Breakfast Before Court: A Short Story

The morning was crisp and cold, but the air was unusually calm downtown. On Main Street the sun hid behind the clouds. Across the street from a dying bookstore store, two cops with an hour to kill before court lumbered into a restaurant. They kept their coats on; cold air poured in through a back door that had been propped open to accept the morning grocery deliveries.

“Are you getting coffee?” the shorter cop asked, placing his hat upside down on the sticky table.

“The coffee here stinks, but sure,” the taller cop said as he sat down.

“Can we get two coffees?” the short one asked a girl who was rolling silverware in paper napkins up front.

“I hope it’s at least hot this time,” the taller cop groused as he placed his hat on the table. He rubbed his eyes, tilting his head to the right to meet his hand; he yawned and stretched back.

“The coffee’s free. What else matters?”

“Enjoying it matters.”

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers,” replied the shorter cop.

“Who’s begging? I’m more than willing to pay for a hot cup of coffee.”

The girl brought two coffees and took their food order. She put a newspaper down on the table before heading back to the front.

“There’s another protest today,” said the shorter cop, taking a sip of his coffee. “Hopefully the cold weather thins out the crowd.”

The tall one tilted his head back. “I can’t take another recall.” He closed his eyes and put his hands in his coat pockets. “I feel like a stranger at home.”

“Yeah, that last one wasn’t much fun.”

“No.”

“Did you hear what the mayor said?”

“Nope.”

“He said he feels their pain and he’s angry like they are. And that they should have faith in the system.”

The tall cop leveled his head and took a sip of his coffee. “You know what that means.”

“Yep.”

“It’s hot, thank God,” announced the taller cop as he put his coffee down.

“Oh, well; the overtime will be nice.”

They sat for some time in silence, letting the coffee warm them, and took turns thinking of something interesting to say. The girl served their food and placed a courtesy spit cup next to the taller cop.

“I didn’t know you dipped,” said the short one.

“Only when I try to quit smoking.”

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only when I try to quit dipping.”

They ate their breakfast quietly and watched the morning rush file in. The sun tried to cast its morning shadows over the city but everything remained gray.

A middle aged woman with small, square rimmed glasses approached the officers as they ate. “Excuse me,” she said as she unbuttoned the top of her coat. “I don’t mean to bother you two during your breakfast, but I just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything you guys do,” she said.

“Well, we appreciate that. Thank you,” said the tall cop.

The short cop turned around in his chair. “Yeah, thanks ma’am. That’s always nice to hear.”

“You’re very welcome,” said the woman. She stepped closer and bent her head down slightly. “We support you guys. Just hang in there,” she whispered.

The tall cop politely smiled and went back to eating his food.

“Well, God Bless you,” said the short cop over his shoulder as the woman walked away. “Isn’t that nice?” he said outloud to himself as he placed his fork on the empty plate. He looked at his watch, and yawned. “My wife wants me to work more overtime and side jobs,” he said idly; he sat back and placed an arm on the empty chair next to him. “For vacation and some other stuff around the house.”

“Did you tell her to go fuck herself?”

“Ha,” he chuckled. “I should.”

The tall cop packed his can and threw in a dip, stinging his cheek. “I don’t get how everyone pretends that everything is okay,” he said and spat in his cup. “That everything is just fine, just pretending that nothing is upside­down.”

“I don’t know,” said the short one. “Things could be worse.”

The tall cop leaned forward and stared toward the front door. “Everything is fine until it isn’t you know, and then it all starts over again; especially the pretending.” He gazed toward the line of customers. “I feel like we’re playing in a game we can’t win.”

“I think you’re working too much,” said the short one. He stood up and pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. “I got breakfast,” he said, and walked to the counter and cashed out.

They peeled their hats from the table, put them on, and walked toward the front door. They passed two younger cops seated near the front whom they’ve never seen before. Both were staring at their phones, not saying anything to each other.

When they got outside it was raining heavily. They walked toward the courthouse and didn’t say anything about the rain. They stopped at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change, and as traffic passed by them, they stood next to each other in complete silence, with their hands in their pockets, very still, like two statues without a memorial.

Parenthetic Virus: Symptoms Include Chaos and a Breakdown of Law and Order, An Anology

A man visits his doctor after feeling sluggish and depressed.  He can’t shake a cold he’s been suffering with for weeks.  Now he has a fever and it keeps going up.  

Doctor: I’m sorry to have to tell you this but you have Parenthetic Virus.

Patient: What is Parenthetic Virus?

Doctor: It’s a fatal disease where the fat cells in your body have been convinced that your immune system is unjust and your white blood cells are racist Nazis.

Patient: What? How is that possible?

Doctor: It’s common in bodies that have enjoyed lengthy periods of good health and prosperity. Eventually decadence sets in and things get a little turned around.

Patient: How can we treat it?

Doctor: Unfortunately recovery is unlikely. After years of indulgence and taking things for granted, your fat cells greatly outnumber your white blood cells. Here, look under this microscope. Those are your white blood cells over there. Their job is to defend you from disease and foreign objects. Look! They are moving in on a germ that threatens your body. Now see those angry, entitled globs of goo? Those are your fat cells.

