Category Archives: Pseudoscience

UPDATED II (7/11/022): NEW COLUMN: A Society Of Deviants Sanctions Onanism With An Infant

Culture, Ethics, Etiquette, Gender, Pop-Culture, Propaganda, Pseudoscience, Psychology & Pop-Psychology, Sex

bearded trans men chest-feeding: paternal or sexual?

NEW COLUMN is “A Society Of Deviants Sanctions Onanism With An Infant.”

An uncluttered mind is needed to see this issue clearly. Hence this short tract has so far appeared only on the inimitable Unz Review and The New American.  Read it now on

My analysis has come as a shock to our side. Let me put it to you thus: In the olden days, if a church elder had stumbled upon a flat-chested girlie-man fixing an infant to his man breasts; there would be a public flogging, if not excommunication. By which I mean not necessarily to condone these punishments in all instances (although I generally approve of public shaming)—but to point to the reaction of the unpropagandized mind to kinky perversion.


… Is this man-woman, then, engaged in the “natural” act of breastfeeding, or is this something far more sinister like a sexual experience? Is this not tantamount to titillating oneself, using the baby to get-off?

Since the deviant described in the article and discussed in the podcast “Bearded Men Breast Feeding In Public: Paternal Or Kinky?” is not sustaining the infant – is not a successful breast-feeder, as the well is dry – and since, by self-admission, the person’s main project is his/her gender identity, I suggest this character is deriving unacknowledged sexual pleasure from fixing a child on to his secondary sexual organs.

The baby here is a prop. The breast feeding is near-sexual. And a society of deviants is sanctioning onanism with an infant: A grown man here is likely using an infant to pleasure himself. An infant has no agency, hence onanism. …

READ the rest on  The Unz Review and The New American. Read it now on

WATCH “Hard Truth,” “Bearded Men Breast Feeding In Public: Paternal Or Kinky?”

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UPDATED (7/9/022): A reader at the Unz Review asserts that women too get aroused during legitimate breast-feeding. Ridiculous. Sick. If so, disgusting distaff says I!

All I remember is a motherly-baby cocoon, where my child would occasionally quit nursing voraciously—these gender-identity perverts forget that a child nurses to survive, sate hunger and grow—to smile, play with my hair, burp. Magic bonding time.

UPDATED II (7/11/022): 

What I remember of the breastfeeding experience is a mother-baby cocoon, with baby occasionally taking a break (these gender-appropriators forget that a baby nurses to survive, sate hunger, grow) to smile, play with my hair, burp. This is a much better formula for mother-child bonding than baby formula.

That is one of the sweetest descriptions of the mother & child bonding experience I’ve ever read. Nothing prurient at all. Just love. The hair part got me,writes Musil Protege Some people have soul.

A Society Of Deviants Sanctions Onanism With An Infant” (Updated version)

FRED REED: Toward a Theory of Impossibility: Column Upends Science

Argument, FRED REED, Logic, Pseudoscience, Reason, Science

FRED’S in the house. You heard the Man. If seen, do not approach. Call your local taberna instead


In today’s column, we will revolutionize science, and establish that much of what we believe, at least regarding living things, is at best improbable and likely impossible. Science won’t notice, so no harm will be done.

As we explicate the Theory of Impossibility, we must begin with particle physics. This will give the column a touch of class. Specifically, the Fundamental Theorem of Quantum Mechanics states, “If a thing makes no sense at all, wait until you get used to it, and then it will.” For example, the idea that a particle can simultaneously be a wave is absurd, but is now everywhere accepted, like potatoes. The EPR effect, holding that if one of a pair of entangled photons, in Scarsdale, changes polarity, its entangled partner, in Alpha Centauri, will simultaneously change polarity, is ridiculous. How would it know?  Neither of these things can happen. But they do, so we regard them as reasonable. Here we enunciate and underlying principle: A thing is not necessarily possible merely because it happens.

