Yearly Archives: 2016

Why are novelists terrible boyfriends?

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When having conversations about their lovelife, most people talk about what they want to gain from a relationship.
“I want someone who treats me like this…”
“I want someone with these interests…”
“I want someone who does this…”
“I want someone who does that…”
“I want…”
“I want…”
“I want…”
“Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.”

I would never dare to be so conceited. Why would I presume I had a right to give orders to a girl I never met? Instead of reciting a litany of qualifications I demand others to possess, I’d rather tell you what I have to offer. Besides, you already know what I want in a girl. I don’t need to tell you, because all human beings want the same thing. Loyalty. Decorum. Fidelity. Passion. Devotion. Integrity. Dignity. Virtue. Chivalry matters. Always has. Always will. Rather than insisting others embody those values, I prefer to improve those traits in myself.

One trait I can’t improve are my looks. I own a mirror. I know what I look like. Scale of 1 to 10, I’m like a 2. Sure, I was about a 7 or an 8 back in Ohio, but I live in California now. Let’s be honest. 2. Maybe a 3 under good lighting. These big ol’ teeth of mine, I look like a cross between Jon Cryer and a rabbit. Plus, I’m about 5’7″ and 45 years old. That renders me additionally gross and creepy. Too short and too old. We all know only Tom Cruise gets a pass on those two faults.

Face it, once you pass 40, it’s over. You’ll be single forever. If I were a woman, I’d be two steps away from being Mrs. Deagle. I would just get started buying the cats.

Believe me, in my heart, I know full well that 40 is not old at all. One day, when I have reached 97 years upon this glorious earth, I shall look back on these good old days as a golden time of youth and vitality. Those of you who are fresh out of your precious teens have not yet gained the perspective to see that reaching your elder years is a blessing. For it is only those of us with weary souls and buoyant hearts who have always embraced the fleeting beauty which is life! To dance upon the world for as many days as we can hold. To remain humbled by childlike love and gratitude for our every breath – this is the measure of ones agelessness! This is… sorry. I uh, got a little carried away.

Where was I?

Ah, yes, uh, but my unattractive physical traits are minor compared to my veritable bevy of faults and countless reasons you should never go out with anyone like me. You should be forewarned, I’m an extraordinarily dull and boring guy. I never drink alcohol and have never been drunk in my entire life. Never done drugs. Never smoked a single joint. Never took one drag off a cigarette. Heck, I don’t even drink coffee. In our culture, my prudish purity is not admirable, it just make me an arrogant prick. Never fall in love with a guy who could potentially be a good influence on you. Last thing you need is to date Little Lord Fauntleroy incarnate.

I was never abused, or molested. I’ve never been incarcerated and I’m not some damaged “badboy” compelling you to help turn my life around. I can sincerely say I had a joyous childhood full of enchantment and wonder with beloved gradeschool friends whom I still talk with to this very day. I have never had a venereal disease. Never fathered children. Never had any emotional or behavioral disorders. Never required psychotropic drugs or support groups. I’ve never even cheated on a single girlfriend… Okay. Okay. There was that one time. But she was naked. And she was throwing herself at me. This petite little 18 year old blond who sang like Tori Amos and I just… That might be too much information. Let’s move on. I’ve never been overweight. I exercise regularly and eat healthy – My doctor calls me “the poster child” because I do everything right. Which probably means I’m going to keel over dead when I’m 48. Just long enough to disappoint you.

My passions are things you won’t enjoy at all. I’m an avid skateboarder and love riding pools in skateparks. Millions of kids watch my skate videos on YouTube, illustrating how juvenile I am. I spent my teens as an equestrian and my twenties as a hang glider pilot and a club kid in underground industrial nightclubs. You obviously aren’t the kind of girl who wants to skateboard, fly 6000′ above the earth in a kite, saddle horses, or go dancing to Nitzer Ebb and Front 242. You’ve never even heard of those bands. I have done geeky things like program websites at Walt Disney Studios for over 6 years. I grew up playing Dungeons & Dragons, collecting Star Wars toys, and swordfighting in the Society for Creative Anachronism. I love to write and have published 5 novels. Since you never heard of me, that proves these aren’t very good books. Since I’ve penned so many tales, that proves I’m a terribly selfish hermit. Sitting at home and writing a book no one will read is the most uninteresting way any grown man can spend a Saturday night. You’ll never find me watching football or playing videogames, because I’d rather be longboarding or bicycling. Speaking of riding, I didn’t own a car for over a decade and only rode my motorcycle everywhere. I’m Peter Pan. Never grew up. Very immature. Clearly not your type.