Patient: What are they doing?

Doctor: They are surrounding your white blood cells and protecting the germ. Here, listen.

Patient: Oh my God! I didn’t know fat cells could talk. They are calling the white blood cells racists, fascists, and Nazis.  Now the fat cells are attacking them!

Doctor: Yes, they are quite aggressive. See, now your white blood cells are retreating and the germ has reproduced. It won’t be long until that germ spreads. Now you see how recovery is unlikely.

Patient: How do I get more white blood cells?

Doctor: Well, your white blood cells are produced inside your bone marrow, but if you look here, you’ll see that fat cells have taken control of your bone marrow as well. And with fat cells in control, they are unlikely to produce effective white blood cells.

Patient: I just can’t believe this. What can I do? There has to be something.

Doctor: There is one thing you can do but it is not easy and will cause much discomfort.

Patient: What? Anything.

Doctor: You have to cut the fat.

Conservatives Have Heard the Call of the Wild

Say what you want about Donald Trump, but the Trump phenomenon has single-handedly cut the leash that tethered conservatism to the Republican Party.  Republicans are quickly losing their monopoly of influence over blue-collar conservatives as “conservative” and “republican” are no longer interchangeable terms.

Free from their republican handlers, the Right is now running wild in the world of politics and identity, attempting to make sense of the world around them as they search for answers (see the alt-right and the #nrorevolt hashtag).

The Right has finally started to question conventional republican policies on issues like trade, immigration, and war. They don’t recall voting to send all their jobs overseas or to open the border for the third world. Bloody cycles of destabilization and nation building in the Middle East isn’t what they had in mind for the endless War on Terror either.

As conservatives now run wild and free, republicans nervously wander around the political landscape holding a broken leash calling for their return.  “Come here, boy!” they desperately plead.  Their faithful companion is gone though, having heard the call of the wild.

In Jack London’s classic novel, The Call of the Wild, the main character is Buck, a domesticated dog that was taken away from the comfort of home and thrown into Alaska’s brutal Northlands during the Gold Rush as a sled dog.

The story chronicles Buck’s transition from a soft, domesticated pet to his roots as a wild, free animal and is reminiscent of conservatives who have broken their comfortable ties with American Republicanism to venture off into the political wild to seek more effective and instinctual answers.

And not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead became alive again. The domesticated generations fell from him. In vague ways he remembered back to the youth of the breed, to the time the wild dogs ranged in packs through the primeval forest and killed their meat as they ran it down. – Jack London

Conservatives have taken the first step to shed their sterile, suburban, materialistic non-culture in search for their rich ancestral pasts. But just as Buck’s transition from pet to beast was not without the attempts of others to control him, conservatives in the wild also face opposition, especially from other conservatives who respect the leash and fear the wild.

They threw clubs at him. He dodged. They cursed him, and his fathers and mothers before him, and all his seed to come after him down to the remotest generation, and every hair on his body and drop of blood in his veins; and he answered curse with snarl and kept out of their reach. – Jack London

The instincts of the Right are sharpening as they run deeper into the wild.  The days of guilt and suicidal compassion are fading as ancestral instincts that built and protected empires are reemerging.

They came to him without effort or discovery, as though they had been his always. And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe and what to them was the meaning of the stiffness, and the cold, and dark. – Jack London

The Right is running wild and neither the Left nor the old guard of The Right can stop them.  The Trump phenomenon has given them a taste of blood.  They sense a weakness in the opposition and feel hope for restoration.  Whether Trump stabs them in the back or not in the end doesn’t really matter—the ball has already started to roll.  

They are coming out from under their beds; they feel a part of something beyond themselves and sense a unity forming that has long been forbidden.  They are questioning the virtue of their estrangement from one another and seek the congregation and fellowship they have lost.  The individual is being challenged.

At the end of The Call of the Wild, Buck eventually separates from the dog pack and wanders alone into the woods.  The narrator tells of the Yeehats, a fictitious Native-American tribe who note a change in the breed of timber wolves in the area and tell the legend of a Ghost Dog that runs at the head of the pack.  An entire valley is feared by the Yeehats who have found their hunters, “with throats slashed cruelly open and with wolf prints about them in the snow greater than the prints of any wolf.”

The Yeehats are visited every summer by a lone wolf, “like, and yet unlike, all other wolves.” He comes out from the “smiling timber” and howls “once, long and mournfully” before he departs.

But he is not always alone.  When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack. – Jack London

Conservatives aren’t running down meat in the valleys but they are learning the song of the pack.  Some conservatives still resist the music though.  They plug their ears when the song plays and then go buy another gun.  They can be seen resisting the call in defiance, but with feet instinctually tapping to its tune.

Why I Support Donald Trump Over Ted Cruz

Trump ignites the right. He arouses people.
 
