Operation Galvanic, the code name for the invasion of Tarawa, was not the bloodiest battle in total numbers, 953 Marines and sailors KIA, 29 MIA, and 2,296 wounded, but when that casualty figure of 3,301 is out of a total landing force of 11,000, it’s one of the highest rates in the Pacific. Of the 4,707 Japanese Special Landing Force sailors (Jap marines, rikusentai), 4,690 were killed. Only 17 were captured alive, most all of them too wounded to carry on the fight or commit suicide.
Betio was the main island in the Tarawa Atoll and was less the two miles long and 600 yards wide at its widest point. In this space smaller than Central Park, over 20,000 men would slug it out at point blank range. More than 5,600 men would die there, and four Medals of Honor would be earned in the first assault against a heavily defended, fortress beach head of WWII.
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First off, His Curmudgeonly Eminence, Francis Porretto, has a few words to add to the ShirtStorm (as well as some other excellent points that you really ought not to miss).
Looks like he, ourself, Jeff Goldstein, Mike Hendrix and Sarah Hoyt, just for starters, ought to found an Outlaw Blogger Gang dedicated to not giving a damn inch to the Prozi thought police and the spineless wankers on the “right” who like to submissively urinate all over their own bared tummies every time the Glittery Hoo Has give them the evil eye. The logo on our colors could be a one-fingered salute offered by a scantily clad female suggestively hugging a gun. Or braining a baby seal.
Of course, the real challenge would be to convince Her Imperial Majesty that her Royal Husband really needs a bike. If we took out a $4 million life insurance it might work.
“Now I’m Just Somebody That You Used to Know…”
That ought to be the soundtrack of the following video neatly encapsulating, in two minutes, what GruberGate is all about and how the lying liars in the Lie House are once again lying about the lies they lied when they lied about their previous lies.
Herr Gruber ought to read up on Vince Foster. It might come in handy for him in the upcoming weeks.
The lying liars in the ObolaMedia and their handmaidens in the Prozi Blogosphere are busy pretending that nothing in the above was ever said and that, besides, Herr Gruber, the “most brilliant economist in the universe” who, until recently, was “the architect behind ObamaCare”, is no longer anything but an unknown somebody who never had anything to do with ObamaCare at all, for which the Lie House paid him $400,000 and change.
The wheels of the Obola Bus go round and round…
Quit Calling Me Mean Names!
Kaci “Ebola Mary” Hickox who absolutely would not, under any circumstances, muster one single solitary fuck about her potentially infecting Americans with Ebola is now terribly upset that Americans won’t muster one single solitary fuck about her being upset about being called names.
Terribly sorry (no, we’re not, but our exalted station requires that we be able to at least pretend to decorum occasionally), Lady Kari of Ebola, but last we checked your hurt feelings don’t quite rate on the same scale as the potential for seeing innocent Americans bleed to death from their eyeballs just because you can’t be arsed to take three weeks off work with pay to watch Netflix.
We’d be happy to meet you halfway by not calling you “nurse” anymore, however. After all, being a nurse requires no small amount of consideration for your fellow human beings, not to mention at least a modicum of understanding of the dangers of infectious diseases, how to combat them, the precautionary principle and basic epidemiology, none of which are in evidence in your selfish, arrogant, narcissistic behavior.
So how about “Ebola Kaci?” “Ebola, E-b-ola Ebooola…” “Kaci the Ebola Snatch?”
One of the clear signs of a Prozi (aka “modern liberal”) being pushed into a corner, knowing that it’s at the end of its rope, is that its mental faculties will start to melt down completely and it will start to lash out in ever more angry and insane ways.
A perfect example would be the Social Justice Warrior variant of the Prozi species and their antics as of late.
Beset by an overwhelming (and justified) sense of lack of worth, they’ve devoted their miserable lives to making sure that nobody else is enjoying themselves either.
Like any other Prozi subculture, they simply cannot stand anybody doing something they enjoy, because their happiness is a constant reminder of how utterly bereft of joy their own lives are, just as they cannot bear the thought of anybody being successful as that serves as a painful reminder of just how spectacularly they have failed to achieve anything of value themselves.
Thus they constantly strive to make others more unhappy than they themselves are or destroy the success of others.
Only in this, in bringing others even lower than themselves can they ever hope to feel superior.
As an individual, the Prozi is rarely more than an annoyance, easily avoided and best left to fester in its own self-hatred as time spent on trying to appease it or even convince it that it, too, might someday know happiness if it would just take action to stop its self-perpetuating cycle of ignorance and self-pity and get off its butt is utterly wasted. It has spent a lifetime building up its hatred as a defense against acknowledging its own deficiencies (and they are many), and it is not likely to give that up easily. And that’s assuming that it hasn’t regressed to the point where it actually believes itself superior, all evidence to the contrary be damned, at which point one might as well give up and wait for its inevitable suicide.