Unless something is going on that we do not know about.

Scientists see the universe as if it were a gigantic crossword puzzle. Crosswords are inherently solvable. While the great puzzle of life and existence has not been entirely elucidated, we assume that it can be, given time and effort. We may not know a five-letter word ending in Q that means “seventh-century Persian coin,” but we assume that it exists and can one day be found. But…is this so?

This reminds me that when I was in college, before the invention of fire, sophomores quoted Gödel’s Theorem as saying that in a logical system of sufficient complexity, there were questions that could not be answered within the system. Whether the theorem actually says this, I forget, but we said it said it, and felt very wise.

Here we come to one of my favorite clichés, by the British biologist J.B.S. Haldane, “The world is not only queerer than we think, but queerer than we can think.” Just so. Perhaps there are questions that can’t be answered, and therefore won’t be. This cannot be a comforting thought to a new-minted chemist as he rushes forth from CalTech, which may be why anything suggesting inherent unanswerability is rejected. But it may be that we just aren’t smart enough to understand everything, or maybe even much of it. Here we come to another cliché by my favorite philosopher (me): The smartest of a large number of hamsters is still a hamster.

Now, impossibility. Suppose I showed you a pair of tiny gears and said, “See? When I turn this one, it meshes with the other and makes it turn too.” You would respond with a lack of surprise. Suppose I then showed you fifty such little gears in an old-fashioned Swiss watch in which they all turned to make the hands move. You might say, “Isn’t that ingenious.” Suppose that I then told you that someone had assembled, literally, a cubic mile of such tiny gears and that they meshed perfectly for fifty years to do many complex things. You would ask me what I was smoking.

Even though each step in a cubic-mile process could be shown to be possible—gear A turns gear B, which turns gears C and D—you would sense that the entire complex wouldn’t work, however plausible each sub-process might be. You would be unconsciously applying the law that the improbability of the whole is greater than the sum of the improbabilities of the parts. The improbability is not a linear function of the number of parts but increases without limit as the number of parts goes above, say, one thousand.

Does that sound dreadfully portentous, or what? One day it will be the foundation of ponderous overpriced textbooks to extract money from sophomores. At least I hope so. I could use the money.

To a neophyte of biochemistry, the textbook description of a cell seems the mapping of a robotic Japanese factory onto a swamp. For example, in what sounds like a computer-controlled assembly line, enzymes uncoil the DNA, others unzip it, complementary nucleotides snap into place, a zipper-upper enzyme glues them together, click, click, click, whereupon the mRNA rushes purposefully off to a ribosome where, click, click, click. This is probably AP biology in decent high schools, if any, and has been verified thousands of times by biochemists. But…it sounds like mechanical engineering, not mindless undirected glop in solution.

You say, “But Fred, you don’t know anything about biochemistry.” True, but so what? You don’t have to know anything about it to know that it is impossible. Too many little wheels. You’ve got mRNA and microRNA and rRNA all rushing about, or sometimes holding still, and doing complex and purposeful things, and tRNA codons and anticodons coupling like drunken teenagers, and busybody enzymes editing this or that on the fly in the manner of bioschoolmarms or splicing this and some other thing and ribosomes and lysosomes and spliceosomes and palindromes and maybe aerodromes and really twisty long molecules with names like 2,4-diethyl-polywannacrackerene—and all of this is said to run with the efficiency of a Mexican drug cartel. All of this in a tiny space where everything ought to bang into everything else and just lie there in smoking rubble.

To us barbarians on the outside, the cell looks like a microscopic globule of goop with sticky stuff diffusing mindlessly about. I do not doubt that biochemists, whom I respect, have shown all of this to happen by careful experiments. I just don’t believe it. It’s the cubic mile of gears again. You have hundreds of reactive species in close proximity doing extraordinarily complicated things for sometimes a hundred years with what sounds like precisely coordinated purposefulness–instead of congealing immediately into a droplet of disagreeable mush. I do not doubt that lab folk have proved that it happens. I just don’t think it is possible. Unless something is going on that we don’t understand.

