When you discover you just spent more than $10 to see pretty much the worst movie EVER made, can anything give you comfort?
I didn’t think so … especially when my mind started wandering about 15 minutes into ‘Cowboys and Aliens’ and the thrill of seeing Daniel Craig in chaps had worn off …

Then, I had one of those moments. It was the moment I realized that greatness could arise from the ashes of a ridiculously dumb movie plot … the hope came in the person of Harrison Ford.

Because seriously, no matter how old he gets, Harrison Ford can still work it …(kinda like Sean Connery … always sexy) … But a bad movie is still a bad movie … so, I slipped into stupid-movie, nap mode … then … it happened AGAIN. …

This ridiculously asinine excuse for a movie (thank you, Stephan Spielberg) about aliens stealing town folk from an old west mining town to ‘see how they tick’ so they could annihilate the human race, started to become a perfectly normal paradigm of how the left is infiltrating every aspect of our lives. And in case you hadn’t figured it out yet … the left are the aliens and us red-blooded conservatives are the cowboys.

Basically, in the sandstone hills and mountains of what looks like Texas or New Mexico, the aliens have imbedded this colossally large space ship underground and it sticks up out of the ground like a tower (and totally doesn’t blend in, btw).

The aliens, on occasion, swoop into town in their metal spaceships and throw out these rope lassos from the sky and round up people, pulling them bungee cord style behind their spaceships.

Once aboard the mothership, the townspeople are forced to stare into the light for some sort of brainwashing before being dissected by the brutally disgusting aliens whose hands come out of their chests in this terriblby grotesque manner.

Amidst the squishy alien sound effects and sound of ripping flesh, I saw our youth – being plucked from our ranks and mesmerized/glamorized by the left and removed from rational thought and clarity. Our future hope is snatched up and indoctrinated into a culture hating what’s good and right.

And we are just sitting by, watching because we, like the cowboys in this movie, don’t know what the hell hit us and we’re not equipped with our 6-shooters and spurs to fight the flying saucers swooping down. Our arsenal is outdated and ill-prepared.

Wives, children, friends and family – people we love and trust — are being taken from our ranks because we aren’t ready to fight the battle and can’t refute the argument of the left effectively! We can possibly spout off a few Constitutional issues or even make them agree with us on a few of Obama’s faults, but we can not hold a conversation compelling enough to actually sway opinion. Therefore, the glitz and glamour of the left, coupled with the joyless, greedy cartoonish picture the left paints of us wins out almost every single time.

But thanks to Hollywood, even really crappy movies have good guys (and what I thought were really classy actors) … Step in, Daniel Craig. Craig’s character somehow escapes the alien dissection fate at the beginning of the movie, and he awakens in a dessert with a weird bracelet on his arm. He also has amnesia … and he teams up with Harrison Ford, whose son was also snatched, to try to figure out how to kick some major alien ass.

Through a fun ‘sipping of the Kool-Aid’ party with the Native Americans in the area (who also have had snatchings), Craig’s eyes are open to his past trauma and his love interest in the movie (Olivia Wilde) who dies earlier, is reborn, stepping NAKED out of a fire to once again join the good fight (yes … a sort of ‘savior’ thing going on here …sans clothes, to keep the men movie goers interested .. because seriously … this movie is bad …)

So what is our Kool-Aid, fellow conservatives? Come on, I know you’re wondering … I say it is truth, education and engagement. We don’t need peyote or ‘shrooms to make people see the light – we just need voices. We need courage and most of all we need to find our audience, engage it and keep it.

I’ve said before it’s really easy for us to continually preach to each other. But to actually get out there and make a stand for what we know to be right, in the middle of those who are already engaged and enraged, is a totally different story.

This is not a friendly business we’re talking about. We are going up against a contingent that’s mad as hell – AT US – for all the wrong reasons and they’ve been lied to. And while we are the victims of this, we have to take the offensive stance and step out of the victim zone to win this battle and win back support.

We have our email groups and we have our publications – our communities — we turn to in order to make sure we can all stay informed and to gain strength. But these safe zones are not the trenches – they’re our home base — a place for us to recharge and gain support and encouragement.

