Category: LEARNING DAY

Meet Lochlainn.

Lochlainn writes Confederate propaganda for kids. He’s tried other lanes, but his grown-up books are as childlike as his children’s books are doglike.

Lochlainn Seabrook wants to be white. To us, he already is. But he wants the white cartoon. The love, respect, and gratitude of The Filth. Every keystroke kills that dream.

Col. Lochlainn Seabrook will never be white. He wouldn’t deserve his dream if it existed. He mourns a lost life as a KFC mascot. Other reenactors don’t like the faces or sounds he makes.

Col. Lochlainn Seabrook, Jefferson Davis Award winner, wrote a defense of Antebellum slavery. As a table book. Table books are like kids’ books, with lower standards and smaller words. Seabrook might do better. He won’t, but he has 84 chances. 101, if he weren’t a lazy shit.

Interesting opening. Did Lochlainn plan to write this book? Or was it an accident, like half his brain surviving the vacuum? “Slavery Existed Before Forrest” is my strawman of Seabrook, and he’s sprinted ahead. On the first page. What the fuck is Fact 84? “My wife loves me more than the bull?”

Here, Lochlainn rambles about ancient Greece, the ideal gauge for 19th century choices. That’s why we still treat miscarriages with dung.

Yeah, I’m probably descended from slave owners. I’d call that one of the darker problems.

In a vacuum, I should stop giving nazis brand tips. But they don’t take monkey advice, so whatever. Generally, Lochlainn, when chanting “I am not a racist,” one avoids ranting about Africa.

Fun fact: semantics also began in Africa, the cradle of discourse.

Lochlainn knows the pain of getting kicked out of a party early. This bit’s personal, so I’ll let it fly.

Seven is early to start reusing material. Even Every Day Magic made it to Valentine’s Day without plagiarizing itself. Yet Lochlainn feels the labor behind his livelihood is beneath him. Weird.

Lochlainn lists every Bronze Age society he can think of (it’s a short entry), and ends on/emphasizes “the Hebrews.” Antisemitism’s still reactionary autopilot. Martian nativists will blame them for migrants from Pluto.

Lochlainn tilts a summary of the Barbary Wars. Against reason, he’s worse at it than the Civil War. He rambles without the words “pirate,” “corsair,” “privateer,” “navy,” or “ship,” failing as both a historian and children’s author. When the records give you pirates, use pirates. That’s the sugar around the redpill.

For many of you, these articles hit before the third coffee of the day. So I’ll spell it out: this wing of the book rewrites Roots in white crayon. Lochlainn’s Dixie is a revenge fantasy for eons of white bondage. I call it Bizarro Wakanda.

Suspense! Want a remedial lesson in DARVO? Guess the answer. Lochlainn isn’t a master, or literate, but boy does he try.

Lochlainn’s answer: “by increasing the monetary value of African slaves, it greatly reduced instances of their abuse, torture, murder, and sacrifice by fellow Africans.”

Frankly, magical. In rhetoric, they call this tactic “cerebral hemorrhaging.” Slavery 101 came out in 2015, so it’s too late to get Lochlainn a doctor.

I swear, Real America won’t let you have anything. Seabrook’s swiping chattel slavery like its rock n’ roll. Who should play Indentured Elvis in Roots II?

I write on a hideously overpriced and perfect e-ink typewriter (glorified Notepad emulator) with a 7-inch screen. It attracts artsy descendants of indentured servants. Then, they see that I’ve typed “IN EARLY AMERICA A WHITE SLAVE WAS WORTH LESS THAN HALF THAT OF A BLACK SLAVE.” And I limp back to Hinge.

This bit of spin’s where the repetition starts in earnest:

Now Seabrook’s stuck in a loop. One with a divine sentence:

Remarkably efficient worldbuilding. Lochlainn’s written white power’s “The door dilated.” Any reader knows, from here, that Seabrook’s out of his tiny mind. And that we’re in a new, fantastic world. In Bizzaro Wakanda, anything is possible.

Experienced Seabrook scholars know he loves this line. I’m still baffled. I can’t even tell if it’s my imagination failing, or his. With his agenda, I’d hide that trivia in an underground vault, and split the keys among Four Invincible Country Star Generals. Yet here it is again, in bold all-caps text.

Eyup. I’d call them the second worst place to be black in North America.

Lochlainn deeply envies people barred from writing. He could’ve skipped a lifetime of humiliation.

Lochlainn’s a brilliant kids’ writer. Every book is like “I Spy” for equivocation. “Look, Mama! Horseshit! Mister Seabrook’s lying through his missing teeth again. It’s because of his small pee-pee.”

It sounds like a Tom DuBois joke, but he’s talking about early Boston’s favorite prank. Beware alcoholic reparations.

Sure. Monetary reparations should go directly to the state’s black humorists.

The worldbuilding continues with a mind-bending riddle: what’s authentic slavery? Solve it, and become authentic king of Bizarro Wakanda.

Each writer hides something worthwhile. In Lochlainn, it’s fighting history itself. What a struggle. You can feel his heart break with his mind. Said mind is a bruised, battered Rocky Balboa mess. Yet Lochlainn gets up one more time to fight the idea of knowledge. He’d have done well in the Mandingo fights.

