“It got out of hand,” said Tom Smyth. Sure, like the shootout at the O. K. Corral. Fortunately, Mom and Dad don’t carry guns to school board meetings. The Earps and the Clantons settled their differences in a few ticks of the clocks; the problems at Oak Lawn and the rest of the nation remain unresolved. Smyth, superintendent for School District 122 (Oak Lawn, near Chicago) said the confrontation at Ridgeland was due to a misunderstanding over a request made by Elizabeth Zahdan, a Muslim mother of three, that Ramadan be celebrated alongside Christmas. She wasn’t asking for much—less than a dhimmi would ask for in Saudi Barbaria—didn’t want much. “We are American, too,” she said. “I want everyone to have equal rights.”

Equal rights! That’s what Lev Davidovich Bronstein said when he fled Russia! Albert Einstein left Nazi Germany for the same reason! Equal rights—something to fight for; something to die for!

Ms Zahdan said she never intended to do away with Halloween and Christmas. Doc Holliday thought he saw Billy Clanton go for his gun. Someone at Ridgeland thought he or she saw Ms Zahdan reach for a loaded Qur’an.

“This is a new generation,” exclaimed Ms Zahdan, “and we should educate our children about all holidays equally. I was disappointed that the board eliminated them. (They have been restored—sort of)  All we have to do is add one holiday to it. And not favor one holiday over another.” Tell that to John Travolta and the Wiccans. Maybe Ms Zahdan could put in a word for them. Does she know they are banned in Saudi Barbaria and Iran and most of the Middle East? Of course, she does; if she didn’t, she would be too ignorant to attend a school board meeting. Right?

It’s amazing how little Muslim women know about Islam and its dealings with other religions. Is Ms Zahdan aware that is it isn’t safe for a Christian to carry a Bible anywhere in Mohammed’s Twilight Zone? A Christian bookseller was shot to death last week in Gaza City. It wasn’t robbery—though there is enough of that in Gaza—he was guilty of selling what a Christian bookseller sells; he was selling religious tracts. It was just one more episode in the vicious Islamo-fascist plague that is turning what is left of the sane world into something resembling Darth Vader’s homeland. Just one more ghastly episode…In Cambodia, an enraged Muslim fundamentalist hacked the arm off a Buddhist fisherman—the result of an ongoing dispute…The Khalid Bin Al-Walid Mosque in Toronto, weighted in by telling its congregants to avoid Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and Earth Days. “How can we bring ourselves to congratulate or wish people well for disobeying Allah?” said the Imam. Three years ago this same mosque dispatched a newsletter that compared wishing someone a merry Christmas to congratulating someone for committing a murder! They have yet to condemn Mohammed Atta for anything…Muslims murdered ten Christians and burned several churches in the Tundu Wada area, of Kano State, Nigeria. It started as a routine beating of Christian schoolchildren “for being there.” Later, thinking they needed a better excuse, one particularly egregious lout, accused the children of drawing pictures of Mohammed. Yeah, that excuses murder. Not to favor one holiday over another or one religion over another—isn’t that what Ms Zahdan said?

Could this be the excuse? Qur’an 5:73 “They are surely disbelieving who blaspheme and say: ‘God is one of three in the Trinity, for there is no Ilah (God) except, One, Allah. If they desist not from saying this (blasphemy), verily a grievous penalty will befall them—the disbelievers will suffer a painful doom.’”

A grievous penalty and a painful doom—hence, Ms. Zahdan. It is against the law in Australia for a non-Muslim to use this quote from the Qur’an.

But never fear—the holidays have been saved through the graciousness of Ms Zahdan and Allah PBUH. A compromise was made; St. Nick didn’t get stuck in the chimney after all. “We should be able to celebrate our thing,” said Samantha Ramirez, a fifth grader at Columbus Manor School, “and they should be able to celebrate theirs.”

Don’t hang your stocking too close to the fireplace, Sam. Islam is a grim religion—they don’t do much celebrating. Their ‘thing’ is to observe the Qur’an. It may be Joy to the World for the Cunninghams and the Cleavers, but to a Muslim it’s scripture—like the following:

Qur’an 9:29 “Fight those who do not believe in Allah or the Last Day, who do not forbid that which has been forbidden by Allah and His Messenger or acknowledge the Religion of Truth (even if they) are People of the Book (Christians and Jews), until they pay the Jizya tribute tax in submission, feeling themselves subdued and brought low.”

