Mad Max and the Democrax

The best of the “Mad Max” movie series is the second, called “Road Warrior.” In a post-apocalyptic Australian desert, a former cop named Max, played by a young and buff Mel Gibson, drives around with a sawed-off shotgun in a tricked-out American/Australian muscle car wearing tight black leather and a large chip on his shoulder.

The reason for that chip on Max’s shoulder – the reason he’s mad – is that he was such a good cop in the first movie that a bunch of weirdo thugs sought to defund him. Max was too tough for them, so they settled for his wife and infant son.  

Max brought justice to those bad guys, and I don’t mean the social kind.

In the second movie, Road Warrior, almost everyone is a marauding bad guy. These new bad guys are even weirder than the old ones, but in a predictable and conformist way. One has a pink mohawk haircut and rides a motorcycle with a smooth skinny transvestite on the back. (Such realism was not illegal when this movie was made in the 80’s before the First Amendment was abolished.)

“Humongous” is their leader, or at least their head bully. Most wear masks.

These exhibitionist pervs wield makeshift weapons like Molotov cocktails, nails and clubs – the usual Antifa stuff. They typically fight behind human shields who look a little like soccer moms.

They’re mostly peaceful, mind you, aside from that penchant for burning, looting and murdering which is all the fault of their victims for getting in the way.

They’re comically stupid and incompetent, even as barbarians go. They sometimes carelessly injure one another. They accidentally immolate themselves. One loser reaches to catch a sharpened boomerang and it slices off his fingers. He’s horrified for an instant but then, when the others laugh at him, he pathetically revels in their attention.  

If there were the smell of pot in the air, a few thousand vagrants pooping in the streets, and a pusillanimous mayor kissing up to these psychopaths, the scene would be as bad as today’s Democrat-controlled cities.

Helping Max against the bad guys are a genuinely diverse group including an odd guy with a one-man gyrocopter, a resourceful but mute feral boy and of course a beautiful woman who coos to Max, “I was wrong about you.”

The movie centers on the barbarians’ assault of a tiny outpost where a few dozen inhabitants are hanging on. The real reason for their assault is that they like to burn, loot and murder, but the ostensible reason is that the outpost surrounds a little oil well and a miniature refinery to make gasoline, which is a rare commodity in this failed world.

The few dozen hangers-on are good and brave people who talk, reason, agree and disagree constructively. No one censors, name-calls or shouts anyone down. It’s an island of civilization in a sea of dystopia.

We see a few assault scenes where the hangers-on repel the attackers, but just barely. Then Humongous offers the hangers-on a deal. If they will walk away from the outpost and leave him the gasoline, he will spare their lives.

Some of the hangers-on want to appease Humongous. The alternative, they point out, is to get canceled. To objections that Humongous will renege on the deal once the hangers-on open the gate, the appeasers reply, “But he’s given us his word!”

Not to spoil it for you, but with Max’s help they reject the offer and get away safely with the gasoline. On a coast 2,000 miles away, they establish the “Northern Tribe” which is hinted to be the seeds of a new civilization.

Disappointingly, the woman gets killed in a truck chase. Max disappears but the brave gyrocopter pilot and clever feral boy become leaders of the Northern Tribe.

Civilization is reborn, but it’s all nip and tuck. Today’s world should be so lucky.

In the name of anti-racism, we’ve declared white people racist on the basis of their race

Young black men in America are eight times more likely than young white men to commit murder and five times more likely to commit other violent crimes. On the basis of that data, is it fair for me to conclude that a young black man standing in front of me is a mugger and murderer?

No, of course not. The vast majority of black men are not violent. Logically speaking, general information about a group is unreliable evidence about an individual. Legally speaking, it’s inadmissible as evidence in court. Morally, it’s racist.  

Racism is hard to overcome because in an anthropological sense it’s quite natural. Our DNA has programed us to be wary of unfamiliar faces. Back on the savanna, unfamiliar faces were from other tribes, many of which were unfriendly. Hominins whose DNA did not include this programing tended not to propagate it.

You can see the wariness of unfamiliar faces in infants. The first few times they see a person of another race, they’re confused. In immature minds, and many mature ones, confusion produces fear. That’s instinctive.  

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If Jefferson, Churchill and Gandhi were racists, shouldn’t you be too?

Well, no, you shouldn’t. But here’s my point in asking the question.

These were great people. In launching the best nation in the history of the world, Thomas Jefferson wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

He served as the third president of that nation, negotiated the Louisiana Purchase, sent Lewis and Clark across the continent and put the nation on a path to become a beacon of freedom to the world.  

Yes, he owned slaves, as did many people throughout the world at that time. But in his intellect, his morality and his words, he set the stage for the abolition of that ancient heinous practice four score and seven years later.

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The Democrats’ tragic romance with the rioters

President Trump’s re-election chances looked iffy as summer heated up. Ugly video of clashes between cops and black men made conservatives seem on the wrong side of the race debate. The left seized the opportunity to make theater of the issue. It was a box-office hit.

