MORIARTYISM
By Michael Moriarty
This is fun: Dealing with a new religion called Marxism. It teaches us that anything prior to the birth of Karl Marx is prehistoric. To a Marxist, the year 1832 denotes the end of prehistory. "Post-modern" is a euphemism for "Post-Marx." The eternal verity of Marxism has not only rendered the preceding events in human history antiquated, but actually erased the meaning of time itself.
There are no absolutes for Marxists except Marxism, which is relative, of course, to the psychotic Alpha male who defines it, whether Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Castro, Mugabe or others of their bloodstained political stripe. ‘Modern’ means ‘newer than yesterday,’ but not to Marxists. Their philosophy of time and history makes Christian messianic pretensions appear humble. Marxism, as an idiot titled his recent book, marks The End of History, as we know it.
This is fun.
So, more than 3,000 years of Judeo-Christian civilization are the detritus, the vestigial afterbirth of a child called Humanity that just hasn’t grown up. That’s quite a point of view, don’t you think?
We in Europe and North America are the Great Mega-Bowel Movement of Mankind.
This is fun.
One man’s perfume is another’s pig manure. My suggestion is that we obliterate the Marxists via simple daily reminders of the glories of Western Civilization run on radio and television. In short, an unrelenting passing of Judeo-Christian wind in their faces—that’s the best and most non-violent response to this leukemia known as Marxism that I can think of. For those cynical and apathetic citizens who don’t want to get involved in politics, simply read a few pages of Shakespeare each day. Listen to a little Bach. View a Da Vinci occasionally. Remark on the wonderfully unpredictable nature of Judeo-Christian genius.
A gifted psychiatrist once told me that a truly healthy man can leave his options open and is never entirely predictable. Psychosis, on the other hand, is ultimately a comic book of evil. By the end of World War II, Winston Churchill began to read Adolph Hitler’s moves rather like a guardian who can foretell the moves of an infant under his supervision.
The French Revolution is a handbook on the ultimate self-destruction of the Union of Socialist Federations (now sitting at the United Nations). They will turn on each other as surely as Robespierre decapitated Danton and St. Just. Of course, Robespierre got his, too. The guillotine blade stuck in his jaw because the revolutionaries thought he ought to be "face up" when it fell. He spent the night in jail with a badly broken jaw. The following morning, his former comrades took him out and finished the job. The Marxist Utopia is not a revolution but a convolution, a snake pit that will most certainly turn in on itself.
This is fun.
There are so many gifted Marxist artists in my profession of theater and film. I watch their talent slip, fade, weaken and falter. The greatest of these fellow travelers is -- or rather was -- Marlon Brando. He’s gone downhill -- from being a god of 20th-Century performing arts to a rather ungainly Pizza the Hut, a grotesque functionary of a very evil empire. Brando is every comrade’s best friend and no one’s real friend. The only honest line he said in The Score was "I’m scared." As well he should be.
This is fun.
The Marxists who co-opt Christianity with Liberation Theology portray Shakespeare and James Joyce as Communist sympathizers. They sway the entire English-speaking world into thinking that enforced charity is not a contradiction in terms, and that the Robin Hood religion of doing unto the rich what they would not want done unto themselves is the real Second Coming.
This is fun.
Mooning the Marxists, passing by their One-World-Order trucks and black helicopters, with our glorious derrières exposed, our Byzantine Palace Blasters pouring out Stravinsky instead of Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Are Made for Walking – retitled These Feminist/Commie Boots Are Made for Stepping on You Cro-Magnon Orthodox Jews and Christians for a new, politically correct generation—I mean, this is fun.
So we’re the Great Bowel Movement, eh?
Canadians are the glorious bastard offspring of a stormy ménage-à-trois embracing the British and French Empires and the First Nations. If we of the Judeo-Christian culture realize that we’ve been merely renting this land from the Cree, the Cowichans, the Sioux and all the other tribes -- the true Environmentalists of North America --, then the response to a fanatical religion called Marxism would be to circle the wagons to protect both Cowboys and Indians. In the glorious buddy film that I envision, they would not resist the psychosis but laugh at it, moon it, pass a well-fermented wind in the messianic faces of those devout Marxists.
GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM
Any black-market industry -- from Prohibition alcohol to criminalized drugs of the present day – is part of every Western community. Illegal substances are a way to make money. However, there are virtually legions of drug entrepreneurs who use this business as a cover for acts of war. The Viet Cong and KGB have slipped into every corner of American street life. With the help of the Liberals’ drug laws, they’ve made it possible for anyone to be arrested on suspicion, while they exact revenge by poisoning our children for what North America did to Vietnam and what our magnificence has done to humiliate the Soviet experiment.
This is not fun.
If the drug czars are serious about wanting to prevent children from being destroyed by drugs, they’d better prioritize their strategies by defanging those drug-pushers who have deep-cover Marxist credentials. My suggestion is to offer them one-way tickets to Pyongyang, Ho Chi Minh City, Beijing, Moscow, Bogota and Caracas. A wonderful old North American tradition is the Posse Comitatus. Off-duty police and RCMP might just join up, you know.
That would be more than fun. That would be justice.
MARXIST COLLATERAL DAMAGE
The body count of Socialist Federations under martial law, which is another way of describing Communism, is roughly 120 million dead in 60 years. That’s not justice. It’s vengeance. As anyone with even a passing knowledge of both the Old and New Testaments knows, vengeance is God’s. Not Lenin’s.
CHRISTIAN SURGICAL JUSTICE
In an era of ‘Lifestyle Law Enforcement’, we have no privacy left. Let’s just give it up, is the oft-heard refrain. We’re all in a Marxist day-care center, anyway. There are files on every one of us, documenting our habits, sex lives, intake of adult substances, and so on. With all the background information our "protectors" have on everyone, why not run a few underground economy names through the political background database and see if some bells ring? Justice is surgical. With the amount of data at the disposal of our governments and law enforcement agencies, perhaps they’d see a pattern to this wolf pack of drug-soaked serial killers. Perhaps the heads of our day-care center might comprehend the predictable nature of the Viet Cong, KGB Liberationists and political psychotics and "head ‘em off at the pass."
Oh, cry the liberal press: "That would be McCarthyism!"
Call it Moriartyism! At this point, I’ve been diagnosed with every mental disorder known to man. I’m in good company. Churchill, accused of having congenital syphilis because his father died of the disease, was an alcoholic bipolar genius who, if he had been put on lithium, would today be watching from heaven as Britons spoke German and bowed down before the Iron Cross. Our diabolically unifying One World Order has us in this psychiatric clinic called North America on every tranquilizing, torpor-inducing drug imaginable. Not to mention our own children being dosed with Ritalin. According to the rulers of this asylum, anyone who is not a Marxist is certifiably insane.
Stack our mental hospitals with enough Marxist psychiatrists and you have One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest come to life. So, okay, I’m Randle Patrick McMurphy and Janet Reno is still Nurse Mildred Ratched. She’s running for governor of Florida, a state that was ordered by the United Nations to elect George Bush, Jr. to keep up the illusion of democracy.
Now that Americans can be arrested and fingerprinted for a seatbelt infraction -- a recent ruling handed down by the renegade U.S. Supreme Court --, we’re all fellow patients in the day room, with McMurphy watching the Super Bowl. Off goes the television set! Let’s do a McMurphy. Let’s enjoy ourselves and make up a whale of a ball game in our heads. How do you hurt the devil? You laugh at him, like McMurphy hooted and howled at Nurse Ratched.
Will they electroshock and lobotomize us, as they did to silence Randle P. McMurphy?
Oh, they’ll try. You can bet your life on that.
This is fun.
I am now the proud author of Moriartyism. Throw in Churchill and Charles de Gaulle (as a symbol of Free France), add a dash of McMurphy and we can toss a little Judeo-Christian theater back at the Marxist Theater of Cruelty. The harder we laugh, the louder these wolf packs will roar, until their matriarchal, queen bee, feminist philosophy reveals them to be nothing more than insects. "Fleas fighting over who owns the dog," to quote Paul (Crocodile Dundee) Hogan.
North America is a land of lions and lionesses. We swat these idiots with our tails.
This is fun.