Christians and Jews? Gosh, don’t most of the kids at Columbus Manor fit in there somewhere—and George W. Bush and Hillary Clinton? It would seem so. In case there is any doubt it would be best to further consult the Muslim book of scripture. What does it say? Ah, here we are.

Qur’an 5:17 “Verily they are disbelievers and infidels who say, ‘The Messiah, son of Mary, is God.” Infidels? Why that is even worse!

Sandy Robertson, principal at Columbus Manor said, “It’s difficult when you change the school’s culture.”

It certainly is! When the Nazis marched in and the pictures of Der Fuhrer went up in the classrooms, it scared the daylights out of Pastor Martin Niemoeller and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. They never recovered. Years later, with millions dead and Germany in ruins, Pastor Niemoller said, “First, they came for the Communists and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist.”

Islam isn’t after the Communists—it would be the one thing that might stir up the Democratic Party and the American Civil Liberties Union. But Pastor Niemoller’s point is well taken. Islam is not in America to be one of many religions; it is here to be the only religion. There is no compromise in Islam. There is no give. There is only take, take, take, take, until the giver has nothing left. For those about to be brought low there are three choices: Conversion, Slavery or Death.

Heaven forbid that some day Sandy Robertson should say, “When they came for Columbus Manor I didn’t speak up because Columbus Manor was only one little school; when they came for Oak Lawn I didn’t’ speak up because Oak Lawn was only one little school district…”

The battle of Ridgeland wasn’t a battle, it was a scout, a reconnaissance, a skirmish, one of many similar brushes taking place across America, a steady chipping away at the foundations of the only nation in the free world that has the capacity to grow politically, economically and spiritually and still resist the remorseless and unregenerate onslaught of Islam.

Those who will not fight for their freedom will lose it and be made slaves and they will have brought it on themselves.

Aside from whether or not it should be taught at all, what is the best age for a child to learn about gay marriage? Ten? Nine? Eight? How about seven?  Don’t be shy now. What do you think—is seven too young?

“I should say not! If Spanky and Alfalfa had been told about alternative lifestyles in the 2^nd grade they wouldn’t have wasted all those precious years on Darla. It was disgusting those little absurdities they lavished on her! They could have spent more time with Buckwheat and Butch, doing boy things—in a virile sort of way. Besides, gay marriage is legal in Massachusetts and they teach it in the schools. So there!”

Thank you, Sister Boom-Boom.

Yes, if Spanky and Alfalfa had had access to books like King and King when they were in the 2^nd grade things would have been different. Spanky’s dad would have had something to talk about besides pot roast when he came home from work. Oh, yeah!

King and King is a kid’s book. It’s 29 pages short. Written in Dutch by Linda De Haan and Stern Nijland, it was translated into English and published at Berkeley, California, by Tricycle Press.

You see, there was this young prince and it was time for him to get married. No, it wasn’t Prince Charles—he wasn’t a total dunce. He was a gentle, sensitive prince—in a virile sort of way.  But he had a problem—he couldn’t find a princess he liked and nobody bothered to tell him about the glass slipper method. So he looked and he looked and he looked.  Finally he said to his mother, “I’ve never cared much for princesses.” And then he saw Prince Lee, brother of Princess Madeleine. Oh, it was love at first sight! Cupid ran out of arrows. They got married and lived happily ever after. Except for mom—Gosh! She’s been writing letters to Dear Abbie and Hugh Hefner for how many years now?

This is not the kind of book Rooster Cogburn would have read to his nephews, but it was the kind of book a 2^nd grade teacher at Joseph Estabrook Elementary School in Lexington, MA, was anxious to read to her class. The pathos! The drama! The happy ending! Alfalfa cried until Darla kicked him in the ankle. Butch said he would never marry some dumb old man. The Wirthlin kid went home and told his parents and Robin Wirthlin was not pleased. “My son is only seven years old,” she said. “By presenting this kind of issue at such a young age, they’re trying to indoctrinate our children. They’re intentionally presenting this as a norm, and it’s not            a value that our family can support.”

