Daenerys stood with her hand on the inside knob of her apartment door. Face mask? Check. Book bag? Check. Bunker Bootz? Check. Her choice of foot protection this day was lavender, selected from an array of fashionable colors and patterns found on the hazmat preparedness aisle at Target. She had been in more of a marigold mood, but decided indulging her own fashion whims was less important than showing solidarity with her LGBTPSQ allies who (unbelievably, in the year 2049!) were still forced to pay for their own in-vitro fertilization, embryo rectification, and species or gender transition procedures in some Unity Regions. Smart phone? Check. Daenerys (of course) had an identification chip implanted in her hand, but had not yet been able to afford the implantable smart-screen stamp, so she still had to carry her exsomatic device for some purposes. 



Trudging down four flights of stairs in her heavy, acid-resistant boots, Daenerys’ mind was as blank as the pale, yellowing walls of the stairwell. After leaning her full weight against the thick metal door to open it towards the street, her senses were overwhelmed with smells and sounds. Sewage, chemical runoff, and food waste stench emanated from the sludge on the street, dulled but not completely blocked by her snug mask. Sounds from diesel engines and honking horns painfully penetrated her ears. If only the anti-progressives had listened to reason in the pre-Unity era, and passed the Green New Deal before it was too late! But the dominant Pallid regime had implemented short-sighted, selfish, and capitalistic policies, and subsequent generations were forced to live with the resulting contamination. 



Historically, Pallid culture had done so much damage. Cringing with shame, Daenerys felt the weight of the collective crimes of which her skin was emblematic. She had learned at Amazon Unity Region University that the guilt she bore was embedded in her DNA and that there was no available gene therapy to correct it. Though her debt to the Melaninated could never be fully paid, she was obligated by morality (and by law!) to make every possible effort to mitigate the damage. Of course, she would have been happy to undertake the pallotype suppression exercises even without the threat of being fined or jailed. It was the right thing to do. And the medley of African, Indian, and Asian music that was softly playing at all times in her dwelling unit was actually kind of nice. If it kept her brain from falling into pallotypical mental patterns, which as a Pallid she would always be prone to do, well, that was a just a bonus. The small electric jolt that emanated from her implanted ID chip when Daenerys used archaic, pallocentric language (like referring to Unity Regions as “states,” a common habit of Allies who were old enough to remember life pre-Unity) had been far less pleasant, but by now she had mostly purged herself of the forbidden terms, so it was no issue. 



The reparative equalization fees were another contribution Daenerys was happy to make. As the first head of the Department of Reparations, Secretary Ocasio-Cortez, had explained many years ago, Pallid slaveowners had kept one hundred percent of the product of Melaninated slaves’ labor, so allowing Pallids to keep twenty percent of their own earned income was comparatively generous. Considering how difficult it was for Daenerys to manage on twenty percent of her own earned income, she felt immensely grateful for the mercy displayed towards her by the Melaninated. 



As she trudged through the filthy streets towards her Team Labor Assignment, Daenerys’ attention was absorbed by the Ally speaking on the massive Unity News Network screen that hovered above the street. It was wonderful that the Unity Regions’ Central Authority had decided to place these screens in public venues in all the Unity Regions to make sure that everyone could be equally well-informed. Even though access to live-streaming had been declared a human right by the Continental Equity Council in 2032, there were still some Allies who lived only on their Universal Basic Income which was insufficient to pay for the cost of having the video feed delivered to their dwelling units. Daenerys sighed with resignation. So much work remained to be done. 



The Unity News Network speaker, Kardashia Kumar, was a female-presenting Ally with sepia-toned skin who was wearing a bright red skirt suit. Xer lips were boldly hued with matching red lipstick. In a chipper tone, Kardashia delivered news that Central Authority Leader Jayden Jiminez had decided was most important for Allies to know that day. 



As she plodded through the streets, Daenerys watched Kardashia calmly inform viewers that Netflix Unity Region Team Leader Malia Obama had been under fire since hacked photos emerged of her wearing a vintage, pre-Unity “Pride” t-shirt. An apologetic Obama defended her display of the pedophile-phobic-and transspecies-exclusive image, emphasizing that she felt the archaic symbol embodied her family’s heritage of promoting what, in less enlightened times, had been viewed as progress, and was not, as critics claimed, a promotion of hatred towards marginalized Ally groups. 



Next, UNN Arts correspondent Ming-na Ogumbawa excitedly announced that the K-Pop band P#ndaz00a was set to receive the best song award of the year, marking the first time such an honor had been granted to a trans-species trio. The award would be presented by music legend Ivy Blue Carter at the Cardi B Center for Fine Arts in Detroit, capital city of the Proctor and Gamble Region. 