I am not aware of possessing any body piercings or tattoos. I don’t even like to rock a sexy shadow of Aragorn facial hair. Didn’t serve in the military. Didn’t graduate college. Never earned a six-figure salary. There is no reason for you to waste your time with someone like me when there are plenty of 6’2″ bearded, tattooed, alpha-males begging to father your children. You owe it to yourself to let them. Life is short. Don’t get involved with a boring nerd like me. Southern California is filled with dashing and successful men. I’m neither.

By the way, with the exception of office jobs and parochial school, I’ve dressed like this my whole life. Jeans and a tshirt. That will never change. I’ll never call myself a “goof” or claim to be “random” – genuinely goofy and random people never feel compelled to warn anyone about it. Luna Lovegood never did. Why should I? I’ve never used the word “party” as a verb and I’ve never used the phrase “at the end of the day” in any conversation of my life. I’m definitely not going to call myself “fun-loving” because – DUH! – who isn’t? Everyone is fun-loving. Stalin would have labeled himself “fun-loving”, but would you want to date him?

Going back to those office jobs, I can never hold one down. I’ve been laid off 6 times in my life. What kind of loser gets laid off 6 times? I get kicked to the curb so often, I just expect it at this point. Sooner or later, I’ll be out of a job and struggling to find work again. That the kind of guy you want? Being with the unemployed aspiring novelist when he is 20 years old is romantic. When he’s 50 years old, it’s pathetic. Don’t lower your standards down to the likes of me. You deserve better. Don’t you?

Speaking of lack of work, now that I’m reaching a time in my life when age discrimination begins to play a part in vastly reducing my employment options, I’m building a humble tiny house out in the desert, to save some money. In a few short years, I will basically be Obi Wan Kenobi. Not exactly your Mr. Right.

Sociologically, my views are very old-fashioned. I’m intelligent enough to recognize “political correctness” as nothing more than fascism parading as manners. I cherish obsolete values like God, family, patriotism, the Bill of Rights, free-market American capitalism, and keeping my word. Heck, I’m so traditional, if I were going to marry a girl, I would be morally obligated to ask her father for permission. Any man who fails to do that isn’t worthy of his betrothed. But women don’t concur with my antiquated virtues anymore nor would any respect me after exhibiting such obsolete ethics. I grew up in Ohio, where I was raised by a family of police officers and military personnel who would hunt with rifles. During 13 years of living in Hollywood, I learned West Coast girls passionately detest all those things! Cops? Military? Firearms? My very bloodline is abhorrent to the chicks of Los Angeles.

I do not fit in with the world. And on those rare occasions when a lady has caught my eye, I tend to get far too serious, far too quickly.

The Night I Had Dinner With Harlan Ellison

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Most writers are blessed with wonderful delusions of grandeur and consequently, we think everything we write is better than most of our peers. However, even the most arrogant of writers still have one or two idols. The men and women we admire for their craft. The ones we look up to. The ones we have to admit are better than us and we wish we could one day get a glimpse of the plateau upon which their writing resides. For me, those idols are Ray Bradbury and Harlan Ellison.

For Harlan Ellison, that idolized writer was Cornell Woolrich.

Harlan Ellison once wrote a story about the night he met Cornell Woolrich.

Now, I have a confession to make – I never heard of Cornell Woolrich until I read the story Harlan wrote about meeting him. That made me feel a little ashamed – to know nothing about the idol of my idol. I need to go read some stories by Cornell Woolrich.

Harlan should be a lot more famous too.

