A techno death has one thing going for it—it is relatively clean. At least compared to dying in the Victorian age or earlier. Death back then was often downright messy. Today, unless you are hit by a bus (which is unlikely), you will probably die in a hospital on nice clean white sheets with a morphine drip and a team of people working to either keep you alive a little longer or help you die as comfortably as possible. At least that’s how it looks in the movies.

I’m sure reality is different, but isn’t it always?

Of course, you could also die peacefully in bed at home from a nocturnal heart attack or stroke (what most old folks secretly wish for). Or, at the other extreme, in a violent accident or from the ravages of a painful cancer. But even then, it would still be relatively clean. No fleas or other vermin waiting to consume your rotting body. No weird parasites eating away at you while you’re still alive. No black plague, no smallpox, no cholera sweeping through entire communities. Sure, there are still exceptions today—flesh-eating bacteria and the like—but they are far less common than they used to be.

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When I was a kid that was a pretty common phrase I would hear from the adults in my life. To me, it basically meant you couldn’t have something you wanted without also accepting the consequences that came with it. Officially, it is a common idiom meaning you can’t enjoy two mutually exclusive benefits or options at the same time—you must choose one or the other.

The official explanation doesn’t fit the context of this article as clearly as my childhood interpretation. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.

Recently, I was engaged in a deep conversation with an ultra-liberal type. I use the word “type” because I no longer know what “liberal” actually means anymore. The term has been twisted and redefined so many times that it has lost all recognizable shape. We’ve had to invent a new label—“woke”—to describe what used to be called liberals who have now drifted far beyond reason.

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Another admirable human trait that has gone the way of the Dodo. It certainly disappeared from my life early on—if it was ever there to begin with. If I had to pick the number one thing that has gotten in the way of my goals, I’d say it’s the lack of discipline. For me, it hasn’t been a total lack, but it’s right up there at the top of the list.

So, exactly what is discipline? A simplistic way to define it would be this: practicing discipline means consistently doing something that doesn’t bring immediate pleasure, but in the end delivers the goals you actually want. And here comes instant gratification again—that evil little trickster that seems to be Public Enemy Number One these days.

I’m sure you’re all familiar with the marshmallow experiment. Conducted in the late 1960s and early 1970s by psychologist Walter Mischel at Stanford University, it tested delayed gratification in preschool-aged children. A kid was left alone in a room with one marshmallow (or sometimes a cookie or pretzel). They could eat it right away, or wait 15–20 minutes for the researcher to return and get two marshmallows instead. Some kids ate it immediately. Others distracted themselves, covered their eyes, or sang songs to resist.

Follow-up studies over decades showed that the children who waited longer tended to have better life outcomes: higher SAT scores, better educational attainment, lower BMI, and fewer issues with impulsivity or addiction later on. It wasn’t perfect science—later replications questioned how strongly it predicted success—but the core idea holds: the ability to resist immediate temptation for a bigger future reward matters.

The important thing to note is that this was done with children. As adults, we’re supposed to know better—wait, be patient, stay disciplined, and reap greater rewards. Ha ha. I’m sure when I was a kid, I would’ve scarfed the first marshmallow, and now, if they replaced it with cookies, I’d do the exact same thing.

I don’t know if this is even the best example of discipline. It ties in closely, but it’s more about holding off for something better in a one-off situation. Discipline is really about continuous behavior: going to the gym regularly, saving money over time, sticking to a diet to lose weight. Sure, it isn’t completely gone from the culture—I know plenty of people who are very disciplined about working out (that one seems to be the most common example left standing).

Let’s take saving money as a counter-example. Many years ago, there was no such thing as easy “credit.” Department stores pioneered the layaway system: you’d pick out an item, the store would set it aside, and you’d pay for it in installments until it was yours. No debt, just patient saving. Then came installment plans for big purchases like cars, followed by revolving credit accounts in the 1930s–1950s. Credit cards exploded in the 1950s and 1960s (think BankAmericard, later Visa), and 30-year mortgages became the norm, turning homeownership into a lifelong debt arrangement rather than something you saved up for.

Now we live in a world of debt. Debt is taken for granted—everyone’s got it. Just like everyone used to have fleas, now everyone’s got debt. As of recent 2025–2026 data, total U.S. household debt sits around $18.5 trillion. Credit card debt alone exceeds $1.2 trillion, with average balances per cardholder hovering around $5,600–$7,900 depending on the source. The average American with a credit score carries roughly $63,000 in total debt. Mortgages dominate, but consumer debt keeps climbing. We’ve normalized living beyond our means.

This erosion of discipline isn’t just financial. It’s everywhere. We want the six-pack abs without the daily gym grind, the viral Substack success without writing consistently for years, the deep knowledge without the slow, often boring study. Instant gratification culture—fueled by apps, dopamine hits from likes, same-day delivery, and “buy now, pay later”—has us all hooked.

Of course, I see this as part of the bigger picture. Most people seem to follow the path of least resistance because it feels easier, safer, more “normal.” The powers that be love a population chasing quick fixes; it keeps us distracted, indebted, and compliant. Real discipline requires discomfort, delayed reward, and a long view—exactly what the modern world tries to train out of us.