Paul Ash, the school superintendent, defended the dramatic reading. “We couldn’t run a school system if every parent who feels some topic is objectionable to them for moral or religious reasons their child should be removed from the class,” he said. “Lexington is committed to teaching about the world they live in, and in Massachusetts same-sex marriage is legal.”

So is smoking and drinking and duck hunting but don’t expect Joe Camel or Spuds MacKenzie to show up any time soon at Joseph Estabrook for a feel-good session. As for Wayne LaPierre and the NRA—that cold dead hands talk is too frightening. It’s worse than talking about AIDS—first, second or third.

This all happened a year ago. Everybody had forgotten about Lexington and King and King—everybody but Allison King of New England Cable News. Last week during the Democratic Party Presidential debates, Ms King brought up the book and its message. “Would you be comfortable having this story read to your children as part of their school curriculum?” she asked. “I’m going to start with Senator Edwards.”

“Yes, absolutely,” said Edwards. That set the tone. “Second grade might be a little tough,” he admitted, “but even second grade (should) to be exposed to all.”

Kids, you have been drafted in the fight to legalize gay marriage! Fill your haversacks with three days cooked rations, draw sixty round of ammunition—because you are off to see the (GOP) Elephant!

By the time Edwards was finished he had promised to get rid of the Defense of Marriage Act, don’t ask-don’t tell, and back alley abortions. Barack Obama said, “I’m with Mr. E.” and Hillary said, “Tomorrow we’re going to vote on the hate crimes bill, and I’m sure that those of us in the Senate to be there to vote for it.” Darn it, if Edwards had mentioned the hate crimes bill he would have scored a hat trick!

The Joseph Estabrook dustup wasn’t the first time King and King had been in the news. Three years ago in Wilmington, NC, Michael and Tonya Hartsell were flabbergasted at what their daughter, a first grader at Rachel Freeman Elementary School, brought home from the library. It was King and King. “My child is not old enough to understand something like that,” said Michael, “especially when it’s not in our beliefs.” So they complained.

Well, fie on them! Did they not know that King and King had received honorable mention as ‘most unusual book of the year’ at the 2002 Publisher’s Weekly ‘Off the Cuff Awards?’ It was in all the newspapers! It was on TV! It was dragged across the sky on banners behind Piper Cubs! What kind of parents were they? John Edwards knew about it—didn’t he?

The school’s principal said, “What might be inappropriate for one family, in another family is a totally acceptable thing.”

Robert Knight is director of the Culture and Family Institute. He took a stronger stance. Whoever selected the book for the school’s library should be fired. A modus vivendi was soon reached: the book would still be available but only to parents and teachers. But life goes on; As Frankenstein begat Son of Frankenstein and Dracula begat Dracula’s Daughter, King and King has been in the begatting business and there is now a King and King and Family. Bertie and Lee adopted a daughter. No, it wasn’t Elsa Lancaster—it was the Princess Daisy. Well, imagine that! Things were hot for a time in Wilmington over King and King but they have cooled down over the last few years.

Say—isn’t John Edwards from North Carolina? Yes, he is. This might sound presumptuous—but has he read King and King and King and King and Family? Ah—no matter. But here’s a book he might try as an alternative. Rooster Cogburn loved it. Ms Marx might want to add it to the school library. It’s called Smith and Wesson. It’s one heck of a kid’s book.

You see there’s this Queen—Rhododendron, Rhoda for short. She hates war. She lives in fear of a vast right wing conspiracy. She is forever going to anti-war rallies. Her son, Prince Smith, likes to go to gun shows. He has a craving for Uzis and Glocks and drives a Hummer. For years the Queen has tried to break the Prince of his ‘unhealthy’ habits but with little success and now it is time for the Prince to get married. The list of eligible candidates includes Princess Jane of Fonda, Princess Jeanine of Garafalo and the Princess Babs of Streisand. Prince Smith would have preferred Princess Marjorie of Main who could shoot the eyes out of a turkey buzzard at sixty paces, but she was old and cranky and he was afraid that if he kissed her she would turn into a frog—or worse, into a toadstool. Oh, it wasn’t easy being a Prince in a Magic Kingdom and unless he came across a Sleeping Beauty very soon he would be forced to marry Princess Jane or Princess Jeanine or Princess Babs. Then one day while admiring the Uzis and Glocks at a gun show in East Babylon, he was smitten.

