Sounds About Right

So Viktor Orban is being painted as some kind of fascist / racist / [insert liberal epithet du jour here] because he’s not in favor of allowing his country to be swamped with foreign “refugees”, saying for example:

Hungary’s controversial Prime Minister has said refugees arriving in Europe are “Muslim invaders” who have created “parallel societies that will never unite”.

Yeah, well he’s right about that. Muslims don’t assimilate, they aren’t willing to FIFO (fit in or fuck off) and they do want to impose their backward fucking belief system on all of us. And yes, I know: Not All Muslims Are Like That — right up until they form a sizable minority (+25% or so) within their host population, whereupon the shit hits the fan and it’s shari’a-shari’a-shari’a; in other words, honor killings, murder of apostates, barbaric treatment of women and all the other revolting little items from the Islamic playbook.

More from Orban:

He claimed that most refugees were not fleeing to Europe to escape danger, but rather were “economic migrants in search of a better life.”

Well, that’s true as well, isn’t it? As a one-time economic migrant myself (albeit a legal one, unlike most of these fuckers), I can sympathize with their plight and desire to improve their miserable Third-World lives — just don’t claim to be political refugees fleeing persecution because you aren’t, mostly. If these shitbirds were truly set on improving their lot in life, they’d assimilate into their host countries and become economically viable citizens — but they don’t, of course. They live in refugee camps, take welfare handouts and create rape-gangs.

But Orban’s most telling statement is this one:

“I can only speak for the Hungarian people, and they don’t want any migration.”

Lest we forget, Orban is the democratically-elected prime minister of a sovereign nation and given that in a few months he’s going to be reelected to office in a landslide (you read it here first), he’s telling the truth — and to ignore the wishes of his voters (as former Ossi-Commie Angela Merkel has done and still does in Germany) would constitute the grossest betrayal of his people’s wishes.

And speaking of Germany, Orban has this to say:

“The reason why people are in your country is not because they are refugees, but because they want a German life.
“I’ve never understood how chaos, anarchy and illegal border crossings are viewed as something good in a country like Germany, which we view as the best example of discipline and the rule of law.
Asked to explain why Hungary accepted no refugees while Germany took in hundreds of thousands, Orban told Bild: “The difference is, you wanted the migrants, and we didn’t.”

No wonder the Euros hate him: he speaks the truth, he speaks his mind, and he represents the wishes of his people, instead of spouting feelgood liberal pablum and ignoring the voters’ concerns — which is about as succinct a description of the European Union ruling elite as I can come up with.

I think The Donald should invite both Viktor Orban and his Polish counterpart Mateusz Morawiecki (who is cut from the same cloth and is likewise loathed by the EU goblins) to a state dinner at the White House. That will do several things: stick one in the eye of the EU (always a good thing, in my opinion) and reinforce Trump’s own bona fides in the matter of bogus refugees and illegal immigrants.

Mostly, though, Trump should invite Orban over because I think we could learn at least one thing from the Hungarians:

Seems to be working quite well, from all accounts.

The Next Phase

They say that guests and fish have one thing in common: after three days, they start to stink.

I have been a guest at Free Market Towers for three months.

My stay at the Towers comes to an end today, whereafter I shall be embarking on the next phase of my six-month sabbatical. The next couple of months will be spent not relaxing in baronial splendor, but in travel to all sorts of places To Be Named Later. In the interim, I’ll be staying at The Englishman’s farm which, as it lies but a few miles from Free Market Towers, does not represent too much of a geographical change, but it will be an enormous residential change — from a mansion:

…to a humble farmhouse:

It will take some adjusting on my part: The Englishman is a more accommodating man than Mr. FM — he doesn’t flog his farmworkers, for example — but it doesn’t matter, as I’ll be there for but a couple of days before being shipped off to one of his far-flung properties on the Cornish coast for a week or so.

At the risk of causing massive embarrassment, however, I have to thank the Free Markets for their boundless hospitality, friendship and companionship. By having me as their guest, they brought me to one of my favorite parts of the world — and indeed, my late wife’s absolutely favorite part of the world — which has allowed me time to refresh my soul, regain some kind of normalcy and begin to live my life again (albeit at the expense of a battered liver).

My gift to them, as I mentioned before, will be a genuine South African sjambok made from hippo hide. I’m sure Mrs. FM will put it to good use.

