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Not funny

As noted, The Babylon Bee is not funny—nor is it dangerous; and people really shouldn’t lie about it and say it is funny when it is not. If it is funny, it’s funny like the “Clerical Humour” section in the back of a parish magazine, next to an advert for your local plumber and the girl who does dog-walking part-time (that is to say, like Xmas cracker jokes and “dad humour”, not funny). The right can’t be funny because it aims to protect the sacred and the sacred isn’t funny—it’s hallowed. To grasp the situation, understand that Zelensky—a major regime stooge—is a former comedian; he’s a professional mocker—mockery is his stock-in-trade. He’s also, appropriately, Time “Man of the Year”. The Man of the Year is a joke—as the right has said for some time, “clown world”.

Yes—but we can meet fire with fire...The problem is that it doesn’t work like that—you just end up complicit in the pratfalls and the clowning around, covered in cream pie. The right never really mocks the left and the left doesn’t fear mockery—they’re impudent, it’s water off a duck’s back; in fact, the left can always mock back with more effect, it holds nothing sacred so it can hit with no holds barred (not honourable, to punch below the waistline—kinda funny tho). The left fears sincerity, innocence, and honesty—since these destroy its illusory self-importance, its narcissistic reflection.

The problem is that there is a right-wing type, often a professional right-winger, who acts like a puffed up pompous toad—Peter Hitchens is a good example (since he has not renounced journalism and all its works, he is still on the left really). These people put others off the right because they are pompous and sanctimonious—Jordan Peterson is another good example. They are also impotent, they’re like the clubland bores of yesteryear who mumbled over their whiskeys, “Eh, eh there’s a man in a dress over there…what do you make of that eh? What d’ya makeofthat, eh? What’s the world comin’ to, eh?”. The problem is that though they bloviate in a sanctimonious way, so opening themselves to deserved ridicule, they never do anything. “So what ya goin’ do about it?” “Well, we submitted a firm motion to the committee that we would not stand for it.

In truth, such people are empty shells—you pick them up and shake them and perhaps you hear a faint rattle inside, what was once a soul. They made their peace with the system years ago, and they think they’re “good” and “principled” people because they showboat about and mutter “outrageous, terrible.” Yet, at heart, they are empty—if they did anything to stop what they condemned people might get hurt; and, for all their sermons about “the Christian legacy”, they think there’s only this life—no judgement afterwards; hence you should do nothing because someone might “get hurt” and that is unacceptable if you’re a materialist—it diminishes pleasure and imperils the only life you have (and anyway, I’m “resisting not evil, you see”—I read the Bible carefully and it means that you mutter into your whiskey about “woke madness”). Actually, “resist not evil” refers to actionless action—it’s when you act with no emotion involved, so that if you stop evil it’s “nothing personal”, just a dispassionate objective act.

The reason these people end up in trouble is that they start too ambitiously. They become these stuffed-shirt schooners who say they’re for “truth” and “beauty” and “seriousness”—yet they can’t even say, when they see a big pair of tits, “Wow that’s a big pair of tits.” You see, that would be unserious—yet unless you get over the pride, the pride that you are too good to say, “Wow that’s a big pair of tits,” then you will be a stuffed shirt. If you’re going to be for truth and reality, let’s start with the basics—yet these people never start there, they start with Gothic cathedrals and GK Chesterton quotes on their Twitter accounts; so they never say a single true thing—and because they can’t risk “unserious” comments they never say anything profound either; they never say, “I like how soft my dog’s ears are between my hands.”

No—all you get from them is “the Truth” (TM); self-important and pompous. Mike Pence is like that—some unreal Action Man doll that someone snapped from the box, factory fresh (ideal for collectors on Reddit); yet when it came down to it he wasn’t there for Trump—he was a whited sepulchre (like his hair, snow white—so innocent). He went over to the mockers, those who had just made a mockery of the American electoral process; well, he was loyal to “the Truth” (TM), technically perfect—yet I saw a big black fly land on him (what could it mean?).

Even though such men are risible, there’s no pathway forward if you join in with the mockery—you can’t beat the mockers at their own game. The problem is that the wrong things are off limits—in consequence, the West has no gravity and grace; it’s just a tiresome replay where we “bust taboos”—when I was a teenager there was TV series called Tipping the Velvet, supposedly “taboo-busting” television about lesbianism in Victorian England; and you see the same thing today, still retailed as “taboo-busting” (for the amnesiacs and the young)—and, in truth, there was similar “taboo-busting” back to the 1960s and beyond.

What we want, among other things, are taboos—we want things to be delineated, set off; at the moment, only blacks, women, Jews, and homosexuals are beyond criticism—so they are what we worship. Only when we overturn that false cult, a cult ultimately based on the worship of women—since the other groups are only held to be sacred insofar as they are like women—will we get back to some serious empty space.

This is not unrelated to the stuffed shirts and the big pair of tits—it’s the stuffed shirts who were too pompous to say, “I mainly like my girlfriend because she has a big pair of tits,” and made it about some supposedly profound (puffed up and false) thing like “respect”; and that’s how we ended up with an over-valued view towards women in the first place. It’s only when people can say, “I like my girlfriend for her big tits and the way her twat feels round my cock,” that they can then say, “She’s a goddess with square eyes set in blue.” It’s only when you say she’s a whore that she can be a Madonna. What happens otherwise is a phoney over-valuation that is supposedly “good” and “respectable” but is really a worship of women—who are all whores, really. It ends in the worship of women and groups like women—pure and unimpeachable, supposedly. I am not a whited sepulchre—I’m dirty.

You can’t do the above through mockery—it’s women who are mockers, it’s women who sneer and roll their eyes. “Why do you have to take the ceremony so seriously?” “Just boys being boys with their silly ceremonies”. As the film Clueless put it in the early 1990s—“What-ev-er.” The homosexuals are in it with the women—they’re mockers because they’re abnormal and can’t participate in family life, so they try to pull it down and ruin it for everyone else. Of course, it’s all just a challenge for a man to take charge, as PUAs and the like will tell you—yet in the West it’s been tolerated for decades; the pantomime has been on for centuries, not just the Christmas season.

It’s summed up by the phrase from Groucho Marx, “All you need in life is sincerity, if you can fake that you’ve got it made!”. As stands, people don’t even fake sincerity—they fake disdain and aloofness, sometimes not too well. Marx, another Jewish comedian, is apposite because isn’t the Jewish comedian a model for our world, with Zelensky “Man of the Year”?—and is not the person the Jews first practiced their mockery on not Christ? And does that not explain, to return to the start, why The Babylon Bee is not funny? Christmas cracker jokes are not funny because they are a duty, dad humour is not funny because dad has gravity, and the parish newsletter is not funny because the sacred is not funny—it’s not funny at all. So it turns out that what we need to do is pull down the mockers—and it won’t be funny, it will be beautiful.


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