“Who is that ravishing creature?” he asked.

“Why that is Ann the Coulter of Wesson,” he was told, “slayer of myriads of left wing myrmidons.”

“She’s beautiful!” gushed the Prince. “I will make her my wife!”

Queen Rhoda was furious. “I will not have you marrying that Valkyrie!” she screamed. “I will disown you! I will adopt Prince Bertie! I will say you are an imposter! I will send you to Lord Chomsky to be reeducated! You will rue the day you laid eyes on that wench!”

Queen Rhoda was as good as her word. She locked Prince Smith in the Tower. He had nothing to do all day long but stare out the window and let his hair grow. And it grew and it grew and it grew—and then grew some more. It got quite long—long enough to reach the ground. But he never gave up hope, not even when his friend Kermit the Frog was thrown into the dungeon beneath the Tower and every Sleeping Beauty in the realm was rounded up and shipped to Saudi Barbaria. The days passed and the weeks passed and Prince Smith no longer knew what day or week or month it was. The Dixie Twit Minstrels sang silly songs about him; Michael the Dupe of Moore accused him of being an Uzi-slinger; Hezbollah sent him get-sick cards. It seemed he would spend the rest of his life in the Tower and when he heard that Kermit had passed on he became very melancholy. Then one day, Ann the Coulter of Wesson was passing through the Kingdom and Chester mistook her for the Marshal of Dillon and told her of the poor Prince locked in the Tower. Well, Anne the Coulter of Wesson went to the Tower anon—which is quicker than immediately—and the Prince let his hair down.

“What are you doing?” asked Ann the Coulter of Wesson. “Are you crazy?”

“Isn’t that the way Rapunzel did it?” asked the Prince.

Well, Ann the Coulter of Wesson had a better idea. She got an RPG, blew a hole in the castle wall, exiled Queen Rhododendron to Tora Bora and married the Prince. They became Smith and Wesson and lived happily ever after. And there is no goofy kissing scene on the last page. The King and Queen are seen enjoying an afternoon in the PRI circle at the rifle range. It’s a great kid’s book. It’s full of action; it’s full of pathos; it’s full of wisdom; and it’s full of advice on how to handle Queens named Rhododendron. One can bet this book isn’t available at Rachel Freeman Elementary School in Wilmington. It is said Wayne LaPierre cried when he read Smith and Wesson.

Maybe at the next debate someone can ask John Edwards what he thinks of Ann the Coulter of Smith and Wesson.

From Rosie O’Donnell to Michael Newdow; from Andres Serrano to Christopher Hitchens; from Sweden to San Francisco, the mindless attacks on Christianity continue unabated. No one is with sin in the 21^st Century’s post-libertarian world so every Tom, Dick and Harry is free to cast the first stone, the second stone, the third, as many as he wants until his arms wears out or he falls asleep.

The latest to attack the Christian dogs, and this can be taken literally, is Stig Ramsing. Stig is an artist, a sculptor. He lives in Sweden. Stig works hard. No sooner had he finished his latest masterpiece then he placed it in a roundabout in Skannes Fagerhult, Sweden. It was a dog—and not just an ordinary dog. This mutt had a crown of thorns on its head and somebody must have been mixing Viagra in its Kibbles and Bits for the size of its doghood would have caused Lassie to swoon. “I want religion to stop taking society and the vulnerable for idiots,” he said. “It is my turn to follow Lars Vilks and provoke a sensible discussion about religion.” (Lars Vilks drew a cartoon with the Prophet Mohammed’s head attached to the body of a rondellhund. As could have been expected, the devotees of the religion of peace have threatened Vilks and the editor of the newspaper that published the cartoon with death)

Granted, Christians may be taking society and the vulnerable for idiots, but militant Islam goes one better—it also takes them for fools and cowards. The blood of Cujo may flow in Ramsing’s sculpture but the blood of Charles XII is missing from Sweden’s body politic. Not much can be expected of Olaf in the war on terrorism. Vilks’ cartoon was an aberration; Ramsing’s dog is asking Islam for absolution.