You know me, I am always going to point to the agenda. But this sort of erosion could be natural and only supported by the agenda, like a lot of other things that seem to be going on. The loss of discipline is due to deeper and broader strokes: the loss of self-respect, the loss of meaning and purpose, the focus on consumerism, the focus on materiality, the focus on instant gratification, the focus on safety and the fear of death. I could go on and on, as I have in the hundreds of articles I’ve written so far.

All of this is reversible, of course, but because we are being pushed by external forces to embrace these dysfunctional tendencies, it is and will continue to be very difficult to overcome. I have no direct solutions other than what I always say is best: a return to basics. We need to push away odur obsession with materialism and embrace a more metaphysical worldview of love, peace, family, and nature. We need to develop our desire to find meaning and purpose in our lives—to embrace art and creativity and even more intellectual pursuits. And most importantly, we must again learn that instant gratification and the senseless pursuit of physical comfort should not be at the top of our list of priorities.

Me? I am beginning to get the spiritual and intellectual part down, but I’m still working on the physical discipline. Some days I win the marshmallow battle. Other days I eat the whole bag. But at least I’m aware of the game. That’s half the fight, right? Ha! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a gym membership I should probably use . . . tomorrow.

Yesterday I was engaged in my typical morning routine. Scanning the internet for interesting stories to read and news to soak in. Reading a few things here and there and watching a couple of videos. I settled in after a bit of this to write an article for my Substack “Shrew Views.” The topic is unimportant—typically something to do with something that caught my fancy during my news scanning, or something someone said to me yesterday about whatever, all mixed in with my learned and experienced knowledge of archetypal psychology. Nothing earth-shattering, mind you, but hopefully an insight some people might find interesting, resonating with their own observations, maybe a bit funny, insightful, whatever. Who really cares.

I consider myself and my ideas interesting. Sometimes informative, sometimes insightful, and nearly always consciously honest and authentic. Not always “right,” mind you, that isn’t possible, of course, but always intended to be truthful. To be honest with you, I don’t really know why I write—at least I don’t know why I write publicly. I just started doing it during the beginnings of the Covid koo-koo-fest, and it seemed a handful of people enjoyed (is that the right word?) what I was writing, so I kept doing it. I have written well over 500 articles as of today, and don’t plan to stop, although at times I have seriously considered it.

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When I was a young lad, I remember being fascinated by reading an article about predicting the weather. Very simply put, the article commented on how excited the meteorological community was when computers first entered the scene in the 1960s. They believed, without a doubt, that once computers became more practical and could fit into the space of an office suite rather than take up a city block, they would be able to predict the weather with perfect accuracy.

Materialist scientists—meteorologists included—believe the entire universe, including all of human experience, can ultimately be reduced to nothing more than particles interacting with other particles. In their view, reality is just one vast, intricate chain of cause and effect: one electron bouncing off another, setting off predictable sequences of events.

That’s it. All problems solved.

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Hey Shrew Pack!

Yet another interview I did with Jeremy Nell of Jerm Warfare on the popular alt news source UK Column:

UK Column. Jerm Warfare.

This is the description on the UK website:

Todd Hayen and Jerm discuss various topics, including the challenges of maintaining creativity in a materialistic society, the impact of secularism on moral values, and the philosophical implications of atheism versus belief in a higher power.

They explore how creativity is a fundamental human trait that transcends mere survival instincts, contrasting it with the reductionist views of some atheists.

The dialogue also touches on the cultural and psychological aspects of morality, the role of religion, and the influence of technology and transhumanism on human values.

WATCH NOW!

I was out with a friend for lunch the other day (yeah, I still have a few of those left). This friend leans more to the liberal side of things. He certainly doesn’t care for Trump, is a vax advocate, etc. A very nice guy, I have to say—a superb artist, an excellent father, and just a good all-around person. I won’t go off on a tangent here, but sheep types typically are not bad people. Many of them can be just like us, only asleep. Anyway, I digress.

Needless to say, our conversation focused on music and other safe subjects and didn’t venture into the dark zone of world politics, public health, and the like. But he did say one thing that got me thinking. It’s something you hear often, and usually when you hear it, the person saying it is rather livid. They just can’t believe it, and they present it as if it is one of the main reasons the world is going to shit. Here it is:

“Why does everyone think they are an expert and run off at the mouth all of the time? Why can’t they just shut up and listen to the people who know what they’re talking about?”

Quite frankly, I hear this from shrew and sheep alike (though more from sheep, actually—at least they seem more angry about it than shrews do).

One of my pet peeves over the years is seeing headlines like “Scientists Discover!” or “Experts Agree!” or some other equally breathless proclamation that suggests only “scientists” can discover something and only “experts” can have anything important to say. What about all the very important discoveries that trained scientists did not discover? The wheel? Fire-making techniques? Countless effective folk remedies? Even modern examples like the microwave oven and Post-it notes?

Screw the scientists and screw the experts. What about Grandma? Or Joe the auto mechanic? Or Bob next door—the guy working ten hours a day out in his garden, nurturing his roses? Doesn’t he know something worth hearing?

Sad to say, this sustained effort to train us to believe that only certain sanctioned people are allowed to speak to us is clearly part of the agenda. And whenever it comes up in conversation, it makes my blood boil.

Now, there is a flip side to this as well. I am not a fan of putting all of my eggs in the basket of someone who is not informed or has not done their homework. I don’t necessarily believe that Joe the mechanic knows how to treat my chronic back pain—but he might. That is the key element to what I am saying. Average, everyday people may know something useful.

