“There is no such thing as French culture. There is culture in France, and it is diverse.”—Emmanuel Macron, globalist party candidate for the French presidency
“We’re just going to have to get used to living with terrorism.”— The same douche
No matter how you feel about the French, it can’t be fun choosing between open borders guy and commie lady. You think I’m joking? The press keeps howling that Marine Le Pen is further to the Right than Donald Trump . . . except that she wants more social spending, and Macron is the one who wants a more free-market labor economy. Hmmmm, this is tough . . .
Oh wait, no, it’s not hard at all. Priorities, people. You choose the lady who wants to close the borders. If you choose the guy who thinks that terrorism is just the price we pay for all the shit those dead colonialists did, and that you should open your doors and wallets to anyone who’s fleeing so much as a grumpy landlord, then it doesn’t matter what you do with your economy – because you won’t have an economy left to do it with. Anyway, Macron wants to liberalize the economy for the benefit of multinationals, not small businesses and workers. A French economic liberal is just a socialist who wants a corporate dominatrix to piss on him after the state dominatrix is done bloodying his asshole.
“But closing the borders will just make the Muslims we’ve got here angrier!”
Yeah, you’re fucked, all right. So the answer is to let in even more angry people?
You’ve tried for decades to assimilate overwhelming masses of people from cultures that use violence to assuage their anxiety regarding the numinous and to elucidate their political goals; you’ve held out hope that they’ll blend in and learn to talk their problems out like grown-ups and stop killing people for the sky man. They haven’t. A demographic trickle might have worked; a flood brings that violence to France in boatloads. Your best chance is to hang on to the population proportions you’ve got now and insist upon assimilation. There’s still a chance to socialize people, but only if you stop bringing in more nut jobs to radicalize them.
And yet most of you intend to vote for the fellow who thinks you still need to pay penance.
Marine Le Pen is a moderate Right-winger (with aforementioned commie streak) whom the press pack insist is a far-Right extremist because she thinks France should have a national border and be allowed to have a cultural identity. Look, most French patriots aren’t asking for some k-k-krazy racial purity test. Most reasonable people will settle for everyone assimilating like civilized human beings would do when welcomed into a more prosperous nation than their own. Follow the model that has been proven to work, morons, and quit throwing monkey wrenches. Sinon, you know where the door is. Or the sea, take your pick.
Her opponent is an insultingly transparent (but pretty!) globalist android. Emmanuel Macron is its name; it popped out of the sewers of the Hollande administration (whither it waddled up from the banking swamp) to be instantly made the media’s beloved son. Its lack of substance and its pandering, self-contradictory promises – for instance, it plans to keep the borders yawning, but it would do anything to end terrorism, it totally promises – are glossed over by the bulk of large news outlets, who quickly segue back into bashing Le Pen. They’ll never let her forget for a second that her father (now quite the ranting senility case) is a racist – but they make excuses for the fact that when Macron was fourteen years old, it broke up its forty-year-old high school teacher’s marriage in a repulsive love affair that CNN hilariously accuses us of sexism for questioning.
Yeah, because only old women who date younger men gross people out, eh, CNN? Double standard! Anyone care to watch the Trumps frolic on a sex swing? Why not? DO YOU HATE OLD MEN OR SOMETHING? WHY ARE YOU VOMITING? (I guess it’s to his credit that Macron is still married to its feeble old pervert . . . I guess. Ew.)
As an American, it’s painful for me to watch what our elder Gallic brethren and sethren are doing to themselves. Good grief, you guys.
I especially have trouble understanding why French women are putting up with it. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the theories about how they want immigrants because they need substitute children to compensate for their barren yuppie wombs, and there’s something to that. But you would think self-preservation would come first.
But maybe I’m overlooking the power of denial. Or maybe they can’t even conceptualize what’s happening to them. It’s been good to be a woman in France for a very long time. Even in the Second World War, almost everyone paid them instead of raping them . . . well, everyone except the Americans, and that was just because we can’t hold our eau de Cologne.
Look at French history, and literary history: the country has a long track record of being ahead of the curve in women’s rights. Even back in the Middle Ages, if the Song of Roland is any indication, women (the noble ones in any case) got to be shameless flirts, and it was still evil to rape them. If you were a man, you complimented their plunging necklines and enjoyed the view. Taking a lover on the down-low was what one did, and jealous husbands were fodder for mockery. Kings’ mistresses and queens have had a hand in government policy going way back, and female sexuality and fashion have long been celebrated – a celebration that somehow endured some pretty godawful bouts of syphilis.