The foregoing is not orthodox biochemistry and may encounter initial resistance in the trade.

A problem of biology for years has been the inability of evolutionists to explain how life or many of its manifestations can have evolved, irreducible complexity and all that, the usual response being ok, we aren’t sure, but any day now we will have the answer. The check is in the mail. But in fact the inexplicability grows ever greater year on year as more and more complexity is discovered, such as epigenetics, and the more complexity, the less likelihood of coming about by chance. But we advocates of Impossibility Theory assert that not only can living things not have evolved, but also that they can’t function. Too many little gear wheels. Therefore life doesn’t exist.

Consider the retina, a very thin membrane consisting of ten distinct sublayers engaging in appallingly complex biochemistry, somehow maintaining position and function for, occasionally, a hundred years. These layers consist of millions of cells doing the impossibly tricky chemical dance mentioned above, more or less perfectly. In the rest of the eye you have the three layers of the eyeball, sclera, choroid, retina, and the five layers of the cornea, epithelium, Bowman’s membrane, stroma, Descemet’s membrane, and posterior lamina. And a lens consisting of a proteinaceous goop contained in a capsule, attached to the muscular ciliary body by suspensory ligaments, and an iris of radial and circumferential fibers innervated competitively by the sympathetic and parasympathetic subsystems of the autonomic nervous system. No way exists of explaining how this purportedly evolved—or how it works for many years without the layers of intricacy, biochemical through mechanical, collapsing. (I know this stuff because I have eye problems connected with Washington’s foreign policy.)

The intricacy of life is layered. We start with a zygote which, being a cell, is bogglingly complex. This little time bomb develops into a baby, which is impossible. If you don’t think so, try reading a textbook of embryology. The migration of cells, this control gradient, that control gradient, DGRNs, perfect inerrant specialization to form implausibly precise and complex things like incus, malleus, stapes, tympanum in the ear and (very) numerous other examples, all impossible individually and more so in aggregate.

Impossible, at least, unless we can come up with an auxiliary explanation.  Magic seems a good candidate.

All of the organs of the baby are in varying degrees impossibly complicated and, even more impossible, almost always all of them are perfect at once. Everyone knows Murphy’s Law: If something can go wrong, it will. A baby should bring joy to Murphy because the opportunities of disaster are nearly infinite—yet things almost never go wrong. It is like a federal program that actually works.

The functioning of said baby is as mysterious as its formation. Babies grow. Children grow. How does this happen? For example, the baby has various small, hollow bones which grow year after year into large hollow bones. For this to work, cells (osteoclasts) eat away the bone from the inside, making the hollow larger, while other cells (osteoblasts) lay down new bone on the outside. Complex and wildly implausible communication between blast and clast purportedly makes this work. Medical researchers, honest people, no fools, assure me that this happens, and I believe them. Sort of. The idea that this evolved by random mutation is, if I may use a technical term, nuts. So, according to Impossibility Theory, is its precise, inerrant functioning. We come back to magic.

The whole baby does this sort of thing. The skull grows. Kidneys grow. The heart grows. All, with few exceptions, perfectly. Meanwhile, kidneys excrete, endocrine glands secrete, neurons weirdly but correctly link up, skin grows in perfect layers, nervous system deploys—perfectly. Do you believe this? It isn’t possible.

Unless there is something we haven’t figured out, and perhaps can’t.

I don’t know much about anything (readers delight in assuring me of this). However, I don’t know less about computers than I don’t know about biology. I want an engineering information-flow analysis of cells and a baby. Probably there are courses and books about this, and I just haven’t heard of them.

Consider a drill, perhaps in a factory, controlled by a computer. The total information involved in this transaction presumably consists of information flowing from sensors on the drill to the computer, and from the computer to the drill. Digital bits are easy to understand if you have at least two fingers. Cells are dauntingly analog.