Male-presenting ally Vladmir Al-Hazmi reported from the northwest that an angry, armed Melaninated Ally group continued to occupy a food distribution hub in the Walmart Unity Region. Ally Group leader Tyrone Randhawa was claiming that Team Lead Gunter Chen failed to provide adequate food rations to Melaninated dwelling compounds, while Chen blamed regional leaders for allowing the Unity Agriculture Authority’s armored food trucks to be seized by local gang members.  



Another field correspondent, Mohammed O’Donnel, provided a report from the Blackrock Unity Region. This region - which some had once referred to as Appalachia before being zapped out of the habit - was a largely rural area, and geographically one of the largest of the regions. It was still plagued by pockets of people resisting Unity. When the Unity Regions had been established, some religious fanatics (mostly unrepentant Pallids, along with a handful of their Melaninite accomplices), had retreated out of the cities into mountainous areas that were almost impassible except on foot, taking with them only what they could carry. They had established walled homestead communities they called Freedom Forts. (Daenerys scoffed at the thought of “freedom.” Why would you want “freedom” if it meant living in a shed built from sticks, eating food you pulled out of the ground, completely cut off from electronic communications and entertainment?) Video footage obtained by drones indicated that the anti-Unity extremists had displayed remarkable resourcefulness and ingenuity, surviving fairly well so far using only indigenous resources to build shelter and grow or capture food. The fort residents had built small but sturdy homes, primitive water collection and purification systems, and pulley systems to shuttle various items quickly up and down the mountainside to their forts. Some had even fashioned art work, instruments and recreational equipment out of natural resources, all examples of feeble attempts to break up the monotony of their bleak existence. 



Obviously, the Freedom Forts should and would be stamped out, but dealing with the obstinate Unity Resistors had proven much more difficult than expected - a fact Resistors absurdly attributed to their Bronze Age Sky King of myth. In reality, it was because vicious infighting among the Unity Region Team Leads and bloody conflicts among various Ally Groups in the cities had thus far been of more pressing concern than isolated groups of Resistors. Because they had not yet become the central focus of the Team Leads, the Resistors had been left alone for a time to fester in their pitiful little forts. Daenerys had heard chat-room rumors that Resistors had been smuggling resources out of the Unity urban areas, and the UNN had reported that some of the deluded extremists meant to defeat the Unity Region Central Authority using guerilla tactics to sabotage infrastructure. It was comical, really – the idea that the state-of-the-art, fully unified financial and communications systems designed by the most diverse teams in history could possibly be compromised. And how could anyone think that these primitive, ignorant people could get in and out of the sophisticated city centers without detection, much less cause any kind of noticeable harm? 



Arriving at her Labor Assignment fifteen minutes early as expected, Daenerys dragged her Bunker Bootz across the sharp steel grating at the entrance to the employee mud room, where she shook the ash off her overcoat and hung it on a hook.  



“Dani, Dahling!” cooed Sanjay. “Divine to see you! Now get your sweet derriere over here behind the register, the line’s almost out the door!” Sanjay wore fuschia chiffon and a pink mask with an ornate stitched pattern of gold. Swirling pink and gold earrings hung down on his shoulders, almost as low as the bottom of his neatly trimmed beard. 



“Coming, coming!” Daenerys reassured, scurrying to her spot behind register number two. Daenerys had been assigned to a food service establishment on the outskirts of the Wells Fargo Unity Region in the northeastern part of the continent. Pre-Unity, it had borne the pallocentric moniker “New York.” Though the name had been changed, the area remained the most important financial center in the Continental Unity Region. Daenerys liked knowing that she was working in proximity to this important place, even though her job – serving bottled soda, mixed coffee drinks and prepackaged snacks - was dull, repetitive and thankless. 



Daenerys spent the next few hours blending drinks and pulling food for a continuous stream of customers whose faces all blurred together in her mind. The snack bar where she and Sanjay worked was a dilapidated, primitive facility in which little had been updated since it was built in the early 2010s. Standing in the cramped space, she noticed her muscles became tense and achy, and an uncomfortable twinge in her bladder, and longed for break. The line of customers had dwindled, so she took up Sanjay on his offer for her to “Take five, Sweetie. Or take ten. You look beat.” After relieving herself, she sat down, knees even with shoulders, on a tiny metal stool behind the counter.  