But the left’s fondness for theater invariably leads them to act up, and then overact. Predictably, they escalated their theater from drama to melodrama to Rambo movies. Peaceful protests grew into riots. Buildings were burned, stores were looted and people were killed.

Their smash-hit theatrical production became, well, just a smash-up.

The rioting culminated at the commencement of the Democratic National Convention which was held, virtually, in Joe Biden’s basement. Or wherever. People wondered, what will they say about the riots?

We soon learned what they would say. Not a damn thing.

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Michael Jordan had a dad

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James Jordan was a serviceman and then a textile worker. He studied mechanics under the G.I. Bill and married the former Deloris Peoples. They loved their children.
One son was athletic. James taught and encouraged him. In baseball the kid was good, but in basketball he was extraordinary.

After the son grew up, James was murdered as he slept in his car alongside a highway on a road trip. His body was dumped in a swamp and recovered 10 days later, badly decomposed and identifiable only by dental records. His murderers looted his car.

Among the items the murderer’s stole were two NBA Championship rings given James by that son, Michael.

MJ lives in rarified air with Muhammad Ali, Wayne Gretzky and Pele. He’s one of the very greatest.

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Whatever happened to “There’s no such thing as race”?

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Back when we thought the way to end racism was to make people less conscious of race, social engineers proudly pronounced that there’s actually no such thing as race anyway.

From the outset, this was socially well-intentioned but scientifically silly. Society long ago classified people on the basis of their appearance or “phenotypes.” White (formerly called Caucasian) people generally look different than black (formerly called negroid) people who look different than Asians and so on. This difference in appearance is not a “social construct.” It’s real and it’s measurable and it relates to different geographic origins and ancestry.

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Will black men vote for a black woman?

A black writer recently asserted in a headline that 99% of black men are misogynistic.

I think the true figure is less than 99%. But the writer has a point, even if he exaggerated to make it. Black male rap lyrics, for example, are notoriously demeaning to women. Curiously, blacks don’t demand a stop to them.

Black men’s disrespect towards women seems directed mostly toward black women and less toward white women. It’s generally known and the data show that black men are the demographic most likely to date and marry outside their race. About 25% of black men marry outside their race, compared to only 7% of white men and 16% of Asian men. That 25% figure of black men marrying outside their race is more than double the 12% of black women who do so.

(This raises a tangential question that must be depressing for black women: How are they supposed to find husbands of any color if black men marry whites far more than black women marry whites and far more than white and Asian men marry black women? Is this scarcity of husbands for black women part of the reason that 77% of black babies are born to unwed mothers?)

I raise these points not to provoke a sensitive race discussion, but a political one. Can Kamala Harris, a black woman, get black men to vote for her?

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I’ve taken the vaccine

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Or a placebo. As I indicated in last week’s column, I volunteered and have been chosen to participate in the clinical trials of a COVID vaccine. Yesterday I received the first injection, despite the exhortations and exclamations of the anti-vaxxers.

About 30,000 patients are in the trials for this vaccine developed by pharmaceutical giant Pfizer and its partners. (Big Pharma is evil until we need a new life-saving drug, huh?)

The particular clinic that injected me is a third-party clinical trials company engaged by Pfizer. It’s performing about 200 injections over the course of six weeks. That means there are hundreds of such clinics around the country. So far, my clinic has done 30. Continue reading

A sneak preview of the Democratic Platform

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A recent Instagram chat (pretty hip!) between Joe Biden and his President-in-Waiting, Kamala Harris, was filmed by the networks at Democratic Campaign Headquarters, otherwise known as Joe’s basement.

Alert viewers of the footage (which of course does not include any modern journalists) noticed two things. One, Joe was holding his iPhone upside down. Two, Joe had a set of talking points in front of him in about 40-point font.

I have now examined the footage carefully and found between the lines of the talking points the entire Democratic Platform. In an exclusive from the Aspen Beat, here it is. Continue reading

I’m in the COVID vaccine trials

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I’ve been called an idiot and a traitor for this. An idiot for taking a small chance on a vaccine that looks very effective and safe in clinical trials so far, and a traitor for turning against some of my tribe who think the virus is a hoax.

And then there’s the anti-vaxxers.

My decision is mostly for selfish reasons. As a 64-year-old man in reasonable health, I’m tired of being locked down. I want to see my adult daughters and friends without them or me worrying that we’ll transmit the virus. I used to travel a lot and I want to be able to resume that legally and safely.

Only slightly less selfishly, I want to be part of a pioneering effort to defeat this thing. Our parents and grandparents beat polio, measles, smallpox and mumps. Our generation will beat this disease too. This virus picked the wrong host.

Lastly, my participation might be good for humanity is a small way. We need people not to cower but to step up. Brilliant scientists have developed these vaccines at warp speed – they’ll go down with Jonas Salk and the polio vaccine – but now they need help.

They need patients. Preferably, patients of the demographic that are susceptible to the disease who will present a real test of the vaccine. I can be one such patient.

The scientists are the real heroes, but I too can be a hero, albeit a teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy one.

Here’s how it works. Continue reading