15 December 2019

[Fred Wheeler] - First They Came After...

Oh no,

This is the beginning of the famous quote of Martin Moeller describing the process of the capitulation of German society to the Nazies.

It's here. folks. The governor of Virginia proposes infanticide. A Virginia legislator proposes that the state national guard confiscate all the weapons in private hands in the state. The Democrats are impeaching President Trump because we deplorables had the audacity  to elect him. The FBI interferes in a presidential election.

Do you know who Bruce Ohr is and that he still is employed by the FBI? Do you know what FISA stands for? Do you know what judges sit on the FISA court?

Neither do I. We live in a country run by the Deep State. More proof of this is that half of the top ten counties in the country that have the highest per capita income are suburbs of Washington D.C.

I don't like Senator Ben Sasse because he hardly misses a chance to criticize President Trump, but he has stumbled on the truth.

Take time to watch this video and it will scare you.


We have a problem. It can only be curtailed by repeal of the Patriot Act. The FISA courts need to be abolished. Anybody who thinks they can exist and not be abused by law enforcement agencies is kidding himself.

12 December 2019

Past Piedmont Chronicles: Porterdale, GA

 *originally appeared in About Covington magazine, 2011

Porterdale’s roots go all the way back to the early part of the 19th century. Back then it was a community called Cedar Shoals and may have also been referred to as Boston before that. The area would continue to be known as Cedar Shoals until it was incorporated as Porterdale in 1917.


The town was named in honor of Oliver S. Porter who was in many ways the father of this town; however, to backtrack a bit, the grandfather of the town would have been Noah Phillips, a transplanted Connecticut man, who purchased several acres near Cedar Shoals in 1831 in order to start a wool and cotton factory. Over the years different owners and operations would come and go until the aforementioned Mr. Porter took over the Cedar Shoals operation in 1869. Expansions and growth with the company and the city would continue over the next several years.


Just as Oxford had a shared history with Oxford College, so did Porterdale with the factory. In 1898, a Macon outfit, Bibb Manufacturing Co., took over ownership of the Cedar Shoals Mill after having built their own mill about a decade earlier on the other side of the Yellow River.

Back in the earlier days, Oliver Porter married Julia Camp, who had been married to a Charles Camp before he passed away in the mid 1860's. Mr. Camp owned half the shares of the mill at the time that Porter would take over after he wed Julia in 1869. Julia already had a daughter with Camp, and the Porters would go on to have four children of their own. All of the Porter kids (excepting Mary, who died young) would go on to college at Emory and return to their native town in order to help the family business. In particular, their oldest son John was very instrumental in helping to build a school for the town and also to start bringing in medical care for the burgeoning mill village. One of the other sons, O.W., became the manager of the village general store. Both John and O.W. remained very much involved and active with the town through the years.

As mentioned earlier, Bibb MFG Co. out of Macon took over the Cedar Shoals Mills after having built their own on the north side of the river about a decade earlier. At the time, Bibb had mills in
several other cities including Macon and Columbus. In 1920, a newspaper was started up called The Bibb Recorder which served all of the cities that Bibb had mills in. The paper had a 50 year run that ended in 1970. Ask anybody around who lived or was raised in Porterdale back in the day and they'll no doubt tell you how important the Recorder was.


As the operations for Bibb grew through the 1920's and 30's more and more improvements were made to the city. Multiple schools were built in order to better serve the educational needs of the area. The first graduating class of Porterdale High School commenced in 1939. In addition to multiple stores, businesses, social clubs, and other things of the like, Porterdale even had its own hospital during this time. In fact, my wife's mother was born at that hospital as were countless other folks throughout the years. Throughout the 50's & 60's, the Bibb Mills employed upwards of 2500 people. During the early part of the 20th century, the company actually owned most of the quaint houses one will see in Porterdale, but by the 1960's, those houses were starting to be sold to the workers.


Eventually, Bibb closed down their operations and the town fell off a bit; however, over the last decade, Porterdale has had quite a resurgence. At the center of this is the lofts that have been developed at the mill on the north side of the river and the remodeling of the downtown business district. The future looks very bright for Porterdale, GA!



10 December 2019

[Perrin Lovett] - Alternatives to the Old Lump of Coal in the Stocking

Do people still do that? Give naughty children coal in their Christmas stockings? I suppose, with all we’ve learned this year from Alexandria O’ Communist and Greta the Human Shield, that it’s best to give renewable, eco-friendly truancy deterrents. How about a puff of solar wind for the not-so-nice kids? We allegedly have quite a few of them.