In our complicated world, though, this “common sense” knowledge does become less and less likely to be beneficial when applied to highly technical matters. I doubt many people intuitively know how to fix a cell phone if it goes on the fritz, but that doesn’t mean they can’t express an opinion about it. I can’t tell you the number of times a suggestion my wife makes about remedying some weird computer issue has actually fixed the problem. Maybe it’s voodoo and has little causal reason behind it, but it will often work.

Still, there is a continuing problem: many people don’t bother to learn even basic things about a situation they are confronted with. This is where our shrew mantra “do your research” comes in. I don’t think we expect sheep-types to learn all of the intricacies necessary to come up with valid and useful opinions based on truth and facts, but we do expect them to know the basic things so their instincts are based more on what is actually happening rather than some fabrication (or outright lies) the agenda has fed them in order to form an opinion that aligns with its intentions.

The irony here is that the sheep-types don’t keep their uninformed, inexpert mouths shut either. They babble on with the story that the agenda has presented to them. The agenda gives the label of “expert” to the select few in their ranks. They pay for the scientists to do their work and the experts to do their bidding; they themselves are the moneymakers and the power brokers of the culture. The public sees all of this as the authority, the expertise, the purveyors of reliable information. So, they spout off about it: “experts agree,” “scientists discover.”

Two things are happening here. First, these sheep masses want everyone else to shut up. If everyone they want silenced are not presenting opinions based on what they have been told is the only source of truth (the experts), then they want them quiet. Second, these sheep masses believe they already know everything they need to know. They simply refer to the experts, scientists, and politicians. None of their own thought, instinct, common sense, or experience is factored into their conclusions. They think that when they “express their opinion,” they are expressing what they know. But they are not—they are simply spitting back what authority (their experts, thus their truth) has told them.

I don’t think us shrew-folks do this. In fact, we don’t trust the mainstream to a fault. For the most part, nothing the mainstream says is trusted, including the scientists and the experts. Unfortunately for us, this is not always the smartest way to go. Believe it or not, some of these people (scientists and experts) actually have something good and useful to say. Believe it or not again, even some politicians are not under the power of Satan (I would say this is typically found at the local level of government).

For the most part, though, we formulate our own opinions about things; we don’t automatically defer to someone with a fancy label. Hopefully, we listen to them as well when formulating our opinion — hopefully we listen to everyone.

The point here is that no one should be silenced. It is up to the listener to determine whether what the speaker is saying is useful. If the speaker is downright lying and knows they are lying, then that is a problem. But again, we have to individually be the final arbiter of what is truth and what isn’t. Obviously, this is where free speech comes in. We don’t get to determine what is said and who has the right to say it, but we carry the responsibility ourselves of assessing what is said.

We all have the right to express our opinions. Expert and non-expert alike. You never know when a gem will turn up. It could be found in the most unlikely of places.

And I don’t mean just art and music. I mean accounting, car building, secretarial work, and even mowing the lawn. I mean anything that involves thought translated into meaningful action—which covers nearly everything humans do that could be called productive and purposeful. Entertaining oneself is the glaring exception. But that, in most contexts, hardly qualifies as productive or meaningful. And therein lies the problem. We cannot sustain humanity on entertainment alone. Note that I specifically said “entertaining oneself,” not merely “entertainment.” Let me explain.

Being an entertainer—creating something that entertains others—is not inhuman. Being entertained is also not a sin against humanity, as long as it remains in balance. Even entertaining yourself can be a creative act: writing in a journal, improvising a song on the guitar, tending a garden for the sheer joy of it. The danger arises when self-entertainment becomes the only thing you want. “Bread and circuses,” as the Romans put it. Instant gratification. The purpose and meaning of life shrink to satisfying the senses—appealing to the flesh with endless stimuli rather than nourishing the heart, the intellect, or the soul. Even though they seem conflated, creativity and self-entertainment are not really the same thing. There is a difference between playing a video game and writing a story about medieval warriors—although creativity is present in both.

We are material beings, of course. There is nothing wrong with sensory appeal; it is how we are driven to eat, drink, move, play, and procreate. Biology uses pleasure to ensure survival and procreation. Sex, for example, is powered in part by raw sensory reward, yet its primary purpose is to open the door to profound spiritual union. The assumption has always been one of balance: sensory satisfaction should ultimately serve deeper desires—walks in nature, playing with a dog, watching a sunset, sharing a lovingly prepared meal, or making love.

There are other drives that are not, at first glance, purely sensory: observing great art, listening to music that moves you, dancing, playing an instrument, creating jewelry, sculpture, poetry, or architecture. These activities engage the senses, but point beyond them—to beauty, meaning, transcendence. A well-crafted wooden chair, a thoughtfully designed garden, a perfectly balanced spreadsheet that reveals hidden patterns in a business—these too are creative acts. They require presence, discernment, care, and the subtle satisfaction that comes from shaping the world in small but meaningful ways. When these acts disappear, replaced by automated systems that demand nothing from us but passive consumption, we lose more than efficiency; we lose a vital piece of our humanity.