FACT 44’s taught me a new technique. Against my will, but that’s par for this topic. Here, Lochlainn owns a fake idiot arguing against their own nested punching bag. I call it the Mobius Strawman. Nothing else explains coming at this angle.

I wanted that DARVO joke earlier to be hurtful and unfair. So it’s sharp for Lochlainn to just do it. I look forward to reading about the Yankees attacking Fort Sumter, purging Fort Pillow, and teamkilling Stonewall Jackson. Our perfidy knows no bounds.

No one’s grasped at a straw this thin since Lochlainn’s wife.

For all of Lochlainn’s microfailure as a thinker, historian, and biped, he inspires. You can type anything. No god or standards will stop you. I’m braver today because of Lochlainn. If the not-colonel can believe in himself, why not you?

Davis was picked for his elastic spine. Slavers preferred someone that wouldn’t muck things up by governing. I could see him telling the soldier that caught him ditching his family this.

I’d love to paste the Cornerstone Speech and move on. But I must honor generations of tryhards before me. So I’ll note that Lochlainn quotes Vance’s predecessor on his deathbed. When you’re dying and believe in hell, your memory gets flexible. That, or you start screaming.

I know this quote, by heart.

Or some vapid equivocation. My brain started sparking 40 slurs ago.

There’s such a sweaty desperation to Lochlainn’s writing. The point’s smothering thought, but he sounds like he’s trying to catch up to his own dignity. What would he even tell it? It’s been decades. Let it die in peace.

He adds a picture.

Perhaps Godwin’s law was meant for flamewars about nothing, rather than vanity publishing or imperial disintegration. But it jumps to mind when Hitler appears in every Seabrook book about the 1860s. After writing my own Civil War fever dream, I’ve gotta say: Adolf doesn’t come up much.

Again, sprinkles of the truth. The South would’ve ended slavery at some point before the heat death of the universe. At the very latest, when half-man, half-machine Server Servants merged with Aristocrat Hivemind Zero. Ending mandingo fights was short-sighted cultural tyranny, and one day Dixie will be avenged by Roko’s Gentleman.

Lochlainn hates Yankees for ditching slavery when profits dipped, instead of putting cool whips first. It makes Dixie gentlemen look like art purists, choosing passion over solvency. I suspect Lochlainn would pay for the privilege, and skip planting anything.

Lunacy? Or proof that a medium’s quirks become features? In this case, the quirk’s bottomless cruelty. And the medium.

Three in a row! Again, I see why Lochlainn’s dead brain resents losing free labor. He’d need three Bagger Vances to get through middle school.

“Fact 71.5: Harriett Tubman was a poop face with a stinky butt. General Lee called her Harriet NoTubman because of the smell. P.U.”

I like this game! Ramses didn’t run a “Pyramid Regime.” The vast majority of buildings were dull rectangles, holding the living. Stop talking about pyramids. Volunteers worked hard on them.

Lochlainn’s published more books about Nathan Bedford Forrest, one of the biggest Southern slave traders, than any other moron. Living or dead. This erases more than Forrest, history, or sanity. This erases Lochlainn Seabrook.

I see why younger nazis went mask-off: the mask looks fucking stupid. If Steve Harvey asks for five symbols of white supremacy, what’s your second guess? The frog has no staying power, the CMT logo’s too niche, and Charlie’s neckhole is already played out.

I didn’t appreciate Lincoln’s complexity before Seabrook. In the same pages he’s a bigot, race traitor, monkey-lover (abstract), monkey-lover (sexual), monkey (literal), imbecile, shrewd tactician, Mr. Bean, snake in Eden, and three-headed nemesis of Godzilla. A total lack of principles and research keeps Lochlainn’s eyes clear, and allows him to see every imaginable side of Abe. Helpful, as he makes them up.

Man did it work. Nothing but net. We’re still mopping up iced tears from that one.

Their names? Albert Einstein. Your move, liberal. Just remember you’re arguing with the father of relativity.

This is the closer, which caught me off guard. If I’d jerked 84 pieces of fantasy worldbuilding into a Prussian Blue notebook, I’d at least *try* to crank out 16 more. We broke the seal on repetition two entries in, so there’s nothing stopping Lochlainn from printing “Slaves still exist” in sixteen different fonts.

But I have a fact. Straight from Gilead’s leading scholar, L. Seabrook. Enjoy five footnotes from Slavery 101.

Sorry, that’s cherry-picked. Here are twenty footnotes from Slavery 101.

Lochlainn cites himself! 113 times! 115, if Emphasis is a pen name. While Lochlainn’s never been rigorous, this is research inbreeding. He should return his made-up award. And life.

Enjoy the last black history month! In the spirit of brotherhood, I’ll wait at least another week before waterboarding Lochlainn again. Maybe two! Peace is possible in our time. For you. Not Lochlainn and I, we’re tandem-diving into a lake of fire.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Gareth. There’s not a lot I can say about Gareth. Not because he isn’t impressive, but because I am filled with so much awe that my mind draws a blank.