Trump’s critics will argue, however, that saying what people want to hear isn’t enough and that Ted Cruz is a man with a plan. But Cruz’s plan, no matter how sophisticated, is only the plan of one man. Trump inspires the masses of the right-wing. Inspiring YOU is his plan. That is what a good populist does.
 
Donald Trump: “My special interest group is the American people.”
 
A few days ago, Black Lives Matter protestors interrupted a speech at Rutgers University in their usual 1968 cosplay fashion by causing a scene and throwing their pampered fists in the air.  But how did the opposition to them respond and eventually drive them out of the meeting with their tails between their legs? By chanting, “Trump, Trump, Trump!” Watch the inspiring video, here.
 
Do you see Trump’s plan in action now?  You are his plan.  Inspiring you to fight back is his plan.  He doesn’t need a bill, or need to consult the Constitution to enact this plan.  Trump’s plan entails anything you are brave enough to stand up to.
To put the plan of one man (Cruz) and the plan of many (Trump) into perspective, consider what Ted Cruz’s plan for Black Lives Matter could even be?  What bill can Cruz sign or Constitutional preservation can he ensure that will prevent your universities and institutions from being destroyed and bullied by the leftist collective?  Other than appoint Glenn Beck as his Attorney General and then love the enemy into defeat, what other plan could he have? Maybe he thinks lower taxes and less government intrusion will make them go away. Do you?
 
The Rutger students who defeated the BLM protestors turned to the first thing that gave them the power to fight back, and it worked. But it wasn’t the idea of Donald Trump himself that ran the protestors off or a policy he put into place—it was the unity and passion of the students who had the courage to stand up for once—and it was inspired by Trump.  
 
Ted Cruz appears to be a good man, but he could never inspire that kind of energy to fight back.  I’ve found that those who support Cruz want him to win so they can ignore politics again and leave their exhaustive posts.  They want to feel safe that a good man will be in office who will protect the Constitution and slow down the progressives.  They want Cruz to take over their watch.  
Trump supporters on the other hand want to fight. They seek restoration, not conservatism and they want to be involved.  They aren’t content with conserving the rubble of progressives any longer.
 
A Ted Cruz victory for the White House will certainly swing that same old rusty political pendulum back to the right, but a trump victory will tear it down from its pivot.

The Baltimore Riots: Where the State Is The Insurgency

Originally published on May 5, 2015 on returnofkings.com, here.

Things are moving pretty fast in Baltimore. Three weeks ago Baltimore was just another American city, bustling beneath the radar of national attention. Freddie Gray died in police custody on April 12, and here we are in the first days of May and we’ve already witnessed rioting, the swift arrest of six Baltimore police officers, and a triumphant victory rally.

There are still so many unanswered questions and conflicting information regarding the death of Freddie Gray that I find this topic very hard to write about. I’m not one who likes to eat crow unless I have to, so I won’t be discussing the actual incident. However, there is no shortage of people who apparently have no problem organizing, demanding, rioting, assaulting, and burning buildings without any necessary information.

On rioting

Boston Tea PartyWhen it comes to rioting, I have to be honest, rioting and violence have their place in society. It shouldn’t be hard to admit that violence is sometimes the answer. It just so happens that the climate of injustice is not hot enough yet for me to start breaking windows and setting fires.  However, it’s getting warmer every year and if things continue as they have, today’s rioters will be tomorrow’s purveyors of peace.

And that’s what it comes down to. It’s all relative. It’s foolish when people who simply understand the effectiveness of a riot find camaraderie with rioters only because they riot. Equally foolish are those who condemn all rioting only because they don’t agree with a riot’s present cause.

The argument that Baltimore rioters are only hurting their own neighborhood can go either way.  On one hand, as a rightist if we were to riot, I can guarantee you that we would take the fight directly to enemy territory because we actually have stakes in our own community.  We own property, take pride in our property, and have a sense of preserving it because we built it  – it has value to us. Continue reading “The Baltimore Riots: Where the State Is The Insurgency”

Policing Isn’t That Dangerous?

We all know that policing is a dangerous occupation. It seems more so recently. But it’s a danger that’s hard to quantify. If you try to look up the most dangerous jobs in America, you’ll no doubt have to scroll a bit before you see police officer. Most of these rankings tend to use total on the job deaths, or in an attempt at the scientific method, total on the job deaths weighed against total employees. Either way you look at it, police typically make the list, but nowhere near the top. According to the Officer Down Memorial Page, 133 officers died on-duty last year, and again when weighed against the nearly one million sworn officers in America, that makes for pretty good odds for guys like me.

The conclusion drawn from these comparisons and lists is inevitably that policing is not as dangerous as it’s cracked up to be.

The number of officers currently working is confounded however, and difficult to nail down; I’ve seen estimates for total officers from 600,000 to more than 900,000. And how many of those actually wear a uniform and patrol a beat everyday? Two-thirds? Half? Probably less. The number of officers who are actually in harm’s way on a somewhat regular basis is but a fraction of those who have sworn in. Continue reading “Policing Isn’t That Dangerous?”