Modern science, however, often tries to reduce all of this to material and physical mechanisms. E.O. Wilson (the father of sociobiology) and Richard Dawkins (author of The Selfish Gene) are famous for this reductionist approach. Wilson argued in works like Consilience that human behaviour, culture, and even ethics can ultimately be explained through biology and evolutionary principles. Dawkins goes further, portraying organisms (including humans) as mere vehicles for “selfish” genes whose only goal is replication. In their worldview, love, art, morality, and creativity are ultimately elaborate byproducts of genetic and biochemical processes—nothing more. Whether one finds this view persuasive is a matter of personal philosophy. For me, I find this particular modern scientific pastime deeply impoverished. It strips the mystery and grandeur from human experience and leaves us with little reason to strive for anything higher than stimulus and response. It turns the soul into mere chemistry and the creative impulse into a neurological accident. Jung would have had a field day with this—calling it a profound loss of the archetypal, the numinous, and the symbolic dimension of life that has always given human existence its depth.

I am not going to blame only AI for our current loss of creativity. This trend has been building for decades. In the past, the creators of computers, robots, and early AI systems focused mainly on replacing physical labour, yet they always harboured a peculiar obsession with proving their machines could handle creative work too. I wrote a few years ago about 1960s computers that generated poetry and composed music. Transhumanism was already at work. Even then, visionaries like Alan Turing and others dreamed of machines that could rival human minds not just in calculation but in imagination. What began as academic curiosity has snowballed into today’s reality.

Today it is obvious that art—music, literature, sculpture, painting—sits squarely in AI’s crosshairs. Strangely, most people don’t seem terribly alarmed about handing our deepest forms of human expression over to machines. What really upsets them is losing paying jobs to AI. After all, “everyone knows artists don’t make money.” Tell that to Damien Hirst, whose works have sold for tens of millions, or to digital artist Beeple, who sold a single NFT for $69 million. The deeper tragedy, however, is not financial. It is existential. When AI generates paintings, writes novels, composes symphonies, and designs buildings better and faster than most humans, what becomes of the human drive to create? What happens to the soul of the artist who spends years wrestling with a single idea, pouring their lived experience, pain, and revelation into the work?

So, who are the real culprits destroying creativity and, by extension, humanity? In a broad sense, nearly everything emanating from modern science and technology—including medicine. As touched on earlier with Dawkins and Wilson, the deeper agenda of much of contemporary science appears to be the eradication of anything distinctly human. Read Yuval Noah Harari, and the picture becomes crystal clear. The bestselling author of Sapiens and Homo Deus openly describes humans as “hackable animals,” essentially biochemical algorithms whose time as the dominant species is rapidly ending. He predicts that AI and biotechnology will render most people economically and politically useless, reducing humanity to a new underclass of “useless people” while a tiny elite merges with intelligent machines. Harari’s vision is not presented as dystopia but as inevitable progress. In his worldview, free will is largely an illusion, consciousness is overrated, and the future belongs to those who control the data and the algorithms. This is not fringe thinking—it is mainstream among Silicon Valley elites and global policy influencers.

When creativity dies across all domains—not just the “arts,” but in craftsmanship, problem-solving, thoughtful labour, and daily invention—something essential to being human dies with it. We become consumers rather than creators, spectators rather than participants. Life narrows to scrolling, clicking, gaming, and binge-watching: endless self-stimulation in a digital hall of mirrors.

Until even that is no longer an option.

This is not sustainable. A civilization that no longer values or practices real creativity in its broadest sense cannot long endure. It may entertain itself brilliantly while it lasts, but it will have forgotten how to live. We will have traded the messy, difficult, deeply rewarding work of being human for the sterile comfort of being entertained—and then, eventually, replaced.

Sorry. Dr. Doom is at it again. I’m going to go have a bowl of ice cream. Maybe I’ll have a different perspective after my senses are satisfied.

I recently stumbled across an unlikely source of shrew wisdom: The Devil Wears Prada 2. Yes, the sequel to that glossy, champagne-soaked fashion satire centered on the cutthroat world of Runway magazine. In the middle of all the stilettos and backstabbing, a character named Benji—played with oily smugness by Justin Theroux—delivers a little monologue that stopped me cold. Benji is the quintessential modern ass: a slick, soulless technocrat who views the erosion of beauty, craft, and human meaning as not only inevitable but somehow progressive. He has zero nostalgia for the old world and even less concern for what gets crushed under the wheels of “the future.” To him, the disappearance of the human soul from any industry—fashion included—is just collateral damage on the road to efficiency and disruption. He doesn’t mourn it—he shrugs, maybe even smirks.

And yet, in his casual nihilism, Benji accidentally speaks a deeper truth that most sheep would rather scroll past. Here’s the relevant stretch of his speech (lightly trimmed for flow):

The world is changing so fast that sometimes I can’t even comprehend it… tradition? I think the day is coming, perhaps very soon, where Runway won’t need models or locations or even designers. It’ll all just, you know, be AI… The future just comes rushing at us like the lava of Pompeii. And our job is just to let it take what it wants to take. One day, it’s going to come and smother us all. And maybe that’s the way it has to be.

Oof.

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Dear Shrews,

Most of you have heard me talk about my book, The View of the Shrew. Some of you bought it right away (thank you). Many of you haven’t, and that’s perfectly fine.

This isn’t a hard sell. It’s a clear ask, once, and then I’ll let it rest (until volume 2 comes out!)

