More White-Nationalists Should Hire Hookers

A meditation on angry male sexual frustration.

A practical solution to a longtime problem.

* * *

There were many poetic elements to the recent national embarassment that was the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally. None moreso than the event’s geographical significance. But unlike many who see the event as a callback to the hideous racist past of Dixieland, what caught my eye — and what should catch the eye of far more — is the fact that the event took place in the stomping grounds of the most infamous angry, unemployable, virginal, basement-dweller-who-lives-with-his-parents fanfiction writer of the 21st Century: Christian Weston Chandler. Better known as Chris-Chan.

Possibly the most mocked man in Internet history (no small accomplishment in a world with Mao Xinyu, Shia LaBeouf, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan), Chris-Chan has spent the entirety of his life running through a series of humiliations not even the combined cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia could top. Multiple sex tapes, none of which feature other human beings; a Sonic the Headgehog and Pokémon fanfiction comic bearing sub-elementary-schooler compositional quality — though the work’s violence and pornography would give away the age of the author even if he hadn’t made himself the main character; a bottomless naïvité not even the œuvre of Steve Carell has surpassed (the man drove eight-hundred miles from his home to rescue a Molvanîan woman from a kidnapping, after he was told Molvanîa was a fictional country): Chris Chandler is proof that no amount of imagination from Kenny Hotz or Andy Kaufman shall ever be enough to top the depths to which Reality can plummet on her own.

But of all C.W.C.’s achievements in failure, both before and after he became famous a decade ago, none shall surpass that of the Love Quest: a near generation-spanning effort by the C-villian against dying alone. Nearly every bad decision Chris-Chan has made since 2003 can be tied back to this disastrously-conceived undertaking against his sexual failures. He’s been banned from at least a half-dozen locations in the Charlottesville area for soliciting women with a poster-board sign, including his community college; he’s ruined every personal relationship with women he ever had by pestering them for sex; he took up crossdressing in 2011 solely to add lesbians to the list of women he can pester: all of it has been for nothing. The only progress he ever made was when he lost his virginity to a prostitute in April 2012 at the age of thirty.

For Chris, I only have one question: What took you so long?

For white-nationalists, I have an answer: Learn from Christian Weston Chandler’s example.

* * *

There have been countless jokes and observations made about the root problem with political psychopaths being sexual frustration. It’s the root of everything from the 12th’s popular Michael Rapaport video, to the plot of 1984, to the mono-testicular Hitler limerick, all the way to the countless jokes about the Houri in the Islamic Paradise. Tragically for Planet Earth, problems are more complicated than any amount of sex could solve; but there’s also a trend, mostly from third-wave feminists, to dismiss the very idea of sexual frustration as a motivation for human behavior as a product of the white-supremicist patriarchy. As seen in yesterday’s nonsensical article from Elle by Roqayah Chamseddine, written in response to the Rapaport video I just linked, in which the authress sincerely postulates even the very concept of virginity as a myth.

How in Hell anybody who’s ever had a conversation with a man could say something this ridiculous beggars belief. The fact that someone belonging to an ethnicity of the most sexually-dysfunctional region of Planet Earth today would think this shows that Feminism has detached itself from Reality to a degree surpassing that of Young-Earth Creationists.

It could very well be a cooincidence that Richard Spencer has a mail-order bride, that David Duke has been divorced since 1984, that Steve Bannon and Rush Limbaugh have three divorces each, and that the twice-divorced Donald Trump does not sleep in the same bedroom as his current wife Melania and both often reside in separate states. It could be chance that Elliot Rodger has been adopted as a posthumous alt-right butt-monkey, and that that alt-right ideology is the most popular political position among involuntary celebates — or “incels” for short (Good Christ, what a ridiculous term). There might be no pattern whatsoever to James Alex Fields Jr., Dylan Storm Roof, and Timothy McVeigh all being “confirmed bachelors” up to the date of their ghastly crimes. Brother Dean Saxton’s repeated boasting of his virginity — and no other accomplishments whatsoever — may have no relation to him spending years yelling at sexy co-eds being deserving of rape.
The same “maybe” as Casey Anthony’s searching for “fool-proof” suffocation methods on Google the last day her daughter was seen alive.

