Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll does not need Kantian epistemology to declare I DOUBT IT! She writes:

When I arrived at Northwestern University in 1964, it represented the first time in my life that I had ever been away from my parents for longer than a week at Bible Camp. On my first day checking into Willard Hall women’s dorm, I had all my worldly goods with me: a small blonde Samsonite suitcase that my mother got me with Green Stamps as a graduation present. That contained my entire wardrobe. I also had an attractive set of matching cardboard boxes that held toiletries, towels and washcloths, my beloved ancient Dictionary, and my “record player,” a primitive un-stereo that I had “won” for selling lots of bottles of Bexel vitamins in Dad’s drugstore. And a few precious LPs and 45s. The record, not the caliber.

Talk about someone who just fell off the turnip truck! I was still 17. My roommate was a sophisticated East Coast girl (Connecticut), a “legacy” admittee who had a sweater locker under her twin bed that contained – I counted them once – 18 cashmere sweaters. She had cleverly arrived first and taken the best bed, closet, and desk. Fair enough. She was a dramatic Theater Major and also evidently had stock in the “Ambush” perfume company because she traveled everywhere in a cloud of it, plus cigarette smoke.

She was a little bitty livewire who pledged a sorority and spent every single weekend drinking to oblivion. In my life I have never known anyone of any size or gender with a bigger capacity. Once, when her fraternity boyfriend, Doug, carried her comatose to the dorm living room, and buzzed for me to come help get her into the elevator, he told me she had consumed 17 beers. I couldn’t have drunk that much WATER, to say nothing of beer.

Doug was a tall, dimpled dreamboat from New Orleans with THE most charming accent this little Minnesota nerd had ever heard. He made my heart race. By comparison, the boys in my high school sounded like Walter Mondale. Actually, so did the girls, including me. Doug also had charm and lovely Southern manners. He treated me with kindness and grace even though, around him, I felt exactly like the awkward, nervous schoolgirl that I was.

Anyway, Doug, who was too cool for school, used an expression I had never heard before. When a person said something he thought was preposterous, he would just smile and say “Ah Dee Ah,” which was short for I Doubt It. Get it? Aye dee Aye to a Northern girl.

I had a little Smith Corona manual typewriter with which I earned a few pathetic dollars typing papers for other people. Junior year, Doug somehow tracked me down and asked me to type a long term paper on Immanuel Kant that he had written for his Philosophy requirement.

And though it was about 58 years ago, I remember trying to get up the courage to tell him that his paper was uh…well…AWFUL. I tried to find a way to tart that news up a bit, but he just laughed and gave me a large tip for typing it. He assured me he would get a “C.” which was all he wanted. When I pointed out that his concluding sentence was, “And so we see this could be a complete possible,” he said, “Miss Susan, ah think that that sums up mah understanding of Critique of Pure Reason perfectly.”

I hope you forgive this little stroll down memory lane for me to meander to my actual point: which is that a LOT of things merit a suspicious smile and an “I D I.”

Poor Gerald Ford, who was mocked mercilessly on SNL for a couple of falls, looked like Mikhail Baryshnikov next to our current shambling sham of a President. President Trump walked SLOWLY down a ramp to AVOID falling – using the “abundance of caution” we heard so much about during COVID – so every news outlet proclaimed him infirm. Was this fair coverage – did Trump EVER get fair coverage? I DOUBT IT.

As someone who has recently fallen herself, my natural inclination would be to feel some level of sympathy when a senile old man tumbles down on stage at a pretty important occasion. But I don’t. Because we are assured by everyone except Obama’s former White House doctor that Biden is “just fine, not impaired at all.” Well, I DOUBT IT. And many Democrats do too. And more and more openly.

Sadly, I am now at such a stage of exhaustion about being lied to by the degenerate, corrupt, unpatriotic fools who now run everything from mainstream media to Hollywood to corporations to the Deep State that my default response to every word out of their mouths is I DOUBT IT. (Well, those are the words I can say in print…)

A prospective Supreme Court Justice – nominated SPECIFICALLY for BEING a woman — tells me she cannot say what a woman is because she’s not a biologist. When I come to, after my forehead hit the table, I say: I DOUBT IT. When a vicious, vacuous, voluminous vixen from The View claims that “Dr.” Jill is “an amazing doctor,” I DOUBT IT.

When the Alphabet People think that it’s going to work to rebrand pedophiles as “Minor-Attracted Perverts” (I may have part of that wrong), I say: I DOUBT IT. Imprisoned criminals — convicted murderers, carjackers and such — famously hate pedophiles and they usually live short lives in prison. Why? Because even gangstas and felons often have children on the outside whom they can no longer protect and they hate those who would assault a little six-year-old or even twelve-year-old girl OR boy. Those are CHILDREN, you evil creeps!

Will American parents fail to protect their children? Except for a handful of attention-seeking lunatics, I DOUBT IT. Elon Musk has eight children and has said that the people who enable or perform the permanent sterilizing mutilation of kids should be in prison.

THIS is definitely a “hill to die on.” Gay high schoolers able to take their boyfriends or girlfriends to The Prom? Fine with me. I think all Proms are a stupid waste of outrageous amounts of money, not to mention a dress you will never wear again. But if John can take Mary to the Prom, I see no reason why John can’t take Steve and Mary can’t take Meghan. With that expanded pool, it would have doubled my chances of having a date.

But illustrated nekkid people performing explicit sex acts in textbooks for 3rd graders? Not on my watch. Let them scour National Geographic, medical texts, or find their father’s stash of “For Men Only” magazines in the piano bench like WE had to. No, seriously, will graphic porn passing as “biology” and coercive gender propaganda inflicted on pre-schoolers or drag queens shakin’ their booty in toddlers’ faces for Story Hour fail to provoke a response from America’s legions of Normal Parents? I DOUBT IT. They are coming for your kids! In fact, they are already here. You know the horror movies where eventually, even the dimmest bulb realizes: “It’s coming from inside the house!!!”? Well, it is. WAKE UP and RESPOND!

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