“Nothing of value was lost” – the Mannan’s are dead.

It’s a trite truism and sometimes the situation begs us to repeat it.

A British family of 12 who made headlines around the world when they fled to Syria to fight for ISIS have all died, MailOnline can reveal.

Three of the grown-up sons from the Mannan family were killed fighting for Islamic State, while seven more relatives, including three children between the ages of one and 11, were all wiped out in an airstrike.

The elderly parents, Muhammed Mannan and his wife Minera, both died in the terror group’s former capital from natural causes.

Mohammed Zayd Hussain, 25 and 19-year-old Mohammed Toufique Hussain both died in the battle for Raqqa against American-backed forces, who seized the city in October 2017.

The rest of the family then escaped with other jihadists across Syria and ended up around Baghouz last year.

During fighting for control of Islamic State’s final piece of territory, another son, Mohammed Abil Kashem Saker, 31, was shot and killed. The area fell earlier this year following a brutal battle, signalling defeat for the militant group.

The remaining members of the Mannan family perished in an airstrike while trying to flee Baghouz were their daughter, Rajia Khanom, 21, son Mohammed Saleh Hussain, 26, and his wife Roshanara Begum, 24, their three children and another daughter-in-law, Sheida Khanam, aged 27.

Mr Mannan’s cousin Abdul Khalid told MailOnline: ‘From what we’ve been told they were trying to get away from Baghouz and make their way to a camp, like so many other people were trying to do at the time but there was a lot of bombing going on and they got caught up in this.

‘They were all together, that’s all we know. We are not sure if they were in a house or out in the open but the fact is that they are all dead. The details of how they actually died don’t really matter to me.’

And I’ll add, everything was gained.

Islamic fighters who were born and raised in other countries cannot be faulted for fighting in defense of their dogmatic antagonism to the West; it’s how they were raised and it’s all they know. They are fighting for what they believe is right.

But those who betray the West, who turn their backs and fight against that which afforded them a glimpse of civilized freedom are the worst, and wide scale annihilation is fitting.

**archive**

Is the new temperance just another virtue-signaling facade?

Alright, let me pull no punches.

I was a lush. A chaotic, self-destructive drunk. I did so many things under the influence of booze that would make your moralistic skin melt. I was a bad man.

Speaking in such a manner makes it seem as if this is “all behind me” and that I’m some virtuous “galavanter” marauding the high-and-mighty landscape lecturing all on the perils of the demon alcohol. Bullshit. I’m not. That core essence that led me to abuse alcohol is still in me. From my life, I’ve merely removed the major outward expression and liberator of that personality.

Booze was great. I loved it. It unleashed me from the chains of cultural submersion. I don’t believe alcoholism is a disease, or even a “condition.” I believe it’s just very bad, harmful learned behavior that some of us, by nature of our personality profile, are more prone to indulge in.

So I find the new “sober curious” thing (movement) quite interesting. Many young, socially-vibrant people are double-thinking the unpleasant social and physical aspects of alcohol and taking a break from da booze, if not permanently, at least for the denoted hashtag month.

In the far corner, about a dozen women in a group are clearly enjoying themselves too, but they are not drinking alcohol. They’re sipping handcrafted mocktails, with names like Baby’s First Bourbon and Honey Dew Collins, featuring nonalcoholic distilled spirits.

They’re part of a sober social club, made up mostly of women in their 30s who want to have fun and make friends without alcohol.

Another social club member, Kathy Kuzniar, says she used to obsess over whether there was enough wine in the house. She says she feels calmer since she became sober, and she has lost 30 pounds.

“I’m creative again,” Kuzniar says. “And I know I wouldn’t be doing those things if I was still drinking.”

Not too long ago, a group of women in a bar who were not drinking alcohol would have seemed kind of strange. According to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, 86 percent of adults over 18 report having had an alcoholic drink or drinks at some point in their lifetime, and 56 percent say they’ve had alcohol in the past month. Still, abstaining from alcohol — on a short-term basis or longer term — is becoming more common.

The “sober curious” or “sober sometimes” movement started as a challenge for those who felt they’d partied a little too hard over New Year’s weekend. First there was “Dry January,” when people could brag on social media about how they were taking a break from booze. Now there’s “Dry July” and even “Sober September.” And the movement has spread across the U.S., with people challenging each other to see what life is like without alcohol and share in that experience.

Instagram accounts like Sober Girl Society and Sober Nation have tens of thousands of followers, as does Ruby Warrington, author of the book Sober Curious: The Blissful Sleep, Greater Focus, Limitless Presence, and Deep Connection Awaiting Us All on the Other Side of Alcohol, which was released last December.

Chris Marshall of Austin, Texas, has been sober for the past 12 years. He started drinking in high school, he says, and got his first DUI at 16. Then he joined a fraternity in college and kept drinking.

“All my drinking was really centered around community and wanting that connection so badly with other people,” he says.