A whole lot of things have to happen in a cell at the right time and produce the right amounts of all sorts of stuff. But to my naïve gaze, not only do processes have to produce things in correct amounts, but the systems that tell them how much to produce have to know how much that is, and these interrelationships all have to interrelate with each other. How much is that in gigabytes? Again, I am a barbarian of such things, but I wish a software engineer would reduce the whole shebang to data-flow diagrams, including how it knows when things are wearing out and the information paths needed to repair them. And why everything doesn’t just stick to everything else.

There you have the elements of a theory of impossibility. Doubtless it will rank with general relativity and Watson and Crick. You saw it here first.

Read Fred’s Books! Or else. We know where you sleep.


FRED REED describes himself as [previously] a “Washington police reporter, former Washington editor for Harper’s and staff writer for Soldier of Fortune magazine, Marine combat vet from Viet Nam, and former long-haul hitchhiker, part-time sociopath, who once lived in Arlington, Virginia, across the Potomac River from the Yankee Capital.”
His essays “on the collapse of America” Mr. Reed calls “wildly funny, sometimes wacky, always provocative.”
“Fred is the Hunter Thompson of the right,” seconds Thomas E. Ricks in Foreign Policy magazine. His  commentary is “well-written, pungent political incorrectness mixed with smart military commentary and libertarian impulses, topped off with a splash of Third World sunshine and tequila.”



Killer Kink

Hardboiled is back! (The exclamation point is to arouse wild enthusiasm int the reader, a boiling literary lust.) Gritty crime fiction by longtime police reporter for the Washington Times, who knows the police from nine years of riding with them. Guaranteed free of white wine and cheese, sensitivity, or social justice.

NEW COLUMN: ‘Tarded’ Medical Idiocrat Won’t Treat ‘Unscannables’ Like Me

Art, Comedy & Humor, COVID-19, Healthcare, Intelligence, Left-Liberalism And Progressivisim, Pseudoscience, Science

“Why come you don’t have your Covid tattoo,” he yelps, cowering in the corner, “where’s your bar code”

NEW COLUMN is “‘Tarded’ Medical Idiocrat Won’t Treat ‘Unscannables’ Like Me.” It’s currently featured on WND.COM, The Unz Review, and on The New American.

Meet Doctor Lexus (diploma via Costco):

In Idiocracy, Mike Judge’s genius of a satire (really a documentary, if you think about it), Luke Wilson plays Joe Bowers, frozen by the military in 2005, “who accidentally wakes up in 2505 to find a broken-down, thuggish America, where language has become a patois of football chants, hip-hop slang and grunts denoting rage, pleasure and priapic longing, where citizens are obese, violent, ever-horny and narcotised by consumerism.” (As I said, a documentary. Citations here.)

The “dumb-a** dystopia” depicted in “Idiocracy” has evolved (devolved, rather) because low-IQ individuals, so robust, have out-bred the intelligent (yes, Judge openly references IQ as a measure of intelligence). Consequently, nothing gets fixed. There are garbage avalanches. A Gatorade-like drink has replaced water in irrigation. Because growers don’t know better, nothing grows. …

The most watched show on the “Violence Channel” is “Ow, My B-lls!” The “highest grossing movie of all time is called ‘A**,’ and consists of 90 minutes of the same naked, hairy butt on screen.” Audiences are enraptured. All enterprises are sexualized; Starbucks offers a “full body latte.” Costco is an Ivy-League law school.

Or, a medical school, in my tale of woe. Idiocracy is the perfect metaphor for my own visit to a Washington State doctor’s office. …

And the doctor’s office has become its own obstacle course. Combine endemic, Idiocracy-like institutional rot, with the control Covid has bestowed on some exceedingly mediocre and malevolent minds—and one can never be too prepared.