* * *

I will agree with Ms. Chamseddine on one point: no one should ever feel the need to pity-fuck anybody. There’s good reasons why all of the men I mentioned previously have their problems, and no woman should ever feel obligated to nanny some neurologically-dysfuctional pickle-polisher incapable of even quarter-ass effort at productivity.

Their answer is hookers.

Sure, in America, hookers are illegal. Sure, there are many who think hiring hookers would be immoral even where it’s legal. But even among those who believe the latter, of which I’m not at all aligned, the suggestion that taking an alternate route of soliciting randoes who will never show any interest beyond the pretend in groups among which Donald Trump counts in the number is downright dumb. How is it an improvement for someone to not break the law or a taboo when they turn themselves to a public nusiance at best in the process of legal and moral obedience? Why should the insipid lie of “there being someone for everyone” continue to be propogated in the face of such overwhelming evidence to the contrary? The personal, and often professional, growth it takes to make these losers presentable (much less desireable) is almost assuredly beyond their capability even if they had the willpower and the self-reflection to so much as get started.

There is no one for Steve Bannon! Nor Dylan Roof! There was, and will remain, no one for Christian Weston Chandler! But thanks to the magic of escort services, he found her anyway, and could find her again the moment he saves up $200.

Losing one’s virginity’s no panacæa. Nor are hookers. Anders Behring Breivik had sex with a few hookers before carrying out the worst massacre in Norway since World War II; and the social, economic, and political turmoil of the 21st Century transcends all easy solutions. They have yet to even fix Chris-Chan’s life, as the dozens of threads chronicling his failures made since 2012 on sites such as Kiwi Farms attest to. But if a time machine could be used to buy everyone who attended the Unite the Right rally an hour with an escort the month before it took place, I guarantee the rally would’ve been smaller.

Judging by the photos released of Christian Chandler’s fellow living-with-his-mom-er Fields, there would likely even be no loss of life.

* * *

O.R. Welles is a current writer, and aspiring independently-wealthy writer. He can be found thanking a hooker named Maggie McNeill. Without her inspiration, this article would never have been written.

Cathy Young: A Feminist Worth Reading

I just wanted to write about how great Cathy Young’s “Russia’s Global Anti-Libertarian Crusade” article was.

I ended up with an article of my own about how great Cathy Young is.

Cathy Young: A Writer Worth a Tribute Column

* * *

It seems each passing decade, Feminism and Feminists become worse for the World. It’s downright depressing how agreeable rationalizations; women deserving the same legal rights as men; women deserving the same protections and responsibilities as men: are now little more than a distant memory to an orthodoxy indefensible to anyone belonging to the Rougher Sex; women deserving the same outcomes as men; women deserving better outcomes than men; women being identical to men, yet still deserving greater protections due to systemic effects of patriarchy.

It’s bad enough these self-righteous bimbos think the only people who complain about the rights and lives of African and Asian women are white misogynists trying to misdirect from women’s rights in the West when they themselves have known the most comfortable lives in the history of Earth: with notable exceptions that still fall far short of Salafi dementia, such as the many legitimate grievances of mainstream Mormon women. The fact that they’re now waging wars on common sense, biology, and elementary speech rights to which Feminists themselves may be exempt from whenever convenient has poisoned all causes Feminists profess to care about for generations to come. No one cared about Donald Trump’s deplorable pussy tape when the people promoting it were troll-shielding a woman who used the slut-shaming defense to protect a violent statutory-rapist from incarceration; and a post-Millenial right-wing backlash, though still theoretical, could absolutely happen in retaliation against the Feminist War on Reality the same way the War on Drugs fostered contempt for authority in the last half-century.

Not that all is bleak. Indeed, it is only the supreme awfulness of the likes of Anita Sarkeesian and Francesca Ramsey that lets genuine articles like Cathy Young shine.

Cathy Young, a woman who called for a ceasefire between the sexes back in 1999 as the only way to actually attain any kind of desirable progress. Cathy Young, who neither exaggerates nor denies difference between the sexes. Cathy Young, who called out the social left and right for their sexual-harassment double standards regarding Clarence Thomas and Bill Clinton, and who called out exactly how both sides self-inflicted bullet wounds to their feet would damage them a generation on.

Ms. Young was ultimately ignored by both sides, their powers and influence withered and gangrened to the point where both exist today only as liabilities; but she tried, damnit!

