Since WWII, the basic rule has been that it takes twenty years to make that which is past new again. In the 70s, the upsurge in nostalgia for the 50s resulted in a plethora of pop hits featuring irritating ‘shooby doo-wah a-bop-bo-bop’-type instrumental refrains. In the 80s, middle-aged baby boomers began assuring each other in group therapy sessions that their lying stoned in the mud of Woodstock indeed ushered in both the Age of Aquarius and a bullish stock market. In the 90s, many young people twisted their ankles attempting to walk in bell bottoms and platform shoes. And in the 2000s, a newly empowered internet discovered the memeability of such 80s advertising icons as Spuds MacKenzie and the Moon Man and proceeded to thoroughly endanken them.
Hence, with the 2010s getting a little bit of gray in their beard by now, little wonder that the decade du jour is now the 90s. As with all the previous forays into retro wistfulness, Millennials and Gen Zs tend to impart a rosy haze unto those years – appropriate given the era’s continuing obsession with unnaturally garish 80s neon. What wasn’t there to love? There seemed to be an actual economy in place then, tenure from most jobs lasted longer than a week, immigration levels were not yet at critical mass, and – of course, this goes without saying – the movies, TV, and music of the time have all been reputed ‘great’ because they’re no longer getting the airplay they once did, and absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Well, seeing as how the 90s is the first decade I can clearly remember from its beginning to its ignoble end, let me assure you that such was not the case. At all. In general, it was a mediocre decade that saw the advent of some serious debauchery that would fester into the anarcho-personal autonomy nightmare we all live under today. To use some of the decade’s vernacular expressions, it was not dope, chill, wack, or beanie baby. Let us review ten of the defining characteristics of these years which were redolent of an unsavory odor not unlike teen spirit.
- It Was a Transitional Decade
Of course, the 90s are best known for ushering in the beginning of the post-Cold War era, and it was ushered in in spectacular fashion. Beginning with the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the West was subjected to a seemingly never-ending panoply of radical geopolitical engineering over the course of two years: the various ‘velvet’ revolutions toppling the regimes of Eastern Europe, the reunification of the two Germanys, the 1991 dissolution of the Soviet Union and Russia’s subsequent fall into oligopolistic (((gangsterism))) under the bleary-eyed rule of jolly souse Boris Yeltsin, the fracturing of Czechoslovakia in early 1992. The zeitgeist, understandably, let out a collective ‘wha happen???!!!’ How could they be expected to adapt to such a transmogrification of the world they had known from childhood, particularly when most of them were still struggling to learn how to program the era’s VCRs? That a major reconfiguration not in our favor was underway was drilled home demonstratively on September 11, 1991, when George H.W. Bush introduced the mellifluous-sounding term ‘New World Order‘ to this selfsame benumbed populace. Shock and awe, made famous as his son’s official foreign policy a decade later, was thus being used for the purpose of mental conditioning. Further adding to this paradigm shift was the first serious recession to hit America in a decade and the termination of a decade and a half of Republican presidential rule with Bill Clinton in 1992 – the first-ever baby boomer president, besides. All, I must reiterate, occurring within the space of three years.