You’re here, reading this Substack, because something in you knows the world went mad over the last few years. You’ve smelled the propaganda, felt the pressure to conform, and watched friends and family slip into a kind of trance.

That’s exactly what The View of the Shrew is about.

It’s a collection of essays from this very world we share—post‑COVID madness, the psychology of fear and obedience, globalist agendas, and the quiet erosion of personal freedom—pulled together into something you can sit with, mark up, and return to.

If you’ve ever thought, while reading one of these pieces,

“I wish I could hand something like this to a friend,” that’s what this book is for.

I’m not asking you to support me “because you like my Substack.” I’m asking you to consider whether you’d value:

• Having these ideas in one place, edited into a coherent arc

• A physical or digital object you can lend, loan, or leave on someone’s table

• A way to deepen and solidify what you’ve already been thinking and feeling

If that sounds worthwhile to you, here’s how to get it:

• Best for me and for you (cheapest): Get the ebook + PDF directly from my site: Get The View of the Shrew (ebook + PDF) This is a great deal, cheaper than Amazon, and you get BOTH an ePub file (for your reader, any of them) and a PDF file.

• If you prefer Amazon: You can buy the paperback or Kindle version there as well: View on Amazon

And if you’re not going to buy it, that’s okay. Truly. You’re still welcome here. This space isn’t conditional on purchasing anything.

But if you’ve been sitting on the fence, or meant to get around to it and never did, consider this your nudge.

Also, don’t forget to look at all of the cool shrew swag! T-shirts with many types of shrew logos, cups, tote bags, lots of cool stuff!

With gratitude, Todd

P.S. If you have read the book and it meant something to you, a short honest review on Amazon or a quick note you

If you think I am obsessed with sheep, you are right. However, my relationship with them has changed over time. At first, I was utterly perplexed. I did not think of them as sheep. They were just people—most people, in fact—and most of them included the people who were important to me. That confusion and perplexity quickly turned into anger and annoyance. Why don’t you see this? This perspective lasted a while.

The anger I felt was more due to frustration that people would not listen to reason and continuously denigrated me for being on the other side of the fence. Mine wasn’t an ugly anger, at least not at first. In fact, it was never really that ugly. My truly ugly anger was reserved for the sheep-herders—the Faucis, the Bill Gateses, the Albert Bourlas (Pfizer CEO), and the legacy media executives and anchors who dutifully amplified the official narrative day after day.

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Hey Dear Shrews!

Here is another interview I did with my pal Jeremy Nell of Jerm Warfare on the popular alt news source UK Column. All of my interviews with Jerm consist of a variety of topics. This interview can be found here:

UK Column. Jerm Warfare.

BE SURE TO CHECK IT OUT!!!

Todd

I’ve never been a fan of nationalism or jingoism. These days, I’m even less enthusiastic about these toxic “isms” than I used to be.

I have no problem with healthy pride in what a nation or community has accomplished. What I can’t stand is the childish obsession with being “better” than everyone else — smarter, stronger, more moral, or more virtuous. Sure, nations exist on a spectrum. Some genuinely excel in certain areas while others lag behind. But I dislike the flag-waving, chest-thumping need to broadcast, “Look at us — we’re superior to you.”

Gee, I sound like a liberal.

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Don’t get your knickers in a wad—I don’t mean it the way it sounds. There are several distinct forms of “compliance,” and shrews navigate them very differently from sheep.

The first and most dangerous kind is compliance with actions that can seriously harm you—such as taking an experimental vaccine with no long-term safety data and no real guarantee of benefit. The Covid time was one of the most bizarre collective insanities I have ever witnessed. Why did so many people leap onto that bandwagon before there was any solid indication they had to?

At the beginning, the fear porn was laid on thick: images of people dropping dead in the streets of China, hazmat-suited figures breaking down doors, piles of coffins, hospitals allegedly bursting at the seams. They actually overdid it. A lighter touch would probably have sufficed to herd the sheep, but the scare tactics worked. Even I bought it initially. In a world as messed up as this one, the idea that a killer virus had escaped (or been released) from a lab in China seemed entirely plausible.

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Sure, as long as we are conscious of their true origins. And even if not, sometimes we can trust, other times no. Feelings are odd things. They can come out of nowhere, or they can be highly circumstantial—like the rush of extreme fear when a bear jumps aggressively from behind a tree. They can also be mysterious “gut feelings.” Usually, we have some awareness of their unconscious underpinnings. We sense whether a feeling is a solid “gut” instinct, something “creepy,” or simply “good”—as in, “I just liked that guy; there was something about him that made me feel comfortable and trusting.”

But . . . and it’s a big “but,” we know we have to be careful. The guy or gal who sweeps us off our feet on a first date needs further scrutiny. We have all fallen into that pit, haven’t we? It is a deep, dark chasm, and usually very difficult to climb out of. Did you ever wonder why, back in the day, marriage engagements often lasted what seemed an eternity? There were many social and cultural underpinnings, but one major reason was simply to get past the “swept off your feet” syndrome—to make what was largely unconscious, conscious.

So, what’s the big deal? If our impressions of things and people rely too heavily on feelings—especially when we are not conscious of their origins—we can end up in serious trouble. Most of the time, it doesn’t really matter what our feelings are about other people. We see an actor we like or meet someone in the grocery store we immediately dislike. Actors don’t matter much in our daily lives; their entire craft is built on creating impressions based on unsubstantiated feelings.