But Young’s greatest achievement in my eyes, and the inspiration for this article, is her treatment of Russia. No blind patriot: Young repeatedly attacked the Western Left for their defense of the oligarchic ethnic-cleansing enthusiasts who run Moscow while justifiably defending Sarah Palin on one of the rare occasions the Moose-huntress was in the right, and their coddling of Kremlin-friend Edward Snowden even while acknowledging the good that could come from preventing unchecked-N.S.A. power. No partisan hack: Young did the same against Trump-tards and right-wing opportunists who’ve taken a shine to Vladimir Putin when he lent them a helping hand to the White House for the mere cost of eviscerating eighty percent of their political positions since the Reagan Era. My favorite bit from the article comes below:

[P]ro-Russian (or at least anti-anti-Russian) arguments have become fairly common not just among conservatives but among a contingent of libertarians, such as former Rep. Ron Paul and Antiwar.com Editorial Director Justin Raimondo. The new Republican affection for Russia is largely a matter of political polarization: Since Putin is the Democrats’ boogeyman du jour, he can’t be all bad. But quite a few conservatives also genuinely see Putin’s Russia as a Christian ally against Islam, a perspective recently endorsed by Ann Coulter in a March column trollishly titled “Let’s Make Russia Our Sister Country.”

That view manages to ignore not only Russia’s coziness with Iran but the fact that one of Putin’s staunchest domestic allies, Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov, runs a de facto sharia state within the Russian Federation. This spring, Kadyrov was in the news for throwing gay men in prison camps and threatening a fatwa on Russian journalists who exposed the persecution.

I expressed the same sentiment myself in my “Russia’s Islamist Problem” article last month. Thanks to Cathy Young, a meaningful number of people will now read that message.

The respect I’m showing Young doesn’t just come from my agreement with her opinions,. Much as I’ve found them ridiculous and at times contemptible, I felt the same way about Andrea Dworkin and Glenn Beck when both threw middle-fingers at Bill Clinton and Donald Trump respectively rather than sell out their beliefs on sexual abuse, for Dworkin, or free markets, for Beck. Whorish buffoons like Gloria Steinem and Alex Jones sold out to both aforementioned Presidents without hesitation,* get no such leniency from me, and I wish nothing but alimony bills the size of ostrich eggs and cold, underoccupied mattresses to both for the duration of their miserable lives. Though I admit, general agreement certainly makes the expression of affection easier, Cathy Young still possesses something I never properly expressed about anyone.

Until this paragraph:

Perhaps it was her Soviet upbringing that gave her perspective and a bullshit detector worth more than a bucket of warm piss, but the woman has patience for neither right nor left-wing bullshit. But, given the demented ramblings of Ayn Rand sprung from the same scenario, I believe this the real truth: a good writer can omit or bullshit as long as they’ve no concern for anything but themselves; a writer who cares about anything else is required to either be terrible, or become terrible; but no writer can do both at once.

Cathy Young hasn’t, and I have faith she’ll stay so forever.

*Nor do I believe “changing your mind” and “selling out” need be the same thing; Laci Green being a good example of the former, and George “Maddox” Ouzounian being a great example of the latter. But that’s an article for another day.

* * *

O.R. Welles is spinning his wheels. He can be found smoking a pipe and re-reading The Lord of the Rings.

Joking About Donald Trump Having Sex With Men Isn’t Anti-Gay

I would like to thank Andrew Kahn for curing my writer’s block.

Humor can, does, and must, exist independent of socjus concerns.

* * *

Writer’s block is a funny thing. Not due to the difficulty of inspiration: most writers have far more worthwhile ideas they’ll do nothing with in a year than their total number of ideas good or bad they’ll have actually used in a lifetime. The funny part comes when you’ve been desperate to come up with something to write about that hasn’t already been exhausted in the recent collective consciousness of whatever sphere you consider your own; and, after getting halfway through a piece that just barely touches your standard of acceptability, you open up some recent material from whatever news source is most technologically convenient to access in your era, and inspiration strikes you so perfectly you toss out whatever crap you’ve been working on and pump out something you actually feel happy about with no effort or struggle beyond that of your usual writing routine.

For me, that happened when I opened Slate this afternoon to see a lament that people were making jokes about Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin having sexual intercourse because of America’s “weaponized bigotry.” In the words of the Slate editor who greenlit Andrew Kahn’s piece and clickbait-ified the title for publication, “our worst villains must be gay.”