People who love to read and who are into fantasy and science fiction and comic books have all heard of Harlan Ellison. Unfortunately, no one else has. After I met the man I began to excitedly tell people, “I met Harlan Ellison! He invited me to dinner with him!”

Only one of my friends congratulated me and said, “You did what!? That’s amazing! How did you meet him? You’re so lucky!”

Everyone else said, “Who?”

When you’re misanthropic to begin with, it doesn’t bode well for your love of humanity when no one has heard of one of the few people you admire.

Look, if you don’t know who Harlan is, do yourself a favor and go watch some of his videos. Then, pick up a copy of “The Essential Ellison” and read it.

So, how did I meet Harlan? The story goes like this…

In the Fall of 2013, I started a blog called “InkShard” as a way to try to promote myself as a writer and sell some books. Among the videos I was creating, I decided to do some book reviews of other authors.

One of the first books I reviewed was a huge 1500 page book of short stories from Harlan Ellison called “The Essential Ellison.”

After posting my review, I decided to promote it on a message forum on Harlan’s official website. I didn’t think much of it. I figured maybe some of his fans might check out my video and that would be the end of it.

Well, as it turns out, Harlan himself read my review and he loved it. The next day, he posted a reply asking me for a printed copy.


Let me again emphasize how important Harlan is to me. Growing up, I had two authors I admired. Ray Bradbury. Harlan Ellison. These men were gods. I read their books. I watched their interviews. I saw their movies. I was obsessed with their TV shows. Most of my predominant influences in storytelling all revolved around projects these two men created. Bradbury and Ellison had a command of language I could only dream of attaining. Their vocabulary, their poignant verisimilitude, far exceeded anything I ever accomplished. My most brilliant writing was a mere kindergarten story next to their majestic verse.

So, when Harlan responded personally to me, asking for a copy of my review, I nearly fell out of my chair. This was like being an aspiring astronaut and having Neil Armstrong say he wanted a copy of a book report you did on him.

The part that freaked me out the most was that he asked me to call him.

Call him!? On the telephone? Speak to him?

Funny thing was, Harlan didn’t give me his number. He just challenged me to find it. Said I was a smart guy and I’d figure it out.

He was right. I found it. But I didn’t call right away.

Let me reiterate, I’m an arrogant bastard. No one impresses me. No one makes me starstruck. I’ve worked on movies with big celebrities and been friends with TV stars. I don’t give a damn about that stuff. But as a writer, meeting someone who has contributed to inspiring my greatest passion, that was astonishing. You have to understand, even if I had a chance to meet the most famous of authors like Stephen King or J.K. Rowling, I wouldn’t care. As much as I love Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling simply hasn’t influenced me like Harlan has. I felt like I was 14 years old, calling a girl for the first time. Okay. Calm down. Relax. Play it cool. Don’t get all weird and fanboy on him. Just be normal. Casual. Act like you call Harlan all the time. Yeah. No big deal. Your idol wants to hear from you. That happens everyday. Right. Okay. Just chill out and don’t act bizarre. Keep it brief. Professional.

When I finally mustered the courage to cal, he didn’t answer. His wife Susan answered and took a message for me.

Later that afternoon, my phone rang. 5:20pm. January 14, 2014. The name on my caller ID said, “Harlan Ellison”.

Holy. Crap.

When I answered the phone, he didn’t even say hello.

“Muss-Barnes. So what’s the story there? Were you married? What’s the deal?”

Honestly, it was a relief. By not even saying hello, all my nervousness went right out the window. Before I could stop to think, he had already pulled me into a conversation. I explained that my parents were not married and “Muss” was my mother’s name and “Barnes” was my father’s name. All through gradeschool and highschool, I was “Eric Muss” and I never liked the sound of that.

Harlan agreed. “Oh. Yeah. Not so good.”

So, I decided to add my father’s name and turn it into “Muss-Barnes” which Harlan agreed makes me sound like royalty.

Next thing I knew, Harlan was inviting me to his next book signing. I was stunned.

Harlan asked, “Do you know where Blastoff Comics is at?”

