How old am I? I can clearly remember a time when we were taught that all life was sacred, every person mattered and that the painful decisions of life and death were left to those afflicted, grieving families, their doctors and whatever faith leaders they sought comfort from. When did this all change? When did we become so calloused, so cold, so detached from the plight of others that we could allow a faceless state to be the ultimate arbiter of the time, location and manner of our passing? And how do they determine what dignity, our dignity, actually means at the time of our death?

Is there dignity in hope?

I have no idea what “mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome” is. I really don’t much care to know. No one should be forced to know; least of all a ten-month old infant. But the UK government, in its infinite wisdom and compassion, has decided that the parents of little Charlie Gard have forty-eight hours to convince them that he is worth saving; that he has some chance, a realistic chance, or they, the benevolent state, will forcibly end his life. And don’t get confused over my wording here; they aren’t going to hold the little boy down and smother him. Although, it certainly appears as though they could if they wanted to, being all powerful and righteous and stuff like that. No, they’ll physically restrain his parents as the young boy is allowed to die; how? Slowly wither away? Will they flip some magical switch and instantly end all his pain and suffering, and that of his parents? Not at home, not in the arms of his mother or father? Let’s get some clarity here. Just how does the state intend to offer this child a death with “dignity?”

Let’s face it, we’ve come a long way as a civilization in the fifty years or so that I’ve cast my shadow on this planet. We’ve been treated to break-through after break though in medicine, although there are far too many scourges we’ve yet to conquer. And because of that reality, we’ve also grown intellectually; or so we think. No, we’ve had our brushes with eugenics along the way. Thought we’d put that ugly chapter to bed, didn’t we? But what is this if not a branch of that, the next logical extension of “for the good of all.” And don’t be confused here, for what else is the rationale behind denying a child and his parents an opportunity, a hope no matter how slim, to prolong the life of a child? What harm could there be in letting a grieving, desperate parent fly to some willing medical center that is offering a chance; without any expense to the citizenry or the state at all? What is at stake here? Simple; power. The power to decide which groups deserve to live, which don’t. A power thinly disguised by the state as compassion, acting in the best interest of the child as if the parents were flying him to some dark, remote location to perform untold medical experiments upon him. No, we can’t take that chance. Let’s kill him now.

Power. A power that the state has taken great pains to cultivate and one they would rather not give up. What group of unfortunates will be next? How about those with advanced cancer? Should the state decide at some point, sorry, your medical support is done? No chance for you, no matter how slim. We have determined that and we know what’s best for you. Alarmist? Hardly. What convincing argument does the state have to sentence this child to a certain death when there are others, doctors in other parts of the world possibly, who offer hope. Not a guarantee, but hope. And at no cost to them. Because at the end of it all, that’s all medicine can ever offer us is hope. No guarantees. Deciding to withhold services is one thing; forbidding someone from getting them elsewhere, even for a glimmer of that hope is nothing short of euthanasia. The “group” here is those determined by the state to be “hopeless;” hopeless, because the state is all about destroying the concept of hope. Hope leads to people taking back power from the state. And it won’t be long before other groups will be “hopeless” for some reason or another. Soon it will be age; or ability to produce for the state coffers.

So, as I watch the papers and read blogs and comments, I see a number of people expressing concern and dismay; let the child go somewhere, anywhere, while there is still hope. But I am troubled by the rather large numbers of those who are expressing disdain for the parents; they need to let go, they’re making the child suffer needlessly. I’ve even seen them called selfish for holding out hope where the commenter has determined there is none.  But only those who are truly hopeless themselves never see hope. And I doubt like hell that the parents want to see this child suffer. And of course, there are those who are begging the parents to let the poor child die with dignity, a phrase already used by the state. Odd juxtaposition; if the child wanted to mutilate themselves, we’d be cheering the parents for tolerance and understanding. And just twelve months ago, it would have been perfectly acceptable to tear this child limb from limb, without any concern for whether he felt pain, only to be sucked out of the womb by a tube so his parts could be sold to the highest bidder. What type of dignity is that? This is where we’ve traveled. To this point; where a parent, struggling to save the life of an infant is given forty-eight hours to prove beyond doubt that he can be saved, but waiting forty-eight hours before deciding to tear him from the womb is unacceptable.