So yes, in the wake of a suddenly-unfettered Murikan empire free to run amok on the world stage, it would appear that a bad moon was a-risin’. But hey – all it took was one property tax increase to trigger Shays’ Rebellion. Could something similar have taken place in this point in time? Especially given that this was the heyday of Generation X, long recognized as being the most embittered and cynical of all the twentieth-century generations? Nope. For another prominent feature of the 90s quickly became apparent…
- It Was a Frivolous Decade
In 1989, Francis Fukuyama wrote his infamous essay ‘The End of History‘, in which he celebrated (in his own words) ‘the end point of mankind’s ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government.’ This inscrutable Oriental not only thereby influenced official Bush and Clinton governing principles for the next twenty-five years, but also the populace at large. With no more manufactured Soviet threat to worry about, and the manufactured Afghan/Iraqi threat wrought by 9/11 still far in the future, our people felt free to partake in a saturnalia of the most puerile crap imaginable. Tabloidism dominated the news cycle to a degree even today inconceivable. Name your poison, mister! Want your eyes to glaze over the unseemly soap opera that is Joey Buttafuoco (heeheehee! What a pervy name!!) coaxing his jailbait girlfriend Amy Fisher into shooting his wife? Or maybe you’d prefer following the trailer trash antics of figure skater Tonya Harding as she attempted to maim her competitor Nancy Kerrigan in the midst of the Lillehammer winter Olympics? If you giggle uncontrollably every time Anthony Weiner’s name is mentioned, doubtless you would have been enthralled with the saga of Loreena Bobbitt‘s cutting her husband’s penis off. And of course, you simply weren’t one of the cool kids if you didn’t engorge yourself on the full coverage of a little car chase that would mutate into one of the pivotal milestones of black history. (More on that later.) As the decade progressed, this morbid voyeurism only worsened. No one could get enough of the increasing proofs that Michael Jackson wasn’t quite the spunky virginal negro of Thriller, of the gory details of Princess Diana’s fatal car crash and the hypocritically treacly muzak-al tributes that followed in its wake, and especially of the amorous adventures of the commander-in-heat Bill Clinton. Beginning with relatively low-level conquests from Arkansas like Paula Jones and Gennifer Flowers, his libido continued unabated until, in 1998, we were bombarded with 24/7 coverage of his tryst with Judeo-intern Monica Lewinsky – bodily secretions on blue dresses, ‘is is what I says it is, isn’t it?’, and so forth – climaxing (oops) in a House-only impeachment that amounted to little more than an official reprimand. Such were the divers amusements to be partaken of in that bygone age. Precious few were those who thought to ‘seek good, and not evil, that ye may live: and so the LORD, the God of hosts, shall be with you, as ye have spoken.’ (Amos 5:14) It is only fitting, then, that the tee vee program that was most representative of the decade was Seinfeld, that Dadaist tribute to utter vapidity featuring shrill Jews and their obsessive-compulsive attitudes towards processed meat, pencils, the compressed air in potato chip bags, PG-rated scatology, and the like. Almost as insubstantial was the runner-up representative show Friends, which became a ‘cultural icon’ despite no one but teenage bubbleheads giving two bits about whether Chandler would ultimately wind up with Phoebe, or Joey with Ross, or whether the entire lot of them would face a Guatemalan firing squad, or whatever.
And given this societal mania for vain babblings from a variety of fetid springs, it should come as no surprise that it fostered an environment rife for the 90s’ most notorious creation…
- The Rise of Political Correctness
It all started out so innocently – what possible harm could there be in moderating some of the harsh terminology of yesteryear, that a generation reared without the faintest conception of living by the rifle and the plow might not be unduly offended? The entire crusade was treated as a benign joke – even the likes of the New York Times gently chuckled at the dead being referred to as ‘terminally inconvenienced’, for example. With the dawn of Columbus’s 500th anniversary of claiming the Americas for Christian Europe, however, the true menace of P.C. rapidly made itself felt, like a grinning Rastafarian slowly unsheathing his machete. As it turned out, it truly was the Marxist mind-conditioning method of subversion, beginning with mere semantics and finishing with an utter repudiation of kirk, kith, and kin, that the right of the era was claiming it to be. Focusing upon that discipline which doctrinaire avant-garde Bolsheviks dishonestly averred to be the most malleable and thus least relevant – history – the P.C. Patrol managed to reform our past into a satanic sociology of imagined grievances in a shockingly short period of time. What mattered it if a given topic – slavery, colonization, integration, the Holocaust™, etc. – was presented in historically inaccurate fashion, so long as it was historically acceptable? The 90s was also the decade where shameless emotionalism began to come to the fore as the societal determinant – witness Slick Willy’s catchphrase ‘I feel your pain‘ – and the efficacy of ‘muh feelz’ as a tool of coercion via guilt was rapidly appreciated. What started out in the 90s as an insistence on including noble and brilliant black characters in movies about Robin Hood directly led to Army manuals prohibiting criticism of pedophilia on grounds of possible offence to Muslims and the transgender insanity that seeks to make all existence a mere quirk of a psychotic individual’s whim. And if you dare to complain, you are merely a bigot ‘who still wants to say Paki, spastic, or queer’, in the matronly words of Polly Toynbee.