Something happened to the World after the Mayan Apocalypse. In all previous years of history, the humor behind fat old men with terrible haircuts having sex with anyone never had to be qualified to check against bigotry. There are hundreds of millions of humans alive today, and billions from Mankind’s history, who were always comical creatures in sexual matters. There are examples for this across all sexes, races, and attractions that have existed or will exist; and to suggest merely because some among those number have been the victims of bigotry and persecution, these groups should be spared all jokes that could be interpreted as an attack on them personally is the kind of compassion only the deliberately stupid or sociopathically cynical could advocate.

This applies just as much to those belonging to oppressed groups in their lifetime as it does to people in the case of Trump and Putin who are merely being mocked via the suggestion that they’re among such folk. D.C. Mayor Marion Barry was caught on tape with a crack pipe and a crack whore. J. Edgar Hoover left his estate to Clyde Tolson, his “best friend” of nearly half a century, and the same man that draped the flag over the coffin at Hoover’s funeral. Michael Jackson, gay and black, launched a lifelong propaganda campaign to convince the world of his heterosexuality, culminating in 1994 when MTV broadcasted the least romantic kiss in the history of television at the Music Video Awards between Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley, his wife at the time wife. I’m sure there were and are plenty of David Dukes who laughed uproariously at all three of those developments. That still doesn’t make these examples any less humorous, nor the quest to purge the mind of unacceptable comedic reactions any less tantamount to crimestop.

Lastly, the greater sin of Kahn’s article is not anything I’ve already mentioned, nor even the insult to his readers intelligence at the end of the piece when he offers them his quarter-assed I don’t think most people who make jokes about Trump being gay are personally homophobic apology — itself immediately followed by Kahn’s I do sense something peculiar qualifier, like he was trying for weasle-word bingo in writing this article. The real damage that can and will be done when crying before hurting becomes both socially acceptable and an effective method of problem solving is that the least scrupulous among us will find problems in all places of any, or no, validity and will use this public consciousness shift to abuse as many people they dislike as they possibly can. They will do so unceasingly, and do so regardless of whether the problem they complain about is even something they actually oppose. In fact, as those who remembered the recent kerfuffle Stephen Colbert had with the F.C.C. for homophobic remarks towards a public servant would know, that’s exactly what President Donald Trump and his acolytes have already done.

Nevermind. It’s already too late.

* * *

O.R. Welles is a freelance writer of aspiring notoriety and financial compensation. He can be found nowhere particularly important, just the way he likes it.

Donald Trump’s Violent Demise Just Isn’t Funny Anymore

If only Nancy Pelosi would finally have a stroke.

Why it was much funnier before the election.

* * *

On September 23rd, 2015, Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s South Park aired what might very well be the meanest punchline ever broadcast on American television at the climax of the season 19 episode “Where My Country Gone?”. South Park Elementary teacher and noted sexual deviant Herbert Garrison, upon finally losing his patience with the massive influx of Canadian immigrants in his homeland, vows to invade America’s Northern Neighbor and personally fuck every last Canadian to death. His quest impeded by the unexpected construction of a Canadian Great Wall, Mr. Garrison decides his best option is to be catapulted over Niagra Falls from the New York side to the Ontario side so his quest of sexual genocide can begin.

It nearly kills him, but being a cartoon character, Garrison is able to survive the stunt, make his way to Ottowa wearing only a singlet, and reaches their capitol building to find Canada a wasteland: the population fleeing after electing a disastrously stupid and cruel unnamed man with terrible hair to lead the nation. Garrison finds the creature grooving to “The Safety Dance” flanked by only two security officials, neither of whom intervene as the two men start a wrestling match, even after Garrison gets the upper hand and removes his singlet. . . .

. . . Garrison keeps his word, and it was the funniest ending to any TV episode in history.

So what makes the recent Kathy Griffin and Johnny Depp shenanigans different? Why does “Where My Country Gone?” still hold up while the severed mannequin head died on the vine?

