Neo-Nazi God Send, November 20, 2024.

Introduction.

Back when I was a kid at home, periodic wrestling matches would break out in the living room.

There were various wrestlers involved at different times, but one of the things I remember is the role played by my mother, which was

to stand to the doorway and say, somebody's going to get hurt. I'm not casting shade in a maternal

direction here, because the fact was that she had a point. One time shortly before I went off

to the Navy, one of the aforementioned matches broke out between my father and me, during the course

of which he broke two or three of his fingers on his hand.

He didn't go to the doctor and never told my mom. It was not quite clear what he broke,

but he sure broke something because whenever he held his hand out level, those fingers would just

hang down. He soon took to resting his hand on tabletops, so they wouldn't hang down quite so obviously.

Now what, you may be thinking, does any of this have to do with the title?

A neo-Nazi godsend?

I'm getting to that.

Give me a minute.

When White Boy Summer first became a thing, I didn't like it and said so at the time.

But what's not to like?

I like Summer, and I like White Boys fine.

What possible harm could come from little celebratory skylarking and hijinks from some

tussle-headed blonde boys, you know, surfing and stuff, or wearing those, you know, sunglasses.

So when it all started, people could just stare at me and my dislikeery with a fat face. Was I trying

to be a fuddy? Was I walking around with a picture of cold water looking for somebody's clam chowder

...