Most strangers we encounter don’t matter much either. But people like our lawyer, our doctor, or our lover, do. With the exception of the latter, we usually have some objective basis for our assessments—what are their credentials? What is their reputation? Has the state licensed them? (As I clear my throat on that one.) We may still have a gut feeling, which remains important given their role in our lives, but we temper the emotional response with at least some objective evaluation.

We run into an odd situation with politicians. They are (or most people think they are) important, yet their persona and presentation are wholly geared toward generating a “feeling” with voters choosing among options. More often than not, they want that feeling to outweigh any objective facts. A lot of effort goes into this charade. Intellectually, many people may agree it’s a game, but most still fall for the ruse.

I see this often with celebrities, too. People worship movie stars or sports figures regardless of whether they are decent human beings. They reach worship status quickly. Sports stars at least have to have a exceptional physical skill. And oddly enough, most totally untalented actors seldom become celebrities. Hating these types (actors and athletes) is less common, but when someone is set up for hate for whatever reason, it flows effortlessly.

Guess who I am going to use as an example of this sort of hate? Donald J. Trump, of course. He is probably the most hated man in modern times next to Adolf Hitler (we could cite others like Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot, or Saddam Hussein, but Trump is the most current). Was he set up for hate? Absolutely, although not entirely. He can be rather despicable at times, making it easy to dislike him. Add a little media salt to his own formula, and you have one of the juiciest targets for hate projection imaginable.

To start with, Trump does not have a conventionally likable personality. He comes across as arrogant, impulsive, boastful, and low on agreeableness and emotional stability—traits like rudeness, grandiosity, and a lack of empathy that many find off-putting. He is blunt, disruptive, and often vulgar in a way that violates traditional political norms. Not much there for broad appeal.

Yet some of these brazen attributes are exactly what his supporters adore. His maverick, no-nonsense approach—telling it like he sees it with little filter, rejecting political correctness, and fighting the establishment—resonates deeply. Supporters value his authenticity, pragmatism, and willingness to shake up the system rather than play the polished insider game. What critics call arrogance or bullying, fans see as strength, decisiveness, and refreshing honesty. Which set of attributes do you think make a better leader? Sadly, the ugly ones probably do.

What about the “real” good and bad things? Haters rarely focus on substantive presidential shortcomings. Instead, they attack his personality: he’s mean, ugly, makes fun of people, has weird hair, is fat, and has an ugly mouth. They label him a misogynist, a racist, and a felon. Defenders note that many accusations stem from selective outrage, legal warfare perceived as political persecution, or misrepresentations of his record on issues like criminal justice reform (First Step Act), opportunity zones for minority communities, and strong support from diverse groups in elections. Supporters argue his blunt style gets twisted into “-isms” while ignoring policy outcomes or context.

Many of the Trump haters adore figures like Biden, Harris, Obama, or (for Canadians) Carney. Why? For mostly the same superficial reasons—personality, looks, media framing—rather than deep substance. They were told to love these figures and hate Trump (and his team). Although personality and appearance play a role, the press drives most of it. Most people don’t look beyond that.

So, they treat politicians like movie stars or sports figures. Their gut tells them one thing, looks and personality another, and the press fills in the rest. Then they retreat into echo chambers where their bias is confirmed endlessly by social media, friends, family, the dog—and maybe a cat or two (cats are primarily liberal).

Feelings have their place. A strong gut instinct can protect us or guide us toward what feels right. But when it comes to high-stakes decisions—especially about leaders who shape laws, economies, and societies—we owe it to ourselves to dig deeper. Scrutinize records, policies, and results alongside the vibe. Conscious awareness of where our feelings come from turns raw emotion into informed judgment. Without that, we’re just another audience member swept up in the performance.

As I revisit this concept in our modern time, the divide feels even starker. The “feeling-based” politics hasn’t faded; if anything, it has intensified. Trump remains a lightning rod—loved or loathed largely on emotional and media-primed grounds rather than calm analysis (although that has changed a bit since the Iran conflict). The lesson holds: question the origins of your feelings, especially when the stakes are this high. Shrews stay sharp by balancing heart and head.

Oh my, there’s that nasty “S” word again! So sorry if any of you are offended. I love it. And I do not mean harm by it—remember, I don’t call individuals sheep, only the herd. And who cares anyway? It’s funny. And it fits. If you’re a sheep and you’re not proud of it, then you’re not really a sheep. I have no problem being called a shrew, and shrews are just as weird as sheep. We are small, mouse-like, mean little bastards.

So, what is the Sheep Club all about? I’m sure many of you are old enough to remember Disney’s original Mickey Mouse Club from the 1950s/60s and beyond. Go ahead—hum a few bars of the club song to yourself right now: “Who’s the leader of the club that’s made for you and me? M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E…”

Ah, yes. What a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling that brings back. Annette Funicello, Bobby Burgess, Cubby O’Brien, Darlene Gillespie—dear old friends, eh? It feels like yesterday. We were all the same: young, healthy, energetic, happy, kind, positive, and bursting with a dozen other wholesome attributes that described our tight little mouse tribe.

