
Another RE-POST:
The Soros-funded, summer jobs program that is the hashtag Black Lives Matter movement trickled down to Maine yesterday, and despite the 92% humidity, both pathos and irony were thicker than the air.
Spearheaded by bullhorn-wielding, burka-wearing bull dykes, several hundred Maine College of Art students, sporting the latest in tattoo fashion and hair deconstruction, aired their grievances in unisonous yowls. Accompanied by dozens of gangly metrosexuals vaguely resembling males, the self-identifying Muslim-lesbian shepherdesses ordered the overwhelmingly Caucasian crowd to variously march this way and that, occasionally forming protective circles around the handful of actual Black lives that were in attendance, and chanting from the song sheets handed out in advance, “Hands up, don’t shoot!” and “No justice, no peace!”
The instances of irony that hung over the Friday evening sky as they wormed their way around Portland’s landmarks were myriad. Staged within 24 hours of the horrible Bastille Day violence in Nice, France, in which a Muslim man drove an ice cream truck through crowds of joyful revelers killing nearly 100, this petite parade of engineered angst was led by a couple of angry Muslim-appearing “womyn” who were likely ignorant of the fact that the only recent hate crime to make headlines in Maine’s hippest city was last summer, when a pair of Muslim men kicked the Black life-matter out of a Christian man in his own apartment, punctuating their act with irony by beating him to death with his own Bible.
Chief among the ironical appearance of an astro-turfed, inner-city, hashtag movement of race baiters and ne’er-do-wells, screaming for racial justice in the nation’s Whitest state, was the police escort that was provided, at taxpayer expense, serving mostly to protect these social justice warriors from walking into traffic or tripping themselves up on Portland’s notoriously undulating, red brick sidewalks as they protested against police violence.

The modern phenomena of Facebook Live footage put the pathos of the protestors on full display. Where a typical evening news broadcast allows editors to distill the atmosphere down to the one-minute clip that most adheres to the mainstream media narrative, live streaming affords the viewer an unfiltered look into the sincere sadness that emanates from a group of white, haggard, variously overweight or anorexic, tattoo-laden femi-nazis chanting stock phrases from cue cards printed in union shops and paid for by the real-life Ernst Blofeld of SPECTRE.
Pathos is almost too dramatic a word to describe the scene. The vulgate pathetic will do. The last action I saw before I turned off my screen and turned instead to watch the few remaining lightning bugs seeking their own special attention needs over my backyard, was as the group approached the Portland Police Station, chanting, “Where’s the Chief?! Where’s the Chief?!” He was likely right there behind you, Sista Souljahs, protecting your snowflake existence from the harsher realities of inner-city life that make up your worse, imagined fears.
Maine has been referred to as the nation’s chimney, as weather patterns tend to eventually work their way across the continent, west to east, pushing the nation’s foul gasses to exit our scenic coast out over the ocean. So, I suppose, it was inevitable that this fabricated movement, based on the lies surrounding the Michael Brown incident in Ferguson, Missouri nearly two years ago, would eventually reach Maine. But seriously, if Churchill’s observation that a lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on is true, can we, as a nation, at least get our pants on quicker than this?
But, there is hope! WCSH-6 News in Portland did manage to locate one of the only actual Black people in attendance. A former New York City resident who moved to Maine to improve his quality of life, Oni Hall was watching the speck of a spectacle from the sidewalk. Mr. Hall thoughtfully observed that this seems much ado about nothing to him, suggesting that, “All this is doing is dividing people… It’s definitely not as bad as you think… Black-on-Black, you know, Black people kill Black people a lot more than police kill Black people, and nobody’s writing about that stuff.”
Well done,Sir,well done.
Even though I live in a small town South of the Mason-Dixon line in Missouri and am therefore “from away”, I traveled to Waterville Maine many many times on business. Reading the tenor of this missive, with which I am in agreement, brought back fond memories of the people I had met in Maine.