 

Bloody Immigrants

They come to your country, build successful multi-million-dollar companies while still in high school*… as I remarked to Mr. Free Market, he’ll probably end up marrying into the Royal Family.

Most teenagers of his age spend their school lunch breaks playing football or chatting to girls.
But Akshay Ruparelia used every spare moment to sell houses.The young entrepreneur – nicknamed Alan Sugar by his friends – set up an online estate agency while still at sixth form.
The teenager started his business after persuading family members to lend him £7,000 and already employs 12 people.
And his clever business model has been such a hit that his company doorsteps.co.uk has been valued at £12 million in just over a year.
Now aged 19, Akshay has had to put plans of studying economics and management at Oxford University on hold because the firm he set up at school is expanding so rapidly.

I’m curious as to why he’d bother with university at all, seeing as he seems to be doing quite well without the academic drag of “theory” (as opposed to actual, you know, stuff that works in the real world).

Good for him.


*For my Murkin Readers: “sixth form” is the equivalent to an extra year of high school — thirteenth grade, as it were — as a preparatory step towards university. It is one of my deepest regrets that I didn’t stay on for the Sixth myself; my life would have been considerably different had I done so.

Easy-Peasy

…and in a somewhat-related note to the above post:

I drive many women of my acquaintance insane with rage when I tell them that men look for only three things in a woman: Sex, Sandwiches and Silence. (Don’t chide me: enraging women is my sacred mission.)

But courtesy of Insty comes this stunning revelation from a woman who has achieved that most elusive of female goals: finding and keeping a decent man. And it’s so simple:

Food, clean clothes, tidy room, sex and a shoulder to lean on.  Yep, it’s really that simple.

There’s a lot more detail, of course, but her plan is brilliant. Needless to say, the feministicals are going to go batshit crazy about JudgyBitch’s advice. I don’t care. Because it’s true, and moreover, I bet her guy does just as much to look after her (“LOTS!”). This, however, is the clincher for me:

But we’re not talking about quid pro quo here. If your first instinct was to set up a mental balance sheet and make sure all of YOUR thoughtful actions are being returned in EXACT PROPORTION to your outlay, you might as well give up now. You don’t know shit about men, or relationships of any kind.

Exactly. Give this lady a 50th wedding anniversary. I hope she gets it. (And a quick note to Mr. JudgyBitch: fuck this one up, and you deserve daily ball-kickings for the rest of your life.)

Manual Labor

I have often advised young men to get a trade before going off to college — and more especially so if they are unclear as to what career they choose to follow. There’s no point in getting into debt when a well-intentioned degree in, say, Languages does not result in decent job prospects, and even worse when you realize that your career preference is not really congruent with your degree — a youthful desire to become a recording engineer transforms into a real desire to become a doctor when maturity comes into play. (And note that I’m not even talking about worthless degrees in nonsense such as Post-Modernist Poetry or African-American Studies.)

In fact, I’d counsel young men to join the Armed Forces if they still haven’t made their mind up about their career by age 19. (My good friend Doc Russia is a case study in this scenario: shiftless yoot at 18, USMC for a few years, med school and now a respected doctor.) The military has a wonderful way of crystallizing one’s thought process and compelling maturity.

Now comes this little snippet from Over Here:

Electricians are earning as much as £3,000 a week as they cash in on a chronic shortage of skilled workers across the country.
That amounts to £156,000 a year – around six times the average wage and more than the £150,000 earned by the Prime Minister.
Plumbers and bricklayers are also benefiting, with wages rising by as much as 10 per cent in the past 12 months.
Plumbers can earn as much as £2,000 a week, while brickies can bring home £1,125 – more than £50,000 a year.

Of course, this should come as no surprise. I recall some years back when Reader Mark C., at that time an executive at a large corporation in the oil exploration / development business (think: Bechtel, Asea Brown Boveri, those kinds of companies) was bemoaning the fact that he was unable to find enough warm bodies to train as welders and oilfield technicians, even when after a two-year apprenticeship, newly-minted workers would have an internationally-portable skill set that could command a starting annual wage of over $75,000 — for a 21-year-old.

The same is true for carpenters (rough, finished or cabinet-makers), electricians (light- or heavy current) and many other such trades. All you need to do is look at the progress made by that Jason guy on the Holmes on Homes TV show — a raw, inexperienced kid with nothing but a strong back and willingness to learn; three years later a qualified construction project manager who could start his own business and make a small (or even large) fortune. Don’t even get me started on the pro electricians, plumbers and such who featured on the show: even for Canucks, they must each have made a fortune, and were worth every penny. (As I recall, Holmes used a young Polish plumber, an immigrant who could barely speak English, on his earlier shows; by the end of the third season, this same kid had his own business with lots of other kids now working for him, and spoke perfect English.)