No, this is all about the ultimate power of the state; and the right we have given them to determine for ourselves and for those we love, to dictate the reason, the manner and the time of our death; and the definition of our final dignity at the end of our lives.

 

 


It was going to be hot; which meant I needed to mow the lawn early in the day; although mowing the front lawn near the edge of the road mainly consists of creating huge clouds of dust and sending across the road the various pieces of gravel which the department of public works had spread all winter long. Those same yahoos who invite me to play “hide and seek” with my mailbox every winter storm; and I pay them well to do it too. Cody was lying underneath one of the trees in the front yard, his paws in the air, squirming on his back in the cool morning grass. Lesson here; deeply enjoy life’s little pleasures whenever you can.

Comet; painting the skies with love.

She caught my eye from a distance up the road. I noticed that her gait was much slower than her usual daily walk around the neighborhood. She was alone; the empty space beside her obvious and hurtful. I continued mowing away from her, in the same direction she was headed. When I turned around to make a return pass facing her, she noticed me and waved. I killed the mower and took off my earmuffs and safety glasses. Yeah, safety spaz; hell, I can end up bleeding by just sweeping the sidewalk. A real practicing klutz.

She glanced up and noticed I was still watching her. She raised her hand to wave again but quickly brought her hands to her face. She tried to wave me off as I approached her. No, I don’t think so. The distress on her face was clear, painful to see and quickly shot to my heart. She tried to explain through sobs and broken words that she couldn’t talk about it. Just couldn’t and tried again to wave me off. Bullshit. I reached out for her hands and pulled her in and hugged her, as much for me as for her. It was hard she said, so hard. It came so sudden; they certainly weren’t prepared. They were all devastated. He was such a big part of their lives; the kids were taking it okay, but everyone was lost in their own way. They loved him so much and he loved them back. The hole was huge. They miss him so.

For those who aren’t animal lovers, it may be hard to understand the impact that the passing of a beloved pet has on those of us who consider them our furry children. To some, we all look like the crazy cat ladies we always hear about; so be it. Guilty as charged. But those who are fortunate to have the priceless love of an animal understand it fully. Try to find anything on two legs in your life that will show you the dedication, the devotion, non-judgmental love and the willingness to let you be the center of their universe; far and few between.

No, these are our furry toddlers; it takes that kind of dedication. Often, it’s another damp carpet; maybe pieces of your favorite shoe spread across the living room. Sometimes it’s those dammed dead spots on the lawn or the wonderful piles of humiliation that you can never seem to completely clean from the nooks and crannies on the bottoms of your sneakers. But they’ll still look deeply in your eyes and let you know that you are the only human on the planet that matters. Have a horrible day at work and they’ll wag you back to peace. Don’t feed them; they’ll forgive you. Be an asshole; they don’t care. Heap unwarranted abuse on them and they’ll still look deeply into your soul and tell you that it doesn’t matter; as long as they can feel your hand between their ears, hear your voice, be in your presence, tug on the other end of that rope, their life is complete. They’re not here to judge, to accuse, to demean. They’ll still love you, often well beyond any measure that you should be entitled to; they’d be willing to die for you. And not once would they demand anything in return.

Comet meant that much to her and her family. He meant a bit to some of the rest of the neighborhood too. He was a rather large dog; long legged, loopy gate. He seemed to be the type of dog that you would swear was smiling. He was a “Golden Doodle,” a breed whose name would bring a smile if not outright giggles. I’m quite sure that “Golden Doodle” translates in some places around the world to “Shetland Pony.” He was usually covered in curls, soft and deep. The occasional shearing made it even more obvious that he was a large framed animal, not just a bunch of hair for show. His pinkish-brown, wet nose seemed to have the circumference of a baseball. I’m sure that some found his size intimidating; for others it may have been his high level of enthusiasm. But in the end, he was he was large vessel of love and happiness and I was always prepared with treats in my pockets when we passed. And he knew it. I for one will miss his commanding voice, a bark that would resonate across the neighborhood. Some may have found this too, to be intimidating. But it was his way of telling his family, and those who were walking by that he was keeping an eye on anyone who might approach those who he would willingly die for.