But in groups they can be quite dangerous, at least if one does not push back and push back twice as hard.
There are numerous examples of Prozi witch hunts that have destroyed lives, one high profile one would be former Mozilla CEO Brendan Eich, who lost his position because he dared express a political opinion in the United States, which caused a Prozi shit storm that didn’t end until the spineless cowards at Mozilla “convinced” him to “resign.”
The sort of behavior more suited to places like Nazi Germany.
Then again, it is no coincidence that the Prozis, or Progressive Socialists, bear remarkable resemblances to their predecessors, the Nazis, or National Socialists.
To understand the Prozi and thus be able to better destroy it, it is important to know that the Prozis didn’t go after Mr. Eich so much because he’d dared donate money to a campaign against gay marriage, but primarily because their victory when they got him fired made them think that they were mighty. There was a man who had been successful beyond most people’s wildest dreams, who had built something up from nothing to a giant of industry, so if they could bring him low, then their own sad and painful lives would seem better to them.
They were and are like the barbarians who think that by bringing down the castle walls, they’re as mighty as and mightier still than the brilliant minds who built the castle itself, like the howling savages of the Parisian banlieus who, by setting fire to a hundred cars, think themselves more accomplished and successful than the geniuses who designed and built those cars.
But sadly for the Prozi, this momentary high, like most other highs, is, indeed, very momentary, and they wake up the next day still $80,000 in debt with nothing but a degree in gender studies and a minimum wage job serving watery coffee for strangers at Starbucks. If they’re lucky. So off they go in search of new targets of opportunity.
That they have been so sadly successful so far is, even more sadly, entirely our own fault as a society, a fact we must come to grips with if we aim to rid the planet of this wasteful, destructive and utterly useless scourge.
Because they are cowards too. It is helpful to understand that the vast majority of those sad individuals didn’t just become worthless overnight. They have been so their entire lives, most often as a result of an extremely lax upbringing, bordering on child abuse if not, indeed, way across that line. Lena “the Sister-Diddler” Dunham’s “parents” would be a perfect example of how a Prozi is made. As a result of this pre-programmed inferiority and inability to fit in, they have been bullied relentlessly throughout childhood, which taught them early on that A) resistance is futile and B) vengeance is sweet.
B) explains their irrational hatred of anybody who is happy and successful, A) explains how they wither almost immediately when faced with real resistance, because they’re used to losing. It is the only outcome with which they’re familiar, and that is our most potent weapon against them, a weapon that we fail to use time and time again.
Call it “civility”, call it “pity”, but wouldn’t that pity be better spent on their victims? Does us feeling good about not having utterly destroyed these vile, hateful creatures justify the pain we allow them to inflict upon others by not crushing them underfoot every chance we get?
Allowing those creatures to run rampant, indulging them in their temper tantrums rather than punching them straight in the face allows them to go on to destroy good, decent, brilliant, innocent people.
But we guess that’s OK as long as it’s somebody else they destroy?
Just a few days ago, the ESA (that’s the European Space Agency, then one not committed solely to muslim outreach like our own NASA) landed a probe on a comet. Remotely. So far away that signals, the ones needed to navigate, reached it with a 28 minute delay. We’ll go over that again: Human beings managed to land a probe on a flying bullet, a bullet that was tumbling end over end as it was traveling at ridiculous speeds, and they did so by remote control blindfolded with one hand tied behind their backs.
That’s cause for celebration, isn’t it? It might have been, but thanks to Prozi SJWs, it was all about a shirt. A Hawaii shirt with pinups on it. Worn by one of the most brilliant scientists on the team who made it happen.
A few SJWs, this time of the “feminist” variety, but that really doesn’t matter, they’re just another subculture among the Prozis, started tweeting hateful remarks about how “sexist” this genius’ colorful shirt was, and immediately the hordes of utter failures, hungry for their next fix, piled on.
And mankind, once again, responded with cowardice and forced this man, this brilliant, one-of-a-kind genius without whom this mission would have not even happened, to issue a tearful apology for not having conformed to the arbitrary dress code thought up by a handful of hateful subhumans.
How long, exactly, are we going to allow this to continue?
Because it doesn’t have to continue. They’re really easy to defeat.
If you use their own methods against them.
But obviously it’s better to sacrifice a decent human being every once and again so we don’t have to feel “mean.”
Until their next target is you. Then we’d wager that your outlook would change just a bit.
How easy is it?