She watched blankly as Sanjay plunked down bottles of soda and water for the customers, who casually waved their hands over the pay pad that was bolted onto the counter. Sanjay watched for the green light to indicate each customer’s chip payment had been validated, then smiled, “Just lovely. You are good to go, Xir.” Usually this was a quick process, but the current customer seemed to be holding up the line. A large, male-presenting Ally in a black hoodie was hunched over the pay pad, waving his hand back and forth over the sensor, but the blinking red light indicated that the sensor was not reading his chip. “Try again, Xir. A little closer to the pad,” instructed Sanjay, in a tone which Daenerys recognized as controlled annoyance. 



A buzz in her pocked reminded Daenerys that she had not checked her exsomatic device for a few hours. 



Sanjay was beginning to lose patience. “Xir, I’m afraid you’ll need to remove your glove, Xir. Our reader is much less sensitive than the new ones.” The black-hooded Ally gestured at Sanjay with a rude hand wave to back away. 



Daenerys thumbed through the notifications on her exsomatic device.  



ALERT: MAJOR DAM BURST IN WESTERN FACEBOOK UNITY REGION. 20,000-30,000 ALLIES DEAD OR MISSING 



ALERT: RESISTOR OPERATIVES BREACHED CITY CENTERS; PLAN TO TARGET VULNERABILITIES IN OUTDATED HARDWARE TO DISRUPT UNITY NETWORK. 



ALERT: SERUM FOR VIRUS VARIANT XG21 HAS BEEN APPROVED BY UNITY CENTRAL AUTHORITY. ALL ALLIES MUST REPORT TO LOCAL HEALTH CENTERS FOR INJECTION. 



Sanjay’s voice was becoming increasingly loud and agitated, and Daenerys snapped her head up to see what was happening. The black-hoodied Ally was still hunched over the pay pad, and seemed to be intently focused on something. 



“I SAID,” Sanjay spat, “REMOVE YOUR GLOVE, XIR.” Sanjay grabbed the man’s glove at the wrist and yanked it down. Sanjay and Daenerys gasped at what they saw when his bare hand was exposed. In the fleshy part of the hand between the index finger and thumb, where the ID implant and tattoo were meant to be, was.... nothing. Nothing.  



Sanjay and Daenerys exchanged looks of wide-eyed horror upon beholding the bare skin. This man was no Ally. He was a Resistor. 



Before either could speak, the Resistor stood up to his full height, drew back his trunk-like muscular right arm, and forcefully planted his fist into Sanjay’s face. Sanjay staggered backwards, falling against the back counter, and knocking plates, cups, and plastic bottled drinks onto the floor.  



“IT’S SIR,” he roared. He took a breath, and in a calmer tone added, “But you can call me Chad.” 



Chad tilted his head towards his shoulder and said in a low voice, “It’s in.” One second later, the lights in the café flickered, then went dark. 



Daenerys looked out the window. It looked like the lights on the rest of the street had also gone dark. She heard tires squealing, and a crash. 



Looking further into the distance, she saw a helicopter crash into a bridge and burst into flames. 



Chad’s heavy black boots pounded the ground until the Resistor reached the cafe door. Daenerys saw his broad shoulders and beard in silhouette as he paused briefly in the door frame. The back of his hoodie displayed a phrase in an archaic language that she did not recognize: “Deo Vindice.” 


​
Daenerys blinked. By the time her eyes flicked back open, Chad was gone. ​

​The news of that OJ Simpson had died of cancer hit the news this week. Many young people don't know much about him, only remembering that he was a ball player of some kind and an actor. Of course, those of us who were adults in the 1990s well remember his lengthy, public trial for the brutal murder of his estranged wife and another man, and the immense cultural impact the murder trial had during the mid-1990s.

Anyone of Generation X and older cannot help but remember the farcical “trial” monopolizing the news for over a year. It's hard for anyone much younger to understand how, in an era with no internet and far fewer TV channels, the major media controllers could choose to bombard the public with a 24/7, 360-degree wall of media coverage that was completely ubiquitous and inescapable. The entirety of America was subjected to trial coverage that amounted to sleazy, brainless, and racially-charged tabloid television all day, every day for a year. Every public space had a television tuned to CNN, which featured self-important, half-wit “news” people micro analyzing and sensationalizing each day's developments in granular detail. Everyone involved with the trial became a household name - the victims, lawyers, police officers, and witnesses. One witness, Simpson's long-term house guest Kato Kaelin, who had flowing blond hair and surfer's countenance, was deemed the "hunk" of the trial. Jay Leno's Tonight Show regularly featured a dance troupe dubbed the “Dancing Itos," all with glasses, beards, and robes to mimic trial Judge Lance Ito. Simpson's attorney Johnnie Cochran, notable for his unique cadence and oft-rhyming courtroom quips (“If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit,”) became a cultural icon and was later the inspiration for the Seinfeld character "Jackie Chiles". (Youngsters, you can imagine it as a bit like today's meme culture, but completely inorganic and top-down, and you can't unfollow the content creators.)