To a properly socialized Frenchman, seeing cleavage isn’t a torture or an excuse to grab what he wants, à la Islam; it’s one of the little pleasures of life. If it’s meant for you, great. If it isn’t, move on and enjoy a cup of coffee. Having a woman running for the highest office in the land is no big whoop like it was here in the US; Le Pen is not protected from criticism by the power of her puss. They don’t care. (Ooooooor it could be that you only play the pussy card if you agree with the vagina that it’s flapping out of. I don’t hear the same voices howling, “I’m with her!” or “You just don’t want a woman in power!” that I heard a few months ago . . . well, a little of Column A and a little of Column B.)
But in political Islam, the French feminine mystique seems to have met its match.
You couldn’t dream up two more diametrically opposed civilizations to smush together if you tried, at least where women are concerned. The French tactic is for the sexes to charm each other into cooperating with the civilization’s goals. The Islamic tactic is to beat one sex not just into submission, but total uselessness. The effect of cousin marriages on IQ aside, why do you think Muslim countries are such shitholes? Every other mouth you have to feed is pointless outside of making more mouths to feed.
And if the squeaky wheel gets the grease, it isn’t the more pleasant and laid-back culture that’s likely to come out on top.
French feminists seem frustratingly oblivious to the shit-storm that is beginning to befall them. Maybe they’re too accustomed to chivalry. They also come from a long line of pissy Simones de Beauvoir who made careers out of combing their devoted swains’ behavior for microaggressions – but go and show the same ladies obvious disrespect, and the constant threat of rape if they step out of line with the unpleasant prophet’s dicta, and they can’t even see what they’re looking at. It’s like the way peoples living at the equator might have no word for snow. If a Game of Thrones-style winter suddenly decides to creep in, they’re fucked. They can’t even figure out that the stuff that’s falling from the sky is frozen.
Or perhaps they’re just embarrassingly susceptible to propaganda.
The French press have gone out of their way this week to plaster over the particular brutality of this year’s May First riots with anti-Le Pen howling. “Look over there!” The crudeness of the propaganda machine is shocking. For example, this is what the Left rag Libération tried to pass off as a photo essay depicting the “protests.”
Reality check: this is the police officer who was immolated by one of the many Molotov cocktails the “protesters” threw into the lines of police, who were brought in to prevent them from wreaking maximum havoc. And this is the reportage that Lauren Southern turned in via her Twitter feed (see the feed for more). What kind of Snapchat filter was the Libération “journalist” using on the camera to get rid of all that reality? And why are these rioters not being called terrorists? If you threw fire on a cop on any other day, that’s what they’d call you. Are the statistics getting too hard to ignore, are we trying to lop numbers off where we can?
Aside from the press blizzard, other pretty boys in politics who should have their faces slapped hard are lining up behind Macron; in a rational world, being endorsed by someone with a track record like Obama’s would lose you votes. If the French people have any dignity left, they will vote for the Front National candidate whether they agree with her or not to show that they’ll only tolerate so many insults to their intelligence.
But most of that intelligence is tangled up in what seems to be, despite their avowed secular-osity, an endless vein of Catholic guilt, a once-appropriate desire for penance which, what with God being dead, has gone stark raving mad. To exorcise the demons of colonial sinning that ended half a century ago – and whose authors are long dead – the French elite and middle class seem determined to get themselves burned like saints in a terrorist pyre. Whee! And they don’t even get virgins.
Macron spiced up his campaign in February with another variation on the “Europeans deserve whatever they get because history” motif when he declared that the French colonization of Algeria was a “crime against humanity” that must forever be paid for with droit du sol and welfare checks.
But the “because history!” argument cuts both ways. Yes, to a rational person it is unfair and absurd to expect people born long after a sin was committed to atone for it.
But if you must go on insisting that dead lives matter, if you insist that the dead should have their due, forever and ever, why are you only worried about some of those who died because of France? If the suffering and sins of the dead should dictate their immigration policy, why pick those particular dead?
Why not worry, for example, about the lost lives of Allied soldiers who died kicking the Nazis out of France? Why did men from all around the world die – men from America, England, New Zealand, Poland, Australia – if the next generation of Frenchmen were going to hand the country over to another horde of totalitarian Frog-loathing anti-Semites?
