Crumbling Sewer On The Hill

[Philadelphia, 5/8/11 (Mother’s Day)]

I just had a three-day visit from an American friend. An expat in his early 50’s, Josh (not his real name) has spent 15 years in Asia, including 1 1/2 in Vietnam. Walking around with Josh, however, I realized he knew next to nothing about the country. When I mentioned Vo Nguyen Giap or Nguyen Cao Ky, Josh had no idea whom I was talking about. He couldn’t read any menu item in Vietnamese, and was unfamiliar with the most ordinary Viet dishes. Several times, Josh even forgot he was in Vung Tau. “What is the name of this place again?” Or, “This is not Nha Trang?” That’s 250 miles up the coast.

It’s not his country, fair enough. Still, Josh confessed he would probably be married to a Vietnamese had Covid not chased him away for two years. Abandoning an incipient love, Josh had left Vietnam voluntarily for a safer location. He flew out of Saigon in a hooded plastic gown.

Even with a common language, it’s hard enough to understand each other, so what sort of marriage could Josh expect if he spoke chicken and she spoke duck, as the Vietnamese saying goes?

Josh is fond of this grand statement by Socrates, “I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world.” Though an ultra-cool credo for globetrotters, Socrates wouldn’t have lasted a week in Scythia, Persia or The Samartians, much less Văn Lang, a proto-Vietnamese kingdom. Even in the 19th century, each Vietnamese village was a semi closed society that only admitted outsiders reluctantly.

Speaking Greek, Socrates was a Greek, just as Josh is an American, for he speaks American English. Even in England, he’d be out of sync with each syllable. Though scarfing mushy peas with the rest, Josh would out himself with some tic. I have an Italian friend, Niccolo, who speaks excellent English, Spanish, French and Japanese, the last quite remarkable for he only arrived in Japan in his mid-20’s. Still, Niccolo knows he’s simply Italian. His girlfriend must know that too.

Of course, food also marks you. It’s impossible that any man can prefer all dishes of all nations equally. Most likely, he can’t even tolerate most foreign offerings. Since no two groups of people have the same taste, the simple hot dog is dressed differently in Reykjavík, Detroit, Chicago and Tokyo. The last is garnished with seaweed strips, bonito flakes, toasted sesame seeds, scallion and wasabi mayonnaise, then sprinkled with sake and ginger infused soy sauce. Lin Yutang, “What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?” Though comfortable enough in Namibia, I missed raw mint leaves, which Vietnamese routinely consume by the mounds with dozens of dishes.

Let’s consider what Hugh of Saint Victor (c. 1096-1141) wrote, “The person who finds his homeland sweet is a tender beginner; he to whom every soil is as his native one is already strong; but he is perfect to whom the entire world is as a foreign place. The tender soul has fixed his love on one spot in the world; the strong man has extended his love to all places; the perfect man has extinguished his.”

According to Hugh of Saint Victor, then, there’s a hierarchy of men, with home loving pussies at the bottom, and the totally alienated at the top. Since this last category is more numerous than ever, we must be living in the best of times, with perfect men and women everywhere!

Far from it. Whether homebound or jet setting, today’s alienated aren’t just loveless, but increasingly nasty. After my last article, I got a message from one seething MGTOW who advised me to “stop being a little boomer bitch that hasn't been laid in decades.” What a sad hell-dweller, and here’s “Marckus” at Unz Review on 1/27/21, “The US is falling apart and the world is in a shambles. Why do we need to know about some gook’s travels around the world?” These sick souls clearly feed off their own stench and ugliness.

Though it has splattered and gusted everywhere, the epicenter of global filth is that crumbling sewer on the hill. Recently, a reader brought to my attention Riskay’s “Smell Yo Dick,” which begins:

Nigga this is the 15th motherfucking time

That I called and left your ass messages

I done text your bitch ass

And you ain't responding to nothin'

What the fuck is you doing?

Who the fuck is you out there with?

You think I'm stupid

My girls already done put me up on your ass tonight

When you get home I got some news for your bitch ass

Why you comin' home 5 in the morn'?

Something's going on, can I smell yo dick?

Don't play me like a fool, cause that ain't cool

So what you need to do is lemme smell yo dick

So what you need to do is lemme smell yo dick

Just hitting her artistic strides, Riskay only has a few hits, but already, her vision is twerkingly clear. Another song is called “Dollas Over Dicks.” When you deploy killa, bitch assed words, there’s no need to overburden listeners with a fussy vocabulary. Pale cisgendered Shakespeare merely coined bandit, critic, swagger, lonely and lackluster, etc. Whatever, man. That square could never come up with “dick down the whole town.”

Riskay’s admirers are of all colors and ages. On YouTube, I found ukulele and keyboard versions, as performed by white women. On Valentine’s Day of 2016, Muhlenberg students harmonized this classic on stage. It’s hard to believe I once taught at that Allentown university. There’s also a public performance by high school students, and why not? Lemme smell yo dick is so cheeky. As we become more progressive, toddlers will rap this funky anthem.

What Riskay doesn’t have are many foreign fans, I would bet. Arabs, Orientals and Russians certainly wouldn’t put up with such lyrics, not just because they are absurdly vulgar, but idiotic. When I introduced this song to two Vung Tau friends, they were speechless at how far the US has sunk. They were most disturbed that teenagers could perform this at school. I also showed them Nicki Minaj’s “Anaconda” and Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have My Money,” as further proofs. In the latter, a white woman is tortured for nearly the entire length of the seven-minute video, and at the end, a white man is butchered. We also dissected Madonna’s “Like A Prayer” video. It’s a hopeless culture, my friends concluded, but what do you expect from the Jewjacked?

It’s just free speech, many will insist, and Jews mean no harm. At worst, some are greedy, but there’s no malice, not even with a Jewjab that has already massacred hundreds of thousands, if not millions, with millions more maimed for life. Like most of you, I personally know victims.

Bourla, Wallensky, Chomsky, Wojcicki, Zuckerberg, Amy Goodman, Rachel Levine, Jeff Zients, Anne Schuchat, Sherri A. Berger, Mitchell Wolfe, Jeff Reczek, Howard Stern, Jim Cramer, Big Bird and Ron Unz will insist the Jewjab is perfectly safe and effective, however. Jewjab saves lives.

Josh was suspicious enough of the Jewjab to opt for a different “vaccine.” Still, he laughs when I assert Bourla and Wallensky should be locked up. Josh also thinks I’m hysterical for insisting American presidential elections have been farces for years. Installed in 2025, Ron DeSantis will drain the DC Swamp, Josh hopes, and build that border wall promised by Trump. When I say America won’t last until 2025, Josh merely grins.

Denying his family home is burning, Josh is hardly alone, so its flames will redden this earth soon enough. Engulfed by smoke, with their hair singed, their pants smoldering and their nuts toasty, they’ll wait to vote, as usual, for it’s the American way.

When you don’t realize your rulers are seasoned thieves, rapists and mass murderers out to destroy you also, you’re more than toast. Again, no pushback can begin until the first significant assassination, but for that, one must have access. The next American hero, then, is likely to be a security guard, body guard, driver, secretary or maid.

Riskay, “Lemme smell yo burnt dick.”

[Detroit, 6/13/11]