We mustn't neglect to mention the ingn0nimity of the police officer Mark Fuhrman. While on the stand, he was questioned at length about his use of racial slurs and other derogatory terms. He insisted he had never uttered the offensive terms presented. Can you guess the plot twist that took place next? The defense produced old audio tapes in which Fuhrman tossed out n-words like candy at a parade, completely discrediting himself. This orchestrated "gotcha" was not directly relevant to the question of Simpson's guilt or innocence, but it was very relevant to the level of racial animosity among members of the general public who were transfixed to the trial.

The day the "not guilty" verdict was broadcast live to the nation, racial divisions in the reactions were obvious. White people were stone-faced, stunned, and dismayed. Blacks were ecstatic, celebrating as if their favorite team had just won the Superbowl. A charitable interpretation of the celebration might be that they believed an innocent man had been spared injustice. However, at least some were forthcoming about the fact that they viewed the acquittal of a black murderer as vengeance for perceived mistreatment by whites. As news of Simpson's death spread online, a video clip began circulating of an recent interview with a juror in which she admits she believed Simpson was guilty, as did the majority of the other black jurors. She explains that they chose to declare him "not guilty" as retribution for the well-publicized beating of felon Rodney King by a group of white police officers who were subsequently exonerated.

The fanfare surrounding the trial was particularly pointless considering that its outcome was a foregone conclusion. The trial was decided before it began when the defense secured a change of venue, relocating the trial to a more black jurisdiction rather than Simpson's affluent area where the crime had occurred. There was no real chance a heavily black jury was going to find him guilty under any circumstances.

In the several decades that have passed since the trial, much has changed, but there are elements of the episode which make up a familiar pattern: The media creates a national obsession surrounding what might otherwise be an unknown or page 2 crime story to push a racial narrative. They manufacture a culture of celebrity surrounding unremarkable and undeserving individuals. They spend weeks or months of fanning the flames, gaslighting, promoting the most inflammatory possible racial narrative. The entire sordid phenomenon had been mostly forgotten, but the cultural damage remains.

This week on X, the Website Formerly Known as Twitter, a post by former Miss New Jersey Sameera Khan against a Southern woman went viral and caused some umbrage in the Dixiesphere. The uproar began when Khan directed disdain at Alabamian Hannah Barron, aka "The Catfish Girl." Barron's YouTube channel, which has almost 750,000 subscribers, showcases her enthusiasm for hunting, fishing, and processing and cooking hunted meat, among other things. 

On March 8, Khan tweeted a short video of Barron excitedly showing updates of a house building project, remarking, "This accent needs to be illegal and women should be banned from doing manual labour like this. There is NOTHING feminine about American women. American women are literally men." As of March 10, the tweet has received over 44 million views and 25,000 comments, most of them negative.

In response to the deluge of backlash, Khan doubled down on her comments the next day. She shared a video of herself having her makeup done for a photo shoot along with the comment, "Lebanese women are literally perfect. And they are actually feminine, unlike estrogen-deficient American women who hold the record for highest testosterone levels in the world... High-value American men should become passport bros. Don’t they deserve better than the filth they are limited to in their own country…?"

More interesting and encouraging was the bold backlash against Khan's vicious and unprovoked criticism of Barron.

"That's marriage material in my neck of the woods!"

"I dunno. I think she's pretty badass."

"She's a very happy person and seems to be living her best life." 

More than a few supporters were overtly pro-Southern. A poster using the handle "Lauren wants TEXIT" stated, "Thankfully, Southern women are too busy being useful to worry about what ornamental women such as yourself think about our accent or culture."

One tweeted, "The anti-southern propaganda will stop. Women like her built this nation. Women like you flee to it."

One man simply remarked, "Dibs on the Southern girl!"

​It is worth noting that the accomplished Khan, who has worked for RT and bills herself as a  foreign policy analyst, would lash out so viciously at a lesser-known woman who she claims is her clear inferior. And the backlash to her vitriol was heartening - almost universal support for the fit, personable and outdoorsy Barron, and a sizeable chunk of it was explicitly pro-Southern. The brazen, unprovoked contempt against our people and culture is increasingly conspicuous, and it seems to be reawakening a sense of Southern identity and forging a greater sense of ourselves. We can hope that as our detractors' masks of civility and tolerance are tossed aside, good people will continue to wise up.

