Revisionist History: The Confederacy Won, After All...

Scenes from the last few days involving people of a certain socio-economic class...


The Staten Island Ferry to Fantasy Island
The Scene: The Overlord has an appointment in Manhattan on Monday, and has deigned it better to travel by public transport rather than private automobile. He takes a post-rush-hour boat, and finds a seat in what he thinks is likely to be a less-densely populated seating area, given his propensity to be sickened by what constitutes humanity.

Alas, the best laid plans of mice and Galactic Rulers...

Two...we should hesitate to call them "females"...of a certain...ummm...shall we say, primitive, type...decide to sit nearby, despite the plethora of available seating elsewhere. If this was the lottery, then the Overlord had, indeed, struck it rich.

I shall endeavor to translate the Urban Patois into something resembling Standard English as best I can.

Primitive # 1 - Hot like a bitch today! I cain't stand dis muthafuckin' heat. It makin' my titties itch an' shit.

Primitive #2 - Beddeh dis shit den snow. I hate muthafuckin' snow. Like it hot.

Primitive #1 - No fuckin;' way. I cain't stand da heat an' I cain't stand no muthafuckin' snow.

Primitive #2 - If you had yo' choice, would you rather be in someplace warm or someplace cool?

(Thus begins the Voyage to Fantasy Island).

Primitive #1 - Bitch, I'd be somewhere with a-fuckin'-c, right now, fo sho.

Primitive #2 - Naw, gurl, I go to some tropical island, where it always warm, an' I be out dere butt fuckin' naked, wid my azzz an' my titties hangin' out.

(The Overlord is now on the verge of an outburst of laughter. Outrageous, pants-wetting laughter. He wants to laugh out loud, but doesn't wish to (further) embarrass these poor unfortunates. He decides to say something, more to evoke what is sure to be a fascinating response that will end up on this blog, because he's a fucking jerk that way).

The Overlord: Excuse me. You know, if you were in the tropics, and you were naked all the time, you might get sunburned, and it would be most uncomfortable and not at all pleasant.

Primitive #2 - Holy shit, he right! I din't tink 'bout dat! Dayum!

(At this point, a cell phone rings)

Primitive #1 - I gotta take dis. It's Cyrus.

Primitive #2 - What dat nigga want?

(What follows is a mass of pure gibberish, interspersed with a few, staccato "muthafuckas", "nigga" this, "nigga" that, "dat bitch", and "I bust her muthafuckin' azz". The conversation gets Primitive #1 very agitated, indeed. The Overlord fears she may start hooting, chest beating, and flinging feces).

Primitive #1 - Nigga, dat DIE-neesha's baby, not TIE-neesha. You stupid muthafucka you got so many kids you ain't know who dey mommies is no more. Fuckin' dumbass. No, don't you call me no mo if you gonna keep messin;' wid dat bitch. She prolly got AIDS, mothafucka, an' you ain't givin' me no AIDS, nigga, you ain't worth AIDS, muthafucka.

(The Boat docks, the Overlord makes a rapid exit, finds a quiet spot, and laughs hard enough to nearly pull a muscle in his rib cage. He needs 20 minutes to compose himself before his meeting).

The Supermarket Odyssey
The Scene: The Overlord is doing the bi-weekly grocery shopping late on a Sunday night. He does this because he actually enjoys it, and because he's fucking nitpicky about his fresh produce. He usually goes on Sunday night because of the lack of people in the store. The Overlord finds people disgusting, especially in numbers.

Your Galactic Master has the distinct misfortune to enter the supermarket behind an obvious Welfare Queen and her brood of ill-mannered, nose-picking children, obviously raised on a steady diet of paint chips and horrific beatings. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, and because I'm not sure how many apostrophes one needs to properly spell D'An'gel'iqwa.

We have passed through the entrance door, right onto the produce section after a slight delay caused by one of the children knocking over half the "on special" Double-stuffed Oreos thoughtfully stacked precariously right inside the doorway, and what was indicative of the hair-trigger response to a child's fuck up: a tongue lashing full of profanity and a threat of physical violence.

The children burst into the produce section, and two of them immediately start grabbing peaches. One of them decides to taste one before begging "mother" to buy them.

