All the fragrances discussed on the Perfume Nationalist through “Season 2,” starting with the three most important and proceeding alphabetically thereafter. [continue with: The Perfume Nationalist Fragrance Collection →]

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.11.26 18:48. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

It is preposterous to suppose that R.M. Vaughan’s death was anything other than a suicide, even if such has not been proven yet.


(2020.11.03) Eldergay Suicides entry.

Confidential to Anna Mehler Paperny

Girl writer Anna Mehler Paperny demonstrated initial guts in pointing out the obvious. When challenged on her inability to search for or read these postings, even when provided with links to same, Paperny returned to her safe space of linking to articles about inequities faced by non-Whites and aboriginal criminals – and never acknowledged these articles’ existence.

I direct this downtown progressive journalist to the dek of Eldergay Suicides (emphasis added): “Older gay men, culturally unwanted and already the survivors of multiple holocausts, kill themselves with alarming regularity.” It would be better for all of us if Paperny quit pretending to care.

This is exactly the kind of ostracism that leads to suicides. But Ms Paperny is one of the good guys, so when her body count piles up, she’ll resume lecturing us on how societal meanness hurts everybody but the eldergays to whose deaths she contributed.

Indeed yes, Madame Paperny, you really are that pernicious.

R.M. Vaughan: Obituary

Innumerable copy errors and fuckups corrected from the original (PDF). New Brunswick is still incapable of getting its shit together.

It is with great sadness that we announce the death of Richard Murray Vaughan.

Born in Saint John, N.B. on March 2, 1965, Richard was the son of the late Murray and Dorothy Vaughan (Loughery). He is survived by his older brother Paul (Lorie) of Nauwigewauk; his niece Tricia Shannon (Chris) of Kingston; nephew Ryan Vaughan of Saint John; and nephew Tyler Vaughan of Moncton.

Richard was raised in Quispamsis and, during his early years, spent his summers at the family home in St. Martins. After graduating from Kennebecasis Valley High School in 1983, he attended UNB Saint John, where he earned his bachelor’s degree in English. After a short period of time working odd jobs in Montreal, he returned to his home province where he obtained his master’s in English from UNB Fredericton.

Richard began his professional life as an artist shortly after moving to Toronto in 1991 with the help of the Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, where he first found his voice as a playwright. From those humble beginnings [sic] until just days before his passing, Richard, better known as R.M. Vaughan, was a prolific contributor to Canadian arts and culture as a novelist, poet, and video artist. Richard was a well-known culture critic for the Globe and Mail and the National Post. Most recently Richard’s work brought him back to New Brunswick as Writer-in-Residence for UNB Fredericton, where he was helping to inspire the next generation of Canadian writers.

For those closest to Richard, he will be remembered for the handwritten letter and postcards, the quirky little trinkets that would arrive in the mail, and wonderful crafts he loved to make for all occasions, but especially for Hallowe’en.

Arrangements are under the care and direction of Brenan’s Funeral Home, 111 Paradise Row, Saint John. In keeping with Richard’s wishes, a private family ceremony will take place. A celebration of life for Richard will be held later; details to be announced. For those who wish, donations can be made to the R.M. Vaughan Memorial Fund, Development and Donor Relations, University of New Brunswick, Fredericton, or to the New Brunswick Mental Health Association.

Recall that UNB has an endowment of $342 million and was Richard’s most recent employer, yet they’re panhandling from civilians for pennies.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.10.25 16:44. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Tintin-like figure recoiling, his eyeglasses flying off his head, when confronted by a huge rectangular chrome monolith


The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.10.13 14:53. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Stringy, scrawny, emaciated; every one of them halfway to an eating disorder; self-abnegating “fitness” obsession produces bodies they can do nothing with that they actually enjoy; harridans and drill-sergeants manqué(e)s who couldn’t squat one plate for five reps; anti-racism is always more important than getting you stronger.

Endless black-and-white headshots

(Cf. “Apple Man.” Further, in those unflattering black-and-white photographs, which no digital camera can natively capture, even the [gay] negroes have drawn, lined, prematurely wrinkled faces. Within the reality-distortion field of Apple Park’s torus, black does crack.)

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.09.29 18:08. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Sandra Bernhard reacts to betrayal even if it isn’t there. Or so I recalled from With Nails (excerpted; oddball EMPHASIS sic):

  • Sandra has invisible battle lines drawn, delineating to whom she will, or will not, speak. The room is divided decisively into Winners and LOSERS, the latter filling her larger register.

