America Sticks Out Its Tush

America Sticks Out Its Tush. By Mark Steyn.

America … has cut to the chase — indeed, beyond the chase. We have reached that moment in Blazing Saddles when Mel Brooks throws away the script, and the brawling cowboys on one Hollywood soundstage crash through the wall into the next soundstage and start slugging the gentlemen of the chorus rehearsing a dance number called “The French Mistake”:

Throw out your hands!
Stick out your tush!
Hands on your hips
Give ’em a push
You’ll be surprised
You’re doing the French Mistake…

America has literally lost the plot. On the last soundstage, all parts are interchangeable: Men become women, and the grizzled butch coaches of college athletics can’t wait to put ’em on the ladies’ track team. Women become men, and then pregnant men, and then threaten the hospital for the humiliation of having to give birth in a “maternity ward”. Warner Bros gives J K Rowling the bum’s rush for being so out of it as to think periods are something women have. In the TERF wars, lesbians are transphobic because they don’t wish to date women with penises.

At dark on the streets of US cities, wispy, spindly, elderly eternal “college” boys cheer on hefty psycho-trannies with purple hair and hirsute cleavage as they light up precinct houses. Indulgent prosecutors release them without bail – or, if bail is still quaintly required, Seth Rogen or a Joe Biden staffer will cover it.

Stories with less helpful narratives — Democrat Congresswomen getting carjacked, or blacks slaughtering blacks every weekend in Chicago, or black criminals (sprung from the big house by woke DAs) mowing down white grannies at a Christmas parade — are instantly memory-holed.

Even real people adjust their actual lives to conform with the needs of the greater narrative: Thus the Vice President of the United States, the first in history to announce her pronouns on Twitter, purports to have celebrated “Kwanzaa” during her childhood in, um, a high-caste Indian household in, er, Quebec.

This is a way more surreal finale than Blazing Saddles. In today’s America, everything’s ablaze:

The same Democrat party that enslaved blacks for decades and then discriminated against them for another century now demands the incineration of the entirety of American history with the exception of its own glorious inviolable self. Kate Smith, for example, never owned slaves or ran a segregated lunch counter or served as a Grand Kleagle, as did Joe Biden’s mentor for whom everything in West Virginia is named. But she did ninety years ago make a record with the word “darkies” in the lyric, so she cannot be permitted to sing “God Bless America” to a stadium of kneeling superstars.

America’s hideously unwatchable knee-taking corporate sports franchises boycott entire US states over “bathroom bills” but kowtow before a genocidal politburo if one of their lads accidentally puts in a good word for the people of Hong Kong.

Thoroughly Modern Milley and the other beribboned buffoons of the planet’s most lavishly funded dysfunctional military take twenty years to lose to goatherds with fertilizer and write off a two-billion-dollar ship because a five-admiral chain of command can’t command its men to put out a fire in a timely manner …or even call the municipal fire department in a timely manner. But they can design third-trimester flight suits for heavily pregnant fighter pilots. And, in a year or so, no doubt for heavily pregnant Navy Seals…

The rah-rah right finds the scale of America’s global humiliation in Afghanistan a bit of a downer, but not to worry because it sets up the GOP (Send Money Now to pretty nicely for the midterms — in the same way that a total catastrophe on D-Day would have made Dewey’s numbers look pretty good for November, eh?

The “national security” right swivels smoothly from the Fall of Kabul to saber-rattling over Taiwan and the Ukraine, fully confident that the same military that managed to return Afghanistan to the Taliban with more territory than they ever controlled before is now fit and rested and ready to threaten the Red Army on its own turf and a Chinese Communist Party that makes all the most basic American needs, from batteries and microchips to aspirins and underwear.

Pace Mel Brooks, it’s not a “French Mistake” but an American one: Emanuel Macron may be a metrosexual globalist dinky boy but he denounces “le wokisme” more vigorously than any anglo leader, because he grasps that it infects everything, and in America and Her Majesty’s dominions has already done so. …

As with Kamala’s childhood, real life has to be subordinated to the Narrative. So, when a forty-nine-year-old New York Times editor dies of a heart attack, The New York Times announces his sudden death, but not that it came less than twenty-four hours after tweeting gleefully that he’s gotten his third vaccine shot and that Omicron should now feel free to “hit me with your wet snot”. As at Winston Smith’s Ministry of Truth, unhelpful or even mildly interesting details must be omitted, not just for the grandmas of Waukesha but even for actual friends and colleagues.