![I'm banned from posting in "Kikes" for some reason, so I guess I'll just post this here [742x1024 - 164KB]](https://pic8.co/sh/AbUDoO.jpg){kind=link}
Those are the stories and memories you should cherish and share. They are what makes us who we are, and they are what makes us strive to be great.
We dont have role models like that anymore. Kids today look up to trans makeup artists and shitty rappers.
Your grandfather had to be the manliest man because he was picked on and hated for being native. That adversity drove him to be better than everyone else to prove them wrong. That determination, that spite, that's what makes men men. Hard times make strong men.
It is a good idea to try and love and accept everyone and get along and help everybody and all the goodness gracious hippie Dippin crap. It really is. But it makes soft people. And those soft people create really bad times.
The bad times are coming. Thank your grandfather for teaching you how to survive em.
Man, I do. I do all the time.
I am just becoming aware of that fact. I want to be as much like him as I can be. But he didn't drink. And I drink. A lot. But how can I not in the face of total obliteration like this? I know. That is weak foolishness and I must strive to be better in all ways. I must remember how he lived and continue to try to emulate that.
I should write a post about him. An honest one, with personal feelings. But I HATE talking about personal feelings. Except for when I am here, drunk on the boat. So I guess perhaps I'll have to do it here. We'll see.
Great men deserve to have stories told about them. They deserve songs. I used to write songs. I should do that again, if I am still able.
Write a song about your grandpa.
YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!
But yeah. I must.
It's funny. Pondering his memory as I am now, getting back on topic... if I brought up "kikes", i am sure he would have pretty much just wisely nodded, and changed the subject to something mechanical that he knew I was interested in. Which was just anything mechanical he knew about that he would share with me... which was honestly anything mechanical he knew about. Or probably literally anything he would explain to me. You know young minds, desperate for input. I mean, you probably had a young mind too, at some point. And an awesome dude to look up to.
Mortals need their gods. It is important.
I almost feel like I need to let go of my hate for a time to write about him. Something tells me he'd find this hatred a contemptible weakness.
I guess it's just the permeating feeling of weekness in all things right now; the total humiliating defeat of goodness, of wholesomeness, of love itself.
I'm sure I'm not the only one feeling like this, but that knowledge brings little comfort, after all, we all die alone.
Well look at this drivel. I guess I can still write, at any rate. I guess that is something.
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