Bear Mountain Dispatch: The Rainbow Trout, the Bear, and the Madness of Critical Race Theory
There’s a rare serenity in waking up on Bear Mountain, where the fog hangs just long enough to soften the rugged peaks of the Northern Alps before the sun cracks through, casting gold across the valley. Today was one of those mornings—perfect for fishing. So I grabbed my rod, strapped on my boots, and trekked down to Bear Ravine, where the river runs clear, and the trout are fat, wild, and free—just like me.
I found my usual spot beneath the alder trees, their shadows dappling the water’s surface. The river hummed its timeless tune as I cast my line. Across the bank, a grizzly lumbered through the brush, as indifferent to me as I was to him. The bear and I, two souls untouched by the lunacy infecting the world. Out here, where the air still smells like pine and freedom, you get a glimpse of what the world once was—pure and uncorrupted by the self-destructive stupidity of modern society.
The tug came—swift and familiar. A rainbow trout hit the line, darting beneath the surface in a shimmering dance of survival. As I reeled it in, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. I landed it, admired its iridescent scales flashing in the sunlight, and set it free. Meanwhile, the bear, too busy munching berries, gave zero shits about me or my morning victory. Out here, everything’s as it should be.
Compare that to the clown show back in America and the West. As I climbed into my old ‘84 Dodge Ram—taking care not to flood the engine on the first crank while gently feathering the accelerator peddle—I turned on the radio and tuned into Alex Jones. Just as I hit the gravel road leading to the ranch, some caller was ranting about Critical Race Theory. That’s when it hit me: the chasm. Here I am, in a truck older than these wokelings, while their precious little heads are being filled with an intellectual septic tank called CRT.
Critical Race Theory. It’s a joke wrapped in a con, draped in pseudo-intellectualism, and topped off with a participation trophy. Cooked up by ivory tower parasites who've never worked a real job or done anything meaningful in their lives. It’s a wet dream for those who’ve never swung an axe or bled for their country. The West has lost its damn mind, sinking into a swamp of ideological absurdity while grizzlies up here in the mountains make more sense than any of those mouthpieces for cultural suicide.
And as America, the Commonwealth, and Europe crumble under the weight of their own self-imposed idiocy, I sit here on Bear Mountain, sipping black coffee from a steel flask, watching the world burn. Life up here is simple, grounded, and fiercely free—everything the West used to be before it was gutted by political correctness and Marxist madness.
Critical Race Theory. A "theory" so fragile it collapses under the weight of a toddler’s question. It’s become a sacred cow, a religious idol worshipped by the woke. Question it, and you’re labeled a "racist." In today’s linguistic gymnastics, that’s code for “you think for yourself.” CRT is the new God, the untouchable idol of a generation that lost faith in everything real and replaced it with the empty promises of Wokeism.
Meanwhile, the West is rotting from the head—Washington, London, Sydney, Toronto, Brussels—they’re all drunk on the same decaying Kool-Aid. And who’s really pulling the strings behind this global marionette show of idiocy? The usual suspects: WEF, WHO, UN, Banksters, Big Pharma, corporate whores, political degenerates, and useful idiots wearing rainbow blindfolds. Dig deep enough, and you’ll find the truth: China. China’s rise has the elites rattled. They know their time is up. They’re desperately clinging to the illusion of Western supremacy as it unravels before their eyes.
But you can’t bully China like you bullied Nicaragua. This isn’t 1982. The West can’t drone-strike its way out of this one, and no amount of gender-neutral bathrooms will save the day. So, they double down. Deny. Distract. Feed the masses the opiates of gender fluidity, climate hysteria, and neoliberal fantasies dressed up as progressive capitalism.
The West’s house of cards is collapsing, and they’re busy handing out rainbow-colored life jackets. The dirty little secret that no one wants to admit is this: capitalism based on infinite growth on a finite planet is suicide by slow suffocation. The elites know this. That’s why they’re hoarding wealth, buying bunkers, and planning their exits while the rest of us get left behind.
The media? Their job is to tell you everything’s fine. Keep consuming. Keep buying. Keep distracting yourself with the latest gadget while the planet burns, and the gap between the haves and the have-nots widens to an unbridgeable chasm. Soon enough, the Greenpeace kiddies will grow into full-blown terrorists, pissed off that their future got sold out to the highest bidder.
Wokeness is the final dagger between the ribs of Western civilization. It’s Neo-Marxism in drag, designed to gut everything that made the West strong—faith, family, masculinity, and honor. The elites don’t give a damn about the “oppressed”; they care about power, control, and keeping their yachts afloat while the rest of us drown.
Meanwhile, China is playing the long game. While the West is too busy canceling comedians and handing out participation trophies, Beijing is laying the groundwork for global domination. The pieces are moving, and the West is too busy arguing over gender pronouns to notice.
Here’s the hard truth, folks: you get the government you deserve. The West? It’s done. Stick a fork in it. It’s not a beacon of freedom or strength anymore; it’s a wheezing, senile old man muttering about equity while outsourcing its soul to China.
Out here on Bear Mountain, we’re ready. The ranch is fortified, stocked, and armed. We’ve got deer, trout, cattle, whiskey, and enough firepower to hold the line. No soy lattes, no rainbow flags, and certainly no CRT. Just mountains, rivers, and the quiet hum of freedom.
As I sit under this old chestnut tree, jotting down these thoughts, I feel nothing but gratitude. I got out. I escaped the asylum before the final collapse. The rest of the world can spiral into chaos—I’ll be here, splitting firewood, watching the sunset over the Alps, shredding chest-deep powder snow, rolling coal in my V8 diesel pickup truck, and living like a man should.
So here’s my parting gift: next time some soy-sipping, pronoun-preaching emasculated latent homosexual idiot starts talking about "diversity" and "equity," remember this—Wokeness is the final act of a civilization that forgot what made it great. It’s over.
And on Bear Mountain, we’re ready to break out the deckchairs, party hats, and popcorn and watch it all burn from a safe distance.
Stay Hard!
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