The End of Much

[Vung Tau, 4/20/22]

You’re being killed, simple as that. They cripple you with lockdowns, drive you insane with stupid rules, then Jewjab you into an early grave, sometimes instantly. They’re also murdering your mind with daily nonsense. Soon, they’ll starve you into submission, if you’re lucky enough to survive, that is. Millions, if not billions, will turn into gawking skeletons. Morons, though, won’t just stake their hope on fake saviors, but contribute money and time to “elect” puppets. No penalty is too harsh for such stupidity, one is tempted to conclude.

Ah, but I’m just raving, you may think. On television, everything seems normal. Baseball has just started. There’s an infinity of free porn on the internet, and you can be as abusive as you want online, so there is an unprecedented freedom to masturbate! You can do it all day long, year-round. Life is good.

Still, there’s this nagging sense that much is ending, and for many, nearly everything has already been taken away, so abruptly.

Two days ago in Vung Tau, I had dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in 20 years. Mai Sơn came up from Saigon with his son. So weak, he had to be helped out of the car. Sixty-six-years-old, he appeared 90. Smiling, Mai Sơn would put food in my bowl with his chopsticks, but he couldn’t talk. I put my arm around this silent invalid. Before being Pfizered just a year ago, my friend was fine. Among his books is a collection of short stories and 101 Philosophers, an overview for general readers.

Mai Sơn’s case proves nothing, you may conclude. It’s just a freakish coincidence, this man’s health collapse.

This week, I also met an American who had been Jewjabbed four times, with no side effects, at least not yet. Seventy-five-years-old, Teddy is just thrilled to be back in Vietnam. Not counting his one year here as a medic during the war, it’s his 20th visit. Though Vietnam heals him, Teddy can’t just stay here, for he has a wife back in Chicago. Candid, Teddy admits to being suicidal for years, so had to take medications, but he’s fine now. He had accidentally shot a Vietnamese child.

Though Teddy concludes Uncle Sam cynically used him as a disposable grunt, he still believes Sam’s narrative about the war in Ukraine, so Putin is insane, has miscalculated and is in deep shit, etc. Covid came from bat soup in a Wuhan wet market. Factories will return to the USA. Since America’s downturn is merely cyclical, an uptick is just ahead. Nothing is ending. When I asked Teddy about his news sources, he said BBC and CNN, though with this caveat, “You have to read between the lines.”

Through Teddy, I found out about a successful Vietnamese who gave up everything to become a busboy in an Iowa casino.

“I didn’t even know there were casinos in Iowa!”

“They’re everywhere now.”

“Not a good sign. You said he owned a rubber plantation here?”

“Only a small one, and the price of rubber was going down.”

“Still, he was his own boss! Now, he’s a busboy.”

“He said he had to do it for his children.”

Teddy knew this man’s entire family from when he was stationed in a village near Quang Tri. When Teddy returned there 32 years later, some villagers still remembered him.

Like Teddy, this Vietnamese believes the USA won’t just continue, but thrive, for he’s betting on it. Despite its gutted factories, millions of homeless, record murders, fentanyl epidemic, degenerate culture, toxic politics, racial strife constantly stoked by Jews and virtual protesters terrified of being doxxed, that city on the hill still shines, so if you’re already there, stay put and vote for Trump, Bernie Sanders or maybe Hillary. Whiffing just twice, she still has one more strike. I, for one, can’t wait to see her bat flip after that ball sails out of the ballpark.

Consider this scene on Ba Cu Street. At a shop, there’s a framed print of Jacques-Louis David’s “Napoleon Crossing the Alps.” This heroic depiction of a white general on a white horse crossing a white mountain is very popular with Vietnamese, even if most know next to nothing about Napoleon. His name, they’d most likely associate with an expensive cognac. This shop also sells flags, including the Stars and Stripes. Although Vietnamese have defeated two major white powers, they still think of whites as winners.

[Vung Tau, 4/24/22]

On Truong Cong Dinh, there’s a billboard for an English language school. A bright-eyed Vietnamese girl of about eight-years-old is reaching out to touch a virtual globe showing North and South America. Behind her is a beaming white woman who has just let go of the girl’s hand. Born yellow into a lesser country, she’s guided by a surrogate mother towards a better future in Cleveland, Philadelphia or Detroit, anything but Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh City. Dream big, think sci-fi. Off to the side, a cartoon rocket rises.

In an alley off Nam Ky Khoi Nghia, there’s a smiling blonde on a sign for a cleaning service. She holds a broom and a plastic tub containing squirt bottles and sponges. In Vietnam and other Oriental countries, white models are common on signs for barbershops, hair salons, clothing stores, bars, restaurants and cafes, etc., but this was the first white cleaner I’ve ever encountered, so what does it mean?

A reader comments, “Colonialism of the Vietnamese minds continue unabated, even if colonialism of the Vietnamese bodies ended long ago—supposedly. This is a form of mind rape, mental servitude, severe inferiority complex.” I actually think it’s the reverse. By presenting a white in a subservient position, doing dirty work, it can be considered a pushback, if only subconsciously.

Back in Vung Tau three weeks, I’ve been walking around all over to reacquaint myself with this city of half a million. One afternoon, I headed towards the Veranda Bar near the Vung Tau Beach Club and Surfing School. When I was there in November of 2019, there were three English teachers, a Ukrainian woman, Russian man and Polish man, all drinking together. The bartender was a young Russian who had spent six months in Nha Trang and two in Vung Tau, “Oh, I love it here, the country, the people! I do not just like it here, I love it!”

[Vung Tau, 4/18/22]

And why not? With its sun, beaches, uncongested streets, safe neighborhoods, cheap alcohol and a vast array of eating options, including first rate Japanese, Korean, Italian and Chinese, and even British mash and bangers and Scottish blood pudding, Vung Tau is paradisal enough for anyone. There’s even a Ukrainian restaurant, Kozak, to slake your varenyky cravings. Granted, this humid heat can liquefy half of your brain within ten minutes, but that’s why air conditioning, siesta and shades were invented.

Though its blackboard still advertised borsch, red caviar and kvass, Veranda was well dead, unfortunately. Seemingly evacuated abruptly, its coffee cups, beer mugs and shot glasses were still there. Lit by a still cheerful sun, its furniture lay dusty. In an adjacent hut, two pool tables were silent.

What’s one less bar on some hedonistic beach, you say? But Veranda is only one of millions. All over this globe, social spaces and mores have been purposedly destroyed by those who hate all that’s sane and healthy about humanity. They hate you.