Things you could carry down the street in the U.S. “before 1918” without getting arrested. Far from it.

An exercise in startling comparison, as blogger “vannrox” explains himself

I believe in the Constitution. At least what it was first set up as, and not what the USA is today.

At the turn of the last century, before the progressive policies of the oligarchy were implemented, things were quite different. The last year of American freedom was sometime before 1918.

Back then, you could walk down main street carrying a bag of cocaine, a bag of heroin, a bag of pot, a gallon of laudanum, carrying a fully automatic Tommy gun, $20,000 in gold certificates, and a bag of dynamite.

And when the police would come up to talk to you, they would look at all the things you were carrying, and say;

“Nice day to you sir. Have a great day.”

“Yessir!” vannrox continues.

Things have certainly changed. Anyone who STILL thinks that the United States is a Republic, setup and run like it was originally intended to is an idiot.

Anyways, I have been involved in all sorts of work. It’s part of my charter, don’t ya know. I’ve done many, many things. From stuff for the government, to consumer products, automotive electronics, and international trade. My story is one of confusion, and all kinds of things that don’t fit the conventional narrative. So, of course… folk are gonna get offended.

It’s a long personal statement, from a Free Republic blogger (a “Freeper”) who goes a long way back, full of history, analysis, and interesting interpretation.

The Week in Pictures: Lame of Drones Edition | Power Line

With a lede like this, how resist?

I never did much get into Throne Games, or Lame of Drones, or whatever it???s called???not enough sex and violence for my tastes. But I hear every critic, which means everyone in the democratized era of social criticism via anti-social media, is down on the last season and the ending. But the real reason for the criticism is obvious: the series ended, and viewers wanted it to go on forever. The people clearly wanted Days of Our Throne Lives. They???ll just have to settle for renewal of The Trump Show instead. Lots of fire and disappointed throne-seekers from the Seven Kingdoms of the Left (better known as ???Moroseteros???) coming soon. Winter is coming! With primaries and TV debates! (Joe Biden is clearly the Night King.)

It’s a bunch of pix, such as this:

And another:

And this:

And on and on and on . . .

Saturdays at the coffee place across from the train station. What’s goin’ on, bro?

The talk . . .

Oak Park Chronicles

You know Saturdays are different. No rushing, rushing to catch the Metra and all that. Couples come in for a leisurely coffee, roll or bread, and reading the newspaper. Right next to Jake, for instance, two guys dug into the Trib and Sun-Times just as energetically as you please.

Janitor Emeritus, a regular, came about 8:30, stopping outside to gesticulate first at the window to his buddy with gray hair like Sam Beckett’s but no familiarity with the French language that Jake had noticed. Call him the Dubliner.

The D. gave way to the above-mentioned pair, for some reason. He had been inveighing against “big shots” to his interlocutor. Of this fellow he asked, “Who’s going to win the game tomorrow? It will be on all day.” The interlocutor, chiding: “You can watch it all day.” The D: “I hope the Giants win.”

Janitor E. shuffles up. In the Dubliner’s…

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Father Dick told mass-goers it was over, Jake wondered what was over

Puzzling sermon opening . . .

Dominus Vobiscum: Notes from a massgoer's underground

Fr. Dick gave Jake and his wife a start at 5 o’clock mass on Saturday the 20th, Inauguration Day, year of the Florida Recount.

“It’s over,” he said at the start of his sermon, begun after detaching the microphone from the lectern and whipping the cord free so he could leave the sanctuary and come toward us in the half-empty or half-full church depending on your rate of metabolism.

The Christmas season, thought Jake. So did his wife, she told him later. So would their twenty-something eldest child, if she had been there, he later learned.

No. Something else was over. Perhaps the Clinton presidency, which Jake had already celebrated in his usual quiet fashion — right fist shaken once, about eye level, silently. He did not expect to celebrate it again here, at holy mass.

Not a problem. Something was over that Fr. Dick never quite spelled out. His…

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