As with any comet, he was rare. Comets shine brightly but briefly and we’re left with the memory of how they painted the dark skies of our lives. So it is with Comet. And I’m sure that Lisa and Peyton and their kids will have these brief moments in the future when something will jar their memories and they’ll recall the Comet that appeared briefly in their lives and touched them all. The pain will eventually fade and the memories will be far more joyful than they are now. And in whatever sky he is streaking across now, with his wet, pink baseball-sized nose I’m sure he loves them as deeply as he did when we was laying at their feet. One would imagine he’s in the fields of heaven giving the local squirrels a hard time.

God Speed Comet; I hear the angels love a good game of tug-of-war.


I’m pleased to announce the release of “Sarah’s Stone.”  I hope it brings you as much joy reading it as it brought me to write it.

Best wishes;

Jp

 

“Aldo was hired to find and return what he believed to be a priceless family heirloom. A simple man who considered himself an “extraordinary thief,” Aldo had searched years for the elusive stone, being paid handsomely while never getting any closer to his goal.  
 
The death of a solitary figure in an asylum in France starts Aldo on his quest as he chases the stone from Russia to the islands off the coast of Maine. However, as he gets closer and closer to the stone, he starts to realize that what he doesn’t know about the stone or about his benefactor, could very well kill him.”


What’s the word I’m looking for? What word adequately describes the emotion one feels when viewing the image of the crumpled, poisoned body of an infant in another part of the word? The word needs to capture all the feelings, from the first breath-catching reaction to the overwhelming urge to “respond” or “react” in some manner. Is it revulsion? Would that lead to retribution? Helen supposedly had the face that launched a thousand ships; love was deemed to be the culprit. Which emotion launched a few dozen tomahawks? I don’t know; really, I’m not asking to be provocative, although this will end up that way. No, just looking for whatever word can explain why some feel the need to react to the slaying of children in another part of the globe; and apparently, a word for an emotion that’s obviously not universal. For if it was, would we, the United Sates, really have been the first and apparently the only country to react?

There, now he’ll finally stop…

What price did Bashar al-Assad pay for this crime? Is this a crime? It’s painful and argumentative to mention the reality of the situation, but there are people who would explain away the death of innocents as “collateral damage,” inadvertent casualties produced by the fog of war. You can like it or not; you can piss, moan and disagree. But it’s there. It’s true. Not everyone in the world feels that Trump had any reason or authority to strike another sovereign nation. Why? What does the list of those opposed to his response say about the value that those countries place on the lives of their children? What can we infer from their stance?

Is it the method only? Is gassing the children of your own people more horrific than strafing them with automatic weapons fire? Why? Is the method employed more important or repulsive than the ultimate outcome? Is the child any more or less limp in the arms of their grief-stricken parents? It must be. Why else would we laud our attempts, lead ourselves to believe either our own hype or wishful thinking when we declared that Syria had turned over 100% of it’s chemical weapons stockpile. What were we and the world actually saying to each other and to ourselves back in 2013? That as evil as this man is, that no matter how horrible it is for him to slaughter his own innocents to remain in power, that we’re comfortable knowing (or blissfully assuming) that he’ll no longer do it with gas? Our job here is done. Kill your children; just use any of the more acceptable methods.

No; I’m not making light of this situation at all. This bastard needs to go; he needed to go a long time ago. But again, here and now, today, what price did he pay? We knocked the shit out of some concrete bunkers, scarred a few runways; and the man ultimately responsible for intentionally killing civilians is not now, was not in the past, and probably will not in the foreseeable future, be held to account for these actions. The UN will condemn him; I’ll bet that leaves a bruise. He’ll get some crappy press in parts of the world. But rest assured, there is still a large part of the globe where he’ll be seen as a victim of the west, with the US in particular as the villain; flexing our oppressive military to enforce our will upon the less fortunate parts of the world. You know, those parts of the world we usually send endless streams of money and humanitarian supplies to so they can spit on our flag and chant “death to the US!” It’s all good as long as they don’t use gas.