It certainly wasn’t the fact that Stone and Parker didn’t actually mention Donald Trump by name. Charles Foster Kane was a less obvious stand-in for William Randolph Hearst. Nor was it the acts obscenity. Griffin and Depp combined weren’t remotely as offensive as a man getting raped to death. Nor is it the prestige of the Office of Presidency. Donald Trump was born a smug, stupid, Yankee choad who will die a smug, stupid, Yankee choad; and will remain as such every moment of his unwanted life in between those points. No position of any kind is prestigious enough to bring value to such a worthless occupant. If a man like Donald Trump were revealed to be the Messiah; all members of the World’s Abrahamic faiths would become Dharmists or Communists.

No. The difference between even as short a timespan as 2015 and 2017 is, even with the meanest mockery of any political candidate by both the U.S. mainstream media and the average American citizen, Donald J. Trump still got what he wanted and those who had a meaningful chance at preventing otherwise made all the wrong moves to stop him, when they bothered trying at all. There’s room for neither joy nor heroics when those who stand up to the evil and stupid are dishonest and cruel the whole way to the battle only to belly-flop their way to failure upon meeting their adversary.

The mainstream media of the United States, for all the remarkably brutal jokes they’ve made at Trump’s expense before and after 2016, always gave him a free platform worth untold millions with their coverage of him because Trump was a celebrity who drew good ratings in places viewers otherwise ignored. All unscripted. All cheap. Only once he’d completely destroyed all opposition to him running next to an ‘R’ rather than a ‘D’ was his persona actually looked at critically by the likes of CNN’s detestable president and longtime Trump suck-up Jeff Zucker. Only once he threatened her political ambitions did Hillary Clinton call out the detestable past racist actions of the man whose third wedding she attended with a smile.

The average American, even those who know Donald Trump deserves every insult ever thrown at him, also knows the 2016 Election and the media disaster surrounding it was never about standing up to the evil and powerful. Donald Trump could’ve been eviscerated and marginalized long before his famous escalator ride if the media did their jobs properly from the beginning rather than fatten themselves off advertising revenue and increased subscriptions from Trump’s three-ring circus. The mainstream media in America hates Donald Trump because they couldn’t stop him from gaining power the one time they actually tried to fight against him rather than for him.

The Secret Service puts an eye out on anybody who jokes about killing the President regardless of the President or the threatener’s individual morality. As they should. The preservation of institutional and democratic norms in countries that actually have institutions worth preserving is more important than the consequences of a terrible leader who still has to live with meaningful checks and balances. Americans have multiple mechanisms to dispose of bad officials both before and after they become a problem, but those who could’ve meaningfully helped to stop this fiasco before it happened have no right to act like members of the Rebel Army when they were to incompetent to perform their civic duties for at least a generation. This is a temper tantrum, and those throwing it are getting exactly what they deserve.

Pity instead the rest of Humanity, who suffers at their side.

The Classic Gay Rainbow Flag Isn’t Racist

When did the folks at Tierney stop condoning the murder of gays?

Only the profound phoniness of the issue could allow it to take off.

* * *

The poisonous nature of loaded questions are reasonably common knowledge to most of the thinking population, even if many still lack the ability to properly stand up to the practice. The classic “Have you stopped beating your wife?” example is insidious precisely because any answer given by the questioné automatically validates the assumption of the questioner.

Likewise — even though the term was only just now coined by myself and doesn’t have its own Wikipedia page at the moment — the sister practice of the loaded solution is, if anything, even worse than her more famous family member. The classic example, should this term become commonplace, would be the recently-unveiled eight-color L.G.B.T. flag by the Philadelphia Office of L.G.B.T. affairs. It proposes a problem that doesn’t exist, creates a solution with no uses aside from solving said fake problem, automatically insults everyone who doesn’t immediately adopt the solution; and, much like loaded questions or the Global Thermonuclear War Game, the only winning move is not to play. Most insidious of all, the loaded solution is often presented as a sort of gift, even when accompanied with an outrolling of merchandise by the cruel, cynical blood-suckers who created said worthless product in the first place.

These people are called “marketers,” and the marketing team that added black and brown stripes to the Gay Rainbow Flag are known by the unimprovable name of Tierney.

None of this information is secret. Even articles promoting this worthless product have cited Tierney by name in their puff pieces,* but that still doesn’t make the practice any less insulting. Homosexuals have integrated along racial lines ever since homosexuals started forming communities at all, even as far back as the Stonewall days. Only a state of reflexive paranoia and the complete impossibility of such a problem being legitimate could possibly enable a solution this worthless to gain ignition rather than immediately being snuffed out in an ashtray like spent tobacco, which at least had some use to someone before burning out.

