Penultimate Day 2025

“He has to operate wholly by touch.” – Top Secret

Think about the penultimate letter of the alphabet.  Because I wanted you to.

Penultimate Day.  This is a particular and peculiar institution of the Wilder family.  It started over a decade ago, my guess is 2011 or 2012.  The Mrs. was having problems with her Blackberry® phone (the one with the cool trackball and the tiny keyboard and complete inability to innovate after Apple® showed up) and wanted a new cell phone.  I was on vacation, and the closest place that sold phones with our carrier (which no longer exists) was 90 miles away.

We popped the kids in the car, and headed south to buy a phone.  We went to Best Buy®.  We ended up not buying the phone (the deal was awful) and decided to eat at Olive Garden™.  As I drove home, I decided to have fun with the kids, and told them that this was a Wilder family holiday.  They bought it, and we had a lot of phone fun.  The day before New Year’s Eve would therefore be forever known to us as Penultimate Day.

The next year, we remembered, and did the exact same thing.

What are the rules of Penultimate Day?

  • Wait for December 30,
  • Drive 90 miles south,
  • Look at cell phones,
  • Under no circumstances whatsoever actually buy a cell phone, and,
  • Have some Italian food at a casual-dining chain.

While it’s not a tough holiday, we’ve missed one year entirely (2023) and only Pugsley and I celebrated on 2022.  Oh, yeah, and then there was COVID, where being afraid of everything was encouraged.

So, we try to observe it when we can.  This year we had two exceptions:

  • Wait for December 30 (check),
  • Drive 90 miles south (a new restaurant opened nearby),
  • Look at cell phones (check),
  • Under no circumstances whatsoever, buy a cell phone (check), and,
  • Have some Italian food that incorporates pasta at a casual-dining chain (mostly check: The Mrs. was tired and took a nap, so we brought her a to-go entrée back).

So, while we did keep it, we didn’t manage to keep it wholly, so I guess still doesn’t count as a wholly holiday.  I’m okay with that, because life is change.  I’m fortunate that The Boy and Pugsley could both make it and spend time with the family.  I’m also very, very thankful for that.  I realized sometime around the time a kid gets 10 or 11, in the way the world works now, that I had spent half of the days I’d ever get to spend with that kid, so I did my best to be memorable.

But the holiday has changed for us.  Back then the kids were little.  Now, not so much.

Time goes by very quickly.  Don’t wish even a minute or an hour away.  And don’t forget to enjoy the things and people that you have in your life.  Heaven is being grateful for what you have, Hell is being envious for what you don’t.

You can choose Heaven, and you can also still work to make it better.  I have more full-family Penultimate Days behind me than in front of me, and that’s okay.  I’ve had the ones that we’ve had, and hopefully we’ve made a memory or two and in fifty or so years, one of my children will look back on December 30 and smile at the thought of Penultimate Day.  But that’s their choice, and that’s for them in the world that they make.

One of my resolutions was to drink more water.  I’ve only gotten to “drink more” at this point.

For me?  I’m glad we have this silly holiday.  I’ve always thought that the New Year holidays (Eve and Day) were contrived.  They were (and are, mainly) meaningless to me.  But Penultimate Day?  I also use that as a time to think about the passage of time and one of its most important elements, the time I spend with family and the memories that we’ve made.

That being said, then is my wish that all of us have a wonderful and prosperous 2026, but don’t feel the need to wish it away too quickly.

And when midnight hits you, I hope you have a Happy New Year!

(this is a better version of what I said last year)

Rivers Run Red – Tuesday Tune

Back with another philosophical rock song on a Tuesday.  Who could have expected that?  This one was another high-effort, went through multiple iterations, some that were soooooo close, but just didn’t make the cut.  The nice thing about doing it this way is that I can see how changes to the meter play out as I change the lyrics – sometimes things that work on paper don’t work out when they’re sung.  Regardless, I like how this came out.

Behind The Music:
All the songs so far are here (LINK).  Working still on the downloadable stuff but have made a lot of progress.  I think I’ll need two band names, one for rock and one for country.  John Wilder and the Lost Brigade works for either, but I’ll probably save that for rock.  Wilder and the Ghost Riders for country?