“Yeah! I’m literally 2 blocks away. I can walk there! It’s right at the end of my street.”

Needless to say, I was over the moon, as my grandmother used to say. A mere 4 days later, I arrived at Blastoff Comics where Harlan took one look at me and said, “Eric!” And shook my hand as if we had been friends for decades. I met a girl named Harley who worked at the shop and I won a contest they were having to name all graphic novels, books, and awards won by Harlan.

I even have video proof of the day, published by Blastoff Comics.

As the day dragged on, I was getting ready to leave. I actually had to get down to Orange County to go to the Girl’s Combi Contest at Vans Skatepark. For those who don’t know, I’m a lifelong skateboarder and a longtime supporter of women’s skateboarding. I’m proud to say that I know and skate with many of the girls who show up for the contest. Some of the greatest female skaters in the world. Girls like Julz Lynn and Sarah Thompson and Allysha Berdago and Lizzie Armanto. The Combi Contest is the single largest female skateboarding competition in the world and you have to be invited to attend. I couldn’t miss the contest.

Then, Harlan announced they were going out to dinner that evening, and I was welcome to accompany them.

I nearly passed out.

My favorite author just invited me out to dinner?

Guess I was going to miss the Combi Contest that year.

Later I would learn I’m not the only writer Harlan has done this kind of thing for. There are dozens of accounts of Harlan opening his home to people and treating writers with immense hospitality. Harlan has a reputation for his anger and vitriol but there is one simple thing that most people fail to understand: Only people who are filled with immense love and kindness can become so angry. Those who truly love their fellow man are the ones who become so exasperated with the stupidity of humanity. You see it in people like George Carlin and Harlan Ellison and if you look really closely, you see it in me too. People like Harlan are rife with rage because the glorious potential of what mankind could become is too often tainted by what humans choose to be. That is why a man like Harlan is such a warm and kind and giving soul to the good guys. Those in whom he recognizes a kinship. When he sees that you get it, that endears you to him. When you prove to be a mindless jackass, he has no patience for you.

That night was truly living a dream. Have you ever seen an interview with a beloved celebrity and they tell a tale of an entourage of people having dinner and as a fan, you just desperately wished you could be there? Celebrities seem to do that all the time. They go out to dinner and there are 20 people at the table and the night is filled with vibrant conversations and hilarious tales that can never be repeated.

That was me. After living in Hollywood for over a decade, I finally got to experience that kind of evening for the first time. I was finally in an entourage. Being surrounded by that kind of camaraderie and vitality is an experience that makes me insanely jealous of celebrities. I don’t care about mansions and fancy parties or expensive cars. Those things don’t remotely impress me. But an intimate dinner where intriguing people really interact and connect with one another, that is something I wish I could live once a week. Unfortunately, it looks like it will prove to be once-in-a-lifetime.

As I said earlier, Harlan made it very clear to me that night, there were yarns spun around that breaking of bread which I was not to repeat. Harlan made me look him dead in the eye and vow I would honor that request. Harlan and I are old school Cleveland boys. Midwest values. Downhome sensibility. We both understand that honorable men don’t need written contracts or even handshakes. You look someone square in the eye and make a promise and that’s enough. Word is bond. Therefore, regrettably, I can not tell you some of the more hilarious tales he told. I can say this – Harlan has lived one hell of an amazing life. No matter how big of an adventure your life may be, chances are good that Harlan has you beat.

Midway through our evening, there was a moment when Harlan explained why he invited me out to dinner. Again, I won’t repeat the whole story leading up to that moment, because I swore to not repeat the tales told at that table. But I will say that at one point, Harlan told me I was there, breaking bread with him, because I had earned it.