Even the message of racial inclusion provided by the Eight-color is laughable. Why only two extra stripes to represent racial harmony rather than a more traditional five? Are the red and yellow stripes of the original supposed to represent Amerindians and Orientals as well as the Newtonian color spectrum? Was the original flag being deliberately inclusive of Amerindians and Orientals and deliberately exclusive of Negroes and Maylayans? Why was a white stripe excluded? Because racial harmony is a fantasy?

Was no thought put behind the creation of the Eight-color? Of course not! It was developed by brainless marketing twits who only care about guilting and bullying the gullible and incredulous into buying tacky merchandise.

The Eight-color is bad enough for all of those reasons, but what makes the flag intolerable even by the standards of cynical marketing campaigns is the implied insult to the original flag and creator Gilbert Baker, who passed away earlier this year. There is neither evidence nor accusation that Baker’s design has ever been considered a slight against the ever vague community of “non-whites” the Tierney marketing team insists the flag excludes. Tierney’s flag wouldn’t even exist without Gilbert’s, and that still didn’t keep their marketing hacks from tossing this design in the dumpster rather than smearing a symbol that actually contributed to society as racist.

Tierney only put these stripes on the flag because they knew a community that prides itself on inclusivity to the degree seen in the L.G.B.T. community would provide less resistance to this fake accusation of racism than a family of Christian Fundamentalists in the 1980s would provide to the equally baseless accusations of homosexual heavy metal singers planting subliminal messages into their records encouraging their fans to commit suicide. Having values is all well and good, but no community should willingly slip under the thumb of marketing weasels and loaded-solutionists. Be they L.G.B.T.-ers, feminists, or the Reagan Coalition: thinking human beings should stop tucking their tails between their legs, and start telling the likes of Tierney which hole they can suck.

* Though not all, as the suckers who read Vox have experienced.

* * *

O.R. Welles is an aspiring legend in his own time who has an entire garden hose in his backyard for Vox‘s Alex Abad-Santos to suck raw. He can be found impersonating a Nigerian Prince while conversing with Philidelphia’s L.G.B.T. community and making an absolute killing in the process.

Russia’s Islamist Problem

Capitulation to Islamofascism is not just a Western problem.

No one should forget: Vladimir Putin’s best friend is an Islamic Terrorist.

* * *

The as of now speculative death of Caliph Ibrahim at the hands of a Russian airstrike on May 28th, if true, should rightfully be celebrated by any human being who values their soul. Abu Bakr al-Bagdadi orchestrated mass rape, enslavement, genocide, torture, and Sharia with the help of Sadaam Hussein’s former goon squad of rapists, murderers, torturers, and final-solutionists. It’s no exaggeration to say Bagdadi was the leader of the most vile country on the planet, and considering his competitors include Eritrea and North Korea, that shouldn’t have been possible.

It’d be wonderful if his deserved demise happened May 28th, it’d be far better had the bastard died earlier; and if it hasn’t happened yet, all worthwhile human beings should pledge to insure it happens as soon as possible. Wretched as the Russo-Syrian alliance is, their forces being the ones to do what should’ve been done years ago would not diminish the act itself being a net positive for Planet Earth.

Likewise, just because he helped kill the World’s worst human being, Vladimir Putin should be neither forgiven nor forgotten for not only supporting and empowering a family of Islamic terrorists in his own homeland, but for using said family to secure supreme power for himself.

Chechnya, one of eighty-odd subjects in the Russian Federation, waged a brutal war for independence upon the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 90s. The conflict helped destroy Russian democracy before it could even get started, and irreparably embarrassed the entire Russian military. Vladimir Putin, who came to power in ’99, helped bolster his image by waging a victorious second war with Chechnya that lasted nearly a decade. Putin figured the best way to attain such a victory was by getting the Chechen fighters themselves on his side under the condition of letting them have their way with the tiny republic as long as they pledged unquestioned loyalty to Putin himself. Putins interests coincided with that of Chechnya’s Grand Mufti — one Akhmad Kadyrov, who calculated the alliance as the best means for preserving Chechen culture and the only reliable counter to Wahhabi ideology available to him — and thus Putin finally had an acceptable choice of leader for the unstable subdivision.