GamerGate. Now, if you’re not a “gamer”, then you probably either haven’t heard of it or are even now rolling your eyes because “gamers.” So what if they came for the Jews? I’m not a Jew.
But it’s important. Cliff’s notes version is some “developer” (in reality a talentless Prozi, but we repeat ourself, hack who’d used somebody else’s software to create a computer version of a Choose Your Own Adventure™ book) slept with 5 different guys in the gaming industry, including reviewers, to get publicity for her hack “game.” She was dating another guy at the same time, but we really don’t give a flying fuck about that. She’s not the first unfaithful whore to walk the planet. We did care about the fact that it put into question quite a bit just how much a review is worth if you have to wonder if the reviewer has been fucking the developer bowlegged before reviewing her dreck.
And so did quite a few other gamers. To which the same gaming “journalists” who’d just done their best to destroy their own credibility responded by calling all gamers misogynist, sexist, rapist, neckbearded losers living in their mommas’ basements. Which is dumb, really dumb, since gamers are the only ones reading those websites, and without page views they don’t get ad dollars and without ad dollars… Well it’s back to Starbucks, we guess.
It’s not that it was all that surprising. We gamers have gotten used to more and more “reviews” reading like a very poorly written Berkeley sophomore essay about how people playing the game are enjoying themselves wrong than an actual review of the game’s merits, but this time shit got real, because they were attacking us as gamers as a whole. They were spitting in the face of the people who provide them with a living because we’d dared question the propriety of a reviewer of a game being the game developer’s fuck buddy.
It was dumb from the point of view that you shouldn’t insult your customer, ever, but it was even MORE dumb when you consider just what gamers are and what they have in common. Gamers are a very diverse group of individuals, from far left to far right, from young to old, from highly successful adults to young teens, white and black, male and female, who in spite of all of these difference have ONE thing in common: They all play to WIN. It’s hardwired into a gamer. Without it, you won’t stay with the hobby to the point where it’s part of your identity. Losing is not an option, surrendering is not an option, there is only win. Gamers will determinedly grind away at the same game “boss” for weeks until they beat it, never giving one solitary fuck how many times they have to start over. They’re the kind of people who can lay claim to having beaten every single hand of FreeCell, who will not rest until they have finished every side quest in Skyrim, who do not have a game in their library where they have not unlocked every achievement, who will merrily stay up all night for a month to prove that you can win WWII playing as Belgium or, if they’re really in for a challenge, France (that hasn’t, to our knowledge, yet been done but we’re working on it), the kind of people who will not rest until they have a YouTube video of themselves defeating a Roman legion with nothing but one unit of Gallic archers.
Are they silly? You can certainly argue that. We’re fair certain that Dr Taylor of the Hawaiian shirt was far too preoccupied with, say, figuring out how to land a probe on a comet to have time for such, but you can’t argue that it’s a group of people that you’d do well to think twice about picking a fight with.
And this truly diverse group of people had the gauntlet of being called mouth-breathing, retarded, misogynistic, rapist basement-dwellers thrown in their faces.
Within weeks, those gaming sites had lost ad sponsors like IBM, Intel and Mercedes Benz, and we’re still counting.
Their targets had studied their tactics, copied them and improved on them because they saw an achievement to be unlocked and their answer was “challenge accepted.”
Not “can’t we all just play along to get along”, not “oh well, they’re entitled to their opinion”, but “fuck you, you’re going down, motherfuckers!”
That fight is not over yet, but the Prozis are reeling as they see their income disappearing and, more importantly, are seeing an enemy not willing to stop until the Prozis are begging for mercy.
And as to Dr. Taylor, we dare say that the backlash against the Prozi SJWs going after him has only just begun. Already they’re responding in their usual fashion by decrying as barbarianism and violence the very methods they themselves are using because now they’re on the receiving end.
In politics, King Obola and his Prozi Party just received the third beating in as many elections, their demented and narcissistic Führer is tripping over his own dick and inserting every appendage he can find into his mouth because he doesn’t know how to handle a rout (or anything else, for that matter), but the same principles apply:
The enemy line is wavering, and it’s only a matter of time until they make the step backwards. That momentous first step. Keep the pressure up at that point and that first step will turn into more of the same, and then comes the breaking of the line and the rout.
But it doesn’t end there. When the rout comes, and it will come if we seize this moment and don’t give in to our notions of “fairness” and “proportional response” (a concept thought up by losers to protect their own arses once they’ve already lost the field), then it’s time for the chase. That’s when you seal your ears to cries of mercy and unleash the cavalry to ride through them and slaughter them as they run.
Unless you cherish the opportunity to face them again on the morrow when they’ve regrouped, but we don’t understand the allure of masochism, so you’ll have to explain that to us.
Now is not the time to go wobbly.