But Sweden is not alone. Among those unwilling to contribute to Bush’s War on Islamic fascism is San Francisco’s Gay Community. They are so busy with their own tawdry little war against Christianity they can’t be bothered with the likes of Ahmadinejad and the Saudi Barbarians. Besides, everyone in San Francisco is at the Folsom Street Fair shopping for leather goods. Cowboys from the Texas Panhandle looking for a good deal in chaps to Midnight Cowboys from New Yawk just looking for a deal. From jackets and bustiers, from sex toys to breechclouts, you want, they’ve got it!

To promote the 2007 extravaganza, thirteen gays and lesbians posed as Jesus Christ and the Twelve Apostles. They got the number right but that was about it. Was it a sneer at Christianity? What else? These exercises in infantilism have been done to death—and with more with and humor. Da Vinci has nothing to worry about. This year’s version was more like A Last Stupor than A Last Supper. There wasn’t any food on the table—just dildos and vibrators. The diners would need something stronger than beer—the only libation available—to digest that crap, maybe a little of the-hair-of-the-dog that bit Larry Craig.

Perhaps they thought they were being cute. It wasn’t the poorest reproduction of The Last Supper in recent memory, but it was close. Still one does not want to be too critical, but which gay guy was Judas Iscariot? And where was the bag of silver? Was it hidden inside a sex toy? If they had had any pretensions at all to historical accuracy they could have tried to get at least of couple of the details right. The average viewer will find A Last Stupor just one more pathetic effort on the part of the gay community to stick their finger in Christ’s eye. No one will realize how much hatred it takes to produce this crap.

And another thing: couldn’t they have labeled the Apostles so Pat Robertson could recognize his favorite? Which one was James Major? Which one was James Minor? And where was Alfred E. Newman? They all looked so moronic—stud-like but moronic. Spanky and Alfalfa posed with the Gang for a Last Supper picture and did not draw a single sneer—not from Madalyn Murray O'Hair, not from Sister Boom-Boom. In fact, Ms O’Hair snuffled—had to use an atomizer. Couldn’t San Francisco’s Gay Community act more like adults and less like Spanky’s little brother? Remember the kid who couldn’t keep his pants from falling down? That was Spanky’s little brother!  How embarrassing!

All in all, one could come to the conclusion that the Gay Community was mocking Christ. Certainly, that is what Matt Barber, policy director for cultural issues for Concerned Women of America, thought. Barber called on California’s politicians to “publicly condemn this unprovoked attack against Christ and His followers.”

California politicians? That’s Nancy Pelosi; Barbara Lee; Pete Stark, Henry Waxman. Sure. Don’t call them, Matt; they will call you.

“We further challenge the media to cover this affront to Christianity with the same vigor as recent stories about cartoon depictions of Mohammed and other offenses to the Muslim community,” continued Barber.

Sure, the press could cover anti-Christian events more vigorously if they wished but, unfortunately, they employ more gays than Christians—not that there is anything wrong with that as Jerry Seinfeld would say. (It might be noted that the media refused to print the Mohammed cartoons, so they must be capable of some sensitivity—if not to the feelings of Muslims, at least to the threat of a fatwa.

Here’s a suggestion for next year. The Gay Community could contract with Stig Ramsing to do something in bronze for the Folsom Street Fair in lieu of that stupid Last Stupor. How about a French poodle, a schnauzer, a boxer, a Saint Bernard, 13 mutts in all shapes and sizes, all properly Viagra-sized so everyone would know it was a production of San Francisco’s Gay Community? They could hang a replica over Mayor Newsom’s desk. And Stig could take that Last Stupor monstrosity and put it in the roundabout at Skannes Fagerhult and wait for the local Mad Mullahs to take appropriate action—not that there would be anything wrong with that.

“There’s an unbelievable story here,” said Barber. “The Folsom Street Fair is reminiscent of biblical Sodom and Gomorrah, and the media should document what the city of San Francisco is allowing to occur—in public—in the name of ‘tolerance’”

Tolerance, ah, yes—some have it and some don’t. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad should have gone to Berkeley, not to Columbia. Gavin Newsom would never have insulted a fellow human being—not even Bill O’Reilly—the way Lee Bollinger insulted the aspiring little corporal. If Mahmoud had gone to San Francisco he would have been given the keys to the city! More than that—he would have been made Grand Marshall of the Folsom Street Fair! That’s how tolerant they are! He looks better in leather than Rosie O’Donnell. Well, maybe that’s an unwarranted assumption. But picture this: Mahmoud, surrounded by gays, passing out leather-bound copies of the Qur’an and then going for a wild ride with Dykes on Bikes! It staggers the imagination! Oh, what a time Mahmoud would have had in super tolerant San Francisco!