In the case of this grubby little shop, the pronoun slot alone on the attendant patient forms ought to have been a portend of what was to come. My choice of pronoun would have been “grammatical” had that option been offered. Otherwise, I never dignify the pronoun charade. See below:

Washington woke would sooner flout the spirit of the  Hippocratic Oath than speak ill of the homeless grotesquerie that is unfolding on our streets. Since the term “virtue signaling” has become a cliché—a term insufficient to the task—let me offer an improvement. The progressive’s preening aims to emphasize his or her own providential purpose in the universe. To that end, progressives like to discredit the rest of us. That’s more like it

When the appointment was scheduled, not a word of warning was forthcoming about the inquisition, the third degree, that would ensue at the front desk on the day of the visit. I’m healthy, masked and without fever. That ought to have been the end of it.

It was not. Shoved in my face on a stark sheet of paper, bereft of the office’s masthead, was the demand for my vaccination status. Well, of course. Doctor Lexus (diploma via Costco) wasn’t owning this disgrace. This was nothing to boast about.

I refused to divulge my vaccination status. …

READ ON. NEW COLUMN is “‘Tarded’ Medical Idiocrat Won’t Treat ‘Unscannables’ Like Me.” It’s currently featured on WND.COM, The Unz Review, and The New American.



FRED REED: Probing the Fever Swamps of Evolution Orthodoxy: Things One Mustn’t Ask

Argument, FRED REED, Intelligence, Logic, Pseudoscience, Science

In which Fred Explains why the sting of a hornet is an example of ‘irreducible complexity’ and a problem for Darwinians

By Fred Reed 

Writing about evolution is likely an expression of literary masochism, but has its rewards. The difficulties are several. For one thing, for many people belief in evolution indicates to them that they are not of the unwashed, but rather one with advanced thinkers. For another, most people accept nature-show evolution in which in a sort of biological Coeueism: we are getting better and better, when in fact evolution says no such thing, but rather that organisms become progressively better adapted to their environments, making tapeworms, cockroaches, and perhaps politicians pinnacles of successful evolution. Further, many questions involved the Cambrian and Ediacaran fauna, developmental gene regulatory networks, the mathematics of multiple simultaneous mutations, and so on, which few have studied.

When faced with questions, the faithful do not answer. Instead they respond with lofty silence, or hauteur and harrumphing, or assertions of authority. These variations on squirming amuse me, so I ask questions. I am doubtless a bad person.

But the Darwinists don’t answer. When doubters among mathematicians and biochemists express doubts they are likely to be fired for bio deviationism. They don’t get answers either.


Many people need overarching explanations to provide a sense of security in a world that doesn’t make much sense. To protect these beliefs they accept contradictions and logical lacunae while ignoring evidence inconsistent with desired doctrine. Among such ardently defended beliefs are religions, capitalism, socialism, feminism, communism, conspiracy theories, and…Darwinism.

Some questions about evolution are accessible to anyone. Herewith a few of my favorites. The reader will note that in comment sections, amongst all the deprecation and holding-of-breath and turning-blue and name-calling, the evolutionary faithful…

Don’t answer the questions.

There will be much of, “Alas, poor Fred, not a bad fellow but not quite right in the head.” Yes, yes, no doubt. I will remember to take my Thorazine. Answer the questions. Then there will be, “Fred, you know absolutely nothing about….”  But what I do or do not know is irrelevant since I am asserting nothing but asking Darwinians what they know. Answer the questions.

They won’t. They will evade, wriggle, wax wroth. They don’t answer because they can’t. If they could, they would. I sympathize with them since without Le Grand Chuck, biologists would lose all sense of structure, order, and certitude.

All right, to work.

Of the many problems with Darwin, the most easily accessible without a lot of technical reading is “irreducible complexity.” Orthodox Darwinism holds that evolution proceeds by small, incremental, beneficial steps. For example, a slightly smarter bushman, smarter because of a fortuitous mutation, might survive more readily than his fellows, get more girls and thus pass on his superior genes. This, so far as it goes, is plausible. It is just selective breeding.

