No Good Guys in this Sorry Tale

Winter – Wk 10: You Can Trust Me | Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen | One Mean Ass Dog | The Devil's Due

Luca Giordano: “The Fall of the Rebel Angels” - circa 1666

You Can Trust Me

Years ago, my buddy and me got roofied by a covert operative. Thankfully, the Lord works in mysterious ways. We were already so high on coke, the date rape drug barely put a dent in our buzz. Instead of passing out, we turned into raging bullies.

Literally, cocaine saved our asses.

My buddy lived in London at the time. We were at a fairly decent pub in Farringdon, near the techno clubs. I'd managed to get us on the guest list at Fabric, but we got bored with that pretty fast. We dipped out to his car and sniffed half a bag of clean Charlie. Soon we were stomping down the sidewalk, chewing jaw and talking past each other. We decided to stop for a couple of pints, just to take the edge off.

Out of nowhere, this closeted queen came up and introduced himself as Richard. He had this chipper British accent. That should have been a tell, but you know how it is—most Brits seem a little light in the loafers. How were we supposed to know? Somehow, little Richard managed to talk over both of us.

The wee chap went on and on about how he loves America and loves Americans and his girlfriend is from America, an African American—rather like you! he says to my buddy—except she's from Haiti, from the islands, and she's so wild and forceful and in touch with herself, and there's so much good music in America, so much film, and hey, your glasses are empty mates, can I buy you's a pint?

Mind you, this would only be our second pint. By the time we were halfway through our third—thanks, Richard, what a guy!—we were both wasted. My buddy's a big guy, a former football player, prone to barking, and soon we were getting loud and aggressive and started bullying poor Richard relentlessly. He was completely dumbfounded.

In an attempt to gain the upper hand, the little guy insisted we all go to his favorite club, just around the corner, to get some more coke. He assured us the women there just love Americans.

"Trust me," he kept saying. "It'll be great! Just trust me."

"Anybody shaysh 'trusht me' as much as you ish probably an asshole, you little shit!" I turned to the local barmaid. "Should we trusht him?"

"Oh, ee's aw'right," she said. "In 'ere awl 'a time, love. You can trust 'im."

When we got to the club's door, the bouncers took one look at Richard and walled off the entry.

"Not tonight, Richard," the bigger one said.

"But I've got my friends!" Richard lisped. "They're Americans!"

"No. Not tonight."

My buddy and me cackled and abused Richard some more, hurling insults that would get a man fired today.

"Your club sucks harder than you, little Richard!"

The bouncers rolled their eyes told us to get lost.

My buddy and me wandered off to do another bump, but we couldn't find his car. It never occured to us to ask why we were so hammered. We finally found the car—right where we’d left it—and hopped inside to snonk up the last of the coke.

Without warning, my buddy pulled out and sped off. He then proceeded to drive around London aimlessly for a full three hours. (He lived twenty minutes away.)

"Where the fuck are we, bro?"

"I don't know, dude!"

"Don't you live here?"

"Shut up, dude, I know where we are!"

We drifted in concentric circles. Then, for reasons incomprehensible, we started telling each other our darkest secrets. It was like we'd been given a truth serum. We divulged every humiliating, shameful, horrific thing we'd ever done, in punishing detail, while the other laughed hysterically.

It's weird, though. I can't remember a word he said, except "I think that's my house," over and over again. He swears he's forgotten everything I confessed.

Cocaine saved our asses that night. The roofies cleansed our souls.

Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen

Much of the energy behind America's populist uprising can be explained by a single graph, published by Pew Research in 2015, entitled "By 2055, the U.S. Will Have No Racial or Ethnic Majority Group." The data predicts a massive explosion of Hispanic and Asian immigration in the coming decades, as the legacy population stagnates.

America’s rapid Balkanization was initiated in 1965 with the passage of the Hart-Celler Immigration and Naturalization Act. The bill lifted longstanding quotas—intended to preserve the ethnic composition of the country—which favored immigration from European nations. Suddenly, the ruling class threw open the gates to Asia, India, the Middle East, and Africa, among other locales.

One year before, the now clichéd slogan "We are a nation of immigrants!" had been introduced with the posthumous publication of John F. Kennedy’s book, A Nation of Immigrants.

During the Senate floor debates on the Hart-Celler Act, JFK’s younger brother Ted Kennedy issued his now hilarious reassurance:

"The bill will not flood our cities with immigrants. It will not upset the ethnic mix of our society. It will not relax the standards of admission. It will not cause American workers to lose their jobs."

None of that was true, of course, but when have politicians ever told the truth?

In the decades that followed, America experienced a historically unprecedented inflow of foreign peoples. It was made possible by the rapid expansion of global infrastructure, safe and inexpensive transportation, and newly liberalized immigration policies.

Today, America’s foreign-born population is four times greater than it was in 1960, and no one can get a word in edgewise.

At first, there were heavyhanded attempts to maintain social cohesion. US authorities arrogantly and naively demanded that all newcomers assimilate to the dominant Anglo-Saxon culture. Immigrants were forced to learn English, recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and sing along to corny pop songs. But people are people—ethnocentric and collectively defiant—and no amount of social engineering seems to change that.

As the Anglo-Saxon hegemony waned, America’s polyglot immigrants began to assert their deep ethnic interests on the country’s various government, media, and corporate systems. And honestly, who can blame them?

More than half a century later, America's melting pot is now a quaking pressure cooker—and no one knows how to keep the lid on.

What does this radical transformation look like on an animated map?

In 2016, the consistently impressive analyst Max Galka created a remarkable data visualization (1m42s) that illustrates just how dramatic America's sudden demographic shift really is. It’s worth every moment.

If you want to know where we're going, you have to know where we are, and how we got here.

So… what’s for dinner?

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One Mean Ass Dog

Imagine a world where you don't need robotic police dogs to keep the rambunctious populace in line.

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The Devil's Due

"The seven deadly sins of the Christian Church are: greed, pride, envy, anger, gluttony, lust, and sloth. Satanism advocates indulging in each of these 'sins' as they all lead to physical, mental, or emotional gratification. …

Satan has certainly been the best friend the church has ever had, as he has kept it in business all these years. … Without a devil to point their fingers at, religionists of the right hand path would have nothing with which to threaten their followers."

• Anton Szandor LaVey, The Satanic Bible

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"I think the only difference between me and the other candidates is that I'm more honest and my women are more beautiful."

• Donald J. Trump, on his 2000 presidential run

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“The U.S. has become a dumping ground for everybody else's problems. … When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They're not sending you. They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, I assume, are good people.”

• Donald J. Trump, announcing his 2016 presidential run at Trump Tower

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“You know, it really doesn’t matter what the media write as long as you’ve got a young and beautiful piece of ass.”

• Donald J. Trump, 1991 Esquire interview

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"I'm not sure I have ever asked God's forgiveness. I don't bring God into that picture. …

When I go to church and when I drink my little wine and have my little cracker, I guess that is a form of forgiveness. I do that as often as I can because I feel cleansed."

• Donald J. Trump, campaigning at the Family Leadership Summit, 2015