He finally got sober with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous. He became a substance abuse counselor to help others but found that being in recovery was often really lonely.

“Those early days of abstinence from alcohol were so tough, because I had no friends,” he says.

At Sans Bar, one popular mocktail is the Alright, Alright, Alright — a blend of muddled blueberries, Meyer lemon, smoked honey, apple cider vinegar and mint. Julia Robinson for NPR

So he created Sans Bar, a sober bar in Austin. It’s open on Friday nights and some Saturdays — a comfortable place where people can talk, make sober friends, listen to music and, of course, drink some good nonalcoholic drinks. (Marshall likes ginger beer, which he says offers a nice burn in the throat that people sometimes miss when they’re no longer drinking alcohol.)

Sans Bar has become so popular that Marshall took the concept on the road this year. He organized pop-up bars in Washington, D.C., New York and Anchorage, Alaska. And he has opened new sober bars in Kansas City, Mo., and western Massachusetts.

“What I want to create across the country are these little incubators for social connection,” he says.

Let’s see where this leads. While I certainly applaud these people for their focus on sobriety as a simplification and preservation of disciplined lifestyle, I’m not sure how I feel about a new “temperance” movement. In today’s social environment, virtuosity is weaponized and cheapened by the leftist culture of platitudes and I fear that this “sober curious” movement is simply an outgrowth of this paradigm.

Cheers, anyhow.


Woody Allen character accuses President Trump of sexiness.

E. Jean Carroll is a berserk madwoman clinging to the last strands of her washed out sanity. She is such a rambling, embarrassing disgrace that I frankly see no problem with her remaining in the spotlight with all her ridiculous Trump-the-rapist allegations. Public witnesses like this can only harm the anti-Trump brigades.

Imagine this…your “spokeswoman.”

By the looks of her, I’d say she was sloppy spillover from a Woody Allen movie about a pill-popping has-been Boomer actress experiencing the intellectual dissolution of a life squandered.

Late onset angst, bitch.

Lexus Stagg’s “reverse Darwinism.”

Reverse Darwinism.

When a parental generation’s doomed genetics thwart procreation by ending young progeny’s life prior to child-bearing age so as to prevent future expression of familial shortcomings.

In other words, cleaning up the gene pool by offing your kids.

Lexus Stagg plays a mean game of tag

A Houston woman who was driving a sport utility vehicle toward her children in an apparent game of “chicken” struck and killed her 3-year-old son, authorities said.

“Cars aren’t toys and playing chicken with your kids isn’t a game,” Harris County District Attorney Kim Ogg said in the statement.

Stagg can be seen on surveillance video reversing a white Lincoln Navigator in an apartment complex parking lot as her three small children run toward the vehicle, prosecutors said. When the kids are just feet from the SUV, it moves forward, trapping the 3-year-old under the right front tire.

Authorities said Stagg continued to drive forward and ran the boy over again with the right rear tire of the SUV, which weighs approximately 5,600 pounds.

He was taken to the hospital by ambulance but later died.

At what point did ‘Fro’s, Flutes and Funky Riffs become Ho’s, G’s and Crack?

I rose early this morning after a rare moment of “sleeping in” (for me). It was about 6am and quietude draped the morning air. Those moments when you feel peaceful, unvarnished, refreshed by solitude, and the day promises anew. During such times I find myself lapsing into a state of reminiscence that must be peculiarly a property of someone “advanced” in years such as I.

There’s more to remember, more the ruminate over, more to condense by the time you’re in your 50’s+.

More thoughtfulness and experience to absorb and eschew.

During this morning’s reminiscence, I thought of 70’s music. This was triggered by the appearance of this band on my Youtube sidebar while randomly surfing vids:

I jumped on it!

As I was catching up on this long-lost disco favorite of mine (how many wild nights I drunkenly acted out the part of clubbing maven in soulful synchronicity to this song’s explosive trailing beat), I stumbled across another forgotten favorite.

Oh yes!

My Sunday morning was fraught with such 70’s goodness. Old enough to remember when times were good, when times were simpler, and Black musicians had heart and valued musicianship.

In the 70’s, these brothas played their hearts out and music was their currency and passion.

At what point did this sincere artistry fly out the window leaving it is wake cynical rhythmically bellowed lyrics about ho’s, money and drugs? When did a bulk of youth-oriented Black music turn into such an urban thug-show of violence and gratuitous hedonism? At its essence, “dystopic urbanism” has become an affliction of society and all its colors. Consumers are to blame for feeding the greedy money machine that encourages the musical cult of Ho’s, Money & Crack, but consumers are not spawned in a void.

There is an element lording over business that is, that was, happy to sweep the rambunctious and frolicking 70’s into memory-holed oblivion in favor of mayhem and murder as the fuel rods of entertainment.

Dehumanized bling proves to be quite profitable. All modern entertainment (including sports) thrives on it.