Two uniquely 90s strains of P.C. dominated the decade. The first of these was…
- Black Politics of License
Of this first strain, two black-themed events stood out above all others. The first was the 1991 takedown of black cabbie Rodney King by Los Angeles cops after a suspected DUI. It was given especial notoriety as it was the first noteworthy news event caught on personal camcorder. Later revelations regarding King’s subsequent rap sheet make it plain that he was entirely the type who would offer stupidly belligerent resistance towards a passel of white policemen on chronic edge, but at the time that hardly mattered. The City of Angels erupted in Hammite riot, providing an excellent excuse to loot the numerous Asian-owned small businesses of the poorer sections of downtown and providing a framework for future black uproars over such paradigm-shattering events as the Lakers winning an NBA championship. A term that had enjoyed wide coverage in western Maoist circles in the 60s began to penetrate the minds of cable subscribers: ‘institutional’ or ‘systemic’ racism, applied to the Los Angeles Police Department under the headship of chief Darryl Gates. Commentators hemmed and hawed over the meaning of it all and what ‘changes’ were necessary to placate the likes of Jesse Jackson, necessitating their downplay of the senseless beating of white truck driver Reginald Denny during the melee – which incident nonetheless became the second major news item to be captured via camcorder.
The seedbed was thus prepared for the magnum opus of black liberation metanarrative – the mid-decade murder trial of O.J. Simpson. Remember how your football coach always used to try to tell you that the game was a microcosm of American society? Well, here was a televised regalia that showed the modern Murikan mosaic in all its variegated glory. Our protagonist: one of the most renowned figures in all of pro sports, whose poster was an integral part of any white teenager’s bedroom in the 1970s. His primary antagonists: the Jewish family of his late common-law wife’s equally slain boyfriend, who squandered all the initial empathy directed their way with increasingly grubby attempts to purloin all the Simpson gelt for their own material gain – all in the name of “justice”, of course. And the supporting cast! Cagey Jewish lawyers for both the prosecution and defense, garnering outlandish fees and guaranteed years of publicity afterwards, and coming off the actual victors in the case. Token black defence lawyer Johnnie Cochrane winning the sound bite war night after night with his hip-hop legal aphorisms. White bozos like Kato Kaelin, around primarily for comedy relief and reminding the native stock yet again their country had been taken out of their hands in perpetuity. And finally, to ensure no ethnicity was left out of this Hieronymus Bosch fresco, the presiding judge was Japanese. Throw in a few theatrical struggles with gloves and an ultimate verdict of ‘not guilty’ that resulted in even more riots, and truly this was the ‘trial of the century’ – as in a trial of fire sent by God upon a credulous populace that said populace utterly failed. The magic continued in a follow-up civil suit that O.J lost, but the message had been inscribed upon stone: those enriched with melanin were granted free rein to carry out their anarchistic peccadilloes, that Whitey might be discombobulated and accept the burdensome yoke willingly. I have been well assured blacks have taken full advantage of this most affirmative of actions gleefully.