Rivers Run Red
By John Wilder

From sea to sea, they tried to fade us away
Strangers breach the gates, no ties to yesterday
They cross the borders, in endless waves they come
Replacing kith and kin, under the setting sun

America’s voices grow fainter, drowned by the foreign tide
Natives turn to ghosts in the land they built with pride
Now no shared roots, just numbers in a game
The foundation cracks, nothing stays the same

The storm is brewing deep,
The shadows start to creep
A nation’s soul asleep
A bloody harvest we will reap

Rivers run red in the land of the free
Replacement’s shadow, can you see
Millions pour in, no bond, insane
Leading to ruin, endless pain

Rivers run red, the warning’s now
Native sons refresh the vow
Dark times ahead, the clash will come
At the brink of our world being overrun

Cities once our own now echo alien calls
Our youth now displaced, behind false walls
No loyalty to soil, no love for what was built
The enemy, takers in the fold, sowing seeds of guilt

The future darkens fast, division carves the ground
As evil tries to take the free and make us bound
Innocents will pay when tensions finally break
The peaceful day decays for freedom’s sake

The flames are kindling high,
The end draws ever nigh
A people’s silent cry,
Beneath the blood-red sky

Rivers run red in the land of the free
Replacement’s shadow, can you see
Millions pour in, no bond, insane
Leading to ruin, endless pain

Rivers run red, the warning’s now
Native sons refresh the vow
Dark times ahead, the clash will come
At the brink of our world being overrun

We built this land tall,
On sweat and iron will
Now watch it start to fall,
A void outsiders cannot fill

The clash of worlds unfolds, the end drawing near
A nation’s story sold, in rivers flowing fear
But the darkest signs lead to the turning of the tide
Where the native sons rise up, reclaim their rightful stride

Rivers run red, but the dawn breaks through
Replacement’s end, the fight renews
Native hearts awaken, lessons learned
In the storm’s eye, invasion overturned

Rivers run red, but victory is near
Sons and daughters conquer fear
The clash ignites, our world stands
Triumph rises from these lands

The tide turns now
The darkest hour’s light
Our strength prevails
Eternal fight

Minnesota’s Somali Scam Shindig: Empty Daycares And Sharia Dreams

“I understand, but it is my duty to remind him that my men are surrounded by thousands of armed Somali militia.” – Black Hawk Down

Somalians can’t learn to spell because they don’t know the alphabet:  they spend years at C. (most memes as found – the boating one is mine)

I have a friend that I’ll call “Jim”, primarily because his name is Jim and he often gets confused when I call him random names that aren’t “Jim”.  After I got divorced, there was one female I was put into regular social meetings with.  I thought she was cute.  Jim met her, and asked me after a brief conversation:  “John, what do you have in common with her besides your eyes and her butt?”

It was a good thing for a friend to say for me to recognize that, yeah, I’ve got nothing in common with her.

Which brings us to Minnesota.

Minnesota is the land of ten thousand lakes, casseroles, and apparently, a bottomless pit of taxpayer dollars fueling Islamic terrorists and Somali grifters.  If you thought the only thing in Minnesota that was make-believe were the Vikings’® Super Bowl© hopes, well, wait until you hear about their “child care”.

Not that the mainstream is talking about it.

Nick Shirley, the X®-using reporter (@nickshirleyy), created a recent video exposé has actual Americans madder than Ketanji Brown Jackson when you ask her what a woman is and it’s mean of your to ask because you already know she’s not a biologist.  In a 42-minute takedown that has racked up millions of views, Nick and his crew documented over $110 million in fraud in a single day.

That is not a typo.  One.  Single.  Day.

It is like finding out your grandma’s cookie jar is funding a phantom bakery run by the Taliban and Bernie Madoff.

Let’s start with the star of the show: a so-called daycare in South Minneapolis with a sign that reads “Learing Center.” Yes, “Learing.”

As in, they cannot even spell “learning,” but they managed to “lear” how to get $1.9 million in tax-exempt funding from the state’s Child Care Assistance Program in 2025 alone.

Shirley rolls up to the Learing Center, camera in hand, and what does he find?  No kids.  No toys.  No sticky fingerprints on the walls or small bootprints in the snow.

Just an empty building that looks like it last saw activity during the Carter administration.  This is not some isolated oopsie; it is one of hundreds of such “daycares” sucking down (at least) tens of millions in government cash.