A few days after the initial provocation, a chipper and smiling Baron released a short video response. 

"Good morning y'all!... Apparently I'm trending on Twitter right now, because some girl - [Barron pauses to greet her dog] - some girl said that my accent should be illegal... and that American women are basically men. I would tell y'all this girl's name, but I can't remember it, because I don't have a clue who she is... I've been helping Dad build houses since I was fifteen... I just help as much as I can, and I try, and it's fun... There's a lot of blue collar women out there who are also feminine... These folks talking about me and think they're going to offend me, that ship sailed a long time ago... Be your own person and you'll be happier in the long run because of that."

I know which woman I have an affinity for, and I'm betting you feel the same way.

​I hate the Superbowl.

I'll admit I'm biased. I don't like sports, and I never have. I lack the athletic ability to do anything that requires more coordination than walking. I hated playing sports as a child when required for physical education, and even when I was in college, I only kept track of the football schedule so I would know when to avoid the heavy stadium traffic. I did attend a few Superbowl parties in my college years, but it was for the company, not the game. 

The Superbowl has always been about more than just football, known as much for its memorable (and expensive) commercials and lavish half-time shows as for the game. It's the essence of American pop culture, encapsulated and on steroids. And the Superbowl is a garish and nauseating display of that sickly and distorted essence.

Some of us are old enough to remember when professional sports was considered a fun diversion from stress and responsibility. It has since become what everything else in modern society now is - a vehicle for heavy-handed communist propaganda which insults and disgusts its audience. It has become common in the dissident right to express open disdain for fans who steadfastly ignore the affronts and continue shamelessly cheering for their favorite "sportsball" teams. They express disgust with the hangers-on who ignore real societal threats which need to be addressed by strong men, choosing instead to scarf cheese fries and passively cheer for overpaid thugs who run fast and throw balls. 

Objections to the Superbowl go far beyond the "breads and circuses" aspect of professional sports. This year, the Superbowl is expecting a new viewership demographic, since (as anyone who has not been in a coma for the last six months knows), larger-than-life pop star Taylor Swift is romantically involved  with Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs. "Swifties" who couldn't care less about football have been tuning in this season, hoping to see a glimpse of Tay-Tay jumping up and down and squealing in the stands during her boyfriend's game. How fortuitous for the NFL! A cynical person might wonder if the entire relationship was cooked up in a conference room by a sophisticated public relations and marketing team. Such a cynical person might also wonder if, in light of Kelce shilling for the Pfizer vaccine, some representatives of the pharmaceutical industry were in the same meetings. (He's also hawking Bud Light, the beer which damaged its All-American brand image by linking itself to a transgender influencer last year.)

​The racial fracturing in the United States has been evident in professional sports. It became undeniable a few years ago when Black athletes began kneeling during the National Anthem. This year, "Lift Every Voice and Sing", known as the Black National Anthem, is being featured at the Superbowl. It's consistent with nationalism to accept different peoples having their own anthems. But in the case of the Superbowl, as with other American sporting events, the traditional American national anthem of the Star Spangled Banner has been performed. It was assumed, (at least by civic nationalists), that the anthem applied to people of all creeds and colors who called themselves Americans. The fact that a separate anthem is given a prominent spot in the most-watched event of the year is incredibly significant. Black Americans are distancing themselves in a tangible way from the historic, nominally unified American nation. Despite this strong indication that the veneer of unity is being cast aside, I don't think most White Heritage-Americans are ready to openly embrace racial identitarianism. But this is a conspicuous crack in the facade.

I remember once enjoying the funny Superbowl commercials, like the Budweiser frogs. Some of the ads are still funny, but now the campaigns are about the woke agenda as much as the product. One noteworthy ad this year is for the He Gets Us pro-LGBT Evangelical organization backed by the Hobby Lobby family, 

​​Likewise, the halftime shows aren't just about entertainment. Many have speculated that the shows are actually highly stylized satanic rituals. That may seem too conspiratorial for some, so suffice it to say that they are full of provocative and somewhat disturbing imagery, and far from family friendly. The Superbowl is a massive celebration of empty diversion, highlighting division, commercialization, communist propaganda, and idol worship, all there with a satanic cherry on top. There could be no more apt embodiment of the decadent American empire.

