Diaper Report 7/29/20

I have decided that Gropey Joey, who is in hiding in his basement because that is where all the non-cognitive democrats go, will soon pick as his running mate Moose Obamamalingdong. Thus pissing off that fat ass from Georgia, the old drunk grandma from 2016, and of course the democrat black cocksucking Kamalaladingdong broad. Oh, speaking of cognitive, must show you this so you can understand Gropey Joey staying hidden:

What are the 8 cognitive skills?

Cognitive Skills: Why The 8 Core Cognitive Capacities

  • Sustained Attention. …
  • Response Inhibition. …
  • Speed of Information Processing. …
  • Cognitive Flexibility and Control. …
  • Multiple Simultaneous Attention. …
  • Working Memory. …
  • Category Formation. …
  • Pattern Recognition.



     It’s a charming word, isn’t it? Try to pronounce it; it’s more of a challenge than you might think. But no matter how it’s mangled orally, its meaning remains the same: incapable of being mixed.

Now do go and read the entire article HERE.


Diaper Report 7/29/20

Today,  a sad Diaper Report.

I’ve been excommunicated from the coffee shop – Sweet Donkey in Roanoke – that I’ve been going to (and spending money at) for the past five years or so, to the tune of several thousand dollars.

Which business the Donk just lost, by telling me the only way I’ll be served inside henceforth is to join the Sickness Cult or at least, pretend to by assuming the uniform – the Face Diaper – of a member.

If not, I must assume the status of second-class citizen – like “coloreds” once upon a time and for similarly arbitrary, vicious reasons.

I will only be served remotely, curbside – by a cultist in a Diaper, of course.

I told the baristas that I won’t be back. Nicely; I know them both and know they are only doing what their boss tells them they must.

Perhaps because she believes she must. To placate the sick in the head; to appease the sick for power (i.e., the government – which is using fear of sickness to increase its power to essentially limitless).

Still, it’s sad.

For me and for them, though maybe they don’t care. I have no way of knowing what they really think. I do know that, on my end, I have lost a familiar hang-out to hysteria. As I have also lost a number of friends, to the same sickness.

But they don’t see it.

They see me – an Undiapered – as both a threat and a reproach.

Threat angst is the DSM definition of mental illness. The sufferer is afraid without reason, like the neurotic who dreads bridges because there might be a troll underneath.

In normal times, such poor people – their fear is real – would be treated gently to the extent reasonable. But unreasonable measures – for example, closing every bridge, establishing a “safety perimeter” around it to keep the trolls at bay – or rather, so as to make the troll-phobe feel less angst about the possible presence  of trolls – would never be accepted.

These days, they’re being imposed.

To make people who’ve been deranged by fear over sickness feel better. It doesn’t matter that the measures are unreasonable, degrading and most of all, unnecessary. People aren’t dying – outside of nursing homes – and that dirty bandana around your face isn’t doing anything palliative. It is obedience theater, nothing more.

Such rational considerations do not assuage the neurotic. The inability to understand rational considerations defines the neurotic – who doesn’t see that it’s himself who is sick.

If he did see it – as some neurotics, like the comedian Howie Mandel do – he would not insist others pantomime his bizarre repertoire, as by endlessly washing hands, steering clear of all human contact and wearing a Face Diaper.

Howie knows he’s sick. It makes him a lot less sick than the people we’re now confronted with all around us.

The Diaper Decreers either don’t know they are sick – or do, in which case it’s even sicker since they’re willing participants in the PTSD’ing of America; the propagation of pervasive fear, whose flip side is obedience. The object seems to be to terrify people – and to shame the people who aren’t terrified.

To make them play along using threats of systematic excommunication from . . . everything.

Which brings up the dark other side of this neurotic necrosis… the desire to make the Undiapered suffer. I must Diaper – or feel I must – isn’t sufficient. Everyone must Diaper.

It’s awful.

It doesn’t matter whether you’re actually sick. One must pretend – play kabuki – or leave.

It also doesn’t matter, apparently, that I was just about the only Donk customer who showed up practically every day during the weeks of the totalitarian “lockdown,” when no one other than “essential” people – the people with power to declare themselves such – were allowed – loathsome verbiage – to be anywhere other than at home.

Some of you will recall my daily Corona Reports – all filed from the parking lot of the Donk, where I was often the only person there other than the baristas. I made it a point to go there – and spend extra money there. Not that my $10 or so was going to keep the Donk’s doors open – but rather in the hope that by showing up in defiance of the decrees of the Gesundheitsfuhrers, others might and – together – we’d keep the doors open.

I was willing to risk going to jail for the Donk – for the principle that I have a right to get a cup of coffee and they have the right to serve it to me, if we’re both agreeable. I was – and am – on their side.

It is heartbreaking to discover they aren’t on mine. All I wanted today was an another cup of coffee. Without having to play kabuki.

Kabuki is now mandatory – the Donk’s policy.

Whether it’s because they really believe – and fear – or have given in to the pressure – it amounts to the  same thing. I could, I suppose, have threatened to sic a Better Call Saul on the Donk – over ADA “violations.”

Not my style – because I’m not a thug. Unlike the Diaperers, who are. Because they’re not content to just Diaper themselves. All must Diaper – so as to give the impression that Diapering is essential as well as virtuous and those who don’t, well…

So I’ll be filing my next report from another venue – which will get the business the Donk just lost.

And – just maybe – I’ll make some new friends, too.

From Eric Peters