Critics are demanding accountability from Governor Tim Walz, who is in classic politician “just don’t talk about this inconvenient fraud”-mode.  J.D. Vance chimed in, blasting the whole mess as a symptom of deeper rot, because he’s in his “let’s tweet® about this but not do anything”-mode.  And the FBI? They say that they are surging resources to dismantle these schemes, with Director Kash Patel calling a $250 million food aid fraud just the “tip of the iceberg” while he’s in his “how do I keep this hot chick”-mode.

No arrests.

Just a guy with a camera exposing this while the FBI was busy (poorly) redacting Epstein Files.

Now, if this were just about misspelled signs and empty rooms, we could laugh it off as bureaucratic bungling and that legendary Somali ingenuity in creating mud-huts.  But here is the punchline that is not funny:  it appears that almost all of this fraud ties back to Somali operations.  I guess when you’re a pirate at heart, everything looks like plunder.

Minnesota has the largest Somali population in the U.S., thanks to refugee resettlement programs that started in the 1990s because Somalians viciously killed Americans who were there to protect people bringing Somalians food and medical care.

Yes.  We took in people from a country so feral that they’d kill you while to tried to keep them alive.  So, these Somalis had a thought:  why not scam the people who saved them?  Thus, “Feeding Our Future” scandal:  dozens, mostly Somali, charged with stealing $250 million meant for kids’ meals during COVID.

Prosecutors say the total fraud across fourteen social services programs could hit billions.

That is enough to buy every Minnesotan a lifetime supply of lutefisk and still have change for a Vikings® Super Bowl™ ring.  Oh, wait.

I guess there’s still the lutefisk.

But the fraud doesn’t stop at fake daycares.

Medicaid is another black hole.  Allegations suggest up to $9 billion has been siphoned since 2018, with (surprise!) Somali-linked groups in the spotlight.

This is like a magic trick where your tax dollars disappear producing no good for society, and poof, luxury cars and overseas wire transfers appear so that moslem warlords can have a Mercedes™ and RPGs.  Republicans in the state legislature are pushing for reforms, but Democrats?  They are busy condemning the scrutiny as partisan because it’s partisan to not want to waste tax dollars on people who want to kill Americans.

Heaven forbid we ask questions about where the money goes.

This brings us to the extrapolation part, where the plot gets thicker than a Somali accent.  If fraud is this rampant in welfare programs, what about voting?  Minnesota’s automatic and same-day voter registration and no-ID policies are a fraudster’s dream.

Non-citizens getting ballots?  It happens.

With the Somali community under the microscope for fraud, whispers of illegal voting are growing louder.  I’m sure that they’ll be natural conservatives, right?  I mean, when a moslem shot a bunch of people in Australia, he was immediately called right wing.

To top it off, videos are circulating of Somalis in Minnesota straight-up preferring Sharia law over the Constitution.

  • “Sharia law is better than any law here.”
  • “I’d rather live under Sharia in Somalia.”
  • They defend arranged teen marriages and violence for religious insults.
  • A Somali cop boasts, “We work for our own people.”
  • Another declares, “This is our land now.”

This is not blending in; this is invasion.   A survey shows half of Somali youth identify more with Somalia than America.  I generally say that it takes three generations (at minimum) to fully Americanize someone, but that assumes that they’re Christians from Europe.

How long until Somalians assimilate?  Forever if they want to turn Minnesota into the land they left, but with concierge service scammed from your tax dollars.

The total tab? Possibly $18 billion at the latest estimate and climbing.  It was only a billion a month ago, and $10 billion two weeks ago.

It is a corruption conga line, with Walz at the front, insisting everything is fine.

We work hard, pay taxes, and expect government to guard the till.  Instead, it is a free-for-all.  Hell, for all I know we could balance the budget and have a surplus if we’d just stop funding USAID and Somali Autism Pirates who funnel the money back to Democrats and terrorists.

But I repeat myself.

If Minnesota is the canary in the coal mine for unvetted immigration and lax oversight, the bird is dead.  It’s not pining for the fjords, it’s passed on.  This bird is no more.  He has ceased to be.  He’s expired and gone to meet his maker.  If Democrats hadn’t nailed him to the perch, he’d be pushing up the daisies.  This is an ex-canary.

