There is a post you need to read, penned by the indomitable Emporer Misha of the Anti-Iditorian Rottweiller.
But before I give the link to read the aforementioned post, I'm going to post here, some selected excerpts from Misha's responses in the comment section which follows the original article.
I think you'll find them worthy of note on their own merit, which is indeed why I'm featuring them here at Smoke on the Water.
And if you think the comments are good, just wait till you read the article which inspired them. It is indeed, a hallmark piece, and ought be writ large upon parchment, a work for the ages.
But first, the comments. Misha writes this in response to commenter Coydog.
We have to draw a line in the sand. We have to say “this far and no further” while we still possess enough sand to draw it on.
We cannot win a war walking backwards, we cannot stop the advance of a faith that means to wipe us and all that we believe in out unless we dig in our heels and start taking the fight back to them.
And we must keep on fighting until they have had enough and surrender or until we can fight no more, whichever comes first.
The worst that can happen if we choose to heed the call of the generations that went before us is that we may die, die doing our duty in a manner that we can be proud of.
Or we can stay in denial, we can keep our heads in the sand until they’re chopped off.
We can piss away all that Western civilization has built and be cursed by future generations for our cowardice, our lack of honor and our lack of will to fight for what is right.
I’d rather die on my feet, thank you very much, with the song of the sword as the last sound I hear.
And this, from his response to Mike Zeares
The list of battles fought and lost by my noble ancestors is long indeed, the only constant being that if there was a fight to be had, they’d be right in the middle of it. I suppose that’s one of the main reasons that there are only about 5 million of us to this day.
I remember visiting the Alamo and seeing the flag of my native land in there, next to the flags of every other nation that lost one or more sons on that day.
I was honored, of course, to learn that a son of my country had given his life on that day, that he’d laid down his life in defense of my adopted home, but I can’t say that I was all that surprised.
If there’s a fight going on and there’s a Dane within a day’s ride of it, he’ll be there like a cat to catnip. It’s in our blood and it has done absolutely nothing to help us survive. As a matter of fact, it’s a bloody miracle that there are any of us left, considering our nature.
Maybe G-d keeps us around to piss everybody off.
I don’t know. All I do know is that I have it in me as well. I’ve been drawn to hopeless causes more times than I can remember, I’ve had my ass kicked every way you can imagine as a result, but I have no regrets and I’ll do it all over again if the opportunity presents itself.
It’ll be the end of me eventually, I know, nobody stays on a lucky streak indefinitely, and one day my dumb ass will write a check that I can’t cash, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.
We all die. We’re born with that sentence hanging over our heads. It doesn’t matter. You’re already dead. Just make your death mean something. (emphasis, mine)
Now that you've read a bit of the commentary, it's time for you to go read the whole thing. And I assure you, you'll understand why I've highlighted Misha's quotes in Blood Red.
Ride to the sound of the trumpets, the battle is nigh!
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