Monthly Archives: August 2019

The New Tiananmen

15 year old Polish lad blocks a sodomite parade.

Think “Tank Man”, but with the power of the Cross of Christ.

Tank Man was dead within hours. Don’t be surprised if this lad is taken from his parents and attempts are made to “re-educate” him. Poland isn’t the Catholic paradise it is made out to be. Polish birthrates are 1.32, which tells you all you need to know about their sexual morality.

Ranger Doug Sings, “Virgen Maria, Porque Tu Llores?”

Over the transom from a reader after seeing the Riders in the Sky “Cattle Call” post.


While the villagers are sleeping
In their dusty desert town
You can hear a young girl weeping
In a stable tumble down.

While they sleep their sleep unknowing
She weeps so gently through the night,
Lit so softly by the glowing
Of a lantern’s flickering light.

Virgen Maria, porque tu llores?
El mundo duerme in tranquilidad.
Virgen Maria, lloraba con feliz:
Es la mañana de la Navidad.

Oh Mary, Mary, why are you weeping?
They’re tears of joy upon the birth
Of the Promise God is keeping
To bring mankind His peace on earth.

Saturday Jukebox by Request: Cattle Call

I’ll be humming this ear worm for a fortnight.

So… join me, won’t you?

Eddie Arnold originated “Cattle Call”, but, it must be confessed that when The Riders cover, much less with Ranger Doug, Idol of American Youth on lead yodel, the definitive version is re-established.

For all my cattlemen. God bless you and keep you, and banish all parasites and infectamenta from your pastures and pens.

The cattle are prowlin’

The coyotes are howlin’

Way out where the doggies roam.

Where spurs are a jinglin’

And the cowboy is singin’

His lonesome cattle call….

He rides in the sun,

‘Til his day’s work is done.

And rounds up the cattle each fall.

Singin’ his cattle call….

For hours he would ride.

On the range far and wide.

When the night wind blows up and slow.

His heart is a feather.

In all kinds of weather.

He sings his cattle call….

Evviva San Lorenzo.

Gian Lorenzo Bernini completed this marble sculpture of The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence in ARSH 1614 when Bernini was FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Since ARSH 1998 it has been one of the relatively few sculptures housed in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy.

St. Lawrence is one of the most influential and widely-beloved saints of the early Church. He was roasted alive on a brazier (grill). We need his intercession now perhaps more than ever.

St. Lawrence died joyfully proclaiming his faith. He prayed for the conversion of the city of Rome and the world.”

He prayed for the conversion of the city of Rome….

Saint Lawrence, Deacon and Martyr, pray for us. Pray for the conversion/reversion of Rome.

Bernini was fifteen.

FIFTEEN. As in five times three.

Fifteen YEARS. Not decades.


Q&A: What is causing these mass gun/knife attacks?


1.) DEMONIC OPPRESSION (not possession – the humans are fully on board with the demonic, know exactly what they are doing, and are fully culpable)

2.) PRESCRIPTION PHARMACEUTICALS (specifically anti-depressants, anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic drugs, which ALL facilitate item #1)

It’s not rocket surgery, people.

I’ve been warning about this for years.  It’s going to get to the point that these attacks will be a DAILY OR MULTIPLE PER DAY OCCURRENCE, EVERY DAY.  The demons that were largely driven out of the North American landmass with the conversion of the Indians and the consecration of the landmass to the Blessed Virgin in the 16th Century are back, because of two primary factors: ABORTION AND SODOMY.  What is happening now before our eyes is simply a reversion to the demonic, pagan, hyper violent state of concupicent man in a land that has consciously rejected God.  It will eventually be the Aztec/Maya/Inca human sacrifice culture, plus the French Revolution, plus the inner city black hip-hop gang culture, raised to the power of Hollywood.

Stay confessed.

St. John Marie Vianney – A Compendium of Quotes

The saints had no hatred, no bitterness; they forgive everything and think they deserve much more for their offenses against God.

Shall we all be saved? Shall we go to Heaven? Alas, my children, we do not know at all! But I tremble when I see so many souls lost these days. See, they fall into Hell as leaves fall from the trees at the approach of winter.

Do not try to please everybody. Try to please God, the angels, and the saints – they are your public.

Those who go often to Mass during the week, do their work very much better than those who, for want of faith, think they have no time for it.

God commands you to pray, but forbids you to worry.

A priest goes to Heaven or a priest goes to Hell with a thousand people behind.