We don’t have anything in common with the Somalians.

At all.  They’re not happy:  I mean, they wouldn’t be happy if we shut off the revenue.

We’re not happy.

And it’s time we all recognized it, separated, and moved on.

There Ain’t No Voting Our Way Out of This, Your Sunday Song.

The latest.  I can’t find an exact etymology of this phrase – it appears to be from around 2013, but, who knows?  Regardless, this is what happens when you have phrase and make a song.

Enjoy!

Behind the Music:
We’re getting pretty close to having the songs out into the world for purchase and streaming.  Accounts are being set up, et cetera. I need to generate the final cuts, and generate the final artwork and upload.  Until then, you can listen to them all here at this link.  Note that songs with an asterisk won’t be available on streaming.

There Ain’t No Voting Our Way Out of This
By John Wilder

Sittin’ on the porch with a rifle ‘cross my knee
Hearin’ the news spin lies like tumbleweeds
They tax us blind, send jobs across the sea
While the fat cats laugh in their ivory seats

We’ve hollered loud, we’ve marked our ballot true
But the game’s rigged tight, no red or blue
Ignore our children, the farmer and the mill
Bendin’ for billionaires on Capitol Hill

There ain’t no votin’ our way out of this
Ballot box broken, sealed with a Judas kiss
Washington’s forgotten the fire of ’76
Played into big money’s hands, now we’re in a fix

The spirit’s stirrin’, powder keg is lit
There ain’t no votin’ our way out of this

From sea to shinin’ sea, our voice is drowned
By lobby dollars, backroom deals downtown
They forgot the people who rose with pitchforks high
Men who fired the shot heard ’round the world that night

We tried the peaceful path, we marched and we prayed
But the chains get tighter every single day
Time to dust off the muskets, remember Lexington
The tree of liberty needs refreshin’, son

There ain’t no votin’ our way out of this
Ballot box broken, sealed with a Judas kiss
Washington’s forgotten the fire of ’76
Played into big money’s hands, now we’re in a fix
But the spirit’s stirrin’, powder keg is lit
There ain’t no votin’ our way out of this

We’ll stand like Washington at the Delaware’s edge
Cross that river again, make our solemn pledge
No more kneelin’ to kings in suits so fine
This land is ours, by God, it’s nearly time

There ain’t no votin’ our way out of this
But we’ll rise like eagles, clench our fist
Washington’s forgotten, but we remember well
The shot heard ’round the world ringin’ clear as hell
Revolution’s callin’ if you listen to what they say
There ain’t no votin’ our way out, we’ll have a new Independence Day

1776 . . . you can see it on the horizon

Paperwork American: Saturday Song

This one is for Vivek.

Behind the Music:
We’re getting pretty close to having the songs out into the world for purchase and streaming.  Accounts are being set up, et cetera. I need to generate the final cuts, and generate the final artwork and upload.  Until then, you can listen to them all here at this link.  Note that songs with an asterisk won’t be available on streaming.

Paperwork American
By John Wilder (with apologies to The Beatles)

Paperwork American
Paperwork American

Dear Harley Davidson, will you sponsor an H 1-B
I’m from Mumbai wonderful India, you see
I know that the needful you will do
Because I worship a monkey god that is blue

Paperwork American

My application says I know I.T.
But I bribed an Indian University for a degree
I don’t know a thing about tech that will last
But I want to get a job and hire my own caste

Paperwork American
Paperwork American
Paperwork American

I’ve got a thousand relatives, give or take a few
They’ll be making more in a week or two
I can grovel to you if you like the style
And hate you behind your back all the while

Paperwork American

If you really like me get me a green card
And we’ll immigrate a million into your backyard
If you must return us, please not back to India
Because I need a break and I want to be a paperwork American

Paperwork American
Paperwork American
Paperwork American
Paperwork American
Paperwork American
Paperwork American
Paperwork American

Merry Christmas: Holy Birth Thunder

I described my plan for this song to Pugsley:

JW:  “I want to make a badass metal Christmas song.”

Pugsley:  “I think you’re missing the meaning of Christmas.”

I then made him listen to it, and said, “I like it!”

No, third graders won’t be singing this at the Christmas program anytime soon, and I imagine Silent Night is safe (for now).  But I got what I wanted out of this song – a badass metal song that is reverential about Christmas.