The numbers are jaw-dropping. My country, the US, lost an estimated 4,500 men on D-Day alone. The total number of Allied casualties in the Battle of Normandy is hard to pin down, but it appears to be in the hundreds of thousands. Yes, we owe you our victory in our war of independence. But we paid it back with interest. Can you look at our endless rows of graves and tell me you have the right to toss that beacon of civilization that we fought for in the garbage with a kebab wrapper?
When you’re feeding welfare checks to hungry ghosts, try not to forget those guys. How can you throw all that they died for down the crotch of an unwashed pair of sarouel sweatpants? Imagine the shame you would feel if they, in the moment before the Nazi mortar fire took them apart, could see you in the voting booth. What do you owe to THOSE ghosts, dumbass?
You at least owe them consistency in your rioting.
Anyone remember the Nuit Debout movement to stop free market reforms in France?
That was last year, when a member of the French legislature proposed a bill to liberalize the French labor laws, making it less difficult to hire and fire people, allowing people to work longer than thirty-five-hour weeks, and overall making things more free-market. When these reforms were proposed last year, many of the same scraggly-bearded youthful idiots who are rioting now were rioting against the new labor laws.
Guess who’s now promoting similar reforms as part of his campaign?
It sort of rhymes with “moron,” if you pronounce “moron” with a French accent.
Guess who they’re rioting against this time?
These kids have no idea what they’re rioting for; none of their principles are consistent except “fuck my white mom and dad.” They’ll run in whatever direction the wind points them, howling retardedly.
To their credit, some of the kids, disgusted with both candidates, are going with the “vote blanc”: voting for nobody, the ultimate protest ballot. If enough of them go in that direction, they could push Le Pen to a win. It’s possible they’re naïve enough about how politics works to not realize that. (Or maybe deep down they know what’s right.)
Are they also unaware that France used to be le pays des femmes? Maybe the problem with the younger women is that they don’t remember a time when they were free in their own country.
Holy crap, what a terrible thought that is.
Paris used to be a giant runway, nice legs everywhere you looked and easy style. Now I can no longer drink in my favorite bar in Saint-Denis, because no women are allowed. The local girls wear sweatpants to avoid harassment. I can’t walk down a good number of streets without getting some kind of shit, no matter what I wear. But at least I’m not stuck in France. Where do French women think they’re going to escape?
And they are still voluntarily allowing themselves to be occupied by a totalitarian ideology that is in many ways worse than the Nazis.
Yeah, I went there.
At least the Nazi soldiers occasionally paid French women to use them as fuck-toys.
“Okay, Islamists might be worse for Gentile females than Nazis. But Islam hasn’t killed six million European Jews yet!”
Give them time. And a little more demographic power. They might kill fewer, but only for lack of efficiency.
I’ve heard people consoling themselves with the idea that after a couple of years of Macron’s immigration policy, things will be so bad that the French will finally elect a leader who wants to not trash their civilization.
But after a couple years of Macron – that is, after a couple of years of Macron piping votes in for itself from its friends in Algeria – there may no longer be enough indigenous French voters to elect a pro-French candidate. If the people vote themselves off the island now, when they decide they want to come back next season, they might find the set is surrounded with barbed wire and hedgehogs (no, not the cute fuzzy ones).
Already, the Muslim vote might be able to swing an election. If Le Pen comes close and loses, you’ll know that a majority of the native population tried to save themselves. That will make a fine historical grace note.
The photos taken by the men who survived D-Day are searing. Often photographed from behind, many of the photos’ faceless subjects were moments from dying. Some of them were facing their first combat. They waded out of the landing vehicles and into a hellscape. Scores were mowed down before they even touched the French shore – a country some never got to visit but were sacrificed to save.
A country you are throwing away because you can’t face the word “racist.”
Never mind that it’s a lie; never mind the fact that Islam is not a race but a mental disorder: the delusion that a culture can achieve supremacy by diverting its sexuality into showing its ass to the sky five times a day.
Think about the Australian ghosts when you decide to vote. Think about the Polacks who bounced up from their own occupation to help take the beachhead in Normandy. Actually, the dead Algerians might prefer you not destroy your own country as well: would they want to have died at the hands of a civilization that immediately went off and killed itself? That’s like a football team knocking your team out of the playoffs and then getting their asses waxed in the next round.
Better yet, worry about the future instead. The people who are alive. Quit trying to tell everyone how good you are and how devoutly you believe in Purgatory. Shut up and be good. Or it will be your gore spilled, and for no good reason.
I hope I’m wrong. But it’s already happening. I can’t watch you do this anymore, but nor can I seem to avert my eyes.