We put pride into everything like salt. We like to see that our good works are known. If our virtues are seen, we are pleased; if our faults are perceived, we are sad. I remark that in a great many people; if one says anything to them, it disturbs them, it annoys them. The saints were not like that – they were vexed if their virtues were known, and pleased that their imperfections should be seen.

The Lord is more anxious to forgive our sins than a woman is to carry her baby out of a burning building.

My little children, your hearts, are small, but prayer stretches them and makes them capable of loving God. Through prayer we receive a foretaste of heaven and something of paradise comes down upon us. Prayer never leaves us without sweetness. It is honey that flows into the souls and makes all things sweet. When we pray properly, sorrows disappear like snow before the sun.

How happy is that guardian angel who accompanies a soul to Holy Mass!

See, my children, a person who is in a state of sin is always sad. Whatever he does, he is weary and disgusted with every thing; while he who is at peace with God is always happy, always joyous. . . Oh, beautiful life! Oh, beautiful death!

I thought a time would come when people would rout me out of Ars with sticks, when the Bishop would suspend me, and I should end my days in prison. I see, however, that I am not worthy of such a grace.

Securities and Exchange Commission grants Jon Corzine approval to run a hedge fund; Ann Barnhardt happily celebrates day 2821 of telling the financial industry to go violate the 6th Commandment with itself.

Financial Industry enthusiastically complies.

Anyone who gets anywhere near this deserves whatever chainsaw-based lovin’ Corzine delivers.

I have to chuckle at the petition from the National Futures Association that was circulated to generate cold-call leads, ahem, I mean “protest” this. Folks, the National Futures Association is running at a corruption level in the same ballpark as the Roman Curia. It’s is a bunch of full-blown psychopath climbers surrounded with functionally retarded, dead-eyed affirmative action hires.

Yep. Just like the Vatican.

ZeroHedge reportage HERE.

If you have ever committed a crime meriting execution in a morally sane society, please raise your hand.

When I watch this, all I can think is, “Why haven’t the Chinese invaded yet?” UPDATE from eyewitness


Just wanted to let you know that my wife and I were actually staying at the Westin Peachtree Plaza this past weekend when the DSA was having their convention.

We were there in ATL for a wedding, and were appalled by the freak show that this group of people actually are. Every fag, lesbian, leftard and oddball was there spouting their communist booshwa. They smelled, they were disgusting in dress and looks, with piercings, tats, and multi hued hair-when they had not shaved half of it off, and obnoxiously loud and rude. They tied up the elevators, of which there were 8, so much with their coming and going that we routinely had to wait 20 minutes for one. I literally had to bribe my way onto the service elevator to get to the lobby in order to leave for the wedding Saturday afternoon.

If this is an example of the people who want to run the country, then we are in serious trouble, more so than one would think. The only upside is that if this group is representative of those whom we will have to engage in a conflict, I have no worries as to the outcome, as the men are routinely fat or alternatively metrosexual, and there is no way that they would be able to engage in extended combat ops without serious dedication and training. I personally can’t see them doing so. [This is why I have to think that the Chinese are watching the psycho-socio-political demography VERY closely. At some point, as the North American culture more fully degrades into this, the Chinese will realize and then act on the fact that IF they invade, there will be little to no actual resistance, as the population is effectively self-neutralized. -AB]

Any way, just thought you’d want some perspective from someone who was actually there and observed the freak show at first hand. Feel free to publish this but please delete the name if you do so.



Action Item: How to make certain that Our Lord’s parousia (coming down onto the altar and Transubstantiating the Host and Chalice) is NOT pure suffering on His part…

We all want to do what we can to comfort Our Lord. Here’s something everyone can do. In order to absolutely, positively ensure that His Coming in the Eucharist confected in a valid Novus Ordo Mass of whatever stripe ISN’T a total waste and pure suffering on His part…

GO VISIT HIM, reposed in the Tabernacles of your nearby Novus Ordo parishes.

I don’t want to put words in Our Lord’s mouth, but I’m pretty confident about this: if you go to Him and make a visit, His joy at your visit will “make it all worthwhile”. That is how much He loves you.

I am reminded of one of my favorite passages in literature. The words of the Fox (read as Our Lord) to the Little Prince (read as YOU):

My life is very monotonous,” the fox said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . .”

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

The Fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

“Please–tame me!” he said.

“I want to, very much,” the little prince replied. “But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand.”

“One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . .”

“What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.

“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. “First you will sit down at a little distance from me–like that–in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . .”

The next day the little prince came back.

“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If, for example, you come at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . .”

“What is a rite?” asked the little prince.

“Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours…”