I was going to post it tomorrow, but, what the heck.  Enjoy!

Behind The Music:
All the songs so far are here (LINK).  Still working on the downloadable stuff.

Holy Birth Thunder
By John Wilder

In the shadows of Judea, under heaven’s watchful eye
A virgin pure conceives the Word, defying mortal lie
Prophets’ words ignite the night, the ancient scrolls unfold
The Messiah comes tonight, to shatter chains of old

Shepherds quake on hills of stone, angels blaze the sky
“Glory to the newborn King!” their cry splits the high

No silent night, but a thunder divine
Sin’s empire crumbles, the holy sign
From Bethlehem’s manger, the King is born
Redemption’s hammer, the veil is torn

Holy birth’s light shakes man’s throne
Son of God descends, flesh and bone
Crush the serpent, break the curse
Salvation’s fire, the universe

Holy birth’s promise, eternal might!
He pierces darkness, endless light!
For mankind’s soul, the King arrives
In glory’s blaze, the faithful thrive

Wise men ride from eastern storms, guided by the star
Bearing gold and myrrh and frankincense, from lands afar
Herod’s rage, a tyrant’s fear, seeks the Infant’s blood
But divine decree protects the child, in the holy flood

No room in inns for Heaven’s Heir, in a stable low
Yet from humility, empires He’ll overthrow

No tranquil scene, but a cosmic war
The Word made flesh, forevermore
Against the void, the Savior stands
Eternal victory in His hands

Holy birth’s thunder shakes man’s throne
Son of God descends, flesh and bone
Crush the serpent, break the curse
Salvation’s fire, the universe

Holy birth’s thunder, eternal might!
He pierces darkness, endless light
For mankind’s soul, the King arrives
In glory’s blaze, the faithful thrive

The cross awaits, but here it starts
The Lamb of God mends broken hearts
Not seasonal cheer, but sacred flame
In Jesus’ name, we’ll win the game

Holy birth’s light cracks the sky
Emmanuel, the battle cry
Defeat the grave, redeem the lost
He’ll pay the cost, He’ll pay the cost

Holy birth’s thunder, divine decree
From manger to throne, set us free
The holy fate, The King’s roar,
Christ is born – forevermore

Gloria . . . gloria . . . in excelsis Deo
Gloria . . . gloria . . . in excelsis Deo
Gloria . . . gloria . . . in excelsis Deo
Gloria . . . gloria . . . in excelsis Deo

 

The Post of Christmas Past

“The most enduring traditions of the season are best enjoyed in the warm embrace of kith and kin.  Thith tree the a thymbol of the thpirit of the Grithwold family Crithmath.” – National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

The Mrs. made a Christmas decoration out of $100 bills.  She called it her Aretha Franklins.

Notes:  I’ll have a new song tomorrow and two for this weekend.  I am, however, debating on putting together a post for Friday.  We’ll see – it’s a coin toss right now and probably depends on how sleepy I am after Christmas dinner.

Ahhh, Christmas.  One of the things that has become traditional in the time since the VCR ruled supreme is, of course, the Christmas movie.  Many of them are quite bad, but a few stand out in my mind and they’re below.  This doesn’t include Christmas TV specials, of which A Charlie Brown Christmas is clearly the very best.

It’s a Wonderful Life is on the top of many lists and it’s the oldest on this list with the next-oldest showing up forty years later.  It’s got a solid cast, and a message that, perhaps, unbridled capitalism isn’t the way so it probably makes Libertarians sad.  Yet, the reason it’s so popular is, like Night of the Living Dead, the copyright holders failed to renew that copyright in 1975 so television stations could flog it like a rented horse and pay nothing.  If you have ever been around people in the broadcasting business, “free” is their heroin, so they played it over and over because, hey, free Christmas heroin.

Home Alone is a funny movie, but not horribly Christmas-y.  Change the setting to Thanksgiving or summer vacation or the execution of a convicted killer based on a wacky misunderstanding and nothing really changes.  But a lot of people really like this one, so it’s in.  And it is hilarious, especially the Stooge-esque scene of mayhem at the end.  Heartwarming?  I little.  It tries but mainly fails, because my heart is mainly immune from warming.