  • I never really thought of RAGE as being sexual but, as displayed by Sandra, it somehow seems to be: Her frustration with the world is expressed in hyperventilating statements, and opinions are accompanied by flaring nostrils that hiss vixen-like at you. Like she might just DEVOUR you at any moment. Eyes bulging like Godzilla. Redeemed by laughter. She trips herself up with her extremism every now and again, and being with her is as close a return to the intensity of adolescence as you are likely to get. Her worship-filled passions are precisely fixed at 16. Or thereabouts!

    And the penalty of her “alchemy” is the hovering possibility that you might be cast out AT ANY MOMENT. I am a willing lamb to her sacrificial style of friendship. For I have already “heard” her bleating beneath her wolf’s clothing. She is vulnerable despite the SPITE.

  • Especially as she HATES being left out and can locate a thread of “rejection” in a yard of welcomes.

  • I am preoccupied with the launch of L.A. Story, which is excluding, and exclusion is one thing Sandra is probably more acutely tuned to than anything else. In fact, she is the Chairperson of the Board, her catalogue of Exclusions vastly extensive.

  • Sandra Bernhard has invited me to stay with her in the San Fernando Valley, but, as all my meetings take place in L.A., I decide to stay in a hotel in the city. This does not go down well with Sandra, who is never one to take anything too lightly, and I am cast in the role of the Betrayer and Treasonite.

(“Somebody hands you a tambourine.”)

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.09.14 12:44. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Accessibility for people with disabilities is the only non-partisan issue. Like everything they touch, it’s been systematically ruined by Silicon Valley progressives. You can put a stop to that, not least by taking the Neutrality Pledge for Accessibility Workers.

Make Accessibility Great Again.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.09.05 13:17. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

(UPDATED WELL MORE THAN 20 TIMES)Jack Mason hosts the Perfume Nationalist podcast with his brother and a girl nicknamed Jugs. In other words, Mother, Jugs & Speed cohost the Perfume Nationalist. (She’s the in-house anti-Semite, joined by a special-guest-star anti-Semite for a number of episodes.)

Originality is overrated and underrated all at once, but the show achieves actual originality by “pairing” a varietal of perfume with one or more movies. Jack’s rejection of neoliberal morality as mere play-acting, particularly by females, is as recognizably gay as his voice, with which he delivers bon mots at breakneck speed. He reminds me of the late Prince of Queens.

He also mispronounces things constantly and just uses the wrong words. His brother, a sound-engineer hobbyist, handles everything technical, and subjects listeners to a sound collage on each episode prefaced by a piercing pure tone, but cannot quite figure out that a filename like 2019_09_04_TPN_s01ep33_Rose_Clouds_
of_Holocaust_w_JUGS_n_Ty_E_TEASER - The Perfume Nationalist
is a complete nightmare.

Jack appreciates avant-garde cinema and makes a strong case for the true artistry of works and performers, from Knots Landing to Lens Dunham, derided by bien-pensant lamestream critics. He appreciates Thirtysomething, for which I handwrote a 330-page episode guide, and adores C. Paglia and F. Lebowitz.

So you think we’d get along like a house on fire.

No. What he doesn’t have is continuity with cultured eldergays, of whom he knows none. His boyfriend certainly isn’t one. Lebowitz unoriginally observed that AIDS killed all the cool people (I know who gave her that line), and further observed, this time originally, that AIDS killed off a high-connoisseurship audience that has never been replaced. But Jack forgets Fran Lebowitz’s own life history (as retold in Public Speaking):

I was interested in older people. I always had friends much older than me. I had friends so much older than me that, by the time I was 40, many of my closest friends had died of old age already. But it was because they were older than me – in other words, because they could teach me something, you know, but not because I thought they were going to do the new thing. That was my job, you know? That’s how the work used to be split up.

Jack derides White wymmynz’ performative allergies to perfume and their endless elective ailments, like fibromylagia. He instant-messaged me to basically tell him to stop funnelling corrections his way, at which point I told him he could block me.

Jack’s an expert on perfume (I still do not know what [a]ouds, fougères, and chypres are, but at least I can pronounce those words, along with “Fassbender” and “chthonic”), while his brother is adept at sound design. Jack’s allergy to other forms of expertise is performative and traces back to the unbreachable chasm caused by having no cultured eldergays in his life to guide and correct him.

(I added the public Perfume Nationalist episodes to the Internet Archive, where Jack’s brother’s insane URLs are prominently displayed. All my corrections were and are correct and his ire is purely elective, but I’m a paid subscriber to the Perfume Nationalist nonetheless. And despite Jack’s hubris, some brigade of trannies, a word often used on the podcast, are going to get him booted off Patreon, which will then seize all his money.)


