The Sky Suspended

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I say "shortly before I began writing this entry" because this entry looks to be a long one. The finally tuned engine of whingery that I am is wound up, and I can almost guarantee that anyone and everyone who reads this will be offended in one way or another, so this would be a good time to make sure you have that fainting couch behind you to catch your falling ass.

This irresponsible son of a bitch was in his fifties, with two daughters. Was it irresponsible of him to be a Firefighter and have children? Firefighters, like soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines and police, provide an essential service at a great risk to themselves. It is always tragic when it does and I have nothing but respect for those who lose their lives in the line of duty. I have ZERO respect for dumbass parents who engage in unnecessary high-risk behaviour, opening up their kids to chance of orphanhood.

This dumbass, to my mind, is worse than whoever came up with the current policy on the Southern US border. Those much- talked-about kids, at least, have the possibility of one day again seeing their parents. Not so the daughters of this dumbass who voluntarily made himself into a deadbeat dad.

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One thing that gets to me about this particular dumbass is that he is symptomatic of the generation of younger parents who want to have their cake and eat it too. Unlike philately, mountain climbing is not exactly a low-cost pastime, meaning that it takes money away from things like the kids' college fund. What is more, what the fuck is it with all these fucking parents who think parenting is just another job entitling them to gawdamned vacations? The song below describes what parenting was all about back in the day.

Now, contrast the parent described in the song above with the dumbass who got himself a Darwin Award on a mountain. Is it any wonder why so many kids today have fucked up priorities? Look at the fucked up examples they have for parents.

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  • The Sky Suspended: A Fighter Pilot's Story by Jim Bailey.
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The only live performances I can be arsed to go out and pay for to see run along the lines of Shakespeare, Bizet, The Glenn Miller Orchestra, Rockkbitch, and the type of "performance art" that involves poles, several meaty bouncers between the performers and the audience, as well as several meaty bouncers in the back rooms to prevent the occurrence of any "privates," lest the local vice squad take an uncomfortably peculiar interest in the joint. The controversial play in question was about non-consensual slavery.

The only slavery I have any interest in viewing is consensual slavery, the kind that involves things like consent forms, release forms, and that is generally found over at Kink.

The Sky Suspended

So, about this controversial play in question in particular, I do not care a damn. Given that it was shat out by a Gaspesian playwright, I am inclined to give even less of a damn. So, to quote Canadian athlete, actor, singer and producer Dwayne Johnson from back when he was The Rock, I ordinarily "couldn't give two pieces of monkey crap" about any Gaspesian play being in the shit.

The thing is, the usual suspects who rioted and protested against this play are no damned different from puritanical Estes Kefauver in the video below. If you do not like a particular performance, or other art form, just don't go see it! Go find something you like and stop bothering everyone else. The legendary, one and only, Eli Cross said it best over a decade ago when he and Kylie Ireland were doing The Kylie Ireland Show Podcast over on the old MySpace and they were responding to an angry email displeased with Ms. Ireland's radio show of the time. I mean, what the fuck is this , the fucking Ludovico technique where they have your EYEBALLS taped open forcing you to look at hot Playboy models while monkeys jerk your cock off to a pathetic dribbly little orgasm?

Is that so hard to understand? As I have said, the controversial Gaspesian play in question is about non-consensual slavery. This invariably brings out the Robert Mugabe types to howl and protest. No, when I say "Robert Mugabe" types, I mean the SomeBlackLivesMatter except of course for Chris Brown and Nate Parker , who that "movement" ignored completely social justice jihadist types who, like social justice jihadist types everywhere, are master manipulators in creating a market for themselves and their tripe.

The playwright who shat out the Gaspesian slavery piece in question, you see, is not doing anything different than what the producers of 12 Years A Slave , The Book of Negroes. Hidden Figures and Black Panther did. He saw a market for his idea. In these days where streaming is putting a huge dent in the traditional TV and movie business, the entertainment sector is as risky as the restaurant sector. That is why you see more actors and actresses a-protestin' and a-protestin' instead of doing what they are actually qualified to do.