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Notice the title is not “Canada: Don’t Make America Your Enemy.” I couldn’t give a rat’s a** what one country thinks of another. Don’t get me wrong—I do believe in sovereign nations, for the most part. A country is made up of generations of its people, who create a cultural identity that should be preserved. But politically? Nope. You can be proud of your culture as it sits within the borders of a country, and thus be proud of the country itself (because of the people in it). And yes, the culture of a country can be somewhat identified by the diverse cultures within it. But there are limits to this idea I won’t go into it here, because that’s not what this article is about.

What I care about right now—and what I’m writing about—are people, not countries. The people of Canada should not make the people of America their enemies. And many of them seem hell-bent on doing just that.

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Imagine all the world’s leaders—and yes, I know not all of them are technically “guys,” but they might as well be[1]—completely separated from the people they are supposedly elected or appointed to serve.

Imagine them cut off from any genuine concern for the lives, families, comforts, dreams, or purposes of the “useless eaters.” The people still exist to them, of course. They are simply no longer seen as citizens with inherent rights and dignity. Instead, they are reduced to pieces on a global chessboard: resources to be moved, manipulated, exploited, or killed when convenient.

Killing us when “necessary” is the easiest part. Wars, engineered famines, weather manipulation, experimental vaccines, assisted suicide programs—the methods are many and creative. After all, there are far too many of us to begin with. The game only requires enough warm bodies to keep the machinery of money, power, and control humming along with sufficient drama and productivity.

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Dear pack,

After months of clawing through code, wrestling with design, and nipping at a few tech gremlins, I’m thrilled to announce that The View of the Shrew now has its own dedicated website:

www.theviewoftheshrew.com

This is the official online home for the book The View of the Shrew: Unmasking the Truth in a Confused World 2022–2024. If you’ve been reading the Shrew Views Substack over the past few years, you already know what this collection is about. It’s a curated, re-edited anthology of 42 of our sharpest essays—raw, unfiltered dispatches from the front lines of the madness we’ve all lived through.

From the slow boil of compliance and the death of real science to masked zombies, lost empathy, and the deeper psychological currents pulling us toward control, these pieces cut through the fog. They’re equal parts mirror, battle cry, and reminder that a small but ferocious pack of truth-seekers can still see clearly when the rest of the world is sleepwalking.

If you’ve ever nodded along (or furiously agreed) with one of my Substack posts, you’ll feel right at home in these pages.

Get the Ebook – Cheaper and Better Here

Want the digital version? Skip Amazon’s markup and grab it directly from the site for only $5.60 USD. (about $7.65 CAD, Amazon.ca it is $9.59 CAD)

For that price you get both formats:

• A clean ePub perfect for your Kindle, Apple Books, Kobo, or any e-reader

• A high-quality PDF you can read on any device or print if you like

That’s a better deal than you’ll find anywhere else, and it supports the pack (and future shrew projects) directly. Head to the store section on the new site and snag your copy today.

www.theviewoftheshrew.com/shop

The Store – Shrew Swag Has Arrived

But wait—there’s more. The best part of the new site might just be the store. We’ve got proper shrew merchandise now: hats, t-shirts, tote bags, coffee mugs, and more. Wear your defiance, carry it with you, or sip your morning coffee while reminding yourself (and everyone else) whose side you’re on.

These aren’t just random items—they’re little badges of the pack. Small but mighty, just like us. Support the cause!

Join the Shrew Book Club

If you haven’t already, sign up for the Shrew Book Club while you’re there. It’s where we’ll dig deeper into the book, discuss the ideas, share thoughts, and keep the conversation going beyond the Substack. If you’re already on the list, you’re good—just make sure you’re confirmed on the new site too.

Other Books & What’s Next

While you’re browsing, check out the Other Books section. I’ve got more projects in the works, and this is the place to see what I’m up to beyond The View of the Shrew. The pack keeps growing, and so does the resistance through words.

The View of the Shrew Volume 2!

And while you’re there, keep an eye out for the brand-new second volume — The View of the Shrew: Unmasking the Truth in a Confused World 2025. This next collection brings another 40+ sharp articles from this past year’s Shrew Views posts, continuing the fight to cut through the ongoing fog of confusion, control, and collective madness. It’s shaping up to be just as fierce (if not fiercer) than the first. Look for it later this year — hopefully by summer.

How to Get the First Volume

• Ebook (PDF + ePub): Best price and direct support → www.theviewoftheshrew.com

• Paperback: Available on Amazon (links on the site). If you’d rather avoid Amazon, there are options to buy through Lulu or directly from me—but fair warning, shipping from me or Lullu is brutally expensive right now, so Amazon is usually the practical choice.

Bottom line: If you’ve been with Shrew Views from the early “Deep Sea Fishing” days, through the frog-in-the-pot realizations, the zombie analogies, and everything since, this book is for you. It’s our shared chronicle, our defiance in print, and a reminder that we’re not alone in seeing through the illusions.

Come on over to www.theviewoftheshrew.com, poke around, grab some merch if it calls to you, pick up the ebook, and join the book club. Let’s keep building this little corner of clarity in a crazy world.

As always—stay sharp, stay unbowed, and keep nipping at the heels of the narrative.

With gratitude and a healthy dose of shrew spirit,

Todd

P.S. If you love the site (or even if you have constructive feedback), drop a comment below or shoot me a note. This is our pack project as much as mine.

CLICK HERE TO GO TO SITE!

