Wow, it has been months since posting anything. I’ve been busy with other things and sort of lost track until I started getting emails asking whether I had been taken out by unseemly elements. Out of respect for the judicial process, I had stopped writing about Manassas shenanigans and just kind of fell out of the habit overall. Plus, thanks to the Trumpening, we had a swarm of client deadlines all line up at once there for a while. Now that all this has settled down to a dull roar, accompanied by a train of hurricanes, I can start writing again.
After a long hiatus, Leech City has released a new article, this time on the degenerating budget situation. Last year’s budget was at least a step in the right direction. Now, the city has decided to release a joke of a budget for 2017. Much more to come.
File this post under the category TMI.
About fifteen years ago, I had my first root canal. Back in the day, root canals were these horrific events. When I finally had one done, it wasn’t a big deal at all, no more than a usual filling. Technology, techniques and materials had advanced so much that it had become a fairly routine procedure. I’ve had two of them now, and the second was even easier than the first.
Yesterday, we took our homeschooled 15-year old daughter to take the SAT in Statesboro on the campus of Georgia Southern. The turnout was enlightening, 80% or more of the test-takers that morning were girls. I’ll drill into the informal stats about the boys in a future piece. For now, think about the future implications of a world in which for every young man graduating with a college degree, there are four or five women. And all of them fully infected with cultural poz, having received regular inoculations of such over a four- or five-year period.
Burglary lemons? Make happiness lemonade.
Last week, a friend mentioned to me that he broke his dining room table. I, on the other hand, had a spare dining room table, an enormous monstrosity which was part of the furniture ensemble that filled up my Atlanta McMansion back in the day. Some of the local degenerates stole the companion pieces during our 2015 burglary, so this set was just sitting around taking up space. Since this friend, his brother, and his son have helped me about a billion times over the years, I told him he could have it.
As today, Good Friday, we reflect upon perversions of law and justice for the performance of evil on behalf of the base and selfish demands of the Sanhedrin, we find ourselves twelve weeks into the Trumpening. To me, the Trumpening remains more the movement than the man. Making America Great Again means to focus on the burdens of the middle American first, particularly those artificial burdens placed on him to feed his destroyers and to crush his spirit.
In our civil affairs series, we’ve pointed out that HUMINT collection skills, including elicitation, can be assisted by the use of video. As described in a new Leech City post, during a casual conversation with a guest speaker before a city council meeting, we accidentally caught some city official “tells” on video. Only later, after reviewing the video for a different matter, did we notice these signals. An accidental elicitation is as good as a deliberate one. The topic: potentially handing over administration of the cash cow water system to a third party. Because of these tells, we’ll be following this transition very closely.
Leech City has launched a new blog series, “Clever or Criminal?”, to explore whether slimy actions by local officials represent clever letter-of-the-law dodges, or cross the line into criminal behavior. On tap for today’s post in that series is a dodgy response to our previous test-case open records request that we outlined for you as an example in this post. Manassas’ behavior is certainly more consistently bizarre than anything we’ve encountered before anywhere else, rabid golf-community homeowners’ associations included. But, maybe we’re just exposing them to the light more than others, and most local officials are this way. I hope not. If most local officials are like this, we’re doomed as a nation.
Our hormone-free blueberry cuttings experiment continues over at Old School Tech, this time with an attack by monsters, and an update on progress. Why the preoccupation with a hormone-free process? Mostly to make sure that this work can be repeated if supplements were not available. So far, the critical materials, from the pressed pulp containers to the fertilizer mixtures, can all be locally synthesized, if required, using techniques from antiquity. It is clear from our results thus far, compared to our previous results, that rooting hormone is a very valuable item. Where are the monks and their stores of scientific knowledge when you need them? It seems that you and I are those monks now, and the Internet is our parchment.
Apparently, the new administration is as susceptible to false-flags and typical neo-cuck weepy-eyed distraction as, well, every one of them in my lifetime. Critical domestic issues? No. Bomb Syria? Yes!
My main concern is that the growing tide of small- and medium-business momentum continues long enough to get good people into their lifeboats before it all continues the briefly interrupted slow but accelerating planned descent beneath the waves. Were the last few months simply the stern lifting out of the water, providing the illusion of safety?
As I have said all along, it isn’t about the man or the Kabuki, it is about the taste of victory in the mouths of middle Americans against the forces of globalism. That genie isn’t going back in its bottle; this has only been a bit of breathing room all along.
The key is that we all learned from this exercise that we are not alone. That hasn’t changed. That won’t change.