Die Hard?  Yes, it’s a Christmas movie.  The real villain in the movie was Joseph Takagi.  Why?  He scheduled an office party on Christmas Eve.  Who does that, the Japanese Grinch®?  The movie is really well made from start to finish, and holds up to repeated viewings.  And, after all, as my kids say, “It’s not really Christmas until Hans Gruber falls off Nakatomi tower.”

Elf.  So, let me get this straight, Santa kidnapped a baby and we give him a pass?  I’m not really that fond of Santa movies.  Why?  I don’t know.  Let’s just say I figured out that scam pretty quickly and hold a grudge.  But Will Ferrell is generally funny, and plays childlike enthusiasm very well, especially bouncing it off of Jimmy Caan.

A Christmas Story.  Top tier, and probably tied for my very top spot as a Christmas movie.  It is very uniquely a story about Christmas in America before globalism and while commercialism was still amateurish (Drink more Ovaltine®?).  It did also capture that great sense of joy, wonder, and anticipation that comes from being a kid awaiting his first shootin’ iron.  It also was wonderful at showing a family that was cohesive despite of (and maybe because of) the daily ups and downs and struggles.  When I was younger, I saw it through Ralphie’s eyes, and then through the eyes of The Old Man.  Perfect on all levels.

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  Did I ever mention that the clerks at the grocery store would let me buy National Lampoon® when I was 8?  I think they would have sold me booze and smokes, too.  Regardless, this is clearly the best of the movies that National Lampoon™ ever put its brand on.  I’d also say it’s the most consistently funny movie on this list.  Randy Quaid still makes money autographing photos with “Shitter’s Full.”  Why can’t I have that career?

Scrooged.  This is a favorite of The Mrs.  Peak Bill Murray hamming it up with a message that, perhaps, it’s not all about him, but rather his family, which (as far as I can tell) nearly all in this film playing various roles.  But maybe stapling the antlers to the mice would have been an interesting scene to make the movie more engaging?  I think the late, great Michael O’Donoghue was the spark on the script, but whoever was responsible, they did a very good job bringing this story into the 1980s.  Making fun of commercialism while bringing $100,000,000 back to the bank was pretty good work.

Fatman.  It’s Mel Gibson as Santa taking a contract with the military-industrial complex to produce weapons because business is down while being pursued by a hitman.  Santa Claus becomes John McClane?  Barely a Christmas movie.

The Long Kiss Goodnight has Geena Davis at her hottest playing an amnesiac assassin in a story written by the guy who wrote Predator and directed by the guy who directed the only move I’ve been in (The Adventures of Ford Fairlane).  Christmasy?  No, not really even though it’s set at Christmas.  And, this is crucial to the plot, but it could be almost any holiday.  Why on the list?  It’s an excuse to post a picture of Geena Davis.

I very much expected this list to be longer, and, in fact, had to throw on a few that I normally wouldn’t (Fatman, for instance) to pad it out.  I’m imagining there weren’t a lot of surprises on the list.  Did I miss any of your favorites?

Die Ho Ho Ho: A Christmas Carol

A bit of something lighthearted for Christmas.  I’ll have another Christmas song for Christmas day.

Behind The Music:
All the songs so far are here (LINK).  Still working on the downloadable stuff.

Die Ho Ho Ho
by John Wilder

Deck the halls with boughs of Holly Genaro
Fa la la la la, la la la la
John McClane needs more dinero
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Terrorists crash the festive cheer
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Hans Gruber’s plan is crystal clear
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Yippee-ki-yay, Father Christmas night!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Nakatomi’s tower, what a fight!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Barefoot hero squirms the vents so tight
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Saves the day with guts and dynamite
Fa la la la la, la la la la

‘Tis the season to be crawling
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Through the elevator, the bad guys falling
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Holly’s a hostage, Argyle’s drivin’
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Powell’s on the radio, forgivin’
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Yippee-ki-yay, Father Christmas night!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Machine guns blaze under twinkling lights!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
John drops Hans from the Nakatomi height
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Ho ho ho, now I have a gun, right
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Now the snow falls on the wreckage below
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Family reunited in the glow
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Evil thwarted on this holy eve
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Die Hard Christmas, we believe!