Yet, one has to marvel at the complete ball-lessness of the Jazz Festival honchos who caved in to social justice jihadist pressure, pissed all over artistic freedom and pulled the plug on this piece in their venue. This will give you an idea of what life was like here in Bernie, despite the fact that, unlike Sargon, Dick Coughlan and the rest of English YouTubes mopery, can speak nice, normal person English, grew up in hard circumstances not unlike those of Govan's Sir Alex Ferguson.

He did not listen to social justice jihadists. On a related note, the differential between Bernie Ecclestone and Sir Alex Ferguson on the one hand and Marc Bergevin of the Habs on the other is reflected in the fact that Formula 1 and Man United are world-class outfits while the Habs, more focused on extraneous nonsense like ethnic origins than on material qualifications like competence, cannot even make the Stanley Cup finals. It extends to Canada as a whole. You see, there is this Canadian magazine called Macleans.

Sometimes they have decent reporting, but, on the whole, Macleans aspires to be the Time or Newsweek of Canada, while usually ending up being the TMZ of Canada.

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I came across a weeks old copy of Macleans the other day. This copy had a column by Scott Gilmore whinging about how Canada has no identity, as well as an article on Jordan Peterson, both of which I am going to address. Gilmore is this failed diplomat who scribbles for Macleans. Just as failed K-Street pimps like Phil Mudd and Ana Novarro in America are guaranteed post-failure jobs by the entirely undiscriminating taste-wise, not skin colour-wise CNN, failed politicians and political pimps in Canada are guaranteed talking head slots on the media, be it Bernard Drainville on LCN, or be it Scott Gilmore in Macleans.

At this juncture, it is relevant to point out that Gilmore is one of those Canadians who only ever visited America, as opposed to those who lived in America as I did during my formative years. His view of America is superficial at best. Enter the term " New York " into the search function of the legendary, one and only, Fred Reed 's blog, and two things become immediately apparent.

Reed, and many other Americans, regards New York as being an alien planet, having nothing at all in common with West Virginia or Montana. Upstate New York, in other words, has far more in common with Alabama than it does with the Five Boroughs Gilmore thinks Canada is unique for not having a strong national identity. If he got his news from sources other than the Mansbridge network, he would know that America also does not have a strong, uniting national identity. But that would force him to think and be original, and we just can't have that , now can we?

Another thing Gilmore said is worth pointing out for the pure entertainment value. He says that the Royal Canadian Navy has been "allowed" to shrink to disastrously undermanned and under-shipped levels. There is one of Gilmore's fellow hagiographer of all farts Canadian named Desmond Morton who likes to go on and on about how Canada had something like the third or fourth largest navy in What Morton and Gilmore never get around to saying is that, in the totality of the years , the RCN lost about 25 ships to enemy action, which is about the same number of ships lost by both the Imperial Japanese Navy and the US Navy in the i.

So much for Gilmore. This issue of Macleans had an article on Peterson and on some of his fanboys, one of which is a man with a law degree who coaches men how to approach women for a living. This is a superb segue into my topic of professions. Long story short, these are NOT like what you see on TV, or what you read about in pieces that are either hagiographic or hate-giographic of PhD psychologist Peterson, both genre of pieces elevating Peterson to a standard far above what he actually is.

Let me take the legal profession--or, to be more accurate, the legal industry --first. Prosecutors, in other words, are among the least brilliant lawyers. The same can be said for judges, including supreme court judges, whose successful law school classmates are enjoying life golfing in Florida while they are stuck in hot robes in DC. Those law school students who suck so bad that they could not even become prosecutors become public defenders.

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This brings me to Peterson himself. Peterson is a PhD psychologist. When you have a PhD in psychology, you can sit through the licensing exams and become a clinical psychologist. This allows you to move to Manhattan or Beverly Hills and charge thousands of dollars per hour to listen to filthy rich schmucks tell you about their neuroses while you go "Uh-huh! As I understand it, Peterson does have a clinical practice of his own. He is not very good at it, as evinced by a the fact that he is still in Canada when the Manhattan and Beverly Hills markets for psychologists to tend to the ever-voracious needs of filthy rich with pretend problems are insatiable, and b the fact that he cannot make a living off of clinical psychology alone, having to supplement his income as a perfessor.