What in God’s name has happened to our youth? Not all of them, not yet—but the affliction is spreading fast. What contagion has taken hold? I could name a dozen, but the one that troubles me most—and the one that flows from all the others—is the loss of depth. By that I mean the quiet abandonment of any real pursuit of meaning, the evaporation of purpose, and the slow death of genuine passion.

Am I merely an alarmist? Would most people push back and say I’m exaggerating? Possibly. People have probably been saying similar things about the young for centuries—about my generation fifty years ago, about the one before that, and so on, stretching back a thousand years or more. Maybe this drift toward spiritual shallowness began generations ago. I suspect humanity has been sliding along a very slow trajectory toward inner emptiness for a long time, though the decline wasn’t steady or steep until perhaps the mid-19th century. Since then, especially with the erosion of spiritual awareness, it has accelerated dramatically.

The causes are tangled and overdetermined. It’s hard to pin the blame on any single cultural shift—the fading belief in God, the moral unravelling of society, or the rise of smartphones and social media. I sound like an old preacher on a soapbox, Bible in one hand, fist shaking at the sky, preaching fire and brimstone.

To be fair, in some measurable ways humanity has improved. We no longer tolerate the routine horrors once considered normal: the systemic subjugation of women, the open acceptance of slavery, the casual use of torture as public spectacle, or the brutal treatment of children and the mentally ill. Life expectancy has risen, literacy is widespread, and basic human rights have gained ground in many parts of the world. Yet I struggle to reconcile these gains with the deeper rot I see. Maybe I’m just an incorrigible doomster. Or maybe, after the apparent optimism following World War II—when it seemed we might finally make peace with centuries of ugliness—things quietly went off the rails.

Look around today: the Epstein scandal and its lingering shadows, what many describe as genocide in Gaza, the explosion of powerful synthetic drugs, widespread child trafficking, rampant pornography that has warped entire generations, endless foreign wars, the normalization of surveillance states, and what appears to be a reckless, almost wanton effort to injure or kill large swaths of the global population through a novel pharmaceutical intervention pushed with unprecedented coercion. It feels as though the devil has finally claimed the throne he has coveted for millennia.

But I digress—or do I? Let’s return to the young and their apparent surrender of purpose and the search for meaning. In my practice, I see many people between eighteen and thirty. The majority show signs of this peculiar zombie-itis. Don’t misunderstand me—by conventional modern standards, many are “successful.” They chase high-earning careers that promise shiny toys, luxury homes, expensive cars, and attractive partners. Yet beneath the surface, their relationships are often dysfunctional, their own children seem headed for the same void, and real contentment is rare. Yes, therapists mostly see the troubled ones, so I can’t claim a perfect sample. Still, I witness the same pattern in my personal life, on social media, in films and television, and in the broader culture. It’s everywhere.

These young people fixate on making as much money as possible with the least effort, dressing in the finest clothes they can afford, acquiring the biggest house and flashiest car, and securing the most physically appealing partner available. Few show interest in the deeper workings of the world they inhabit—beyond having convenient targets for outrage (Trump, naturally, and nearly everything associated with him). Hobbies rarely extend beyond gym routines. Learning for its own sake, travel as genuine exploration, or any serious engagement with religion or spirituality for inner growth? Almost nonexistent. The conscious pursuit of meaning and purpose simply isn’t on the menu.

Are they happy? I don’t believe so. Some convince themselves they are, as long as the stream of instant material gratification keeps flowing. For brief intervals, the dopamine hits mimic happiness. But the feeling fades quickly, leaving them emptier than before.

How long can a culture sustain itself on such shallow soil? Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World offers a chilling blueprint. In that dystopia, society engineers happiness through genetic conditioning, consumerism, casual sex, and above all, the drug soma—a perfect pharmaceutical that delivers euphoria without hangover, physical dysfunction, or disruption. Soma doesn’t just numb pain; it erases any need for depth, reflection, or struggle. Citizens remain placid and productive precisely because they never confront discomfort, loss, or the big questions of existence. The “happiness” it provides is stable and endless—until the rare Savage from outside the system introduces real feeling, at which point the fragile illusion cracks. In our world, the modern equivalents of soma (endless scrolling, consumption, pharmaceuticals, and curated outrage) seem to work much the same way: they sustain a zombified equilibrium far longer than one might expect, precisely because they starve the soul of anything real.

That said, there are bright exceptions. Not every young person has been fully captured by the mold the prevailing agenda has cast. Many who pursue serious art or music operate from an entirely different paradigm—one that values creation, beauty, and inner exploration over external metrics. The same often holds for those drawn to skilled craftsmanship, deep philosophical inquiry, genuine community service rooted in compassion, or any disciplined spiritual path that demands self-confrontation. And then there are those rare souls who, for whatever mysterious reason, simply never swallowed the poison—perhaps protected by family, temperament, or sheer stubborn grace.

Still, the trend is unmistakable and accelerating. A society that loses depth in its young eventually loses its future. Without purpose, passion, and the willingness to wrestle with meaning, we drift toward a Huxleyan stasis—comfortable, efficient, and profoundly hollow. The real question isn’t whether this loss is happening. It’s whether enough of us still remember what depth feels like, and whether we can model it fiercely enough for those coming after to recognize its absence—and begin, once again, to seek it.