Shortly before shooting up an Air Force training school in Pensacola, Florida last week, Saudi al-CIA-da terrorist Mohammed al-Shamrani Tweeted “I'm against evil, and America as a whole has turned into a nation of evil." He added, “I’m not against you for just being American, I don't hate you because your freedoms, I hate you because every day you supporting, funding and committing crimes not only against Muslims but also humanity.” He then murdered three people and wounded eight others. Six other Saudi “students” have been arrested in connection with the attack. There is, at this time, no word on any dancing Israelis nor structural irregularities at the new 2 World Trade Center.

First, what is it with Saudis and flight schools?! I mean, maybe it’s not a good idea to allow foreign terrorists into the country, let alone into gun-free crime zones. Just a crazy idea. Second, something is nagging at me that maybe Mohammed had a point.

There is a credible argument that the United States Empire is a global force for evil and is inhabited by the descendants of Sodom and Gomorrah. Forget the ongoing clown shows under the Capitol Dome and at 1600 - those, I fear, are mere circus sideshow distractions. Under the big tent we have, just to identify a very few:

  • Big Usury flooding $4 Trillion (that, by their dubious count; the truth is likely closer to $10 Trillion) into the grabbler banks - this fall(!);
  • Full employment via part-time jobs that provide far less buying power than Americans enjoyed fifty years ago;
  • War, war, and more war;
  • A never-ending hoard of NOT-Americans flooding in with one hand expectantly extended and a Glock in the other (see above);
  • Small children “performing” for dollars at sodomite and drag clubs while the police and CPS sit and watch;
  • Soaring obesity and collapsing intelligence;
  • Face tattoos;
  • CUCK-fil-A.

And then, there are the very gifts we give our children. No, I’m not talking about the crushing debt, the budding civil war, or the soul-sucking depression of living in a dead anti-nation. Just ordinary toys and such. 

Michael Snyder, at his so-aptly-named End of the American Dream site, just ran a list of some hot new toys and gifts for the tots. I’ve read and respected Michael’s work for years. He’s a little one-note-ish, but the truth is that the tune never ends. Anyway, he lists a few items that Amerikans are buying for their children this Christmas $eason. There’s a fart launcher. There’s Flushin’ Frenzy, where the tikes battle to keep a piece of plastic shit in the toilet. Shoot the Poop is a similar game, featuring another toilet that eats more plastic shit (fed by the kiddos - a coprophagic first). For the transitioning child or stoned LGB+VPC enthusiast, they have Magical Unicorn Rainbow Poop. (Yes, there’s a Number Two theme this year). Last and most disturbing, is A CHILDREN’S BOOK OF DEMONS by Aaron Leighton. One of the demons, the one on the cover, is Corydon, styled by Leighton as “one funny demon!” As Publisher’s Weekly puts it: “(a riddler named Corydon requires a sigil ‘drawn in bright red, the colour of a clown’s nose—preferably while you’re giggling’).” Does the name Corydon sound familiar? As Socrates and Virgil put it, he’s a child-molesting queer. Giggle!

Like Snyder, I won’t link to the book, but I did read about it. The Amazon description invites the young to “dial up some demons.” Hilarious! Giggles! Dialing is akin to summoning. Whether actual demons appear is up to them. Sometimes they do show up with less than funny antics. The good news is that 78% of the reviews are one-star and most call the book out for what it is: “pure evil” and “satanic.” 

If you follow the culture or just this column, then you may have spotted the trends. All of this stuff is related and it is all deliberate. All part of the plan of those who have turned America towards evil - thanks for the call, Mohammed. From lumps of coal to lumps of (plastic) shit. 

However, I’m not going to let them win. I at least won’t end this article in darkness. In fairness to the toy retailers of the land, the base lists from which Michael culled the crap (pun) did, in fact, feature many ordinary and appropriate gift ideas. In that traditional spirit I give to you page 564 of the 1975 Sears Christmas Catalog, courtesy of Wish Book Web:

Of course, who could afford 140 mind-stimulating experiments for the outrageous price of $14.94?!

Ceding some Christmas cheer to the secular, there are still decent things out there to brighten a child’s life. Find them. 

Also, remember that THE SUBSTITUTE makes a fine Christmas gift for the reader on your list. And, for early in the coming new year, we’re cruising steadily towards the continuation of the Tom Ironsides saga. AURELIUS is coming, with action, action, and then, some action.