How are we literally stepping out of our comfort zones and interacting with the natives? (For the record, Daniel Craig and Harrison Ford were at first taken prisoner by the Native Americans … then, after the peyote Kool-Aid party, they decided to team up).

How are we supporting each other when the media picks one of us off, or when one of our very own sells us out? Do we run around in a state of confusion, unable to respond accordingly, or do we have our stuff together enough to stay armed and dangerous?

This is an area where the left has us beat. We are a seemingly unorganized lot. Sometimes our messages are scattered and disjointed. It’s not because we don’t have passion and desire – our ranks are overflowing with it. We just don’t know how to mobilize as a cohesive group. But we can figure this out – it’s just a matter of being educated in strategy and in psychological warfare.

We can’t continually fluster or retreat when we are challenged on a belief. We must keep our wits about us and stay a step ahead. We are less equipped when it comes to money, training and backing. BUT if living in America teaches us anything, it’s that the underdog can indeed win the battle.

So you get the gist of the flick, right? These high-tech aliens (the left) and the good-intentioned, raw-hide underdog cowboys (the right) engage in a battle for the ages and everyone expects the aliens will come out on top.

But through team work, training and a deep belief in what’s good and right, Daniel Craig with his shiny bracelet (which turns out to be a high-tech laser weapon he stole from the aliens pre-amnesia), along with Harrison Ford, totally kick it on horseback. Along with the Native Americans and a band of unwieldy outlaws, they force themto fly off into the sky. … And while it could end here, it doesn’t …

Olivia Wilde, the time-travelling, reborn, now clothed gun-blazing beauty, found a secret weapon. She hides inside the bowels of this disgusting space tower as it rips itself from the earth.

In anotherChrist-like reference, she looks upward while engaging this computer chip board and hugs it to her chest… and causes the ship to implode … annihilating the entire alien colony and saving the old west from lasso-swinging, body snatching aliens.

The significance? Really, I have to tell you?

A woman saved the world … and seriously … I think that’s pretty cool …(and I’m ready to do it, btw … are you with me?)

And as you know, carbon is evil. Like me, but in chemical form.

So, here we are, sitting atop the nexus of lefty journalism, where the writer has managed to slap together two tasty slabs of PC red meat: feminism and environmentalism.

Yes, men are pigs, but not just to women. They’re pigs to the planet too. In an amazingly clever move, Time used a picture of Homer Simpson to illustrate the piece!

The caption: “A typical man.”

Which makes me wonder: what kind of picture would you need to illustrate a writer for Time?

My guess is, it would be the long gone Cathy, from the comic strip… Cathy.

She and her stringy-haired neuroticism will be missed. I loved her fearless take on lip gloss.

Or maybe it was her bumbling husband, Irving Hillman. Boy does he love gadgets -even if he didn’t know how to work them!

Ack indeed.

Anyway, I digress – the reason why men emit more carbon is because we eat more meat, and travel a lot. Women eat more leafy crap- and they’re less likely to fly all over the place, for work.

So is this where environmentalism takes you?

For women climbing that career ladder, and doing what men do – they must stop all that because their behavior can only harm the planet. To save the earth, they should stay home, wash dishes with non-phosphate detergent and change the baby’s recyclable diapers. Probably barefoot.

At least Time has the courage to point this out.

But I wonder if their female employees will take heed and go home.

After all, the planet is more important than their progress.

And if you disagree with me, you’re worse than Hitler.

Tonight:

Rick Leventhal

Kimberly Guilfoyle

FNC.com’s Chris Kensler

Note the progressive buzzwords:  “reverse racism,” which I never mentioned and is a silly concept (racism is racism, no matter from whom), and “scary Black people,” which I never mentioned either, yet seems to be the default spin thrown at Andrew Breitbart for pointing out racism in the NAACP.  The point of the article was that comments and actions which would have drawn the ire of the NAACP if made by white entertainers (can you imagine the response if Lady Gaga made a video where she wore a pointed hood and rallied a mob with torches and lead pipes?) were ignored when they were made by black entertainers—entertainers lauded at the Image awards. 