Welfare Queen (calling her brood to attention): Kia, Lexus, Mercedes, Toyota, Subaru, Volvo, put dat shit down! Get da fuck ovah here..I said get da fuck ovah here! Don't make me have to beat yo ass in da middle o' dis muthafucka, Muthafucka. I ain't buyin' no fuckin' peaches, okay? We din't come here for no fuckin' peaches. Nigga, you better put dat muthafucka down or I gonna go all crazy on yo azz. You fuckin' bit it? You better fuckin' eat it now, before someone catch you. If someone catch you an' make me pay for dat shit, I put a lump on your fuckin' hayd.

The Overlord is made aware of the progress through the market of Welfare Queen and her gaggle of possibly diseased children by innumerable and unidentifiable sperm donors by the usual signs such creatures leave when in the wild. The knocked over displays; the opened and pilfered containers of food left on shelves; the occasional broken jar or bottle, the sounds of children screaming after the thunderous report of a beefy smack; her constant caterwauling while trying to run herd upon them; the wet spots on the floor where one has sneezed without covering his/her mouth, or the liquid trail left behind a younger child as it wets itself.

Taking time to convince himself he is NOT in downtown Mogadishu, Your Overlord pays for his groceries. In the next isle, is Welfare Queen and her brace of Orcs. She is now complaining because her EBT card is short by $2.72 and she "ain't got no two fuckin' dollars and seventy-two muthafuckin;' cents, bitch."

The Overlord leaves, shaking his head.

The Courtroom Reality TV Dilemma
The Scene: It is Saturday Afternoon, The Overlord decides to spend some quality time with Mrs. Overlord. Eventually, he wishes he hadn't, for Mrs. Overlord's idea of "quality time" is to subject him to all the reality TV shows she couldn't watch during the week (because she was busy watching other reality TV shows, naturally) on DVR.

We do this together as a means of "bonding". While there is great affection for Mrs. Overlord, the watching of Reality television is an ordeal for Mr. Overlord, who only complies in order to stave off the inevitable passive-aggressive-semi-menstrual soliloquy from Mrs. Overlord about his inability to "appreciate the same things that she does", and "how that makes her feel", which is all followed up with the recitation of unwritten rules of what "couples are supposed to do together", Murder/Suicide precipitated by 4 hours of extremely boring, depressing, repetitive, unscripted television which vividly demonstrates the complete and utter uselessness of most of humanity apparently not being one of them.

Fuck you, Cosmopolitan Magazine.

Eight straight episodes of Judge Judy. This is followed by an additional six episodes of Hot Bench. Of the 28 or so small claims cases presented in either show, approximately ten (10) of them involved the following factors:

An automobile accident involving an Urban Aborigine.

An automobile accident involving an Urban Aborigine who does not have a) a driver's license, b) insurance, c) a legal leg to stand on, d) all of the above.

An automobile accident involving an unlicensed, uninsured Urban Aborigine, who claims his/her auto insurance coincidentally expired the day before the accident, but who cannot prove they ever had auto insurance.

An automobile accident involving an unlicensed, uninsured, Urban Aborigine, who can't pay for the tickets that got their license suspended or which caused their insurance to be dropped prior to the accident, but who all seem to have oodles of available cash for neck tattoos, gold teeth, cell phones, automobiles, 6" Acrylic nails and manicures, elaborate wigs, enormous hoop earrings you usually see dolphins leaping through at Sea World, and in at least two cases, a night at Da Cluuuub.

Fortunately, The Overlord was permitted to go to dinner that evening with his friends, while Mrs. Overlord stayed home for fear of hot weather and thunderstorms, and had himself a couple of drinks to wash away the memory of such human stupidity.

It is clear to me now, after these experiences, that the South actually won the Civil War. Although I think the thought has crossed my mind several times in the past, but only crystallized itself within my brain now.
Oh, the South may claim it was defeated. The North might even claim the victory. But, those Confederates were some pretty smart -- and sneaky -- bastards.

Let's engage in some in-depth history before I explain how this Snatching of Victory From the Jaws of Defeat came about.