When is the United States population at large finally going to realize that the minute we become so emotional about the faces of dead children in other parts of the world, it’s not long before we’re sending our own children there to die in the same place? Where are the other countries that are so horrified about Assad’s guilt? Do none of them have missile technology? More likely, none of them have any strength of their convictions. Or maybe, it’s more common sense; it all depends upon your view. As long as they can cheer us kicking someone else’s ass, they don’t have to accept any of the consequence that we do. You know; you break it, you bought it? What if we had inadvertently destroyed a children’s hospital? Would any of these brave western leaders applauding us now cover our asses in that scenario? Hardly. They’re too busy making sure they can continue to trade with countries that still support this monster, instead of the world at large and the UN in particular, ostracizing this bastard and all those who do business with him. To continue to make it possible for him to prop up his economy, to accept his currency, to supply him with food or other goods is for you to re-affirm that it’s alright to kill children in the acceptable fashions. But boy, once you cross that line we’re gonna say mean things about you in the security chamber in New York and cheer the good ol’ “US of A” when they ram an ordinance in your posterior. But until then, hey, what’s your price for a barrel of crude?

To be sure, I’m not making light of dead children. I just don’t feel that it’s a universal concern in various cultures around the world. So yes, I can hear your grumblings that “we’re more moral,” or “that makes us just as bad as them” or such. I always like the “well, we’re the only ones who can do it” line, as if the countries that we propped up and armed over the decades are really as helpless as they are feckless. As long as we’re willing to offer ourselves up as the world’s moral authority, to be the cop, judge, jury and executioner, the other Pontius Pilates will continue to wash their hands of our iniquities. We get to tweak all the bullies of the world and get jeered at by the victims of those very same bullies. That’s a neat trick right there. If, as many are concerned, this inflates and ends up igniting something bigger, they ‘ll turn their wretched little fingers towards us and tell us that we’re ultimately responsible; If only we didn’t have such an inflated view of ourselves, if we weren’t so racist and bigoted towards other people, other cultures; what makes us think we have the moral authority over the rest of the world.

Do these questions make me seem heartless and indifferent? Really, I only want someone to look me in the eye and tell me “why these babies?” He’s been killing babies for years. And we need to admit to ourselves that this is a part of the world where the dominant culture does not value life above all else, even a child’s, the way we do here; where it’s all too common for them to use women and children as shields for their soldiers, where their dominant religion tells them that it’s acceptable to do so. Maybe I need to rephrase that; for we too kill our babies and we’re sure it’s a god given right to do so, set down right there in the constitution. Horror of horrors, I went and peed on the third rail. How dare I equate a woman’s right to chose with a dictator’s right to choose? Because the greater point is that we are willing to start a war, alone, against a criminal who chose to kill his innocent victims in a way of which we don’t approve. Yet, we’ll take our own children and dissect them in the womb, then go about our day smug in the belief that we’re morally right to do so. The escape clause here is, of course, that they’re not babies. Not at least until they can emerge from the breech, preferably on their own and fully functional, both physically and financially.

How dare I equate the two; I’m not. But to assume that people of other cultures in other parts of the world don’t see this as problematic to our claim of righteousness is folly and quite naïve. Throw the hate all you want, but that viewpoint is out there too. How can we as a culture dictate morals onto other cultures? And, we don’t seem to be too alarmed when we see their children in videos training to kill those who don’t follow their beliefs; In fact, just to point it out brings howls from the left; you know, hate speech codes and all. It is the left after all that takes great pains to point out that other cultures are no less moral than ours. So we scream, hyperventilate, and make grand speeches about the way they slaughter their innocents but never wish to point out that it’s in their culture to de-value life the way they do; we just have to accept it, even as we have to accept them into our midst’s lest we be called racist, bigoted or xenophobic.

No, as distracting as that part of the conversation may be, as insulted you may be for me conflating the two issues, the bigger point is clear. If you are willing to be the moral authority in the world, if you wish to impose those morals on other cultures, a little consistency goes a long way. And trust me, we will go this alone. We should make sure that we’re comfortable with the moral foundation we are building this position on; not only in the way we deal with the countries that commit these atrocities and the countries who openly support them; but also with those Janus countries who are willing to let us take the risks, blame and quite possibly future casualties so that they too can feel morally superior.

Ultimately, yes we should have done this. But if we are going to punish a dictator for crimes he commits against his people, we’d better make it stick; trashing a few runways doesn’t cut it. It should have been severe and decisive. And afterwards, we don’t need to rebuild; we don’t need to “change” regimes. We don’t need to apologize. We need to shake the dust from our boots, walk away and flip off the U.N. on the way by. Any other action with any other outcome just continues the charade. They commit an atrocity; we become indignant. The world makes heartfelt condemnations in august bodies that do nothing more than feed their own egos with the sounds of their own voices. And years later, it occurs again, maybe in the same region, maybe in some other part of the world. Another bunker, another runway and yet another tyrant who has been gassing, executing and starving his own women and children, pays the ultimate price of a few weeks of bad press. Our sense of moral righteousness is perverted at best.