But there’s a mean streak in Mahmoud—he can be as nasty as sin! Suppose he should get his hands on the bomb and throw a nuclear-sized tantrum? He’s not anywhere near as sensible as Nikita Khrushchev. Who would protect San Francisco’s Gay Community from Muslims who go bump in the night—from al-Qaeda, from Islamic Jihad, from the seven or eight hundred millions Muslims who think more of Mahmoud and Osama than of Jesus Christ and Sister Boom-Boom? Who? Gavin Newsom? Nancy Pelosi? Pete Stark? Those rascals would toss the Gay Community to the sharks quicker than Neville Chamberlain tossed the Czechs to Herr Hitler. Liberals, Progressives, Democrats, Libertarians, Abrahamists—they will not protect gays from Omar Bakri Mohammed and Anjem Choudary, not from John Walker Lindh and Adam Yahiye Gadahn. Radical gays can trash Jesus Christ and the Christian faith, express contempt for those who practice Christianity—much of which is reciprocated—but when push comes to shove and Mohammed comes for the bad boys, the chances are the only people standing beside them will be the Christians—the other have nothing to die for and less to live for.

Aren’t kids cute? They say the darndest things. It’s too bad Art Linkletter has gone to be with God… Oops! Can’t say that—it might offend some of the kids. Let’s just say Art has passed on. Yeah, he has passed on. It’s too bad he couldn’t be around to record the nonsense going on at Boulder High. What’s that? He’s still alive? He’s 95-years old? Well, let’s get him down to Boulder with a camera crew! He will love this! It’s funnier than a five-year-old trying to explain rooster poop!

The kids are students at Boulder High School in Boulder, Colorado. Calvin and Hobbes don’t have anything on these Burt and Ernies. They know what they are and where they are going. It should be to a class on the American Revolution but they have their own little revolt going and can’t be bothered. These kids are long on Ward Churchill and short of Thomas Jefferson and that is understandable—Ward is a bigger hero in Boulder than the Sage of Monticello.

More than four-dozen Boulder students gathered in the school courtyard to recite their version of the pledge of allegiance. (No smiling and grinning, kids, this is serious stuff) “I pledge allegiance to the flag and my constitutional rights with which it comes,” they said. “And to the diversity, in which our nation stands, one nation, part of one planet, with liberty, freedom, choice and justice for all.”

Did you get any of that, Art—ah, Mr. Linkletter?

It’s a nice pledge—choice, liberty; freedom—but couldn’t they have been a bit more inclusive? Part of one planet…why not part of the universe? Sure, Martians are scary, but, heck, they put their pants on just like everybody else, one leg at a time—unless, maybe, they don’t have legs. That would be scary. And why antagonize Darth Vader? He’s out there somewhere and he should be just as welcome as Ahmad Ahmadinejad. It would please L. Ron Hubbard who, unlike Mr. Linkletter, has actually gone to be with God. Yes, they should changed the pledge to read ‘part of one universe.”

Not to be picky, but what happened to “the Republic for which it stands?” Are they afraid of Republics? They shouldn’t be. A Republic doesn’t have anything to do with the Republican Party. Russia was a Republic—a union of soviet socialist republics with Lenin and Stalin and Khrushchev.

Not to sound like Colombo, but there is another thing: If the flag comes with constitutional rights and the kids have pledged allegiance to the flag what will they do if someone deliberately burns the flag with malice aforethought or tramples it underfoot as happens frequently in Lebanon, Palestine, Pakistan, New York City and Berkeley? It doesn’t look like any of these kids come with the Sands of Iwo Jima stuck in their hair. If their constitutional rights come with the flag and they won’t defend the flag when it comes under attack what is one to think? This is almost as silly as the five-year-old who didn’t want any part of guerilla warfare because he was afraid of gorillas.

And one more thing—the dumbest part of the pledge: yes, Keith Olbermann, there is a dumbest part. It says, “And to the diversity, in which our nation stands.”