As some in the comments suggested, however, these entertainers cannot be racist, because racism is not about race but about power; only whites can be racist because only whites have the power to oppress.  Ridiculous as that is, let’s just assume that it’s correct for the sake of argument.  So if it’s not wrong for Ice Cube to refer to white people as his “enemy” and to rap about shooting white people– since as a black man, he cannot oppress a white man—is it wrong for Ice Cube (an Image award recipient) to rap, “Fuck and get up is how I do them stank hoes”?  Regardless of race, the Left cannot deny that men are still in a position to oppress women (just ask about Clarence Thomas), and the NAACP has been woefully silent on the open advocacy of misogyny and sexual violence amongst its Image award nominees and winners.

Discussing sexism in rap is nothing new; I won’t linger.  But do check out this analysis by Edward G. Armstrong.  It’s old, but it’s thorough.  And there are a few egregious examples to focus on:  if you can stomach it, read the lyrics to “Giving up the Nappy Dugout” by Ice Cube, and keep in mind that all of this Polanski-esque perversion is a fantasy involving a 17-year old (he states, “I know she’s a minor and it is illegal, but the bitch is worse than Vanessa del Rio”).  Also note that, with many of the examples I gave of Image awards being given to entertainers with racist lyrics, their nominations were for other works of art.  However, in 2002, Ja Rule won an Image award for his song “Living It Up,” which states, “Half the hoes hate them, half of them love me / The ones that hate me only hate me ‘cause they ain’t fucked me.”  And finally, consider the case of Nelly’s 2008 song “Tip Drill,” whose music video features the artist sliding a credit card through a woman’s buttocks.

The NAACP has said nothing to criticize the debasement of women in these songs.  However, have no fear.  They really hit it out of the park with that Hallmark card that warns black holes that a recent graduate is going to be successful in life.  They’ve got this violence against women thing down pat.

But criticizing rap is old hat, you may say.  That’s just part and parcel of a subculture that has nothing to do with the NAACP (despite their Image awards given to woman-objectifying rappers).  Touche, progressives.  I submit to your superior logic.  But what about Image award recipients and hosts whose sexism has been ignored by the NAACP?

D.L. Hughley, the 2008 host of the Image Awards, said to Maryline Blackburn, who beat out Sarah Palin for Miss Alaska, discussed Palin’s performance in the 2008 Vice Presidential debate on his CNN show.  When Blackburn said Palin became a good public speaker through beauty pageants, Hughley suggested, “If you had a thong and couldn’t talk, you would still get my vote.”  Black commentator tells a black woman her underwear is more important than her thoughts:  no comment from the NAACP.

Spike Lee was honored with the Hall of Fame award at the 2003 Images.  Lee’s depiction of women has long been considered misogynistic, from his exploitative nude scene with Rosie Perez in Do the Right Thing (her words, not mine) and his 2004 film She Hate Me which depicted a throng of lesbian couples paying the film’s protagonist 10 grand to impregnate them (and not through clinical sperm donation).

And, you’ll love this:  in 2001, Bill Clinton– the textbook case of a politician using sexual harassment to control women—was given the President’s Award.

Silence on racism, awards given to racists.  Silence on sexism, awards given to sexists.  Accusing non-racists and non-sexists of racism and sexism with no evidence whatsoever.  This is the modern NAACP.  How does this fulfill their titular goal of advancing people of color?

If you frequent the BigHollywood often, you’ve no doubt read about Glee’s recent jabs aimed toward Conservatives (more specifically, last week with Sarah Palin). Despite Sarah Palin having a legion of supporters (many of whom watch “Glee”), the people at Fox thought that it was a safe bet. After all, none of their Hollywood buddies would criticize them for it. That would require, shall we say… testicles? No, when it comes to speaking up against the popular opinion among their elitist peers, Tinseltown decided to lie themselves on the neutering bench a long time ago. It’s because of this that they travel in packs, making drive-bys and are more akin to acting like Cobra-Kais’ cronies than fighting the establishment a la Daniel Larusso. When “Glee” took a swipe at Ann Coulter this week, one could faintly hear the cries of their Hollywood lackeys screeching “Get’him a bodybag!” in the studio back lots and writers’ boardrooms.

