First Kiss
Standing outside an Episcopal church in Middletown, RI this October I was approached by a TDS addled Senator (D-RI) who said, "I didn't expect to see you here." It's probably true, I don't live in Rhode Island and I haven't summered there for well over a decade but I did make the 8 hour drive up I-95 to attend a memorial service for our old friend who had passed away in the summer after a long illness. She died in Scotland, which is a place she loved, and was buried there but her American friends insisted on gathering to celebrate her life and spirt on Yankee soil. I responded to the Senator, "I wouldn't miss this, she was a very important person in my life" which was the truth and he grunted an affirmation then pressed on to glad-hand his constituents. The recently deceased was best friend to his wife so maybe he had heard second hand stories or idle gossip about my past associations and intertwining history with the lady being eulogized this crisp New England day or maybe it was just the way I said it but in his assent there was an acknowledgement of my debt to this woman.
In the church I greeted old friends and sat down beside a beautiful young woman I had known since she was a child being the daughter of another great friend of the deceased who herself died tragically several years ago. Our chat was delightful, catching up before the service I learned about her newlywed lifestyle, her cousin's infant baby and how her uncle and my ex-wife love babysitting the newborn. The officiant was a preacher woman who recited some ecclesiastical boilerplate giving me the impression that she never spent much time with the lass she was tasked with memorializing but thankfully the four sons saved the day by each one giving outstanding memoirs of their loving mother. She had boy after boy after boy after boy and I think those years of young motherhood were the happiest and most fulfilling time of her life. It felt good to see these boys all grown, accomplished, self-possessed with an obvious love and admiration for their mom.
At the reception after the service I thanked the oldest son for his kind and heartfelt words and we recounted old times, his mom and dad meeting at Brown University, their post graduate San Francisco courtship (I happened to be living on Telegraph Hill at that time), their wedding at the Brown Chappell in Providence (I was there for that too), his birth and that of his brothers corresponding with the birth of my daughters, parties at his grandparents house with ponies and clown magicians and carnival games. Real 1%er anecdotes about characters sharing a bloodline that is a direct decent from Nicholas Brown Jr. who founded Brown University.
We discussed her earthy, boho sensibilities that first emerged after being immersed in Brown's particular version of Ivy League shitlib indoctrination which, in my opinion, is the most pernicious and intractable of all those schools. She was the first person I heard use the phrase "politically correct" (circa 1981) as an actual thing. However, she didn't abandon or renounce her childhood friendships with society girls, even the non-PC ones, who would grow up to wear Chanel and worried about, well, everything in their cloistered and manicured world. She maintained those friendships from that amazing childhood were her mother dressed her like a living doll and instilled old money manners and sensibilities in her quick and cleaver mind. Oh how the old matrons of Newport fawned over that girl who was so beautiful, polite and composed who at ten years old could sit at a luncheon of grandmothers gathered at the beach club and carry her weight in charming conversation. And her precariousness got turned up to 11 during her teenage years when she started making the rounds in NYC and Europe. These were the early years, the years before she had met this young man's father and before she had birthed the human I was describing her to. He would never know this girl, but I did.
When we were children I would see her at the beach or on the tennis court or at a garden party always perfectly turned out with long brown hair and bangs framing her perfectly beautiful face. A radiant little soul with great promise and a cosmic gravitational pull on all the other children who circled her at extravagant birthday parties and cook-outs on the rocky shores of the island paradise we inhabited. She was one year my senior but in the boy/girl dynamic of pre-teen relations she couldn't have been more remote if she lived on Venus. When she took my hand and lead me down to the beach one August night in my 14th year I went along exhilarated and completely oblivious as to what we were doing. A young teenage boy is defenseless against the diabolical strategies born of female curiosity so flummoxed as the first man I sat on the sand and followed natures call.
That first kiss set a mighty frame in my mind about who I was and what was possible in a world without limits. The most popular princess in New England sets a high bar but I cleared it motherfuckers and hate on me with everything you've got but no one can ever take that night away from me. I racked up a big W right out the gate and while I've suffered some tough L's going around the track of love she bestowed an unshakeable confidence and otherworldly rizz upon my soul which didn't exist before and I still carry with me. I'm glad I knew her then when she was young, beautiful and pure before this wicked world dragged her to the grave.
"Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows’ bent; none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven.” - The Bard
A Brown Shooter
When they were newlyweds and having the string of lads I've described above they lived in Providence but like so many politically correct urbanites they came to the realization that they couldn't subject their children to the city their ideology created so they moved to farm on Jamestown Island. This place was a paradise with lots of room for the boys to run, animals in the fields, a private cove in Narragansett Bay and a gigantic country kitchen where she cooked amazing meals and recited poetry. There are communities like this all over America now filed with white hipsters who can't stand living in the melting pot consisting of peppery ingredients like non-integrated blacks, Mexican cartel members and Islamic supremacists. These small town "communities" are high net worth super zip codes sprinkled around metro centers usually an hour's drive from the urban blight that is supposed to be a multicultural paradise - but isn't.
