The Wealthy Biker
There comes a time in your reading of history that you choke on a ghastly realization of the heights at which you live compared to many and varied, grim and grisly other systems that have existed in the past. Where to start? People lived in fear and constant organized violence, with high lights of famine and epidemic. War was seasonal, personal, and, if you were a man, the leading cause of death, after childhood. If you were a man, you slept with your weapons. If you were competent, and lucky, you would live to grow grey hair. No man lived long enough to have grey hair that was not a thrice veteran of organized group conflict, with three to seven confirmed kills, usually recorded as rune inscriptions on weapons. If you were a fat man with grey hair, you were what we would now call a Biker chieftain.
Now, there were women, livestock, wild critters, plants, and other assorted reptiles, amphibians, algae, bugs, and rocks. Each celebrated in the few arson singed manuscripts we have surviving from the few fortress monasteries. But it is about Biker chieftains that I wish to write.
Considering human history as a whole, our time of right now, is but a very short blip, and whose high standard of living for so many members and classes, is also noteworthy. Being prosperous is a sure draw for looting barbarians, though. Our cities have no walls. And where you have looting barbarians, you have Biker chieftains.
Right now, is the progressives finest hour. I admire their relentlessness. Another 1.8 trillion in borrowing. So what? This is not Nero ruining the Equestrian order by debasing the coinage. We do not have not have walled cities so, I guess, the model does not apply. But I think it does. Am I exposing the progressives to hatred by comparing them to Nero? And if I suggest that the Equestrian order will do unto the progressives that was done unto Nero, well I might get a lawfare mailing.
Right now, the strength of the leftist coalition has been turned into a macabre weakness. The ghastly Obama is also strongly associated with the main stream media. When he goes, so do they. Teachers unions can be sent to the disintegration chamber, with a voucher driven alternative in place. I could go on and on about the activist dominoes lined up to fall. But the leftist coalition has done its job well, of peeing in the coffee pot of capitalism. Their shortly to be experienced absence, en masse, like the Huguenots of Paris, will not clean the piss out of the pot. And when you have capitalism having a hiccup, or in this case, hepatitis brought on by a diversity of standards of personal cleanliness, you have a reduction in the standard of living of your grey headed, fat men. Biker chieftains do not like an economy that does not work. Biker chieftains do not like hepatitis in their Swiss Chalet chicken.
Biker chieftains have many different personalities, much as there are twelve basic signs of the Zodiac. Some are tall, some are short, whatever. And, back in the past, before gunpowder raised the standard of living, there would be times when a lot of Biker chieftains would suffer from disaster, famine, war, or tempest. What did Biker chieftains do when the going got tough? When your money is being taken for perfumed and powdered luxuries by some soft central despot? Hmmm, rebellion. Uprising. Sabotage. Subterfuge. Not advertised nor heralded, for these are serious men, with things, like their stuff, to lose.
I look up from my history book and wonder if my smarter and better, non-ability aristocrat rulers, can read, or have read, or are capable of higher human thought, what is written in many ways, in many tongues, is also written in blood and bone fragments. Did they not read that when the Roman Empire falls, it is replaced by the Dark Ages? I guess not. Empires fall, and are followed by darkness. Why trigger a fall? And where you have darkness, you have Biker Chieftains. When there is darkness, you who are not Biker chieftains, will live longer and better when you are in their good graces. You who are not useful in the winter, might find yourself outside the walls of the walled cities for your last night. You who are not useful in the harvest might find yourself impaled, as an offering to Gaia’s daughter Ceres. Being useful is a survival skill in most about all the rest of human history, but not for our aristocrats and their not useful, does not work, vision of economy. And they know better, or should, and have now opened Pandora’s box.
Biker chieftains, old and new, everywhere in the past, and quite a few around you in the present. I see them on the street, parking in parking lots at the mall, and shopping in the hardware store. Remember the Duke of Normandy? He dumped arsenic into the river that supplied a town he had under siege. The Duke of Normandy did not like having a contraction to his standard of living. A few wagon loads of arsenic, straight into the river; not enough to kill the fish, at first. He was careful, having done this before. Then a few days later, the townsfolk, some of them, anyway, start with loose bowels and fever. When the fish in the river start to die, then it is too late for the town; they have taken in the lethal dose of that slow poison. The crafty Duke did not have to spend a silver penny on a single cross bow bolt to bring the townsfolk down to the grave. Biker chieftains are practical. And the left is going to bring them back into power.
You can laugh and giggle, you perfumed and men in manly make-up activists. I do not care. I am watching, not directing. You, you are acting. Your dark warnings that a vote for Bob Stanfield was a vote for having Margaret Atwood burned alive on the stage at Stratford, contain a sliver of prophecy. So, primp up your costume, your spiffy tights and doublet. You have made so much of these Biker chieftains, with their wife beating, niece fondling, witch burning ways, that now your evoking of their name has worked: and now they come onto the stage. Now, I, Fenris Badwulf, am going to clap, and clap, and clap.