I used to be a "political junkie," fervently live-posting Presidential debates and following the daily developments of each campaign season with the enthusiasm with which some people follow sports playoffs. That was more than a few years ago. The change in my outlook was gradual, but really solidified over the past few years. In my mind, the Trump presidency was a Hail Mary for saving the United States in which I grew up, and the failed promise of his miracle ascendancy was a splash of ice cold water on my already waning enthusiasm for politics. That let-down was followed by an (apparently, allegedly) stolen election which installed as President a senile shell of a man, guilty of breathtakingly brazen corruption and patriarch of a stomach-turningly depraved family. It was deemed treasonous to question election results which seemed to indicate that Biden was the most popular President in American history, though he could scarcely gather enough warm-blooded supporters to fill a high school gymnasium. 

I understand now that politics is as fake as wresting or "reality" TV, but with a much more sinister purpose, so I try to tune out the whole perverse display as much as possible. However, this is an election year and it's hard to avoid completely, especially since it's apparent that the donor class have chosen South Carolina's own Nikki Haley as their preferred future POTUS. Among Haley's many deep-pocket donors is Charles Koch, financier of the Americans for Prosperity PAC. In recent weeks, I have been getting slick ads on quality card stock in my mailbox a few times a week from AFP touting of Nikki Haley for President. The ads feature vague language about a "positive vision for America," or claim that unlike the embattled Trump, Haley can beat Biden in a national election! Neighborhoods in my area are being canvassed by door-knocking Haley advocates who are almost certainly paid by the same PAC. 

​I'm not sure how much her lack of talent or integrity matters at this point in our nation's decline. If there's still enough semblance of a country left by next November that we engage in the pretense of an election, we may have this empty suit, wine-mom version of Hillary Clinton foisted upon us by the self-appointed masters of the universe. I've detached from politics enough that it won't rattle me too much. The real Master of the Universe is on his heavenly throne. If it happens, I'll turn my attention to smaller and better things while the USSA collapses on her watch.

We're on the cusp of 2024. Based on the trajectory of the past few years, there doesn't seem to be much cause for optimism, and I haven't heard much hopeful chatter in real life or on the interwebs. It's my philosophy that at the global level, what will happen will happen, and you or I can't do much to change that. However, what we CAN do is engage in small, purposeful actions with the goal of edifying ourselves, preserving things that are valuable, and savoring moments of joy and meaning in our everyday lives.

One way to do this is to cultivate the habit of keeping alive our Southern culture and traditions. Those of us who value the old and contemporary South have a wonderful new resource for incorporating it into our daily lives. Our friends at Shotwell Publishing ("Southern Books. No Apologies.") are offering their first edition of the 365 Days of Dixie calendar for 2024. 

The 365 Days of Dixie calendar is like none you've ever owned. Of course, it has beautiful graphics for each month that celebrate historic and modern-era aspects of Southern culture. But it is unique in that it also has reminders of important dates for Dixians to note - and not just for Civil War and Confederate history enthusiasts, though there's a-plenty for those folks. This calendar includes the birthdates of important contributors to Southern thought and culture like Flannery O'Connor, M.E. Bradford, and Wendell Berry, to name a few. You'll also be reminded of the anniversaries of important happenings in modern US history such as the federal siege against civilians at Ruby Ridge, and the anniversary of the attack on lawful pro-monument demonstrators in Lee Park, Charlottesville Virginia in 2017. More positive commemorations, like like the launch of the Beverly Hillbillies show, the publication of "I'll Take My Stand," and the first Augusta Masters tournament are included too.

They didn't include any Muslim holidays or specify which Ethnic-Subgroup-American History is being celebrated each month, so if you need those reminders, you probably ought to just get a calendar at Walmart. But if Dixie is number one in your heart, there is no other choice! Get your favorite new calendar HERE.

I recently sat down to address envelopes for the annual family Christmas cards, and it occurred to me how rarely I set upon such a task nowadays. Obviously, people are not sending cards or other personal mail as much as they used to. How exciting it is in our current age to find a piece of mail with one's name handwritten on the front, and a colorful personal return address sticker in the corner? It’s almost like stumbling upon hidden treasure!

Electronic communication makes keeping in touch so much easier, which is beneficial from a practical standpoint, But when it comes to important personal relationships, it makes our interactions almost TOO easy. We can casually and effortlessly dash off whatever idea flashes through our mind, with little time spent crafting the message and little consideration of whether the idea is worthwhile and beneficial to share. And in a public forum like social media, the same posts are broadcast to elderly aunts, old school mates, coworkers, and a variety of accumulated casual acquaintances. They are fashioned to suit the preferences of the poster, rather than being thoughtfully tailored for the recipient.

By contrast, while writing a short greeting in each card, I am inspired to spend a few moments  thinking about each particular person or family, and reflecting on my relationship with them and the important events that have taken place in their lives in the past year. Are they celebrating successes, struggling, or mourning? Have I been present to share these experiences with them? How seldom I stop to focus on the people who are important to me, and really appreciate the blessing that each one is to my life!