In the most recent episode, when Emma Pillsburys’ character was listing the negative role models influencing young women in America today, she felt the need to name Ann Coulter. For the record, Ann Coulter was included after Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. The show then went on to normalize promiscuous teenage sex between young harlots and cads. If Ann wants to be a more positive role model for young women, clearly she should be taking notes.

It seems that the creators of “Glee” don’t just hate Conservatives in general, but reserve an even stronger rancor for particularly strong Conservative women. Their disdain for Palin and Coulter is deeply rooted in their love for subjective morality. Whereas “Glee” tells young women that the entire sexual landscape is nothing more than a gray area determined only by what “feels” right to them, Coulter and Palin draw a clear line in the sand and dare to tell women that sex is a big deal. Remember that to a liberal, telling young women that sex should be reserved for their husband is cruel, archaic, and ultimately a manifestation of hatred for women as a whole, as well as their menstrual cycles.

An even bigger problem for Hollywood is that both of these women sell books. I mean, they sell a LOT of books. The folks in Tinseltown can’t get their heads around that. They surround themselves with so many yes-men and patsies for the higher-ups that they can’t fathom such a huge portion of the American public being in diametric opposition to their worldview. So what do they do? They attack… In packs.

Even worse, if they feel that their backs are against the wall, they’ll call up Sean Penn to curse you with rectal cancer.

That’s right. Watch “Glee”… Or you’ll die screaming of rectal cancer.

So I received quite a bit of comment action from my last post, “The Wussification of America.” Most of it was positive and expressed similar views. Several on the conservative side actually missed a few of the points, but overall they got it. Of course, as expected, I received a few smuggalicious lefty responses decrying my opinion as barbaric and also as expected, questioning my manhood. As though bending over to the whims of actual barbarians is a manly way to live your life. Count me out, Sally.

Ya see, I live in a world where men take a stand. I come from a state that believes in the values of this great nation. I come from a state that believes that freedom is worth fighting for. I come from Texas, the sidearm of the nation. Undoubtedly the all knowing eyes of the left are rolling back in their head in their, “oh so better than thou” way at the knowledge that I, a redneck hick from a backwater Klan-infested swamphole could dare utter pride at such a thing. Well, to borrow a phrase from our brilliant enlightened leader, “Yes, yes I can.”

You see, I was brought up in a place where when something needed to get done, it got done. When your neighbor needed you, you were there to help. It’s just the right thing to do. We looked out for each other. And regardless of what the hootie tooties on the left want to think of everyone not living in a thriving Metropolistical stew of “progressive” thought; we did so regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, skin color or sexual preference. So there. Anyone remember Katrina? What city opened its arms to those hit hardest? Yep, my hometown of Houston. Which by the way is the 4th largest city in the country. Just an FYI.

Now, back to my point. When you take a stand, you can’t do so on a rolling platform. You have to know what you stand for and you must be willing to fight for it. And when someone comes to knock you down, you face them and hold your ground. When you know who you are and what you stand for, you are strong, firm, solid. And yes, that makes a man. Inside and out.

Now I want to say to some of the left that responded sans smuggery. I see and understand your points. Really I do. And here is where we see the true difference. I do not agree with you. Period. I do not think less of you as a person per se. I just know where I stand. I don’t feel threatened by your stand and lash out personally as so many on the left do when someone dares to disagree with them. I don’t feel that I’m superior to you because of my stance and opinions. I do feel that I am right. And I won’t go all wobbly in the knees and buckle like a liberal in the face of those who want to kill me simply to satisfy a false sense of self satisfaction at my attempt to understand the feeeelings of the guy sawing my head off. Your feeeelings are your feeeelings and that is alright. However; your feeeelings will get me and my family killed.

I had this very conversation with a liberal friend of mine. He was adamant about the “torture” issue. He said we were better than that and that it shouldn’t be allowed and that it made us as bad as the terrorists, blah, blah, blah. And then, in the midst of his argument, he uttered one sentence which summed up the feelings of every liberal I have ever met. I’m paraphrasing here, but he said something to the effect that “Well, maybe if I knew my family was in immediate danger…” or something similar in tone. BINGO! BANGO! BONGO! Can anyone say caveat!?! There it is folks. When it comes down to them, the rules are different. Tax cheats? Horrible. Unless you’re on the left. Ruthless Dictators? Horrible. Unless you’re on the left. Terrorists? Horrible. Unless you’re on the left.