I’m not a pacifist; I’m surely not a war hawk. There are shrill warnings about the possibility of World War Three, all because parts of the world see no need for swift and certain punishment for the murderer of children. Sorry, but we already have a world war. We’re just tallying the casualties at a slower pace; and sadly, the victims are not necessarily dying in greater numbers at the hands of adversarial forces as much as at the hands of their own leaders.

The destruction of a few bunkers and several yards of concrete will not stop this. Unfortunately, there is no universal “negative” emotion to the killing of the innocent. Therefore, the best we can do is ignore whatever fear or negative emotion we might feel for inflicting ultimate punishment upon those who do. If we feel we are right; if we feel we are truly, morally justified; can we do anything less?


Barbie’s dream house. Yup, it used to annoy my brothers and me that Barbie had the dream house while GI Joe had to make due with a flimsy little camouflage pup tent which was so short that his army-issued plastic black boots protruded from the tent opening. One would think that the defender of Ms. Barbie might have had somewhat better accommodations but hey, at least he had the jeep and that wicked awesome “Kung Fu Grip,” which would probably be a micro-aggression of “cultural appropriation” by today’s standards. But Barbie was a trailblazer, able to do or be anything she wanted; Joe on the other hand, was a primitive, a Neanderthal fueled by nothing more than the rape-filled fantasies of young boys who couldn’t focus in class and had to be drugged out of any semblance of “snips and snails, and puppy dog tails,” lest they show any impulse for behavior that wasn’t quite “Sugar and Spice.”

For Sale; hardly used. Owner can no longer drive. Ask for Ken.

Yes, but in today’s world, Barbie is super progressive; She’s even willing to show her culturally acceptable submissiveness by wearing her fashion-forward Hijab. Yay Barbie! She gets to celebrate her independence by donning the symbol of women who are oppressed the world over. Oh my, but how racist of me. After all, the creator of the “Barjab” just wants little girls to be more accepting of Muslims; getting them acclimated to the concept that they too can choose to be both chattel and a surgeon; talk about having it all. Just Like Barbie! But, let’s not tell these malleable young ladies that in many parts of the world, Barbie would have her ass stoned if she left the dream house without her “Barjab,” let alone venturing outside without the permission and escort of good ‘ole Ken. Never mind taking a spin in Barbie’s iconic pink corvette; Muslim Barbie can’t drive. Does the “Barjab” come with plastic stones in case Barbie should remove her progressive, culturally approved headwear outside the dream house? Maybe make it a little more realist and include removable female genitalia; let’s get these young girls ready for the type of culture they are being taught to emulate and support over the horrific culture of the west. After all, wouldn’t the “Barjab” clash with the Pink Pussy hat of feminism? One would think so. What would Ken think of such a culture? It’d be hard to tell. Quite possibly, he’s too busy trying to decide which bathroom in the dream house he identifies with. Careful Ken, in many places around the world, you’d get tossed off the top of the dream house for that.

The dichotomy is astounding; alarming really. Women running around the freest nations of the world wearing pink, knit pussy hats, decrying the fact that someone doesn’t wish to pay for their abortions. One would think, given the lectures of how all-powerful their vagina’s are, that owners of the super, all-powerful western vaginas would be somewhat sympathetic to women trapped in cultures where wearing the very dashing pink pussy hats of sisterdom would lead to disciplines and punishments not seen here. You know, those places where the very last complaint a woman has is that some mean, old white guy refuses to pay for her abortion. In any case, one would think that the magical vagina would be able to spring for it’s own maintenance. One would be wrong.

Interesting really, how liberalism is succeeding to destroy the very culture that allows it to flourish. And it’s not just here. It’s seen in the rape capitals of Europe where women are strongly encouraged to dress modestly so as not to offend the sensibilities of those they invited into their midst. And beyond modesty, they’re touting the wonderful Hijab as a way to thwart the evils of Islamophobia, that state that exists in one’s mind when examples of Muslim atrocities makes one question the outcomes of liberal orthodoxy. Of course, if they can’t convince you with wonderful images and videos or Barbie sized Hijabs, they’ll always fall back on the “racist-bigot” shout down they’re so fond of. Fond of because for some strange reason, people are willing to be submissive and even victimized, as long as you don’t call them names. Go figure.