And speaking of restraint, this brings us to the second primary P.C. strain…
- We’re Here, We’re Queer, You Damn Well Better Cheer
Did the AIDS plague of the 80s perchance quell the unseemly lusts that drove sodomites forward with the dynamism of pure nitroglycerine fired out of a howitzer? Not bloody likely. As death is their Asherah, it only compelled their drive for ‘acceptance’ forward with all the more frenzy. In this, they were helped out immeasurably by our old pal Bill Clinton, who augmented his status as the first baby boomer president with his being the first president to embrace the homosexual agenda with full vigor. It wasn’t enough that he was married to a lesbian. No, he gained the adulation of those who insist on sticking square pegs into round holes by making the tacitly understood ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy regarding sodomites in the military official in 1994. Though widely disparaged today as a stifling diktat that grudgingly tolerated perversion within the ranks rather than wholeheartedly embracing them, at the time it was heralded as a broadminded landmark that codified the deviance inherent in all imperial armies into ape law. Clinton was thereupon forever known as the executive who threw the closet door wide open, and not even his appallingly hypocritical Defence of Marriage Act of 1996 was enough to diffuse the sickly radiance of the prism homos view him through today.
With sanction from the Emperor thus obtained, and helped in no small part by the critical acclaim and box-office success of the saccharine AIDS dirge Philadelphia (incredible, isn’t it, how often Hollywood productions and governmental regulation go hand in hand?), Philippians 4:8 was thrown to the wind and the Great Gay Parade was up, up and away. Every burnt-out singer whose career was on the skids came out as a Uranian, from k.d. lang to Melissa Etheridge. Ellen Degenerate saved her own stupid sitcom from cancellation, and catapulted herself into the A-list stratosphere, by doing likewise during her show’s season finale – the first recurring character in a major tee vee program to do so, and setting the stage for tee vee’s first explicitly homo-themed program Will & Grace a few years later. Hollywormwood responded in kind by bombarding us with flamboyant fagcoms like The Birdcage and In & Out. And when the yeomanry, who were not yet attuned to this constant bombardment of uncleanliness and were understandably more than a mite hostile, responded with a resistant ‘Hoorah!’ over the 1998 killing of aggressive LGBT activist Matthew Shepard in still-politically incorrect Wyoming, a tailor-made martyr was born to carry the banner ever forward into the future. From then on, if sodomites are consigned to burn in their own concupiscence forevermore, we too must ‘feel their pain’ and suffer in faux-solidarity alongside them.
Of course, while the siren song of grievance was bayed the most often by blacks and sodomites in the 90s, the shrill lamentations of Jewry continued unabated at the same time. They were given an outstanding platform to do so, though, thanks to the coming of age of that great luminary….
- Steven (((Spielberg)))
Schindler’s List. You couldn’t avoid it even if you wanted to. And believe me, I wanted to. I wound up having to go see this thing in the theater on a high school field trip, and I laughed all the way through it. From the moment the trailer was released it was destined to sweep the 1993 Oscars and be instantly memorialized as the capstone of world art. For its network tee vee premiere in 1997, it was shown uncut and without commercial interruption on NBC – an honor previously bestowed on coverage of coronations and funerals for heads of state alone in that pre-Netflix era. And the brains behind this sacerdotal idol, (((Spielberg))) the Wise, became Hollywormwood’s reigning shochet – ritually butchering the historical record that it might be made kosher for a non-discriminating goy audience. His genius for propaganda had already made itself manifest in the 80s, with his not-so-sly demeaning of Germans in the Indiana Jones trilogy and his metaphorical crafting of E.T. The Extra Terrestrial to be a parable about the Khazar’s isolation in the Christian West. Schindler’s List put him in the same pantheon as Goebbels, Ehrenburg, and Edward Bernays. (((Spielberg))) would take full advantage of this position by creating two other blockbusters of agitprop in the same decade: 1997’s Amistad, a work condemning chattel slavery that forgets to mention its hero, Joseph Cinque, was himself a well-known black slave trader, and 1998’s Saving Private Ryan, a valentine to the supposed ‘Greatest Generation’ of WWII that defeated the dastardly Hun via the love-force of as much multiculturalism as can be mustered within a still-officially-segregated Murikan military. So pervasive was (((Spielberg’s))) reach that almost single-handedly he nurtured the nascent online revisionist movement into full fruition, with the Institute for Historical Review and Michael A. Hoffman II cutting their teeth in the new medium largely through reviews of (((Spielberg’s))) magnum opus.