Flipping through the address book (I like to keep a hard copy) is also occasion to reflect on the people who are not in my life anymore.  Some have fallen away as the current of life draws us in different directions. Even more sad are the entries for those with whom I have experienced a rift, or others who have passed on. The annual ritual of sending Christmas cards is a tangible marker of how relationships change as calendar pages turn.

Considering each loved one with regards to the season compels even deeper regard. I feel a twinge of discomfort sending an explicitly Christian card to some, uncertain whether they know Christ, or imagining they will be indifferent to or even annoyed by the Bible verse on the card. Some people on my list, I expect to have continued fellowship in eternity. For others, I resolve to pray more fervently for their salvation. Considering birth of the Saviour while straightening the stack of written greetings to the most important people in my life makes me keenly aware of my bountiful blessings of special people and relationships.

Less than ten years ago, when Obergefell v. Hodges went before the Supreme Court, and the issue of gay marriage was a hotly debated subject, the slippery-slope concerns of gay marriage opponents were often dismissed with a laugh as delusions of tin-foil hatters and paranoids. Anyone who had suggested in 2015, for example, that major retailers would soon be marketing transgender-friendly merchandise to young children would have been mercilessly mocked. It is truly shocking how quickly the "nut jobs" have been proven right. And thinking back, I don't believe even the most alarmist opponents of the LGBTQ agenda predicted that the aggressive trend it would include the mainstreaming of unabashed satanism.

Target was one of the companies at the tip of the spear with regards to promoting transgender acceptance. In 2016, their trans-friendly changing room and bathroom policy made headlines and prompted a boycott. It should not, then, be too surprising to learn that Target made headlines again for its Pride-themed line of products including many items made for children. Though there is little left that is taboo in this day and age, some may consider it beyond the pale that the designer with whom they partnered is a satan-worshipper, who was born a woman but identifies as a man. It is really hard to overstate how depraved this company's designs are: some feature slogans like "trans witches for abortion," "satan respects pronouns," graphics with a skeleton inviting "join my gay cult," and a guillotine with the caption, "homophobe headrest." Says the designer, “Being called a demon is something I can cope with, and the idea of a trans demon is pretty damn cool.” ​

What images and qualities are embodied in the brand image of Jack Daniels (until recently, at least?) Former slogans include:

• Taste of Tennessee
• 131 years one recipe
• Handcrafted for generations – aged to perfection
• The classy drink for the modern gentleman
• The taste of home
• Making Jack isn’t easy
• ​Here’s to the American spirit

​These slogans evoke early America. An independent, pioneering spirit. Entrepreneurialism. A dedication to excellence, and the patience and craftmanship required to produce a product of consistent quality. Continuity across generations. Masculinity and rugged refinement. Now, what does this evoke?

Exactly. It is a vicious mockery of all the qualities mentioned above. This isn't an ad for liquor - it's a demoralization campaign.

"Get Woke, Go Broke" is a phrase commonly used when a company publicly declares its support for extreme left-wing ideology that offends its customer base. The quip is satisfying and seems to be logical on its face, but is it really true? An almost innumerable list of companies have spent a news cycle or two as the subject of controversy when their "woke" ads or public statements cause outrage. Customers destroy purchases, make angry videos, and pledge to never buy the offending product again. Sometimes the outrage has a temporary effect on the company's bottom line, but has any multinational corporation really "gone broke" due to pushing leftist causes? Not that I know of. 

Maybe the corporate leaders are living in a bubble, oblivious to how their trendy views will play in Flyover Country. But I suspect they do know, and are willing and able to absorb a temporary financial setback in order to promote their values. Either way, as more and more aspects of our world are converged into left-wing wokism, cognitive dissonance is created in the minds of Middle Americans who have tied aspects of their identity to brands, teams, or celebrities.

​The tendency is understandable. Americans, especially Southerners, have had every aspect of their being villainized through media and our educational system. Our history has been rewritten with our heroes cast as villains, our culture mocked, our achievements either belittled or reinterpreted as crimes. What are we allowed to celebrate? Of what are we allowed to be proud? In what way can we enjoy camaraderie with our own tribe?