He is not the best, far from it. Why anyone in their right mind would even listen to Peterson, much less elevate him to God-like status, is beyond me. Then again, I know what I know about the legal industry and the psychology profession because I read , as opposed to getting all my news and other info off of the Intar-Webs. I realise that I am almost gawd-damned unique in this regard in Would you believe that, in , there are people who say "No! So, about what Peterson hawks and about the Macleans article on him. Peterson hawks the manhood thing to long-haired, unshaven schmucks who have little to no idea about anything and who are unsuccessful with women, and who, unsurprisingly, regard Peterson to be Divine Revelation.

These are the same types of man-boys who are ever-so fascinated by the craptastic Matrix filims. Peterson and I only have a couple of years between us. When we were weans, there were no perfessors larnin' us how to be men, or, at least, larnin' me how to be a man. I looked around and picked it up all on my own.

One of the things I picked up on was how to spot a suitcase pimp like Peterson a mile away. Then again, I was born eons before Al Gore invented the Intar-Webs, back when we had to do things for ourselves, back when, if we actually wanted to know something and were determined to find it out, we had to get off our sixes and get a book, back when grooming standards were a thing in a way they manifestly are not for the gaggle of Peterson fanboys pictured in the Macleans article about him and them.

Whether this is a blessing or a curse for me remains a topic of legitimate discussion, but I will tell you this much. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. If so, two videos are worth Here is a short clip that explains the mentality of my generation, something alien to Peterson and his fanboys. Awesome World Cup match yesterday between France and Argentina! France defeated Argentina and advances, booting Argentina out of the World Cup.

This was duly and publicy noted by the Falklands Islands , which are British. The other day, I was having a discussion that devolved into libertarianism and the argument of "which is better, private or public? This is true as a general statement, but there are decent people within both the public and private aspects of the system, an explanation of which requires one of the asides I alluded to in the penultimate paragraph. First, understand that, just as not all lawyers are created equal, not all doctors are created equal. The losers among law school graduates become prosecutors, and the absolute worst law school graduates become public defenders or full-time lawyers for their Bar Association.

This translates very easily into medicine. They were thoroughly professional, never tried to be my fucking friend, never bashed the State Department of Health, were clean shaven with regulation haircuts, and wore the uniform shirt, tie, lab coat, regulation trousers and shoes, or scrub suits all the time, despite the fact that they were not on active duty at the time I saw them. So do Italian nurses and French-Canadian nurses who speak fluent English.

Jacques is currently a legislator and a Mayor Yes, France allows its elected officials to multitask between Federal and local roles. Long story short, Jean-Michel Jacques was a public-sector nurse and indeed is still in the public sector as a legislator and a Mayor today , as are Gaspesian nurses for the most part. Jean-Michel Jacques is the epitome of professionalism and competence, while his fellow public sector nurses who are Gaspesians are just plain SHIT!

Private versus public does not enter into this as far as quality is concerned. Let me give a personal example. I had to visit a doctor recently. But, when I told her I had concerns about my systolic, she got the constipated look as if I was speaking English, Klingon or Martian. I had to patiently extremely patiently, I have to add , explain what systolic is.

Systolic is the upper figure in a blood pressure reading.

Wistful memories of war

By stark contrast, here is a video of OPSC-trained nurses in action. As with Jean-Michel Jacques , these OPSC , like the Gaspesian nurses and other healthcare workers, are public-sector and share elements of a common written language. This is where the similarities end. I have no clue as to what there actual ethnicity is, nor do I care. What I do know is that they speak neither French nor English with any degree of comprehensibility, are white, and behave in the same loud, aggressive, manner as did the Georgians at Lienz at the end of the war as described by Graf von Tolstoy.

Gaspesian musicians are arguably private sector. They get fed a shitload of my taxpayers through the gigantic abortion of a waste of my taxpayer dollars which would be far better spent on health care that is SODEC. Yet, SODEC, atrocious abortion of government waste of taxpayer dollars that it disgustingly is, does not constitute the sole revenue for Gaspesian musicians. For this reason, one can make the argument that Gaspesian musicians are private sector.