So, yeah – all in all, the 90s were pretty much the SJW 2010s, only in miniature and without benefit of an all-reaching internet to make the whole enterprise especially odious. The 90s was quite the pleasant time to engage in such worthy pastimes, because…
- It’s the Economy, Stupid
Cohenservatives love to wax nostalgic about the ‘boom’ years of the mid-90s, when everything was so much better than the current year, and are willing to forgive a lot of Clintonian failings as a result, just as they do with JFK. Trust me: the economy might have been better back then – hell, there still was an economy back then – but it still wasn’t anything to write home to the folks about. The death knell of the American manufacturing sector shuddered to its ignoble end, to be replaced with a vaguely-defined ‘service’ sector that would in practice translate into a handful of investment (((bankers))) having the rule over a vast sea of bartenders and McDonald’s cashiers. The largely illusory boom was driven almost entirely by emotional excitement over the economic potential of the internet, which the subsequent bursting of this bubble in 2001 demonstrated to have about as much stability as the seventeenth-century Dutch craze for tulips. Web design not being a consumable commodity, the economic impact of the sector was thus isolated to Silicon Valley and certain out-of-the-way coffee bistros in Seattle.
Another pivotal event that kept the 90s boom active into the new millennium was Clinton’s 1999 repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act, which limited the financial speculation commercial banks could involve themselves in. It was replaced with a new bill drafted by Republican senatorial buccaneer Phil Gramm (bipartisanship!!!) that allowed ‘vanilla’ banks to engage in all kinds of Gordon Gekko-style antics, notably insurance and high-risk investment. While this development was looked upon with favor by such avaricious Wall Street tapeworms as David Bahnsen, it was bitterly resented by the decade’s young Generation Xers, who found themselves unable to amass significant amounts of capital on the one hand and who found themselves permanently indebted and paying ever more exorbitant fees for the ‘right’ to use their own money on the other. Such a rut only added to their reputation for excessive cynicism and burnout, and would later lead Millennials to tearfully dub them ‘the meanest generation’ – a label many Gen-Xers, myself included, wear as a badge of honor.
It wasn’t just newly invigorated cultural decay that made the 90s such an abysmal decade. Two irksome political trends from the 80s continued unabated into the 90s. The first of these being…
- The Supremacy of Party Affiliation
Systemic disgust with the two-party duopoly in particular and with democracy in general was very much a post-9/11 trend, so Americans continued to cling to their TweedleR or TweedleD with great tenacity. This was especially true of the right, still basking in the phony lustre of Glorious Leader Reagan and, while considerably less enamored of H.W. Bush, they would never have countenanced the thought that he and his brood might have been Luciferians. In 1992, rather than throw their support to Pat Buchanan’s maverick GOP campaign, most conservatives dutifully held their nose and voted for the ‘sure winner’ and ‘lesser of two evils’ Bush again, or followed the lead of hot young ‘truth-teller’ Rush Limbaugh on talk radio and voted for Bill Clinton in a laughably futile attempt to register a protest vote. Not voting at all was still considered utterly unthinkable, although given even Buchanan’s decade-long predilection to capitulate to the norm and ultimately endorse the official Republican presidential nominee, this would have been far and away the more principled option to pursue. A much cheerier manifestation of brand loyalty emerged two years later, in the 1994 midterm elections that gave control of both houses of Congress to the Republicans for the first time in forty years. Rank-and-file party members quickly named the drubbing the ‘Republican Revolution’ and, in their credulity, thought something had been accomplished by their voting harder. Subsequent years would show that the coalition’s acknowledged leader, House speaker Newt Gingrich, was a serial philanderer (as was his eventual successor Bob Livingston), their leader in the Senate Bob Dole was a fossilized ‘moderate’ (i.e. a liberal ashamed of himself but not enough so to rethink his worldview), and the GOP’s vaunted revolution in the governing process ‘Contract with America‘ turned out to be mere sound and fury, the various acts constituting its core either being defeated in procedural vote, or being enacted and then failing to come even close to expectations. (The Contract is now approaching its 25th anniversary. Are you feeling wealthy yet?) None of these disappointments were sufficient to dash Republican hopes as they ended the decade pretending to be enthusiastic about George W. Bush’s presidential prospects, despite their disillusionment with his dad not even eight years prior. The Dems, too, were eager to shield their first-ever prez since the 70s from all criticism and eagerly turned a blind eye to Hillary’s Whitewater shenanigans, various friends and employees of the Worst First Family who engaged in mysterious suicides rather than say Bill and Hill nay, Billy’s illegal pharmaceutical pipeline extending to beautiful downtown Mena, Arkansas, etc. And both parties would benefit from the one lasting bipartisan agreement of the era: a guaranteed second term for whoever held the White House, at the end of which it was the guy in the other party’s turn, repeat ad infinitum. Clinton, Bush, Obama, Trump (?). This dynamic’s worked mighty well for a quarter century, hasn’t it?