Some Americans boast of their allegiance to Ford versus Chevy trucks, or wear John Deere green caps. This can be understood as a proxy for the celebration of a traditional rural lifestyle and a willingness to engage in the difficult manual labor required to build and maintain a functioning society. For the sake of full disclosure I will admit that I have never been a fan of sports, but I have long believed that Southerners' outsized enthusiasm for college football is a sublimation of the urge to express regional patriotism, and also to celebrate masculinity in a manner that is not threatening to our ruling class. We can enjoy the company of mostly traditional, White Americans at a "country" music concert, but the big stars are required to comply with, or at least not seriously oppose, the ruling class' agenda (with regards to gun rights or the Battle Flag, for example) in order to maintain their celebrity status.

For a long time, traditional Southerners' nationalistic urges have been channeled successfully into harmless outlets. Now the elites, who have a near-monopoly on the culture, have begun to boldly inject their ideology into all these areas. By forcing their players to wear rainbow-flag emblazoned uniforms, bastions of masculinity like the NFL and NHL have been feminized. Owners of the Black Rifle Coffee company, promoted as a veteran-owned and pro-Second Amendment alternative to Starbucks, counter-signaled Kyle Rittenhouse. Brad Paisley crooned a racism apology for President Obama. Most recently, Bud Light and Jack Daniels have used transgender personalities to promote their products.

While "woke" advertising may be distressing to conservative fans and consumers, being snubbed by corporations can be a positive wake-up call. As Southerners and other traditional Americans are forced away from our "proxy" identifiers, we will be forced to either convert, or to explicitly embrace our real identity -  found in  familial and societal connections, our deeply held moral convictions and cultural traditions, and our connection to nature and our Creator. This forced alienation provides an opportunity for nationalists to direct people towards connection with something more meaningful. Let's make the most of it.

​Back in the heyday of the "Alt-Right" in 2016, online influencer Ricky Vaugh, whose name and avatar was based on the Charlie Sheen character in the movie Major League, was a nationally recognized online influencer. Vaughn, whose real name is Douglass Mackey, was by some measures more influential than major network news channels like NBC and CNN. He was credited with helping turn public sentiment towards Trump during the contentious Presidential campaign against Hillary Clinton. Mackey is currently being prosecuted by the Biden regime, and facing up to ten years in prison for "election interference." His alleged crime is posting a meme in 2016, featuring a Black woman and using an aesthetic similar to that of the ads produced by the Clinton campaign, which indicated people could vote by text. 

I was a follower of the "meme wars" in real time, and when I saw the post in question, I personally thought that it was clearly a joke. Certainly, only a negligible amount of people would be so lacking in critical thinking skills as to take voting instructions from a random internet post seriously. I was shocked and slightly amused when I saw the meme blown up to poster size, resting on an easel in a legislative hearing, while people in suits talked in serious tones about how dangerous the unrestricted internet was to fair elections. 

Like the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally, Mackey's moment of fame and influence occurred during the heady, hopeful years of Donald Trump's ascendency. Just like the UTR attendees, Mackey and others who were part of the "Alt-Right" movement had not yet realized that the First Amendment to the Constitution was no longer sacrosanct. During the "meme wars" of 2016 when the offending image was posted, a bevy of internet-savvy influencers, citizen reporters, and a massive virtual army of "anons" sought to upset the political process by using the internet to empower ordinary citizens, whose concerns and opinions had, in a previous era, been rendered ineffectual by gatekeepers of politics and the media. The campaign of Donald Trump, successful in large part because of the levelled informational playing field afforded by the relatively unrestricted internet, set the ruling class back on its heels. A bunch of clever, determined nobodies had upset their plans. This would not be allowed happen again.

When Mackey was doxed (that is, outed by his real name) in 2018, he retired from his "influencer" role and fell off the radar of politics for a while. Then, almost immediately after Biden took office, it was announced that Mackey would be prosecuted. Few of the young and hopeful Alt-Righters had expected, during the exhilaration of the populist uprising, that the communist takeover of the nation would soon be back on track, and that select participants would be punished to deter anyone else who might be tempted to get uppity towards their rulers. A pall fell upon the right-wing webosphere. How many more influencers and anons had made posts, with the assumption that political opinion and satire were First Amendment protected speech, that might retroactively be declared criminal?

The case features an important witness who has been identified as "an FBI informant who may still be operating anonymous right-wing Twitter accounts," described as someone who ran an account similar to Mackey's and who worked with him under a pseudonym. Mackey's lawyer is aware of the person's identity but not allowed to disclose it, even to Mackey. And in case anyone needed further confirmation that journalism is a form of progressive activism, one expected witness for the defense withdrew after an SPLC "extremism researcher," Luke Obrien threatened to write a hit piece including private emails from University of Alabama political science professor George Hawley, the planned expert witness.

Whatever the outcome of the trial, this prosecution will have a chilling effect on free speech in the United States going forward. Of course, that is the intention.