Dispelling popular myths, the war was not about the concept of State's Rights. It was not about the Abolition of Slavery. These are canards, for the real impetus of the American Civil War was social, and neither political nor altruistic.

On the Northern Side the agitators for war may have called themselves Abolitionists, but they did not do so because they had a revulsion towards slavery. After all, their forebears had, in many cases, amassed great fortunes in the Slave trade, and even owned slaves, themselves. While a few -- a very few -- may have been genuinely concerned about the plight of Africans held captive in America, their true motivation ultimately sprang from their frustrations with religion and their adaptation of Science in it's place.

The first American settlers in the North, particularly in New England, where abolitionist furor ran hottest and deepest, were usually religious dissenters of an unusually obnoxious and toxic variety. So toxic, in fact, that their unique brands of fire-and-brimstone, self-flagellating, peculiarly-severe, stratified-and-constipated religious belief often made them dangers to the crowned heads of state and became the crux of religious disputes that were often settled with gunfire and burning at the stake.

Shipping them to the New World, where if you were lucky, the voyage or the climate or the natives would kill them, was considered good policy. Europe unloaded it's religious diarrhea upon the American continent: Calvinists, Puritans, Huguenots, Quakers, Shakers, and some even worse.

The exiles saw in America their chance to create "a new Jerusalem" in a pristine wilderness free of the iron law, and retribution, of Monarch or Pope.

(Author's Note: Ronald Reagan's famous "Shining City" speech evokes this very mindset).

Naturally, they failed after several generations because God is a cunt that way. She never seems to be around when you need her, no matter how strictly you follow her stupid rules and how many witches you burn. But, no matter, for just when faith had seemed to be a bunch of empty words in a book full of no new ideas, along came someone named Charles Darwin to revive the crusading Christian spirit.

God did not fail; Man failed, you see. Man failed because he was an imperfect creature, maintained in a retarded state by poor breeding. Darwin suggested that animals were perfected by Evolution, the breeding out of characteristics that were anathema to the species. Select the best examples to breed with one another, and you created a better version of the species. If it could work for cows, and turtles, and beetles, it for damned sure could work on people. Only when Man was perfected, these Northern Dipshits formulated, would the New Jerusalem be built.

This is the origin of the Progressive Movement in America; frustrated. uppity, bigoted, religious zealots who turned to Science and Violence to achieve what Religion and Persuasion could not.

The first subjects of this new experimentation were to be the Southerners, and once they had all of their (to the northerners) disgusting and questionable characteristics bred out of them by their morally-superior neighbors, it would be the Negro's turn.

(Author's Note: You will notice, however, how the Modern Progressive (partly born of the Abolitionist Movement) seems to have no issues in modern times with the modern equivalent of the African Slave -- the illegal immigrant -- because the illusion of paying someone pig's wages and leaving the rest to government gives them the mental comfort to convince themselves that their Nicaraguan Nanny, Haitian Butler or the Guy Who Serves them Their Soy-Milk, Fair-Trade Double Latte every morning isn't a slave in the literal sense).

As for the South, the creation and formation of the Southern Colonies in America took a different route. Rather than a dumping ground for unwanted people of questionable political loyalty, the southern colonies were often founded as Crown Enterprises, complete with shareholders, and, therefore, completely mercantile endeavors. They were designed, from the outset, to be producers of commodities that would be exported to the markets of Europe for profit. Sugar, Rum, Cotton, Indigo, Tobacco were all in great demand.

Naturally, these things require labor. A lot of it, and since they were Crown Enterprises that were expected to return a hefty profit on investment, expenses had to be kept to a minimum, hence the importation of vast numbers of African slaves, since no self-respecting white man would volunteer to work -- unless forced to do so -- for what amounted to slave's wages.

The puritanical northern jerkoffs always found this profit motive to be slightly disgusting (although they didn't mind profiting from it at arm's length), and the Southern Lifestyle of large plantations (lots of private property), gaudy displays of wealth, the leading (often decisive) role taken by Southern revolutionaries after the New Englanders had failed so spectacularly in the early stages of the Revolutionary War, the serious sectarian differences, rankled. For a very long time.

