Phashism at Los Angeles and elsewhere

Dear Dr. Bones,

Should you happen to require more fruit of the wombschool, sir, come and get it while the poop is hot!

I betcha, Bones, that Neocomrade (Sixth Class) J. X. Dunphy of the Party of Grant (& Hoover & Atwater &c. &c.) has never before been called a PoG NC-6 in all its little life to date. Whereas no doubt it gets called a phashist at least six times every workin’ day -- every policin’ day, that is -- by all the beautiful people of ...

(( ... a small technical difficulty arises: at five thousand klicks’ distance, I have no idea where the beautiful people foregather way out there in the Mecca of darkest Schwarzeneggerland. And that despite being quite sure I heard the name of it from Neocomrade (Third Class) Dr. M. X. Weinstein-Savage [1] just a few days ago. Dr. Alzheimer seems to be *IN* of late.

(( Well, we can always make something up, Dr. Bones. That is what they do in Foxcuckooland, and we have it on high authority (and even in the High Tongue!) that fas est et ab hoste doceri. Hmmm. Let’s see, to annoy both plain vanilla kiddie selfservatives and tutti-frutti neokiddies simultaneously, how about we pretend "Laguna [de] Mecca" is the Los Angeles equivalent of Weston (oops!) or Dover or Kennebunkport or Chappaquiddick MA. The philological and ethnohistorical objections are formidable, but no matter, we can feign further that Dr. Dryasdust holds ‘Mecca’ to be a vulgar Yank corruption of some earlier and more Hispanically correct form. That should be close enough for Fedguv work. So, then, where was I? ... ))

No doubt poor, put-upon NC-6 J. X. Dunphy gets called "a [exp. del.] phashist" at least six times every workin’ day -- every policin’ day, that is -- by all the beautiful people of Laguna Mecca, who never policed (or even worked) a day in all their élitist lives, and absolutely never miss a chance to make mock of uniforms that guard them while they sleep , as the bard of Wingnut City hath so memorably barded. [2]

At the aforesaid distance of five thousand kilometres, one feels reasonably safe in spoofing NC6 JXD a little from Zip Code 0213X, in the sure and certain hope that Sgt. Crowley of the local constabulary will afford one protection, should protection be required. ’Not Joe Friday of the LAPD, perhaps, but not bad either.

Less unseriously, and before I digress off the map altogether, it seems to me that NC6 JXD does its cowingnutettes an’ cowingnuts a detectable discourtesy. It solemnly assures Cindy from Wasilla and Wally Wombschool that "When They Call You a Nazi, You’ve Won the Immigration Argument," an assurance which we may here, for purposes of pseudargument, admit to be excellent advice. But if I had the misfortune to be Master Wally or Miss Cindy, I’d be a little miffed that NC6 JXD does not explain where the lottery office is located that I take my lucky ticket to and cash it in for my winnin’s.

The purely moral rewards of bein’ defamed as phashist are all very well in their way, I suppose, but it would be ridiculous to pretend that that almost untravelled byway [3] is the mainstream Path of Party an’ AEIdeology. "If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count" is perhaps a slight exaggeration of the consensus omnium of the neocomradely community, but for practical purposes, it is highly reliable.

And I wish you, Dr. Bones,
Healthy and affordable days.

___
[1] Or perhaps Neocomrade (Third Class) Dr. M. X. Savage-Weinstein? San Francisco may not lie beyond the human event horizon altogether like Los Angeles, but it is a long, long way off all the same, so I fear I did not make a memorandumb of what NC-3 MXS-W (or NC3 MXW-S, as the case may be) identified for some call-in neopatient from Flyoverstan as the tip-top toniest zone of L.A. Except I do remember never having heard of the ’burb before.


[2] Needless to say -- but fun to add -- is that none of los alumbrados de Laguna Mecca either (1) knows more Spanish lingo then is indispenable to direct the servants -- always remember, sir, which language it was that the late fiend Kennedy Tertius had to hire a hand to take for him at H*rv*rd! -- or (2), would ever dream of religionating the Muslim way. Religionation of any sort is, like Cathtilian and Andaloosean, more or less left to the servants at Laguna Mecca. Up the slippery slope at Castle Podhóretz, the neogentry take that line too -- possibly it results from lookin’ down (figurative and political) slippery slopes all the time?

Please tell Dr. Dryasdust not to trouble me about los alumbrados being a laughably bad equivalent for "the beautiful people." Remember your Charles Williams Guideline , sir, and apply it a little: when in Hell (or at Sevilla), one must try to talk like a native speaker of Inaccurate (or of Andaloosean).


[3] "A mighty spoof, but not without a plan," that’s OUR lucky ticket, sir! Did the Muses and you and I not long ago identify the obscure by-way in question, and link it up with Sabbath School and Commencement Day in particular? Of course we did!

So then, 95% of neocomradely misbehaviour can be predicted on the basis of ""If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count." When that fails, perhaps as much as 95% of the oddball five percent is classifiable under the rubric of Sabbath Day and Commencement School, that is to say, lip-service paid by the neogentry to geistlich values that real gentry used to really value. Not altogether by coincidence, this rubric overlaps admirably with the one invoked above as "Servants, Matterss best left to the."

So "at the end of the day," there is only .0475% (one part in about 2,105) of neocomradely misbehaviour that calls for really SPECIAL explanation.

From this I draw two tentative conclusions for ourselves, sir, as follows:

(A) to prepare a tract called Neocomradology for Dummies -- or perhaps "for Dhimmies," or maybe even for both classes of customer? -- would be feasible enough, though it is not a project I care to undertake myself.

(B) Few sentimental/‘ideological’ things on G*re’s green earth are less like brand-name Fascismo than "If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count." And the same applies to the Hitlerism with which the kiddiemasters intend that their kiddies should confuuse the Italian product whenever the dread F-word is mentioned.

Even in High Prussian, Dr. Bones, geistlich is nowhere near synonymous with gut. The Master has taught us, Pol. 1267a, that no man becomes a tyrant in order to keep warm, and the same applies, I think, to devotees of ""If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count." Pushin’ folks around after the neomanner of weekly standardisers and commonterrorists &c. is unedifying in the extreme, yet if one insists on deciding whether it is to be called spiritual or materialistic, there is no doubt that it belongs in the ‘spiritual’ pigeon-hole. As, obviously, do all the contents of the "Sabbath School" and "Commencement Day" pigeon-holes. Q.E.D.

But Father Zeus knows best.