Great authors are not great because they have an incredible command of language. Great writers are great because they understand how to distill the essence of the human condition into simple terms and articulate universal truths with an eloquence the rest of us can never quite vocalize. One can not attain that kind of insight into the human spirit unless one has an innate gift of reading the human heart. I don’t know if Harlan could read my heart and see my need for acceptance, or if he simply knew all struggling writers yearn for that validation. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that his tiny act of kindness, his brief words of encouragement, meant everything to me. He never complimented my writing. He never said I was any good. What he said was far better. He said I understood his writing and that I had earned my place at his table. Few feelings on earth are better than being valued and acknowledged by those you admire. For the first time in my life, I felt like maybe I’m not crashing the party of life. Maybe someone invited me. Maybe I’m supposed to be here. Maybe somebody actually wanted me to show up.

I have attained so many dreams in my life. I have published numerous novels. I became a hang glider pilot. I moved to California. I worked for years at Walt Disney Studios. I’ve had a tragic lovelife, worthy of a Shakespeare play. That could have turned out better, but it was certainly interesting. I’m even building a small home on a vast amount of land, just like I always dreamed. But the one dream I never accomplished, the oldest dream of all, was to make a living as writer.

You know, I never feel like I’ve accomplished much of anything in my life. I’ve never really yearned for validation from the world. I have long since accepted that I am someone who will never be appreciated for anything I achieve. So when one of the only people I idolize actually praised my efforts, it meant the world to me.

As we left the restaurant that night, and everyone was walking back to their cars, Harlan put his arm around my shoulder and asked if he was what I expected him to be. I told him I never thought he would be any different, because I always had faith that he was truly being himself. That night just proved I was right.

He told me he’d invite me over his house sometime and I was over the moon at such an invitation. I couldn’t believe it. Really? My favorite author was going to have me over his house? I would be a guest at the Lost Aztec Temple of Mars? I couldn’t wait. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

That wasn’t the only night I met Harlan. I have seen him twice since then – once at a science fiction convention and another at a Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society meeting where he was a guest speaker. In fact, on that night, he signed a copy of my novel, The Page of Wands, which I dedicated to him, and I donated it to the LASFS library. He also flipped my novel open to a random page and read a sentence out loud. I’ll never forget which sentence it was. Page 247.

“Madame Fabulous glared and telekinetically lifted Ellen Daniels and her cameraman off of the ground and stuffed them back into their newsvan amidst much screaming, flailing, and protesting.”

You know how terrifying it is for your favorite author to read part of your novel out loud to a room filled with 200 science fiction fans? I was mortified. But Harlan remarked that it was a “pretty good” sentence and he seemed pleased with it, although he noted the word “back” was redundant. Didn’t need it. Crap. He was right.

Harlan never did invite me over the house. I knew that would never happen after I saw him the second time and he admitted to a fan that he “lies a lot”. The moment he said that, I knew the invitation would never come.

I’m disappointed that I will never see the Lost Aztec Temple of Mars, but I can’t complain. Harlan owes me nothing. He already showed me far more kindness and courtesy than I ever dared to expect. Besides, I’ve dated plenty of girls in my life who said they loved me, then walked away. Harlan lying about having me visit the house is not a big deal. The lies of women are a lot more painful.

Speaking of heartbreaking ladies, I once deeply loved a girl who hated my InkShard blog. Still love her, actually. She called InkShard a waste of time and said I came across as arrogant and negative. Told me I was full of myself and I’d sell a lot more books and get a lot more dates if I was more humble.

I didn’t create InkShard to sell books. And I sure as hell didn’t create it to get dates. I made InkShard to share my opinions on writing. To explore the beauty of language. To offer angry rants on unfair aspects of creativity that all artists can feel a kinship with. I fully expect some people will think I’m a lame jackass and others will think I’m a right swell fella. I don’t have time, nor the inclination, to worry about which percentage of my audience will be the greater of the two. Whether I inspire endearment or estrangement, I can’t control how people will react.

The truth of the matter is, I don’t care if my blog and my videos never win me a single reader or it scares away all potential girlfriends. Because all thanks to InkShard, I already got to meet my idol. Harlan Ellison. The only living writer I truly admire. That girl who said InkShard was a waste of time was so wrong. InkShard allowed me to achieve a dream I never imagined would come true and therefore, of all the projects I have created in my life, InkShard is one of the greatest successes I have ever known.