Perrin Lovett (art, etc. subject to change)

09 December 2019

[Bess Tuggle] - Memoirs of Surviving Children: Remembering Christmas Trees Past

“O Christmas tree.  O Christmas tree.”  How long have you been torturing me?

I’m not a “Bah, humbug” kinda person during the holidays, but in my humble experience Christmas trees can be a royal pain in the rear.  I love bringing the ornaments down from the attic, unwrapping them all and hanging each gently on the tree.  I’ve got ornaments from when my boys were little, when I was little, when my mom was little.. even a few from my grandfather’s childhood.  Each memory is cherished as I hang them on the tree.  (Note:  Popcorn strands don’t last through the years – what the mice don’t eat gets smooshed)  It doesn’t help that I prefer live trees.  Some branches are thick, others thin determining what hangs where... The dogs like to drink out of the tree basin.  The cats like to climb up the tree, after drinking their fill too...

This year I proclaimed “Uncle.”  I’m taking a year off.  

Then my aunt saved me.  

Digging through stuff in the attic, I found the tree she got us for Christmas last year.  I’m a Peanuts fan, and yes, it’s a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.  We love it!!!  It plays Schroeder’s music, has Linus’ blanket as a tree skirt and one little Christmas tree bulb.  It’s -beautiful-!!!

I sit and look at our lil’ tree and remember trees’ past.

Rule 1 with real trees – cut them, then leave them out all night so that the ‘residents’ could vacate before bringing it in the house.  Tree residents being spiders, ticks, aunts, creepy-crawly-stuff-you-don’t-want-in-the-house.

The one that commands my memory right now was a very special tree.  Remember, I prefer live trees and didn’t just cut them down for myself.  I also cut one for my neighbor each year.

My boys were at the neighbors house quite often.  Christmas was not exception. My neighbor had a screen front porch door, and as little boys ruled the roost, it wasn’t unusual to hear the front door open and -slam- closed over the course of an evening.  They were all trained to walk past one, two, three.. bathrooms before going outside - to pee on a tree.

Thus the reason her tree will be forever remembered as the “Piss-mas Tree!”

Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, and may your Piss-mas Tree -SPARKLE-!!! 

- Bess Tuggle 

08 December 2019

[Ellis Millsaps] - Son of a Preacher Man - Ch 9: Neil & Clifford

*read the previous installments of Ellis Millsaps' Memoirs - Son of a Preacher Man: A Rock & Roll Cowboy Grows Up Southern Baptist here.




Neil and Clifford find themselves in the same chapter not only for economy of effort but because in my early elementary school years they were the neighborhood kids with whom I most often hung out, they being my closest neighbors. If they were alive today, which I tend to doubt, they would not like being in this chapter together. I don't remember them interacting, which surely they must have done at some time, but they would have each found the other despicable. Clifford could well have died of AIDS years ago and Neil have been the victim of a prison shiv incident.


Part One: Neil Camp


 Neil Camp was a white trash bully three years older than I who lived as I recall with his mother and five siblings. There were three much older brothers, old enough that they didn’t play baseball with us, whom I rarely saw. I only remember one of their names.Swear to god, it was Van. Then came Neil, eleven when I was eight, then Jan and Joey, one and two years younger than I. I never knew anything about their father, whether he had died, up and left or was imprisoned.


 If you had sat on the front steps of the Holly Springs Baptist Church in 1960 and looked out toward Highway 5, 150 feet away, you would have seen to your right, across the parking lot, the newly built brick, three-bedroom pastorium in which I lived with my parents and my youngest sister Wylene. To your left, maybe two hundred feet away, you would have seen Neil's house, an early 20th century white frame structure, the front porch of which was about ten feet from the aforementioned Highway 5. Between you and the highway a city street angles off at Neil’s house then runs parallel to the highway past the church parking lot then between the front yard of my house and a lot containing a trailer in which Clifford lives.


 Behind you is a small cemetery and the woods, a several acre pine thicket owned by a Mr. Barrett, a Methodist and the richest man in town, in which Neil and I hung out smoking cigarettes and occasionally checking rabbit boxes he had set out there to capture the creatures. To your left on the verge of the thicket and between you and Neil's house is a barn-like structure inside of which is a two-hole outhouse. I assume the Camps had  indoor plumbing by then-- I don't recall a well-- but the outhouse received a lot of use. Neil on one occasion taunted me with a threat to drop my puppy, which he held over one of the holes, into the writhing sea of maggot infested feces below.