I'm glad my old friend passed to the great beyond before the inexplicable mass shooting at her beloved Alma matter took place earlier this month because the circumstances of the assassination by Portuguese academic Claudio Neves Valente would've shocked her sensibilities. The details, such as they are, explaining the circumstances of this crime are stitched together in an article that I wrote for Americans Direct Network News earlier this month titled "Americans Reject Implausible Brown Shooting Suspect Suicide Narrative". My dismay over how a young Christian conservative Alabama girl and an Uzbek visa lottery "winner" from the Asian step where studying together at an Ivy Legue dream school with a 5% acceptance rate sours me on the whole story. And let me say unreservedly that the Mayor of Providence, police chief, Brown U leadership, security and administrators were the worst collection of misfits in high office I've ever seen in my life. The press conferences these weak, incompetent and unintelligible idiots presented was the true face of the modern day diversity is our strength propaganda and a living demonstration of why the MAGA movement was born. It is sick and disgusting that citizens who pay hefty Blue State taxes are forced to live under the authority of corrupt degenerates and scoundrels who steal fake elections and advance in noble institutions hollowed out with rot. 50 Years of Failure in yo face, bitch, and America muddles on until..
MIT Professor Nuno Loureiro was murdered at his home on Gibbs Street in Brookline, Massachusetts. An expert in nuclear fusion was shot in his doorway by the same Portuguese immigrant, so it is claimed by the aforementioned authorities, in the unincorporated exclave of Brookline. My old stomping grounds of misspent youth, this leafy jewel of a town is carved out from the very heart of a greater metropolis - the location of this shooting was 5 miles from Bostons City Hall and 3 miles from Harvard Square. It is a place where shootings don't happen and, in fact, there was only one shooting in all of Brookline in 2025 and that was of the unfortunate scientist attempting to bring clean, limitless, no cost energy to humanity. The sad and senseless world we live in presented itself to me decades ago in this neighborhood and the cruel act of violence, still not properly explained in my view, drowned me in memories of my long ago self like ocean waves rolling onto the sand.
What I learned is described by William James in his classic set of lectures bound in a book titled "The Varieties Of Religious Experience" and it is, in it's simplest form, as follows:
- The uneasiness (of existence), reduced to its simplest terms, is a sense that there is something wrong about us as we naturally stand.
- The solution is a sense that we are saved from the wrongness by making proper connection with the higher powers.
With my mind bending toward the divine news of another Brookline native and Ivy League alumni named Conan O'Brien who transplanted to LA came trickling along my Xitter feed because he had thrown an X-mas party at his multimillion dollar mansion overlooking the burned out neighborhoods of Pacific Palisades (sort of a SoCal version of Brookline) and Rob Reiner's son had spoiled the party by being rude.
All Hail Saint Nick
The conscious mind allows itself to be trained like a parrot, but the unconscious does not — which is why St. Augustine thanked God for not making him responsible for his dreams.
- Carl Jung
Nick Reiner, the son of the famous actor/writer/director/producer Rob Reiner, and grandson of the even more revered Carl Reiner was assessing the crowd at Conan's place eating, drinking and merrymaking on top of a hill overlooking a chard wasteland of incinerated homes signifying a west coast version of municipal maleficence every bit as damning as a Providence press conference. It's just speculation but my guess is that the setting of this holiday party and the attitudes of the celebrities in attendance were a catalyst for the brutal double homicide in Brentwood the following morning. There's something about partying with these Hollywood people, their surface mirage, their conniving envy, their pompous assurance that they are the good people and deserve their mansion just makes you want to kill them with a knife.
As long time readers of the KOTCB already know, but it's worth repeating now, Rob Reiner had a lifetime pass of ever having the Clown Bell ring for him due to his creation of the film "Spinal Tap" in 1984 which is an example of Red Pilled, QAnon, based filmmaking which shall never be surpassed. I'm happy to say that post-death this pass will be extended for eternity. It just so happens that I worked with Rob Reiner on a film in the late 80s when his second wife Michele Singer Reiner and her crazy obsessive liberalism started infecting his mind. It must be sad that his wife really spelled the demise of his filmmaking talents and her nefarious influence might well have cost him his life. Don't be surprised if the final autopsy shows that Michele was killed before Rob and received more stab wounds from her son's hand.
Nick Reiner was a drug addict in a family of atheists, Carl and Rob were unabashed in their rejection of the divine spirit, and this environment will inevitably have a negative effect on anyone attempting to maintain long-term sobriety. it is little wonder to me that Nick had repeated bouts of "failure" to stay clean because if an addict rejects the divine spark or the spiritual component necessary for recovery it makes maintaining continuous sobriety impossible. Rob Reiner made a movie with Nick titled "Being Charlie" that proves my point - not that they meant to, but they did - because it shows the disdain the family had for a God centered recovery program.
The struggles that Rob and Michele Reiner had with Nick reminds me of the parents I've seen over the years that enabled their child to continue to use drugs because they simply can't wrap their head around the idea that the user is totally powerless over their addiction. I don't blame them because it's incredibly difficult for a drug user who suffers from the condition to come to this realization. The parent of a suffering drug user or alcoholic who will not accept powerlessness can only watch and plead and cajoled and fight and wrestle and pay for therapies and drugs and hospital stays and rehab centers because they won't pray to God.
The rumor going around is that Rob used to kiss his children on the mouth as a form of greeting and though this rumor is in dispute I believe it. It's the kind of thing you see these transgressive people do as a performative greeting which flouts convention and invades personal space as an act of dominance. I can't help but wonder what my life would've been like had my first kiss been with some overbearing bearded Jew instead of the New England princess that set me on my way. I think I would have harbored deep resentment and anger for humanity instead of the abundance of love and joy she painted on my heart.
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