Or so the plan was before Akhmad Kadyrov’s assassination by a suicide bomber seven months into his presidency back in 2004.

He was officially succeeded by a Kazakh police officer named Alu Alkhanov, but that was a legal formality. In truth, Chechen leadership fell to Kadyrov’s only living son, Ramzan (Akhmad’s eldest son Zelimkhan was a drunken failure who died under unknown circumstances shortly before his father’s assassination.). He merely had to wait until he was out of his twenties before assuming the role officially in 2007, whereupon Arkhanov attained a comfortable post as a Deputy Justice Minister of Russia.

Putin sees the affair as his greatest success, and struck up a close friendship with Ramzan upon his father’s murder. In many ways, Ramzan has become the son Putin never had, and Putin has become the father Ramzan so brutally lost. Russian money gets kickbacked to Chechnya to build skyscrapers and palaces, Chechen soldiers carry out missions the Russian government doesn’t want to be tied to, Gazprom conducts secure business in Chechen oil fields, and no one complains unless they wish to wind up in a bodybag.

Chechnya may be Russia’s closest ally and Ramzan Kadyrov may be like a son to Vladimir Putin, but the country’s unquestionably the biggest liability in the entire federation. Kadyrov’s had Putin opponents killed without Putin’s permission, killed his own opponents in places as far flung as Austria, has brought Sharia into his fiefdom at the defiance of Russian federal law, supports honor killings and polygamy and mandatory headscarves as well as banning alcohol, and his recent crackdown on homosexuality is downright Third-Reichian in nature. It’s not surprising that a man who fought in his father’s army in the name of Jihad on Western Civilization in general and Russia in particular would engage in such behavior, but to do so with full support and approval from a leader of a country where more than eighty percent of the population is Christian or Atheist within said country’s own borders is an unprecedented capitulation even the likes of Jeremy Corbyn have not surpassed.

Those who call out European and American hypocrisy on Islam don’t have to take back their justifiable disgust. Vladimir Putin’s support of Sharia within his own borders doesn’t make Western alliance with Saudi Arabia and Turkey less disgusting, nor the security officials who ignore signs of terrorism for fear of being labeled racist any less indefensible. But the kool-aid drinkers of the alt-right looking up to Putin as the man standing tough against Islam are just as delusional as the cuckolded lefties pretending the men with prayer bumps and machine guns massacring civilians have nothing to do with the religion they devoted their lives to just because their ancestors were colonial subjects in the previous century.

* * *

O.R. Welles is a current writer and aspiring independently-wealthy writer who covers whatever he damn well pleases on his WordPress page oharrwelles.com, and anywhere else with the stones to run his pieces. He can be found copy editing, if he knows what’s good for him.

The Tupac Biopic: Hollywood’s Continued Cowardice

It’d be nice to have this published, but I really can’t afford to wait until after the film’s release to put this out.

Why do the All Eyez On Me biopic-ers care about the approval of criminals responsible for Tupac Shakur’s murder?

* * *

When Universal/HBO released Brett Morgen’s Montage of Heck, documenting the life of rock legend Kurt Cobain, they enjoyed a critical reception worthy of the Arc of the Covenant. Scores of 98% on Rotten Tomatoes — pretty much the best score attainable since the rise of Armond White — and 84 on Metacritic are enough to bring tears to the eyes of directors and blood to the groins of producers. Indeed, the reception has been so remarkable, almost no one ever bothers bringing up that the events as described in the film were almost entirely fabrication; crafted to please the dope-fiending, domestic-abusing, multi-hundred millionaire chained in matrimony like a twenty-pound sphere to the late subject during the last years of his suicide-solution’d life.

Director Benny Boom’s upcoming biopic (as of the writing of this article: June 9th, 2017) on the life of rap legend Tupac Shakur might or might not enjoy the reception of Morgen’s magnum mendacius, but Boom has already continued a proud Hollywood tradition of appeasement to the simultaneously wealthy, vicious, and criminal by not only sidestepping an ugly truth, but preemptively attaining approval of the aforementioned brute before the picture’s public debut. The recent press release to TMZ and Vibe, among other outlets, made clear whatever the merits of All Eyez on Me as a film, moguls Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs and Marion “Suge” Knight both approve of their portrayal in the picture.

