the 1930s. The CCC was a jobs program for severely unemployed men facing starvation during the depression. They erected schools that looked – and felt – like ivory covered halls of a fine old university.
Here’s where kids “learn” today.
And what do the kids “learn” there, in 2023?
They learn how much fun it is to let some demonic tranny stick his she-penis into their buttholes.
Someone once asked, how come the trannies never do Tranny Story Time in black neighborhoods?
We are. In a world. Of shit.
We are behind enemy lines. We are God’s warriors. We are the defenders of Goodness, Beauty and Truth. Be strong. Never make peace with ugliness. Never accept shittiness. We are heirs to Glory!!!
We suffer loing, but in one night, in one hour, all our enemies will be struck down. Their blood shall flow freely. Amen. And amen.
Lance Peckerwood is senior writer and editor-in-chief for Dies Irae, a chronicle of God’s outpouring of wrath upon the fallen earth.
We can't vote our way out of this shit. It's time to shit or get off the pot. The shit hit the fan long ago. Fuck this shit.