Thank you so much, Harlan. From a fellow Cleveland kid to another, I thank you with all my heart. Even if we never meet again, I will forever be grateful for the kindness you have shown me when we did. Bless you, good sir. I know you’re an atheist, so I can’t say God bless, but I do wish you blessings by the grace of whatever decency and love exists in the world.

Thought Police in American Universities are Criminalizing Free Speech

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There is a policy on many social media websites against the use of “hate speech”. Those who seek to undermine our freedoms will go so far as to ban a user for life, if they ever engage in the amorphous practice of which one can be accused, but no one can explain.

Naturally, as is always the case with these draconian policies, no one can define what the term “hate speech” means. In principal, “hate speech” is supposed to mean words which encourage direct, plausible and immediate threats of physical harm to a person or group of people. In practice, “hate speech” is typically defined as words which feel hurtful or offensive to an overly-sensitive group of spineless pansies.

America was founded on the ideal of different races and religions and creeds uniting to live in peace and harmony. Most important of all, our great nation was forged upon the idea that we can have open dialogs and the irrevocable freedom to speak our minds; and most important of all, to debate and disagree. For it is within the turmoil of opposing viewpoints that we most rapidly educate and improve ourselves and advance as human beings. We need conflict. We need dissent. That is what helps us to excel. A culture devoid of opposing ideologies is a nation which stagnates and dies. Conformity and obedience are the death knell of prosperity. We are a country of pioneers and rebels. It’s high time we start acting like it again.

Hate speech should never be encouraged or condoned, but it must always be permitted. Morally, hate speech can never be criminalized and any organization with policies against hate speech is in direct violation of the Bill of Rights. For what society deems dissent today could be construed as hate tomorrow.

Don’t believe me? Think I’m exaggerating? New York City is doing it right now. Corrupt government officials are bragging about it on government websites.

In New York City, they have violated freedom of speech in the most fascist way you can imagine. Violations of the New York City Human Rights Law could result in civil penalties of up to $125,000 for violations, and up to $250,000 for violations that are the result of willful, wanton, or malicious conduct. One of those violations is intentionally failing to use an individual’s preferred name, pronoun or title. For example, repeatedly calling a transgender woman “him” or “Mr.” when she has made it clear that she prefers female pronouns and a female title.

Have you ever seen these lists of so-called “gender pronouns”? Zir. Xem. I can’t even pronounce half this shit. You know why I can’t pronounce it? BECAUSE THEY AREN’T FUCKING WORDS! Based upon this new law, in New York City, if some lunatic gets mad at you because you neglected to address them by some unpronounceable fictional pronoun they invented that morning, you could face a quarter-of-a-million-dollar fine!? What kind of bizarre alternate universe did I wake up in? You can’t just make up new vocabulary words and sue people for not using them! Are these legislators grown adults, or are they 5 years old.

That’s right. If a mentally ill person, afflicted with gender dysphoria, gets mad because you keep calling Bruce Jenner a man, you could be arrested and fined $250,000. These New York lawmakers are guilty of treason for violating The Bill of Rights. They are telling you what to say. How to speak. What is permitted. What is not. Stealing your freedom one layer at a time. Controlling behavior. Controlling speech. Controlling thought. Just like every tyrant and dictator in history. When will the same laws come to your city? When will your friends and family start to get hauled off to jail because someone didn’t like what they had to say?

I have gay friends who are terrified of these laws because they are smart enough to see that homosexuals are just being used as pawns in a much larger game that will eventually silence everyone.

Personally, I would never seek to censor anyone simply because I disagree with them. Have you ever heard of Laci Green, Franchesca Ramsey, or Anita Sarkeesian? They are women who preach racist and misandrist messages on YouTube and MTV while giving horribly divisive advice to young kids about sexuality and ethnicity. Most of what these women preach is misguided at best and hatefully immoral at worst. Although I disagree with these ladies vehemently on nearly every opinion they express, I would be furious, and jump to their defense immediately, if anyone ever tried to silence or censor them. Although I have no respect for their viewpoints, I deeply respect their freedom to express those views. Silencing such people, hateful as they are, would never be justified. Their disciples, having no reverence for the First Amendment, would never reciprocate my attitude. Disagree with them, and their minions want to silence you.

