I’m tired. It’s just after three in the morning, I haven’t been sleeping very well, and I have yet to complete this week’s payroll for my business. Fifteen dollars an hour? Will I be able to stay in business? Who knows. My “essential” business could suddenly and unceremoniously be eliminated by a den of leftist jackals surrounded by  barbed wire fencing and armed troops.

If they do raise the minimum wage, they might want to consider electrifying that fence. 

I’m also a doctor. No, not a doctor in  the traditional sense. I don’t have an MD or even a PhD after my name. But because I identify as a doctor, I am therefore no less than a degreed physician. No need to pen a thesis, and a residency is not required, So, just address me accordingly and we won’t have any issues.

I type softly, so as not to wake my young daughter, whose room shares a wall with my cramped study. I ponder what her dreams must look like. Ponies? Hopscotch? Jumprope? Whatever her visions, I wish I could claim them for an evening or two.

When I do dream, it typically involves my drowning. Mostly in water, sometimes in sand, but always engulfed and sinking helplessly into a deep abyss. But just as I begin to succumb to to my fate, I wake. I look at the clock, drag myself from the bed, and work on this website.

I don’t have time for this. I’m a single dad who owns a small business. I’m raising a daughter and caring for a parent with dementia. I begin each day with a list of things to accomplish, and I rarely have enough time to complete my self-assigned tasks for that day.

Yet, here I sit working on this website instead of running payroll, reviewing my mother’s bills or my daughter’s homework. In short, I’m making a sacrifice.

That’s what it’s going to take for us to reclaim our country from the internal and external forces hell-bent on plunging us into darkness. We’re all going to have to sacrifice time, effort, money and more if we stand a chance of keeping our freedoms and liberties. These cherished rights come at a price, and if you wanna dance, you gotta pay the band.

Don’t Make Me Laugh

My formative years took place largely in the 70s and 80s and 90s, with the 80s being the most memorable decade of my lifetime. The music of that era was uplifting, the movies were inspired, and comedy was funny. Yes, I recall the Democrats and press labeling Reagan a racist war-monger at the time, and that he was going to kill us all. But that’s what the left says about every Republican president. In fact, I’m pretty sure it has crossed Pelosi’s mind to dig up Reagan, drag his desiccated carcass to the Capitol and impeach him for some reason or another. Why? So he can’t run for president again, of course. You know—just to be sure.

Are you old enough to remember laughter? It was my sophomore year in college when I saw Sam Kinison perform at my university. He played to a sold-out house and absolutely killed with his edgy, off-color material. Were portions of his act considered by some to be inappropriate or offensive? Probably. Was he funny? Absolutely. He was one of the hottest comedians in the country at the time, and you don’t play to sold-out houses across the nation if people don’t think you’re funny. 

I recall Eddie Murphy had a gut-wrenchingly hilarious HBO standup special at the time. Titled “Raw,” Murphy poked at race, homosexuality, etc.—all subjects today’s comedians wouldn’t dare examine. 

Sadly, If he were alive today, Kinison wouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of my alma mater and Murphy would be rebuffed by HBO. I don’t think we’ve forgotten what’s funny. Quite simply, I think we’re afraid to laugh. We’re afraid of the retribution from the woke left. They’re such an insecure bunch that they feel every tickle as a pinch. A typical pinchee simply cries “ouch,” rub his shoulder, and moves on. A woke pinchee makes you feel guilty about having pinched her and then cuts off your fingers to be sure that you can’t ever pinch again.

During an interview with ESPN, Seinfeld revealed that he doesn’t perform at colleges because students can be too politically correct for comedy. He said young people just want to throw around terminology like “that’s racist” or “that’s sexist,” but “they don’t know what they’re talking about.” 

Kinison used to do a hilarious bit about necrophilia. Is it OK to laugh at that bit now, or would that be offensive to necrophiliacs? Honestly, I don’t have a damn clue anymore. When Biden signs an Executive Order creating The Ministry of Funny, I will be sure to apply for a permit to laugh.

Counterculture Club

Remember when heavy metal was counterculture? But that was then and this is now. Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider, the author of the 80s hit song “We’re Not Gonna Take it” asked Trump to stop using his song at campaign rallies. Other headbangers and rockers have taken similar anti-Trump stances.

These metal gods used to fight The Man. The Man represents control. The Man sends your sons and daughters to war. The Man exploits you and profits from his exalted position. Who’s The Man today? When someone charges that  there’s “Systemic” injustice somewhere, by very definition of the term, they’re attacking a system. Who’s been running the system they’re alluding to? Who’s been trying to change it?

Today, headbanger and rocker musicians largely embrace The Man, while country artists have become counterculture. Country artists and Ted Nugent, anyway. Oh, and Johnny Rotten (real name John Lydon). Believe it or not, the frontman of the Sex Pistols, the band that defined counterculture, is a Trump supporter.

During an interview with “Good Morning Britain,” Lydon said, “I’ve watched what the Democrats have done to California, let alone this entire west coast, it’s absolutely disgusting… It’s chaotic, dogma-led, it seems to have a Karl Marx agenda behind it.”

“Look at what your liberal-minded agenda has done to Portland and Seattle. Do you want some more of that everywhere? 140 solid days of rioting… [Biden] doesn’t deal with ANTIFA or BLM in any way at all.”

Decades after penning the anti-establishment anthem “Anarchy in  the UK,” Lydon is still able to identify who The Man is.

Action Jackson

It is my fond memories of the 80’s that drive me to work on this site. I recall what it felt like to be free of the scourge of cancel culture, BLM and Antifa.

I remember hearing speakers of divergent points of view without accompanying frenzied protests.

I remember being able to speak, write and hear ideas without fear of censorship or retribution.

I remember when people were willing to coexist, even with Conservatives.

I remember when the Y chromosome defined you as a man and the X chromosome defined you as a woman.

I remember I used to dream that I had the power of flight.

Like a lot of Americans, I’m angry. Angry that the freedoms we’ve enjoyed through the sacrifice of others on the beaches of Normandy and elsewhere are being brazenly stripped away from us before our very eyes. Angry at the collusion of mainstream media, big business and big tech to stifle the speech and actions of Conservatives. Angry at the politicians who ignore and even facilitate the process. Angry that my daughter is not likely to laugh nearly as much as I did as she gets older.

And so I channel my anger into this site. My efforts may not make a difference, but that’s OK. At least I can tell my daughter that I did something. 

If we want to save our republic, we should all be doing something. Anything. I have a facility for writing and I have some knowledge of web tools. So, I am using those skills to put forth the cautionary House Bill on the home page of this site, juxtaposing the present with horrific events of the past. 

I’ve discovered that something productive with my anger is cathartic. We all feel like we’re not being heard in the courts, in the media, publicly and online. It’s good to open the pressure valve and let the steam escape. Otherwise, you’re likely to wind up with burst pipes.

Take stock of your skills and determine how they can be used to help save our country from the Socialist horde. Can’t think of a useful skill set? Everyone can dial a phone and send an email. Call or email your elected officials and let them know how you feel about issues and legislation. Use the tools I’ve included on the  Resist page. Take a more active role in voting and public service by using the resources on the Reclaim page.

Oh, and by the way—if you don’t find a way to channel your rage and end up having a heart attack, do not contact me. Because even though I’m a doctor, you probably wouldn’t want me to take your case.