Yippee-ki-yay, Mother Christmas all!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
From the party start to Hans Gruber’s fall!
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Peace on Earth, with an American yell
Fa la la, la la la, la la la

Vivek’s Annual X® Mass Meltdown: Second Verse, Same As The First

“It’s a core meltdown, sir.  It can’t be stopped.” – Galaxy Quest

Is your refrigerator running?  If so, Ohioans may want to vote for it. (All memes as found in responses to Vivek’s tweets®)

As we slide into the end of 2025, Vivek Ramaswamy is at it again, melting down into a puddle on X™ like a little brown chocolate Easter rabbit in a sauna.  Last year right around this time, Vivek was preaching that Americans are lazy sacks of mediocrity who need a flood of immigrants to save us from our own couch-potato culture.

In December 2024, Vivek dropped a bombshell thread on X®, blaming American culture for “venerating mediocrity over excellence” since (at least) the ‘90s, you know, when he was 10.  Ramaswamy ranted about how we celebrate prom queens over math whizzes, jocks over valedictorians, and then made bizarre sitcom references.

His fix?  Import more foreign-born people like, well, Vivek.

Because why?

Because, apparently, native Americans (not the feathered kind, the lazy you and me kind) can’t hack it.  “Our American culture has venerated mediocrity over excellence for way too long,” he tweeted, as if the country that broke the sound barrier was built by sleepover parties and mall hangs.

The H-1Bs arrived starting in the 1990s.  They didn’t build America.  We didn’t need them to rescue us from squalor.  They were an economic invasive species who flocked here because America was already great.

This year the blue monkey god he worships must have whispered in his ear, “It’s time, Vivek, make them hate you.”

Vivek is doubling down, insisting that no one is more American than anyone else.  Blood doesn’t matter, loyalty to . . . I guess ‘90’s sitcoms . . . does.

The Wilder family tree is rooted deeper in American soil than a sequoia, so I’ll beg to differ.  My ancestors have been buried in the United States for 250 years, fighting in every scrap from the Revolution to WWII.

Vivek?  He’s a first-gen Hindu anchor baby whose parents, even today, aren’t American citizens. He really does worship a blue monkey god (Hanuman, for the uninitiated), I’m not making that up.  Vivek, despite being tied to the United States neither by culture, blood, religion, or duration is lecturing us on what makes someone “American.”

This is irony thicker than his mother’s accent.

As I write this, Vivek’s second annual X® tantrum is in full swing.  Running (currently losing) for Governor of Ohio, he’s gone into full defense mode.  “Blood doesn’t make you American, loyalty does,” he posts, all while defending legal immigrants as often “the most American of us all.”

I’ll let you marinate on that one for a bit.

But here’s the rub: Vivek’s definition of Americanism is so broad it’s borderless.  If it’s just about swearing allegiance and buying into “ideals” like consumerism and sacred cultural events like Toyotathon™, then every person on the planet is an American who just hasn’t hopped the fence yet.

Forget cultures that clash with ours, like those that prioritize caste (in his book, Vivek proudly notes he’s from the Brahmin caste) over equality, or Sharia over the Constitution.

Many immigrant cultures are absolutely antithetical to the American ethos the Founding Fathers baked in.  Those guys weren’t dummies; they knew ancestry, culture, and religion were key to cohesion.

Jefferson warned about importing “principles adverse to freedom.”

Franklin fretted over Germans diluting the Anglo-Saxon stock, imagine what he’d think about Vivek.

They built a nation for “ourselves and our posterity,” not a global Airbnb® for anyone with a passport stamp.  Vivek’s self-serving schtick reeks of opportunism.  He’s a biotech billionaire who made his fortune through what looks an awful lot like pump and dump schemes. Remember Axovant™?  His Roivant® spinoff hyped a failed Alzheimer’s drug that he bought for pennies, went public in a splashy IPO, and tanked when trials flopped.

This netted Vivek millions while investors ate dirt.  Sounds familiar?  It’s like Martin Shkreli’s pharma bro antics, but bigger and with better PR.  Critics call it a “Wall Street speculator scam,” fleecing folks just like those Indian phone scammers who promise to fix your computer for a Playstation® gift cards.

Vivek’s version?  Promise miracle drugs, pump the stock, dump before reality hits.  Billions in the bank, ethics in the toilet, I mean, if he owns one.