Sadly this attitude of oppressing opinions is starting to fester across college campuses all over our country. Universities, once the very bastion and beacon of debates and the free flow of ideas have become prisons guarded by the fascism of thought police. They are ruled by the cultists of censorship and silencing those who fail to conform to the established agenda.

In 2013, Modesto Junior College in California campus police told student Robert Van Tuinen that he could not pass out copies of the United States Constitution outside the student center on Constitution Day, because he hadn’t been “approved” to do so. Since all police take an oath to uphold the Constitution, these police officers are all guilty of treason.

In 2014, Duke University began a campus program called “You Don’t Say” in an effort to suppress free speech by banning certain words deemed “offensive” or “disparaging” to specific categories of people.

In 2015, University of Missouri assistant professor Melissa Click, called for “muscle” to physically remove student reporter Mark Schierbecker for filming an encampment on school grounds, which was part of a protest that resulted in university president Tim Wolfe resigning over the handling of racial incidents on campus.

In 2016, a University of Texas at Austin police officer issued a citation against a preacher who was preaching off campus grounds because someone reported being offended by the preacher. When the preacher questioned the officer, explaining that his right to speak was protected by the First Amendment, the treasonous officer broke his oath to uphold the Constitution and thereby forfeit all of his authority when he replied, “It doesn’t matter, freedom of speech. Someone was offended, that’s against the law.”

Some of these tyrannical universities even have the audacity to designate so-called “Free Speech Zones” – tiny sections, cordoned off from the rest of the campus, where students may speak freely and exercise their First Amendment rights. Go look it up. I was astounded when I saw this. These aren’t schools in communist China or North Korea. These are American universities. It made me sick to my stomach. Every single square inch of our country has always been (and will always be) a Free Speech Zone! No one ever needs permits or authorization to speak their mind. Not on college campuses. Not on private property. Not anywhere. No citizen has the authority to revoke something in the Bill of Rights from another citizen. Despite what lies these braindead college administrators are teaching our kids, everything in the Bill of Rights applies in every square millimeter of this nation, including inside private homes, private businesses and private schools. That’s what the First Amendment means! Freedom of speech exists everywhere. Always. Yet American college students are being indoctrinated to believe that free speech must be sequestered to designated areas and the administration is acting as though they are doing the student body a favor. Any university in this country with a Free Speech Zone should have the entire administration brought up on criminal charges of treason.

The list goes on. Countless cases of schools and universities teaching the next generation to hate our freedom. Suppress thoughts. Silence speech. Bury opinions. Kids are being systematically brainwashed into thinking these oppressive practices are acceptable and even normal. Just like the Hitler Youth were conditioned to believe that Jews were not human beings, so too the crop of students in high school and college are being taught that our Constitution is outdated and illegitimate. They’re being taught socialism is a good idea, despite the fact that all socialist societies throughout history have crumbled over and over again, like the National Socialist German Workers Party and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Being too young to think for themselves and too weak to defy or question authority, these children blindly accept such lies, just like the Hitler Youth did in the 1930’s.

I’m not the only writer who feels threatened by this kind of censorship. J.K. Rowling, one of the most wealthy and widely-read authors of my generation, expressed the same sentiment, only a few days ago…

It is time to defy their rhetoric and stand up against those who seek the undermine the very foundations of our freedom. Voice your thoughts. Express your opinions. Never allow anyone to suppress your ideals. Speak out. Walk tall. Never forget that your viewpoints respecting ethical values and tradition and morality are the very foundation of what makes America the greatest nation in the history of all mankind. The enemy is no longer overseas. The enemy is now in our backyard. This is a war unlike any other we have fought before. This is a battle not to end tyranny or oppression, but to prevent it from taking hold. But when we win the day, we shall preserve the righteous character of liberty and freedom that will assure our fortitude for another 2 centuries, through truth, justice and the American Way.