Ya see, the thing that my friend and all you on the left who responded to my article seem to miss here is that the info we got from pouring some water down the gullets of 3 (that’s right fellas, only 3) worthless piles of human debris saved our fair city of Los Angeles from a terrorist attack that could have possibly killed your whiny flower-pickin asses! Oh, and how about if not your lives, what about everyone else’s? Do those not in your enlightened sphere of influence matter? When someone wants to kill you and has stated so, made arrangements to do so and is heading your way with a little “COEXIST” sticker on the bumper of their “chock full o explosives” laden love mobile; you don’t help them gas up their car, clean the windshield, and air up their tires. Ya, shoot em! Aaaaaaaaaaand, scene.

Is that so hard to fathom? Really? Bad guys do bad things. And I’m sorry, it may not be Biblical in the liberal sense, but when someone hits me on the cheek, the only way I’m turning the other cheek is in the midst of a solid roundhouse kick to their frickin head. I’m done with this silly feminized version of what a man is supposed to be. Will I open doors for women? You betcha. Will I share my feeeelings with a woman. Absolutely, at an appropriate time. Will I even write poetry, pick flowers, and have picnics with a woman. Yes, yes, and yes I certainly will. But what’s even more important than all that lovey dovey mushy romantic stuff?

I will stand firm in my convictions. I will stand firm in my support of those who fight for me. I will protect the lives and homes and freedom of those I love and their families and friends. I will fight the miserable evil that would make a slave of my woman. Stone her for driving a car, treat her like property, and kill her for being a victim of another piece of crap thug. That, my liberal friends, is the kind of man I am. I don’t want to hug a terrorist today. I want to hug a lovely, gorgeous, outgoing, outspoken, woman that can feel free to drive, read, vote, sing, dance, and choose the type of man she will spend her time with. And I’m pretty much willing to bet, that when the chips are down, she won’t go running to you for safety, there sweetpants. She’ll be looking for the manly guy ready to fight for her when the time comes…

And P.S.
It’s time!

Oh, and P.S.S.
Namaste

“Thing is, he’s going to kill me.”

“Have you gone to the police?”

“Yes, of course I have.”

“And what happened?”

She shakes her head from side to side, wraps her arms protectively around her chest.

“I got a restraining order against Ned, that’s my ex-boyfriend. But you know what good that is, don’t you?”

“Tell me.”

She inscribes a big zero in the air.

Five Minutes Earlier

It’s a crowded Sunday morning in the Martin B. Retting Gun Shop in Culver City.

There’s the usual cross-section of customers:

Two elderly black women, sisters, who have been robbed countless times by drug-addicts. Ignored by the LAPD, they have no choice but to buy a gun for self-defense. The women wear colorful bonnets. Yup, they dressed up to go gun shopping.

There are a couple of hunters buying high-powered ammunition; they sound like Los Alamos scientists as they discuss the exquisite physics of various exotic slugs. It’s way beyond my comprehension.

Two Marines on leave are stocking up on rugged, combat-ready clips for their side-arms. Semper Fi.

There’s also a young Hispanic apartment manager who lives in a high-crime area. His wife just had a baby—Mazal Tov!—and he wants to protect his family from the local “desperadoes.”

I’m waiting my turn.

Protagonist

And so is a young woman who absolutely sticks out in the gun shop. She’s wearing a cream colored linen baby doll with blue grosgrain trim; on her feet, pink flip-flops that pop off alabaster skin. Her hair is the color of golden Kansas wheat. Mid-twenties, she’s an iconic all-American beauty who makes me flash to memories of a truly insane childhood crush: Tuesday Weld as Thalia Menninger on The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis.

Looking as if she’s on the edge of a meltdown, she paces, glances nervously at the display cases lined with gleaming rows of pistols and revolvers. She makes a move to exit the gun shop, then returns, as if yanked by a fishing reel.

“Excuse me, do you, do you know about guns?”

She’s even got that vulnerable, tremulous Tuesday Weld pitch to her voice.

And she is talking to yours truly.

“A bit.”

“I’m terrified of guns.”

I hold out my hands as if checking for rain.

