I come to bury pride month, not to praise it. If that phrase sounds a little bit familiar, it should. It almost fits here. This is the year pride died, and not a moment too soon. Of course, it still lives on in the millions of practitioners and will continue to do so until civilization returns to its barbarian core, an eventual certainty, but for the moment, the entire overreach into everybody’s thoughts, affections, and wallet, has been stymied. The class locked into biological eradication will not be harassing the fertile, the nubile, the fruitful, for now. Perhaps all bets are off in a ‘brave new world’ but we ain’t there yet so gather the little children around in the green flowered grass this summer. While I indulge myself, us, in a bit of figurative speech here, the reality on the ground is still murky. This bit of common sense is working its way down from the top and depending on where you live, you may still have some freakish creature in a classroom, still sanctioned by some activist down the hall, empowered by some radical suit in your state or national capital, pushing nihilistic hyper-sexualized error on your first-grade kid. Only it’s a bit harder this year because the profiteering hack down at the gender change clinic won’t be getting his hundreds of thousands in govie funds to do it. But what is most encouraging this year is not just the curtailing of the worst manifestation of pride insanity, it’s the hundred or so million people that felt compelled to stay silent out of fear of reprisal, that can now vote, buy, speak, and write what they really thought all along during the dark winter of radical sexual and gender ideology. If you’re gay, do your thing. If you don’t like your bits, get them cut off, but with your own money. That’s my libertarian side speaking. In this new season, hopefully, we won’t have to hear you caterwauling about it. The closet wasn’t so bad after all.
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