Diversity? The opiate of the racial left…the coward’s prophylactic? Come on, kids—who have you been reading? Mort Sahl? Noam Chomsky? Marcuse? Al Franken? Nations don’t stand on diversity! Diversity is what brings them down! Hasn’t anybody told you about the American Civil War—about the North and the South: the Yankees and the Rebels; the Blue and the Grey; about Freedom and Slavery? It was diversity that killed Abe Lincoln and Stonewall Jackson and Jeb Stuart and 600,000 others. Grant and Uncle Billy Sherman put the country back together by getting rid of diversity. There is strength in unity. Nations are built on what people have in common, not on what causes them to kill each other.

Had enough? If not, open the Wizard of Oz’s Book of Endless Foolishness to the Chapter on Native Americans. Let’s see what it says. Ah-hah! Look here! Wall-to-Wall Diversity! The Creeks, the Bannocks, the Hunkpapa Sioux, the Massasoit and the hundreds of other tribes were so wonderfully diverse they never had a chance against the invaders, the Pilgrims, the Cavaliers, the Calvinists, the Puritans and the other-minded, who were also diverse but not quite as wondrously diverse. Forget Ben Franklin for a moment. It takes what—a dozen, two-dozen, a thousand powwows to equal the political impact of a single Town Hall Meeting? No matter, the years passed; the Town Hall Meeting multiplied and the invaders became Americans, much less diverse than they had been, but much stronger economically and politically. There was amazing strength in unity. Yes, unity!

Shame on Jefferson and Washington and Adams—they destroyed diversity and created the United States! They created the Republic that so frightens the students at Boulder High they couldn’t bring themselves to mention it in their pledge. Don’t be afraid, kids, Hillary will be the next president of the United States and none of the girls will have to sneak through back alleys to get an abortion. And those people who picked on America’s most famous make-believe Indian, Ward Churchill—well, they will get what they deserve. They will have a choice—they can undergo extensive sensitivity training or they can try to get a spot on the O’Reilly Factor. How’s that for diversity?

But there’s a problem here, Mission Control!  How do all these diverse elements get along without killing each other? There are Communists and Capitalists; Crows and Sioux, Christians and Bill Maher; Jesse Jackson and David Duke and Desi and Lucy.

Back up there a minute. Desi and Lucy? Yes, Desi and Lucy. Remember when Desi and Lucy took up housekeeping and everybody said it would never work? It was bound to fail—they were so diverse? Better spell diverse d-i-v-o-r-c-e, they said. The same was said of Ralph and Alice Kramden. A bus driver half as smart as his frau —it would never work. And Archie and Edith? Stifle! Talk about diverse! Throw in a meathead and a pulchritudinous blonde and the Bunkers were Pickett’s charge at Gettysburg waiting to happen! The Reverend Felcher might as well have married a mongoose and a cobra. But the marriages worked! They worked because they were built on what the participants had in common. If they had stressed their differences—insisted on being as diverse as they could be—Barney Miller and Sheriff Andy would have been frequent uninvited guests.

Nations are like families—they are built on what its citizens have in common, not on their differences. Diversity is not a bad thing—making a fetish of it is. The Soviet Union tried to replace diversity with Communism; Mohammed replaced diversity with the Qur’an. The Soviet Union collapsed and no matter what John Esposito says there is no diversity in Islam

Desi and Lucy enjoyed their differences; it lent spice to their lives. Even Archie Bunker, the truth be known, did not hate diversity. He enjoyed an occasional walk on the wild side, though getting kissed on the cheek by Sammy Davis Jr. was a bit much.

The kids at Boulder High have a lot to learn and almost as much to forget. Diversity doesn’t feed the starving—it is the cause of starvation. It should be seen and enjoyed, not shouted from the rooftops and converted into a cult.

Those who would destroy America intend to do it through diversity. They have read The Prince. Divide and conquer! It’s an old game plan—Caesar used it. So did Porfirio Diaz—among others. The mantra is: Diversity in the morning, Diversity in the afternoon and Diversity in the evening. Diversity, Diversity, Diversity! Only through Diversity can the Radical Left protect minorities from Big Government. How? By creating an even bigger government under which everyone will have so much freedom no one will have any.

Curiosity killed the cat—diversity will kill a nation.

Did you get this, Art—ah, Mr. Linkletter?