With voters still convinced that pols might be stupid and crooked but ‘still better than the other guy’, they also continued to loudly cheer a popular 80s policy that continued unabated…
- ‘Small’ Wars
Reagan had enjoyed all kinds of cheap blips upward in the polls thanks to his infatuation with ‘little’ (but deadly) skirmishes in Beirut, Grenada, Libya, etc., and Bush too found popular success with his invasion of Panama and subsequent deposition of Noriega. The occasional flag-waving fracas thus enjoyed robust health in the 90s, largely bolstered by the rousing ‘success’ of the first Gulf War of 1990-91 against Iraq’s Saddam Hussein. Exactly what overt US foreign policy was being carried out in waging this war was unclear (covertly, of course, it was merely one in a series of wars to ensure Israeli hegemony remained hegemonic). But it hardly mattered: in the wake of a truly benumbing marathon of live coverage of heroic soldier boys driving Humvees down sand-covered highways, virile US Patriot missiles intercepting and destroying limp Iraqi Scuds, and early examples of blatantly fake news with some of the most suspect ‘on location’ reports ever captured on tape, capped by an easy if meaningless victory, patriotism surged anew and the dominant form of influencing public opinion for the decade was secured. As Saddam had proven himself such a telegenic bugaboo, he was often trotted out for further contumely during the Clinton presidency, particularly during a notorious bombing raid in December 1998 at the height of the Lewinsky scandal, that became colloquially known as ‘The War of Billy’s Pants’. The stage was set for further miniature setpieces of mayhem, and taking their cue from ‘New World Order’ H.W. Bush they would generally be of a multilateral character. Every moronic puppet elected as a titular governing head in Europe, Canada, Australia, etc had to get into the act as well, just in case they ever decided to run for the UN Secretary-Generalship like they always had talked about doing. Imperial interventions would occur in such critical hot spots as Rwanda, Somalia, and bloodiest of all in the breakaway republics of the former Yugoslavia, whose dissolute coalition of Catholic Croats, Orthodox Serbs, Muslim Bosnians (the ‘good guys’, natch), and assorted other ethnic groups disdained the everlasting promise of universal brotherhood that the 1984 winter Olympics in Sarajevo promised to bring the region and proceeded to draw arms against one another. Fear not, though – here came Murika to put things aright! Alas, as this mission involved considerably more effort than sending a few Blackhawks out on patrol for a week and a heavy metal victory party after, it was far less popular than the earlier excursions with the public back home. The outright hostility displayed towards the disingenuous resumption of hostilities against Serbia at decade’s end in response to the dubious independence movement in its Kosovar province signalled that this particular brand of globalist sleight-of-hand had just about run its course. You don’t get to be the reigning (((puppetmaster))) of the world without a plan B in reserve, though, and it was round about this time that the findings of the Project for a New American Century (PNAC) began to gain visibility among the burgeoning neoconservative cartel. Shamelessly celebrating American leadership in the world in its mutated hegemonic form, it outlined the necessity of consolidating control of the Middle East and using any and every means at Zog’s disposal to bring this idyll about. The stage was thus neatly set for the defining moment of the decade (and century, and millennium) to come. So much for the ‘end of history’, hey, Dr. Fukuyama?