Besides hanging out in the woods, Neil and I played a lot of baseball, a thing in which I have taken great interest from my ninth year until this day. In spite of losing his right middle finger in some sort of chicken processing machinery early in  our acquaintance,( He and a friend had been trespassing at a chicken plant less than a mile away. Today that would result in substantial damages paid by the chicken plant owners for their negligence in allowing small children to wander into the plant, but I don't think the Camps got any money.), Neil was a good  baseball player. Although he belittled my skills then-- I was a nine year old rookie Little Leaguer and at twelve he had made the traveling All Star team-- I later realized I was better.. At twelve I was on that All-Star team, had led the league in hitting and finished second in the home runs.(2). I could conceivably have finished first( 5) had I not missed the last three games of the 18 game season with the mumps.


We played baseball in Neil's yard between his house and the church with whatever kids happened by. At nine, a long blast for me was hitting one to the parking lot, but sometimes high school kid would drop in who could hit drives over the parking lot into my front yard. Fortunately we were all right handed pull hitters because seventy feet down the right field line the woods started. 125 feet to right center were church windows.


 Neil and I would sometimes sit on his front porch watching the cars go by, playing a game I invented which I will now call Fantasy Auto Draft. Highway 5 was a busy two-lane throughfare. You took it south to go to Marietta and Atlanta, north to the county seat of Canton (where we played Little League), and if you wished to visit the Millsaps homestead in Fannin County, to Jasper, Ellijay and through Blue Ridge to the Cahuttas.


 The game began with a coin toss, the winner taking the first choice which was always Chevrolet, the loser picked Ford, then came Plymouth then Dodge. Those numbers were fairly dependable, but the calls got pretty dicey when you got down to Chrysler, Mercury, Lincoln, the four other GM sedans, DeSoto and Nash Rambler. The last car chosen was inevitably simply “foreign’. You had your list of auto brands and hoped more of yours passed by than the other guy’s.


 Amazingly to me today,-- best I can do now is black SUV--we could both identify every make of car that passed, not only the model but usually the year.


 Neil rarely bullied me when we were alone --the puppy incident aside-- but when we were with older boys he would boast that he could make me cry just by looking at me. And indeed he could. He would demonstrate by fixing on me a steely, menacing stare, and try not to as I might I would start watering up like Pavlov's dog when the bell rings.

 This ended one day on the concrete entrance in front of the church. I must have recently watched some swashbuckling-- Zorro was big on TV then-- anyway there were for some reason some lengths of corner molding nearby, probably left over from pastorium construction. I picked up one and challenged Neil to a sword fight. After a few thrusts and parries Neil surrendered with fear in his eyes, mindful ,I knew, of his maimed hand.

05 December 2019

[Ryan Ralston] - US v. THEM (Minus Loyalty)

“The historian, in his analysis and description, is no longer a partisan. He has no stake in the outcome. He can now embrace the whole of the event, see it from all sides.” – Bernard Bailyn

The foundations of policing in America closely mirrored practices carried over from England, with early colonies adopting an “overwatch,” safeguarding property at night. Its purpose was not to deter crime but warn of danger. The watch was comprised mainly of volunteers. The “volunteers” were not directed by policy. Those standing watch, minus loyalty, oftentimes abandoned their post. 

The 1830's and 40's saw the idea of a centralized municipal police force take hold. In 1833 Philadelphia created the first day watch. New York City followed suit in 1844. Supporting the watch were “professional” law enforcement officers - constables - who were paid by fees (or fines from) the arrest warrants they served. 

In 1838, Boston formed the first official American police force, followed in 1845 by New York City. By the late 1880's most major cities had municipal police forces; all sharing like characteristics: (a) they were publicly supported (paid by taxes collected); (b) comprised of full-time city employees; (c) established by policy and procedure; (d) held accountable to a central governmental entity, typically an elected mayor. Most of these features are still in practice with modern police forces today. 

In the South, American policing followed a dissimilar path from their big city counterparts, having its roots in “slavery patrol.” The first formal slave patrol was founded in the early 1700's. These patrols served three primary purposes: (a) arrest runaway slaves (recover lost property); (b) minimize slave revolt; (c) maintain good order and discipline within slave ranks. 