The problem of irreducible complexity arises when a biological system consisting of several interacting parts would have no useful purpose if one of the parts were missing. All of the parts would then have to appear simultaneously, which is astronomically unlikely.

For example, consider the sting of a hornet. It consists of several parts: a biochemical mechanism to make the venom, a sac to hold it, muscles to eject it from the sac, the stinger, muscles to insert the stinger into the victim, nerves to control the first muscles, and nerves to control the second.

If any one of these parts is absent, the mechanism is entirely useless, and so all had to appear simultaneously. This is irreducible complexity.

I ask Darwin’s minions to tell me how this elaborate arrangement evolved. The reader will note that in all the fury and contempt and vile remarks about my maternal ancestry, the Darwinists…

Won’t answer the question.

The thoughtful will additionally note that many of the hornet’s parts would in themselves prove difficult chores of evolution. For example, the stinger is an elegant, precisely formed, long pointed tube of exactly the right diameter. How many simultaneous mutations of what would have to occur to form the thing?

Examples of irreducible complexity litter the natural world. Bugs in particular are rife with it. Consider metamorphosis in insects. There are two kinds of bugs, two-cycle bugs that lay eggs that hatch into tiny replicas of the adults, which grow, lay eggs, and repeat the cycle. Then there are four-cycle bugs that go through egg, larva, pupa, adult. Question: What are the viable steps needed to evolve from two-cycle to four-cycle? Or from anything to four-cycle?

Let us consider this question carefully.

We begin with a two-cycle bug, that for convenience we will call a roach, which will endeavor to evolve into a bug that, also for convenience, we will assume to be a butterfly. From a spirit of charity we will assume that it is a flying roach to give it a head start toward butterflyhood.

To achieve that exalted end, our roach would first have to evolve a larval form—that is, a caterpillar. It is difficult to see how this could occur at all, or why. To become a caterpillar, our roach would have to lose its jointed legs, chitinous exoskeleton, and head-thorax-abdomen body plan. Since not even the most dewy-eyed, dappled evolutionist could attribute such sweeping changes to one mutation, the transformation would have to proceed by steps involving at least several and probably dozens of mutations. Losing the exoskeleton would leave it unarmored and unable to walk, not an obvious selective advantage. It would also have to be able to reproduce to continue evolving, which means become a free-standing species.

Then, for reasons most mysterious, the pupa would have to decide to pupate and become a butterfly. And the butterfly would have to lay eggs that became caterpillars.

Which could not possibly work. Metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly is complex and if you don’t get it right the first time, it’s curtains. It would depend on a great many steps which would have to appear simultaneously. First, our caterpillar probably would have to use its spinnerets (of mysterious provenance, but never mind) to make a cocoon, in which it would proceed to die because it hadn’t yet evolved metamorphosis. Why a caterpillar would think of doing this is not clear. To turn successfully into a butterfly, it would need the biochemical machinery to transform a mushy, legless, wingless, head-thorax-abdomenless worm into an utterly different creature. Where would it have gotten the impossibly complex genetic blueprint of the butterfly? Or the machinery to construct it?

Methinks something is going on that we do not understand. But to admit not understanding might give satisfaction to snake-handling evangelical Christians with three teeth in the mountains of North Carolina (though actually it wouldn’t) so we mustn’t admit that we don’t understand.

Note that the questions posed by these bugs are not merely pleasant musings on a slow afternoon. Either the Theory of Evolution can explain them, or the theory fails.

I’m waiting.

If I may dive briefly into technoglop, consider genetic coding for proteins. Each amino acid in a protein is coded for by a codon consisting of three nuclear bases. There being four nucleotides, a codon of three allows four cubed or sixty-four triplets, enough to code for the twenty aminos, some control codons, and redundancy. From what simpler system can this have evolved—two nucleotides per codon, allowing for sixteen aminos and no controls? The current system seems a clear and unambiguous case of irreducible complexity, incapable of simplification.