The primary vanguard resisting the 90s culture of impending transition was another holdout from the 80s – one that certainly took its fair share of licks…
- The Grassroots Resistance
In response to the crippling interest rates and systemic stagflation of the early 80s, the heartland blew up in rebellion, with agrarian protest movement and local militias prevalent in the western and midwestern states. This groundswell seemed to come to a tragic end with the 1983 slaying of Gordon Kahl on his North Dakota farm and the incarceration of his family in hard-time penitentiaries, but the underlying resentment of the yeomanry against their taskmasters continued to seethe. Righteous indignation would drive an entirely new wave of populist standoffs into the 90s. The outstanding examples included Randy Weaver at Ruby Ridge, David Koresh at Waco, the Unabomber, and the ominously alliterative (to the MSM) Montana Militia, better known as the Freemen today. All these outpourings of ‘this far, and no further’ would be ruthlessly suppressed by the federal leviathan, leading to the popular phraseology memorably repeated by Dale Gribble on King of the Hill (‘jack-booted thugs’, ‘black helicopters’, etc). In the wake of this new domestic ‘threat’, and in keeping with the tacit approval of false-flag operations outlined in PNAC, the insider bombing of the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City in 1995 was blamed on the ‘lone nut’ patsies Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols – both of whom had ties to the Michigan Militia (more sinister alliteration!!), were ‘racists’ and ‘gun nuts’, yada yada yada. This bombshell acted as a prairie fire consuming the grassroots, and such resistance movements largely fled underground again – not to resurface prominently until Cliven Bundy’s standoff twenty years later. As the horror of such events must always be exponentially increased to ensure total societal paralysis, the end of the decade saw the horrific massacre at Columbine High School, a futurist groupthink academy located in an unincorporated Denver suburb, which setting was apropos in ushering in the modern era of covert white genocide via mass urban gunfire. With an obvious domestic war being waged on the proles at the bottom of the totem pole, which war furthermore being escalated with horrendous regularity, in hindsight the preeminent question regarding 9/11 and its resultant police state is how we could have been so blind as to not see it coming before. Guess that night’s episode of Everybody Loves Raymond must have been especially funny.
Space limitations prevent me from delving into any further examination of aspects of the 90s, but obviously there is much ground that could still be trod. There was the decade’s trend towards increasingly insipid (and genre-ambiguous) muzak, popularized by such future stars of low-grade reality tee vee as Vanilla Ice, Billy Ray Cyrus, The Spice Girls, et al. There was the entire grunge movement, the result of whites not reacting well to their newly prescribed antidepressants, foregoing all hygiene, and ensuring that the Pacific Northwest remained electorally blue ever and anon. There was the whole phenomenon of Mandelamania, when the black Communist bastard was unjustly released from his South African prison and proceeded to virtue signal all over the veldt until his ascension to the presidency four years later. There was the initial wave of Simpsons influence upon the culture – good, bad, and ugly. You get the idea.
Conclusions? While the 90s was undoubtedly preferable to the morass we find ourselves bogged down in today, at the same time we must sing an elegy over the budding evils that sprang forth during those ten years that could so easily have been nipped, had we not been enchanted by the formless existentialism that passed for news and entertainment and contributed to a then-unprecedented level of spiritual sloth. We had an opportunity to make inroads for the Kingdom’s sake, and we squandered it pathetically. Such is debased human nature, though. Pray God that we learned our lesson, and won’t be so derelict in our watchman duties the next time He presents us with an opening. Amen.
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