Reclaiming the Power of Hate
Lobe's Links | Reclaiming the Power of Hate
Published by Wake up America -- December 2, 2007
Not on the battle field, but in the business arena".
-- Col. Nate Edwards (Ret.)
Considering that the American public had first become aware of the Japanese war machine through that treacherous and unprovoked sneak attack on an American Naval Base, during a time of peace, while the Japanese ambassadors were at that very moment meeting their American counterparts at the State Department, the Japanese people quickly became something else; they became Japs. A brutal and inferior race of savages to be distrusted and despised. A race, in short, to be hated.
And hate them we did. We hated them openly, willingly and without reservation. And we didn't just hate their leaders or their armies and their navies, we hated THEM, the Japs themselves, the bloodthirsty, sadistic little squinty-eyed monkeys. We matched their racial hatred of us with our racial hatred of them. No caricature, no obscenity, no epithet could be too vile to describe a Jap. If you were a patriotic American, be you man, woman or child, you automatically hated the Japs. It quickly became a necessary adjunct to our national persona, second nature, like loving your mother and apple pie. It was not only that it was O.K. to hate the Japs, it was considered your sacred duty. And the more fervently you expressed this hate, the more patriotic you became, and the more patriotic you became, the stronger America became.
It was as clear as crystal.
And our hate was essential to the cause, we could not have won the war without it.
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"From this day forward, every soldier that perishes in SW Asia is blood on the hands of Speaker Pelosi until every soldier comes home." LINK
But this trick-or-treating thing has gotten WAY out of hand.... True to great British tradtion, it's worse. We don’t just get eggs chucked at our houses; we also get stuff like bottles, rocks, bricks….Our cars aren’t toilet papered; they’re trashed, or nicked and THEN trashed. We get abuse hurled at us, threats made, some people are even physically assaulted, and not only are 90% of the bastards starting the trouble in their teens and not in costume – they also don’t want sweets (candy): they want cash. And if they don’t get it, or whether they want it or not, they cause chaos and destruction and fear in their wake.
Around 10pm, we met everyone at Jessica Arinella's place on the Upper West Side for a perfect, small Halloween gathering where conversations could actually be had. I dressed up as Tessa or at least I meant to, but I got the wrong color hair. And my boobs didn't move. And she's actually pretty. In the end, I pretty much freaked everyone out and made all the guests 3% uncomfortable (apparently I looked like a successful transsexual) so I consider it a job well done.
the place I grew up is distinctly NOT home for me. I have a profound averse reaction to it. ... the house I primarily grew up in...is... disturbing.... "why do you hate grosse pointe?" demanded patrick. "what's wrong with it?" I didn't have the slightest idea where to begin. ... when I worked at ACT registering people for the test over the phone, the detroit suburban mothers were infamous-- they're just mean. haughty and snippy and endowed with an air of encompassing entitlement. really unlike anywhere else. these chicago friends may have their northshore snootinesses, but grosse pointe is a phenomenon unto itself. rigid and narrow and sneaky and small and bitchy. on saturday night I went with my sister and the kids to a couple of halloween parties .... I was overwhelmed by... something-- a kind of shiftiness in the eyes, an air of hauteur, a leaning back and looking down noses, not being bothered to make an effort to be friendly or kind-- 
