Story Shot 18, by Brian R. Wright PDF Version, 25 December 2020

This is one of those open letters that’s taken me several attempts to get close to feeling right. If I were in that old Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell movie His Girl Friday, there would be discarded crumpled up typewriter sheets all over the floor.

Second, and related, I don’t want to stand out as a square peg unless I have to.

Third, I have a special fondness for my now-70-something-fellow-cocaptive_kids (i.e. forced to be there by the compulsory government-school system) with whom I was thrown together in a warmly structured suburban middle-class high school in a Leave it to Beaver/Ozzie and Harriet would-be Land of Oz.

And I don’t want to lose that 50-year-reunion-kindled fondness with several of you.

Still, let me take you through a story of our youth that haunts me now. Raise your hand if you haven’t seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the original 1955 version. [Spoiler alert!] Remember the scene toward the end where Dr. Miles J. Bennell and his restored sweetheart-beauty, Becky Driscoll, are on the run and wind up in the cave?

They manage to shake off the townsfolk-zombie posse on their tails, and are struggling to stay awake so as not to be turned into pod people themselves, when they hear this ethereal melody of voices. Miles goes to check it out and is horrified to find these voices are heralding an agricultural operation producing thousands-MORE PODS.

Miles rushes back to the cave, where Becky has fallen asleep. He’s carrying Becky, resuming their getaway to the highway, he stumbles, she exclaims that she can’t go on. He kisses her right there with mud puddle residue all over ‘em. But the true love of his life has TURNED… into “an alien being bent on his destruction.” [End Spoiler.] Continue reading →

What good is freedom if mainstream-minions fear their shadows and stay home?
By Brian R. Wright

[“By the way, consider this a phase III in my thecoffeecoaster.com musings: I’ll keep them shorter and, I hope, less, well, the word “vituperative” comes to mind—I prefer “passion-ately immature.” Today I cringe at some of the verbal excess of earlier writings, way too far in my head and way weakminded for that. Hey, it was what it was. I can only do what I come to be aware of… to continue.”]

This thought came to me early in the week, after a Father’s Day with a new golf entourage Sunday Skins group. Then later in the previous week when my live fantasy football league and, then, members of a golf outing I’m organizing seemed to curb their enthusiasms for taking part. I’ve decided to do an actual dine-in with my favorite local independent business, Moe’s, who’s been hit hard by the ‘covid’ op:

Mrs. Moe (Debbie) had mentioned that six restaurants were closing their doors in Novi-Farmington on account of the CovOp. “Yup, last week we were allowed to open for dine in, and we went from 10% of our former business to 15%, that’s all.” Today we chat a bit longer, seems like a decent number of tables, maybe four or five, filled. Debbie says she and Moe agree with me 1000%, but it’s the public image they need to adopt.

Suddenly it hits me. Hand slaps forehead. Knowing what I know of the mainstream lies regarding ‘covid’ and ‘GFloyd’ and the rest, and traveling in the fact-based alternative circles I do, it’s simply not occurred to me that LARGE NUMBERS OF THE PEOPLE ACTUALLY BELIEVE THE COMPLETE, UNMITIGATED BULLSHIT PUT OUT BY GOVERNMENT AND ITS MAINSTREAM MEDIA… Even after months of officially obvious ‘covid’ whoppers to the casual observer. This goes for probably half… of Moe’s customer base, my fantasy football colleagues, and golf-outing gatherers, too. Continue reading →