Saturday, February 11, 2017

On Tom Brady, Rudyard Kipling, and If

The Social Justice weenies want to dictate what of our history we can celebrate and what we must condemn. Case in point. Tom Brady shares Kipling's If on Instagram and the SJWs go ape shit because the poem by is by the "racist" Kipling. It's not because it's Kipling. Brady is a friend of President Trump and so everything he does is bad and open to attack. Also I'm not going to drop the works of Kipling into the trash because you SJW trash have determined he is badthink because of a poem he wrote before the turn of the last century. He's a wonderful writer that I enjoy so fuck off. Last to you twits who feel the need to jump on the bandwagon because he didn't cite Kipling as the author. It' Instagram. Nobody cares except you nitpicking assholes. I recognize the poem as Kipling. Ya'll did, or somebody with a minimum amount of education did and told you so you could bitch and nobody without an agenda believes for a moment Brady is trying to pass it on as his own work. You're bitching 'cuz it's Brady and Trump so grow up or STFU. Rant over!

Now, without further ado, If by Rudyard Kipling, and if you don't like it. Don't read it.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!

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