By the end of the Civil War these patrols developed into municipal police forces, imposing Jim Crow segregation laws. 


04 December 2019

[Perrin Lovett] - Your New 86” TeeVee Is Spying On You

Right now, while you’re reading this. Probably putting you on some list or another. I wouldn’t trust that Elf on the Shelf either.

Happy December, Friends of the Georgia Piedmont! Yeah, we have entered the final month of 2019. I hope you’re as thrilled and shocked about it as I am. And, I was just kidding about the TV. Just because it has a camera and a microphone and a transceiver and you can’t turn any of them off and the FBI says it’s spying means nothing. Have another beer, a pill maybe.

The important thing is that you bought it. Isn’t that the true meaning and spirit of this consumerist, er this holiday season? Buying things?

CARLIN!

Last week saw another great Black Friday, the day set aside for bloated, semi-conscious Americans to shuffle aimlessly through the malls and discount stores, munching on refried lard and dropping fiat on useless junk that they won’t remember buying just four months later. Well, at least they used to shuffle psychically in order to max out the cards. The Wall Street Journal and other outlets report that this year more and more folks can’t even get up off the couch. Friday set a record $7.something Billion in online “stuff” sales - and, that was ahead of Cyber Monday (color unknown). The brick and mortar traffic was still kicking along, only a little lower and slower than in years gone by. Click on the big site or walk into the big box. Same deal.

Again, the important thing is that money gets spent. That’s what it’s for. The Noo Yaak Fed ain’t flooding $100,000,000,000+ every single day(!) (forever?) into the perfectly healthy economy for nothing. While it’s true that that money is meant for the criminals at the commercial banks, the home crowd doesn’t know it. They only sense that, as the stock market is up and they haven’t lost their jobs, things are fine. Beyond fine. Fine enough to gorge at Cuck-fil-A (now a Woke™ enterprise), download some tunes and games, and load up two carts of landfill packing at Wally World. This is what the Pilgrims were all about that icy July day in 1941 at Gettysburg. Thank you for your $ervice.

The Grabblers are hard at work on a new motivational idea for next year, planning to open a joint usury-sodomy kiosk in every major mall in Amerika. The plan is to make short-term, high-interest shopping loans to the masses, while simultaneously providing daycare services for the tots. So, after you come back from H&M or Macy’s (assuming those stores don’t go bankrupt between now and then), you’ll be delighted to find little Timmy in the loving care of Sister Pistol the drag queen. Little Suzzie will inform you that she identifies as a dis-cis trinary trans-pineapple in need of genital mutilation and hormone treatment. Bobby will explain why he wants to enlist and help defeat Saudi Arabia for Iran. Or, visa versa - do the countries even matter? Laura will alternatively boast that she qualifies for a pound of flesh student loan or that she'll be giving massages to princes and celebrities in the sunny USVI. You’ll be so stoned on opium that you might not appreciate it all. And it all ain’t just for the Yanks anymore!

The spirit of mania has even swept across the Atlantic. Last Friday, while you sent your daughters into the gender-neutral restroom at Target, alongside Bubba in a Dolly Parton wig, Londoners took to the streets and shops in keeping with Black Brit Friday (which kind of sounds like something that might happen at a Birmingham cineplex, only there with machete-totting “teens”). The fun and folly gave way to something even more exciting - the manifest blessings of DIEversity. While the stiff-upper-lipped set caroused the market and nearby bridge, Mr. Bearded Khan - the recently freed CONVICTED TERRORIST and likely relative of Londinistan’s mayor - spread the gospel of peaceful inclusivity with his knife and bomb belt. Hurray! Many stabbed and several dead later, and a group of the last real men on the Island beat the dog down with a fire extinguisher and a NARWHAL TUSK. (Really, a narwhal tusk - there’s a video). Who needs knives (aside from ISIS terrorists, I mean) and guns? Well, the police needed guns, when they did what they should have done as soon as Khan (either one) first slithered out of the Chunnel. A sad ending to an otherwise joyou$ holiday sellebration.

But, for the rest who survived, there are still a whole three weeks left until that next big holiday punctuating retail season. Make the most of it. Go over your wish list in front of the telly and targeted ads and coupons will somehow magically come your way. Thanks, FBI!

Is that the red pill splashing? LG.

But, let’s not even discuss what the CIA, when they’re not running schemes like MK-ULTRA, Artichoke, Northwoods, 9/11, Mockingbird, etc, etc, says about television.