On its own, that would be disgusting. Considering one of the picture’s producers, L.T. Hutton (himself a record producer connected to Knight) actively looked for these men’s blessings before blasting this farce across the Internet, it’s downright despicable.

Despite a flood of nonsense surrounding Pac murder (second only to Dallas, TX in 1963), the Las Vegas P.D., Los Angeles P.D., and the F.B.I. closed the books on both cases years ago. Viewers of former-detective Greg Kading’s excellent Indiegogo-funded documentary Murder Rap — Kading was the cold-case detective assigned to the Wallace case after Wallace’s mother sued the L.A.P.D. for a nine-figure sum, and the film is based on his book of the same name — can hear confirmation that the murders were connected from the mouth of the very man ordered to carry out Shakur’s murder, one Duane “Keefe D” Davis, as well as a sworn statement from a girlfriend of Knight’s (albeit one given anonymously under the name “Theresa Swan”) that said crime was the motive for the retaliatory assassination of Combs’ biggest act, Christopher Wallace (better known under his nom de plume The Notorious B.I.G.).

Davis, a Southside Compton Crip gangster, admits the cause of the shooting was a blood feud between Knight and Combs, the respective owners of Shakur and Wallace’s record labels; and that he personally was ordered by Combs on two occasions to have Tupac killed for one million dollars: once in a room full of a few dozen Crips, the other over a private dinner. The shooting was conducted in Las Vegas on the night of a WBA heavyweight championship fight between Mike Tyson and Bruce Seldon from a car by Davis’s own nephew, Orlando Anderson, himself a Crip who was gunned down in an unrelated gang shooting the following year.

Davis was subsequently stiffed for his services.

On the word of Swan (corroborated by a mountain of evidence), Knight later retaliated by having Combs’ hottest act, Christopher “The Notorious B.I.G.” Wallace, assassinated in return by a Mob Piru Blood gangster and close friend of Knight’s named Wardell “Poochie” Fouse. Like Anderson, Fouse was shot in the back while riding a motorcycle in the Summer of 2003, supposedly due to a feud with the Fruit Town Pirus. Knight has been left destitute and incarcerated for what would likely be a life sentence even assuming he skids his upcoming charge for the 2015 murder of one Terry Carter. Justice for the murder of The Notorious B.I.G. was roundabout, but at least it actually happened.

Sean Combs, however, not only continues to elude justice, he’s made R. Kelly and David Miscavige look like rank amateurs. His estimated net worth dwarfs the actual net worth of nearly every other figure in music (and as readers of Tim O’Brien would know, that of our President). He assaulted his son’s college football coach with a kettlebell and didn’t suffer so much as a chafe from the handcuffs. He sampled the beat to his wretched tribute single to the friend whose murder his behavior enabled from a song about a stalker, which then spent eleven weeks at number one in the U.S. and sold eight million copies worldwide. Combs should never receive anything more polite than a box of tarantulas, yet his boots are licked clean by the men making a movie with an eight-figure budget about the man he ordered killed.

All Eyez on Me is but one of many Hollywood pictures to stick its head in the sand. Spike Lee wrote Louis Farrakhan out of existence when adapting The Autobiography of Malcolm X. Christopher Nolan used the line “they work for Thomas Edison” when torch-wielding goons destroyed Nikola Tesla’s Colorado laboratory in The Prestige to avoid ruffling feathers with a more accurate “they work for General Electric.” Scott Cooper’s Black Mass paints the Whitey Bulger scandal as the work of the one F.B.I. agent who’s actually serving time for the wretched affair rather than shame anyone who could possibly launch a lawsuit. Cowardice is easy when long zeroes are at stake, and even easier with already-indifferent consumers.

But this is a fragile matter, and any aspiring stone-thrower can show this emperor’s naked as the statue of David with one share of an article that refuses to buy into Californian deliberate delusion. L.T. Hutton is a coward, Benny Boom is a stooge, Sean Combs is a monster, and no moviegoer with any self-respect should entertain All Eyez on Me.

It’s time to kill these lies at the source.

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O.R. Welles is a current writer and aspiring independently-wealthy writer who covers whatever he damn well pleases on his WordPress page oharrwelles.com, and anywhere else with the stones to run his pieces. He can be found daydreaming, and praying that Carl Sagan was overestimating the dangers of nuclear winter, wherever he lays his hat.