Compared to that, a drama major or Womyn’s Studies professor look quite insignificant — which they should be.

I’ve said before that my late father always told me to work with my brain and not my hands. Considering that he started off as a welder / boilermaker and ended up as the owner of a civil engineering company, it was the worst advice I’d ever got. (He went to night school at the Tech while working his day job, and eventually graduated with a civil engineering degree. Not bad for a farm boy.) He always told me to get a degree — any degree — because I could always fall back on that if my chosen career as a professional musician didn’t work out. What he should have said was, “Do a trade apprenticeship — any trade — and you can always fall back on that if you decide that being a lawyer sucks.”

I often wonder what would have happened had I done a few years’ carpentry right after leaving school. Whatever I’d finally become, I’m pretty sure that there would have been far fewer periods of abject poverty in my life.

Proportions

The recent flooding of Houston made me think of numbers (because that’s the kind of guy I am).

One of my friends lives inside the City of Houston, and his house was not flooded (because the city is built on a hill, relatively speaking, of about 400 ft. above sea level. But it’s an island, so to speak, because most of the surrounding area is less than 100 ft. above the Gulf of Mexico — hence the massive floods caused by Harvey).

For my British Readers, let me give some perspective. The Greater London area (population 8.8 million) comprises about 605 square miles; greater Houston (pop. 6.5 million) comprises just over 8,900 square miles (in the U.S., “greater” is labeled as “metropolitan statistical area”, or MSA).

In so large an area, you’ll get a situation like this:

Texans don’t trust government, so they rescued each other when things got desperate

Across Southeast Texas, police, firefighters, the National Guard, the Coast Guard and other agencies responded with immense force. But in a storm of Harvey’s sheer monstrousness — hundreds of miles across, lingering for days with bucketing rain that swallowed roads and initially kept rescue aircraft grounded — no government response could ever have been enough.

So ordinary people took up the challenge.

When Andrew Brenneise saw his West Houston neighborhood flooding at a ferocious pace last Saturday, his first thought was Facebook Live. He pulled out his smartphone in the punishing rain and pleaded for volunteers with boats.

Forty-five minutes later, the first truck arrived with a boat on a trailer. Then ten more. Then twenty. Then Brenneise had a flotilla of fishing boats, kayaks, canoes and flat-bottomed skiffs which, over the next six days, rescued hundreds of people and animals.

“This is who we are,” said Brenneise, 31, a business development manager at a chemical company. “The police and firefighters can’t be everywhere, so the community has to step in and take control.”

It’s true that by and large, Texans don’t trust the government (any government, even our own) — our state constitution is the most restrictive covenant in the world — but coupled to that is the realization that government can’t be everywhere, all the time (especially as in the absence of a state income tax, we can’t and don’t want to fund it). That’s true even in the best of times, as it happens, which means that in a massive crisis like Harvey, we have to take care of ourselves — and it looks like we did.

I also note that comparatively speaking, there doesn’t seem to have been too much thievery, no doubt because of the many “You loot, we’ll shoot” signs that popped up all over the place. Yeah, we include “defense of our property” in the list of things we don’t entirely delegate to government either. And any suggestion that government agencies should disarm Texans in times of disaster would be met with mocking laughter, not just from ordinary people but also from our elected politicians and police forces.

Now for the rebuilding. Texas has an aptly-named “rainy day fund” of just under $10 billion, which we’re going to have to dip into, I guess. The federal government will probably kick in as well — and before anyone jumps in with a “so you hate government but you’ll take their money” snark, let me remind y’all that we Texans do pay federal income taxes — and in any event, if the rest of the U.S.A. wants gasoline for their cars, we’ll need to fix the drowned oil refineries around Houston too; so yeah, the feds should come to the party.

I haven’t really kept on top of this — I’ve been eating Full English Breakfasts, getting plastered on warm ale, and swanning around stately palaces, sue me — but that seems to be a reasonable overview of the situation.

Feel free to add corrections and comments in the usual place.


Afterthought:  the Dallas-Ft. Worth MSA (pop. 7.1 million) extends for 9,268 square miles, fifteen times the size of Greater London.