“Sounds crazy, I know, thing is—do you think the salesmen are going to be much longer?”

“There’s tons of paperwork if you buy a gun.”

Her eyes dart about, then she just looks at me straight-on:

“Thing is, he’s going to kill me.”

Antagonist

That’s when she tells me about Ned; the evil, the obsessive, the ex-boyfriend.

Ned is a stalker, a human virus who has infected every aspect of her life.

She speaks of restraining orders:

“The thing about them is that people like Ned always find a way around them. He’s there on my computer. He’s a computer guy, for Chrissakes. He knows when I start going out with a new dude and he makes sure to tell the new one all sorts of trash about me. And d’you think the dude sticks around? No one wants that level of drama. I’ve moved twice already and he always finds me. Ned’s always there. Sometimes I wake up at night, go to my window and I’m telling you he’s watching me. Hey, I’m sorry for unloading on you. You must think I’m such a loser chick.”

“It’s fine. I feel awful for you. But it’s good you’re taking steps to protect yourself. It’s admirable. Men like Ned count on women being scared and defenseless.”

She pauses. Looks down at the display of guns.

Conflict

“I can’t believe I’m here. I’ve been against guns and violence my whole life.”

I let this pass. Now is not the time for a self-righteous lecture.

Intertitle: UTOPIA IS THE OPIATE OF LIBERALS.

“Did Ned threaten you, physically, I mean?”

“Said I belong to him and no one else. That’s about it. But I know what he means.”

“What did the police say?”

“The last cop, as he was leaving, whispered for me to get a gun.”

I tell her that owning a gun isn’t sufficient. She has to take safety classes, self-defense classes. She has to know what she’s doing. From the counter, I grab a handful of NRA brochures and press them into her hands. I make her promise that she’ll sign up as soon as she gets her gun in ten days.

“Ten days?” she says.

Nodding, I explain:

“First you have to take a test, here in the store, a written test. They’ll give you a booklet to study. Then you get a certificate making you eligible to buy a weapon in California. After you purchase the gun there’s a ten-day waiting period until you take possession.”

“But why?”

“Background check. To make sure you’re not a felon, a psychopath, an illegal immigrant, a terrorist, a drug addict. It’s the law.”

Once again, she wraps her arms around her chest, as if trying to keep her heart inside her body.

“Ned’s really smart—a psychozoid like you wouldn’t believe.”

Rising Tension

I do not ask her why she went out with Ned in the first place. The answer is obvious: psychopaths are clever at disguising their pathologies. Evil is seductive.

“You’re going to be okay. I know you are.”

She shrugs, scans a row of pistols.

“Are those good?”

“Those are .45 automatics. Probably too much gun for you. I’d recommend a simple revolver. Probably a Smith & Wesson J frame, a .38. But we’ll see what the salesman have to say, they are the experts here, okay?”

She manages a thin smile, her first since I’ve met her.

“Cool.”

“One piece of advice, even before you buy a gun, and this is important.”

“Yeah?”

“Lose the flip-flops.”

She looks down at her feet, curls her toes, lacquered a hot psychedelic pink.

“Huh?”

“You can’t run or maneuver in those things. Get in the habit of wearing a good solid pair of running shoes.”

“Oh, right, right. What was I thinking?”

I lead her to the glass case that holds the wheel guns, weapons that are simple to load, easy to handle, jam-proof. And, you better believe: lethal.

She scans the display. She seems overwhelmed.

Finally, she looks up at me and says: “What’s to stop Ned from killing me in the next ten days?”

I have no answer.

Resolution, Not So Much, For This is, Unfortunately, Reality

Hours later, I tell my wife Karen about the conversation. In the background FOX Cable News is reporting the brutal murder of a pregnant woman. The chief suspect is her ex-boyfriend, an evil piece of human garbage with a history of stalking women.

“I’m terrified I’m going to wake up one day and see that she’s been murdered. Maybe I should have done more.”

“What more could you have done?”

Shrugging, I admit I have no idea.

But Ned is out there, obsessively dreaming, watching, waiting for the right moment — to make her his own.

The Cornered Cat is an excellent resource for women who wish to learn about self-defense and firearms. Highly recommended.

Copyright © Robert J. Avrech