And now he wants to govern Ohio?

Good luck selling that to Buckeye voters who value straight shooters over slick operators.

The irony is, Vivek’s behavior does more to stoke distrust of Indians than any redneck rant ever could.  By shoving his “I’m as American as apple pie” narrative down our throats while ignoring cultural clashes, he alienates the very heartland he’s courting.  Ohioans aren’t buying it.

Polls show the race tightening, but with AG Dave Yost calling the GOP endorsement of Vivek a “wrong choice,” and Democrats like Amy Acton gearing up, his path looks rockier than the Appalachians.

A Hindu lecturing Christians on American identity?  In a state where churches outnumber tech startups?

He can’t win.

His meltdowns highlight the divide: America isn’t just ideals; it’s blood, soil, and shared history. Dilute that, and you get chaos.

What portends when this bubble bursts?  Vivek’s campaign will fizzle like his drugs in trials.  But the bigger fallout: his rhetoric erodes trust in assimilation.  His little kids have Star Wars® names and worship a blue elephant god.  I’ve said forever, if you didn’t consider naming your kid “Brandon” or “Jason” you’re clearly not American, and that takes roots that are about three generations deep.

If “loyalty” trumps culture, why stop at legal immigrants?

Why not amnesty everyone?

It’s a slippery slope to turning America into a mini-UN, where clashing values breed division. The Founders knew better:  cohesion requires common roots.

Vivek’s vision?  It’s a balkanizing civil war in the making.

In the end, meltdowns like Vivek’s are built on illusions:  that America is just a proposition nation, no heritage required.  But as my family’s graves attest, it’s more.  He’s increasing dislike of Indians faster than a bad curry, all while scamming his way to the top.

Ohio deserves better. We’ve seen this show before (cough Obama cough) and know that electing someone who is clearly not American won’t make America better, but instead just leave little brown puddles everywhere.

 

Nothing to do with Deer: Sunday Country Second Amendment

Sometimes it’s a chorus, sometimes it’s just a phrase that’s the start of a song.  This was the phrase that became the title.

Behind The Music:
All the songs so far are here (LINK).  Still working on the downloadable stuff.

Nothing to do with Deer
By John Wilder

In the heart of the city where man becomes prey
Weak and evil men want to take guns away
But listen up close, if you want to understand,
About the world that you’ll live in, if guns are banned

It’s not exactly a gun problem, hear me say,
It’s thugs with long records, gettin’ their way.

Judges lettin’ killers walk without a fight,
Bail ’em out quick, boy, ignorin’ what’s right
Gun-free zones? Just unarmed victim traps,
Where the criminals strike and the evil snap.

Let me make somethin’ perfectly clear,
The Second Amendment has nothin’ to do with deer.

Twisted judges let the mad ones roam,
Repeat offenders tearin’ up our home
It’s folks with dark pasts or minds in a twist,
Not men and women just trying to exist.

Your family’s at risk to judges without a spine,
But a gun in your hand keeps the danger in line.

Judges lettin’ killers walk without a fight,
Bail ’em out quick, boy, ignorin’ what’s right.
Gun-free zones? Just unarmed victim traps,
Where the bad guys strike and the evil snap.

I say again, Let me make somethin’ perfectly clear,
The Second Amendment has nothin’ to do with deer.

Look over to England, where a father’s head hangs,
His daughter’s innocence lost to grooming gangs
Evil men rise up when the people can’t fight,
But here we’re armed strong, holdin’ back that night.

Don’t let ’em fool you, your rights keep you free,
From shadows that creep, protecting you and me

So stand for your freedom, don’t back down,
They’ll find out, if they mess around,
When trouble comes knockin’ at your front door,
You’ll be ready to answer, even the score.

It’s ’bout protectin’ what’s yours in the fray,
Gun rights save innocent lives every day.

Judges lettin’ killers walk without a fight,
Bail ’em out quick, boy, ignorin’ what’s right.
Gun-free zones? Just helpless victim traps,
Where the bad guys strike and the evil snap.

If you missed, it, let me make somethin’ perfectly clear,
The Second Amendment has nothin’ to do with deer.

You know, the truth is, we ain’t got a gun problem . . .
And if you want to talk about common sense gun laws,
Let’s talk about common sense voter laws first