Liberalism seeks to define every culture as unique and “just fine and dandy” in it’s own way. Except Western culture. Western culture on the other hand, has much to answer for. And, Liberalism seeks to destroy it and replace it with romantic visions of third world-ers, coming to the west to bring wonderful attributes, experiences and enlightenment. Never mind asking why these people would leave their utopias to come to the hated west in the first place; that question is in itself racist and could get you banned from twitter and Facebook. Heck, it may even be a hate crime in many countries (looking at you Canada…) Of course, once they get here, they enter illegally, demand we acculturate to them, burn our flags, ask for handouts and call us racist.

Are all cultures really equal? Are some superior, some inferior? Oh my, there goes my twitter account. No, they are not equal. And no matter what you call me, no matter how loudly you yell and scream in my face, retreat to your safe zone or threaten me with hate speech laws, the fact remains that they are not equal. Hence, the influx to the west. And is western culture perfect? Of course not. But here, you can put a baker out of business because he didn’t want to put two grooms on your friggin’ cake; can sue the school system because you felt like showering with the girls today or; kill someone, then go to prison and get three squares, cable and a sex change operation. Yup, we really suck. Yet, they’re still dying to get here. And we’re dying once they make it.

And it’s not the least bit disturbing to the left that the safety of the citizens of the west is in jeopardy; on the contrary, those crimes are mere inconveniences and to mention them or highlight them makes one suspect. How dare you victimize your aggressors? Often the stories will be downplayed or outright hidden if possible. I stumbled across the rape of a fourteen year-old in Maryland while perusing the London papers for crying out loud; it wasn’t until days later that it finally broke nationally. Well, you know, you have to break a few eggs… The shame here is that the eggs are usually defenseless citizens, standing in the crowd at a marathon, guarding the parliament building or walking the hallway of a high school in Maryland.

What can one expect from the left in this country anyway? They scream about rape culture, put on their pussy hats and disparage every man who crosses their path. But wait; the victim in Maryland may be no more believable than the stripper in the Duke Lacrosse case, according to the lawyer for the accused. No, this rape doesn’t quite work to their advantage. Of course, they’re now claiming it was consensual sex; a minor girl under the age of consent; with two boys; in the boys’ bathroom; and her screaming the whole time. I was quite sure that the ladies in the pink hats would have come out and said that it was rape pure and simple. I was mistaken; but you can understand my confusion. The left still supports a man who drugged a fourteen year-old girl so he could penetrate her anally. But that was okay, because that wasn’t rape-rape. Whatever transpired in that bathroom in a Maryland High School between two young men and a screaming fourteen year-old girl can’t be rape because it involved two people who occupy a cultural position more valuable to the left than “young western female.” They are of the vaunted “dreamer-undocumented-future-liberal-voting-demographic-victims of the west” culture. Of course, now that the story is out, the best weapon the left has is to threaten anyone who dares talk about the effect that this uncontrolled third world flood is having on the west. Maryland is still moving ahead with legislation to become a sanctuary state, while the superintendent of the high school where the rape occurred is calling anyone who may question the status of children in their schools “racist” and “xenophobic”; he is promising legal action. Someone will probably spend more time in jail for threatening to kick the asses of these two dreamers than the dreamers will spend for illegally crossing our borders and violently raping someone’s daughter against the sink in the bathroom stall of her own high school.

No country survives without its culture; no culture can survive without laws. When States and cities are willing to violate federal law, how can one expect individuals, especially from other countries and cultures, to obey them? Worse yet, when the left is willing to offer up the women and children of society at large to gain new voting blocks to support their failing ideology, the cultural collapse will come from within. The coming storm will be brutal and quite protracted. Not everyone is willing to be a stooge for the creeping Marxism the left is trying to impose; others on the left will come to realize that it’s hard to reconcile the concept of sanctuary cities and their own safety, especially given that some of their own leaders have exposed the “new normal” of the culturally diverse western city as terror enabled. Be prepared to die for your devotion to cultural diversity because those you are inviting in are certainly willing to kill for it; whether you’re wearing your “Barjab” or the super progressive pink pussy hat.

Boy, that Kung Fu grip is gonna come in handy….

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