However, there was to be a change in the social atmosphere of the South that was wholly unexpected. This was the Industrial Revolution, and much like today's Automation Revolution, it was about to make the Labor-intensive Plantation a thing of the past. Mechanical planters, reapers, steam engines, railroads, would do for plantation farming what the factory robot does for welding, spray painting, or manufacturing; make brute labor redundant, and ultimately, non-valuable.

The question for the South became what to do with millions of slaves who would soon be unnecessary. Three-to-five million people, uneducated, with no assets, no skills except those that might compete with the new, automated plantation, all with a legitimate ax to grind, could not be allowed to aimlessly wander the landscape.

The national arguments in the 1840's-1860's were all about what to do with millions of soon-to-be, excess-to-needs people. The solution proffered by many Southerners of influence was to expand slavery westward (this is the genesis of things like the Missouri Compromise, for example) Which would allow Southerners to do three things: a) it put the bulk (if not all) of the former slaves on the far side of a natural barrier (the Mississippi), hundreds of miles from the Southern Heartland, b) gave the Plantation owners an opportunity to squeeze one last drop of Return on Investment by selling their slaves to settlers headed west, and c) make the headaches attendant to slavery someone else's problem.

We know what happened next. War.

And what happened after that: the attempt to "reform" the Southern Culture and Southern Man through Reconstruction that continued throughout American History -- forced integration, the Civil Rights Movement, Affirmative Action, and finally, Identity Politics.

Along the way, the same descendants of the religious crusaders who brought us war also brought us Prohibition, Eugenics, Socialist government programs (The New Deal, the Great Society, ObamaCare, and so forth), Communism in the form of the Labor Union, Fascism with speech codes, Political Correctness, and riots in Pussy Hats, and, of course, they've been wrong (almost) every step of the way.

But a curious thing happened. For all their zeal to change the Nature of Man, and their intent to change the Nature of the Social Order, they wound up right back where they started, only spreading the misery.

The Plantation still exists: it's called the Welfare State, and unlike the previous iteration where the slave owes his crumbs and his minor liberties to a man he called Massah, he now owes them to the government.

Instead of a Massah taking care of his slaves, that duty has been shared by force with millions of others we call "taxpayers", so that even those who are not guilty of the sin of slavery are somehow punished for it, too.

Instead of penning millions of slaves in small enclaves behind natural barriers, they were instead permitted to migrate all over America, self-segregating into small communities of intramural destruction, making the descendant of the slave EVERYONE's problem.

It would seem that Johnny Reb has attained all of his goals, just not in the way he intended or at the price he wished to pay, and the Yankees did it for him.

And since the descendants of the slaves showed themselves largely unable -- or unwilling -- to conform to the cultural norms of their "betters", thus advancing through their own efforts and talents, we have a system of government intervention which goes out of it's way (very expensively) to ensure that the unqualified get jobs they can't do, get educational benefits they often neither want nor understand, and we even went as far as to elect a (half-) black President of the United States in order to maintain the illusion that America is a "Progressive" country with disastrous results.

And yet, the people responsible for all this trouble, all this heartache, all of this EVIL, will insist that it is they who are the benefactors of humanity, no matter how many lies need to be told, no matter how many people need to die, no matter how many more slaves we have to import to replace the last batch, no matter how personally degrading and destructive of liberty the whole exercise is, because we're dealing, still, with the same religious mindset, only it now displays itself in the shop window of Science.

They're the same, mean-spirited, repulsive, obnoxious, pretentious, pushy, bigoted, violent, idiots they were before, they just have better advertising now, and have had a century to dumb everyone down to within an inch of their lives.

They have achieved nothing, and they know it. But then again, the point was never to achieve anything; it was to grab the power to dictate ideas, tastes, manners, activities, and political views to millions against their wills and at their expense for the dumbass' personal, mental comfort.
What I've encountered on the ferry, in the supermarket, and have seen on TV, proves they were all full of shit, because if this is indicative of the current state of the African-American in America, then the proof is in the pudding, isn't it, and they would seem to have not advanced very much in the 150 years since the end of the Civil War despite all this Progressive help they've gotten.

Then again, that's probably by design, too.