Here is what these disgusting slobs shat out to celebrate their "national holiday. The contrast between their discipline and professionalism and the fucking abortion of a shitshow that is Gaspesian musicians in the video above could not be more stark. That is the only thing they share with Gaspesian musicians. According to libertarian logic, Gaspesian musicians and the GPBFB should be far superior to the US Army Bands because the former two are private sector while the latter is public sector. In reality, the private sector GPBFB and the public sector US Army Bands have far more in common with each other in terms of professionalism and quality, rendering the public-private divide between them entirely meaningless, just as the commonality to Gaspesian musicians and the GPBFB of both of them being in the private sector is entirely meaningless given that the latter are entirely professional while the former are entirely shit.

Public versus private is a dumb and meaningless argument. Quality of personnel is what matters. For convenient reference, here, again, is how Gaspesian slobs celebrate their "national holiday,". It was quite something to see Uruguay sweep Russia today in the World Cup. Uruguay had some help in sweeping Russia Specifically, Russian dumbass Igor Smolnikov getting a red card which is like getting ejected from a game by the Umpire in Major League Baseball, your team not being allowed to replace you for undisguised "passing interference," as they calls it in the NFL.

Speaking of notoriously corrupt as fuck, I wandered over to one of the local Gaspesian-language channels during the minging Portugal-Iran game. I am not being hyperbolic when I say "idolise. It is, as I said, one big analinual fest on a constant loop Locals think this is something to celebrate.

This says a lot about the locals. He went on to become a writer The following is what constitutes good French. The logic of this must be, "Hey, just so long as it was invented by a Gaspesian, we must celebrate it, even if it is the mother of all embarrassingly bad two-legged abortions. Said someone sure as fuck ain't a Gaspesian because said someone sure as fuck ain't being celebrated as a national fucking hero by said someone's own people. If a Gaspesian had invented any of the aforementioned dildos, they would have t-shirts boldly emblazoned with that Gaspesian's image in every gift shop in the Province.

In New York, the Department of Education sends inspectors to evaluate schools every once in a while. Before the evaluation, the schools' head honchos and boards ply the evaluators with top-shelf booze, premium blow and Bunny Ranch-calibre escorts. Then, the next morning, when the evaluators are hung over as fuck and begging for more Bolivian marching powder to take the edge off, they are made to draft the written evaluation then and there before powder changes hands.

The Ministry of Education will not allow you to apply to McGill directly out of high school. And here again, we see the stark contrast between the Gaspesians and the rest of humanity.

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Gaspesians celebrate the man who set up a tyrannical bureaucracy that dictates their children's every fart. Perhaps it helps that it has a foreword by Group Captain Peter Townsend, itself an extraordinary piece of writing. At one point he remembers with complete clarity how he reacted in the face of what he had every reason to believe was to be his death: It would seem that Jim Bailey is, or was, cut from similar material.

We have a fixed image of the kind of men who became fighter pilots and imagine them to be all Brylcreem and clipped gung-ho; but it was also a statistical likelihood that among the recruits and volunteers would be those who were artists of a sort. We used to like the idea of the warrior-poet; I sometimes wonder if that particular archetype lost some of its lustre in the chill light of Yeats's Irish airman. Still, here is one. Son of a South African diamond magnate, and later proprietor of Drum magazine, Bailey was a rumbustious character.

He was also something of a philosopher, and seems to have got a knack for it quite early. Sponsored products related to this item What's this? Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1. The Long Ride Across America. Join them in an America that no longer exists. A delightful, honest book about growing up in a farm family with 12 siblings and the life-changing effects of a college basketball scholarship.

A Pilgrim for Freedom. A remarkable and gripping account of a boy fleeing a war-torn nation and eventually flourishing in America. The extraordinary and unique story of a World War II-era rescue pilot who helped his squadron save over lives during the war. Faith of My Fathers: Review 'A haunting book Related Video Shorts 0 Upload your video. Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. There was a problem filtering reviews right now.

Please try again later. For a fan of World War 2 aviation this is an excellent first-hand account of author Bailey's incredible experiences while surviving against remarkable adverse conditions. A real page turner. One person found this helpful. Not the best read on the subject but entertaining. I have an advanced degree in history. I have been reading air combat books since I was a small child.