This, note, is a clear question about a simple and well understood coding system. I assert nothing, but ask. An honest Darwinist has three possible responses: answering the question, explaining why it is meaningless, or saying, “I don’t know.” Or he can duck and dodge, shuck and jive, huff and puff, call names, invoke herd authority, or cower in stolid silence. Watch.

Another question: The human bot fly is a squat, ugly, hairy fly that (in one version anyway) catches a mosquito, lays its eggs on said mosquito after positioning it correctly, and attaches them with a kind of glue. It releases the mosquito. When the little syringe lands on, say, a human, the eggs drop off, hatch, and burrow into the host. These make nasty raised lumps with something wiggling inside them. Later the larvae exit, fall to the ground, and pupate.

How did this evolve? Did a grab-a-mosquito gene occur as a random mutation (assuming that a single mutation could cause such complex behavior)? It would have to be a grab-a-mosquito-but-don’t-cripple-it gene. That is a lot of behavior for one mutation. At this point the bot fly would have a mosquito but no idea what to do with it. It would need simultaneously to have a stick-eggs-on-mosquito mutation. This would seem to require another rather ambitious gene.

Catching the mosquito without laying the eggs, or sticking the eggs to the wrong part of the mosquito, or laying eggs in midair without having caught the mosquito, would seem losing propositions. None of these awfully-lucky mutations would be of use without the others. How do you evolve this elaborate dance by gradual, beneficial steps?

Once again, I ask the reader to ignore for the moment the matter of whether I am a bad person, want to tear down science, am the lowest sort of unevolved moron, or adherent of the Cargo Cult. Instead, ask: Did the Darwinists answer the question?

A final example: How did the rhinoceros evolve its horn? “No, I didn’t plagiarize this from Kipling. Honest.)

The horned rhino presumably evolved from a large, rhino-like hornless mammal. Nature-show evolutionism will assert that the horn obviously came about to allow defense. Oh. But how? Since the horn is of keratin, not bone, presumably it arose from either skin or hair. But by what small, incremental, advantageous steps? It would be useless until long and pointed. Whatever the mutation that began horn-formation would have to have done it precisely centered laterally on the beast’s forehead, or have managed to move there later. Why here and not, say, on the left hind leg? Why not over the whole body? ¨This is a serous question. The horn would be useless until long and pointed enough to poke lions. To become pointed it would need a mutation, or some number thereof, to make it grow faster in the middle, and then stop growing. Anyone who actually thinks about this mystery will come up with further questions. If the horn evolved by gradual incremental steps, intermediate fossils must exist. Do they?

I invite the reader to note whether Darwinists give clear, non-metaphysical answers to these simple and straightforward questions.


FRED REED describes himself as [previously] a “Washington police reporter, former Washington editor for Harper’s and staff writer for Soldier of Fortune magazine, Marine combat vet from Viet Nam, and former long-haul hitchhiker, part-time sociopath, who once lived in Arlington, Virginia, across the Potomac River from the Yankee Capital.”
His essays “on the collapse of America” Mr. Reed calls “wildly funny, sometimes wacky, always provocative.”
“Fred is the Hunter Thompson of the right,” seconds Thomas E. Ricks in Foreign Policy magazine. His  commentary is “well-written, pungent political incorrectness mixed with smart military commentary and libertarian impulses, topped off with a splash of Third World sunshine and tequila.”



Killer Kink

Hardboiled is back! (The exclamation point is to arouse wild enthusiasm int the reader, a boiling literary lust.) Gritty crime fiction by longtime police reporter for the Washington Times, who knows the police from nine years of riding with them. Guaranteed free of white wine and cheese, sensitivity, or social justice.

* Image credit