  • “You know someone is cool when their big thing is owning people by correcting pronunciation,” Jack writes.

    Option 2: Learn and improve. Surely Old Spice is just like Yatagan? (2020.05.01)

  • Nice labradoodle – brave of you to adopt an animal born from nuclear waste

    Nobody has Jack’s sensibility. And he has used it to attract a tribe of adoring admirers.

    Instead of hurling themselves bodily at Morrissey onstage, which I have personally observed twice, what Jack’s acolytes do is send in underwear photos.

    When they manage to keep their clothes on, they produce mood boards evoking an entirely novel masculinist sensibility. (2020.08.20)

    This is the synchronicity dudes being dudes need…: Don Bluth meets John Milius meets soldier physique meets soap opera/perfume/anime/video games. Forget pills. Follow your nose. Perfume Nationalism
  • Jack is laboriously transcribing his own podcast. Strong idea but weak execution, since his original copy will have so many errors, and will not be structurally marked up in the slightest, that it will take ages to bring to a point where it can be copy-edited and typeset. (Hyphen-hyphen is never ever a dash, for example.)

    Additionally, podcast episodes’ sizable audio files can be stored semipermanently. The Perfume Nationalist can sell DVD‑Rs containing each season’s MP3 files, all with carefully edited filenames so they sort properly and read well when ba(l)dly presented by a DVD player on a flatscreen. Jack could easily sell 50 copies at 100 bucks a pop. (2020.11.19)

  • Surely “Piss Chanel” by Venfield 8 should be the Perfume Nationalist’s first licensed fine-art print? (2020.08.30)

  • JACK: Do people not understand you can download the file for every episode? In fact, I wish someone would just, like, reliably leak all the episodes. Like, I don’t like paywalling some of them, but I have to, because this is a business. But I wish somebody would reliably leak them all.

    Very well. Now every episode is on the Internet Archive indefinitely.

  • JACK: And, like, I’m doing these motherfuckers a favour by sharing this divine wisdom with them – for $5! They could be so enlightened. They could be so happy. I’m also eminently forgiving and welcoming anyone back to the flock.

    Not only does and did Jack not welcome me “back to the flock,” which flock I never left, he unblocked me then re-blocked me. His brother and an army of his World War I–soldier-redolent hetero acolytes blocked me, no doubt in response to a blocklist innocently purveyed by Jack or his brother.

    • People will favo[u]rite 36 tweets trashing me and then later complain through a proxy that they’re blocked

      No, I state explicitly that Jack and/or his brother circulated a blocklist. I was on it for no reason, and even less than no reason given that my own accounts are set to PRIVATE. A blocklist is a blacklist and is indistinguishable from the so-called cancel culture Jack Mason decries on every episode when he’s not promoting his lifetime anti-censorship doctrine. (“But since I’m just totally against everything that even remotely resembles like cancelling and unpersoning, except for people behind cancelling and unpersoning, this whole going through history and deleting people – it’s evil. There’s no other word for it. It’s evil.”)

    • It’s my [G]od-given right to mass[‑]block randos who favorite cruel, stupid tweets directed at me and actively contribute to my mental anguish. Where do lunatics get this idea that they’re entitled to spiritually rape you and see your Twitter feed at all times[?]

      I’m not a fucking rando and I’m not the cruel one here. (2020.11.19)

    To summarize: Jack, who needs all the friends he can get, insists he is right about everything, except what he isn’t right about. On those topics (on seemingly all topics), he will not tolerate the tiniest bit of correction. Everyone who doesn’t endorse him to the max is a mere “hater.” Jack purports to be forgiving, but he, his brother, and/or his acolytes went out of their way to set up a blacklist. Meanwhile, I am a paid subscriber and I am the one who lifted a finger to ensure Jack’s work will be preserved in some guise.

    JACK: Like, I’ll keep my fucking eye on you, but I’m still, you know—

    GIRL: It’s part of our Christ-like nature.

    False. There is no coming back. (2020.09.04)

  • The Perfume Nationalist podcast has now lost both of its anti-Semites. Jack eventually (indeed twice) explained that special-guest-star anti-Semite Ty E made himself unbearable and all but denounced Jack and the podcast. Fine. But cohostess Jugs was simply airbrushed out of any photographs that depicted her standing next to Brezhnev. (2020.10.26)

  • “People who post incredulously about ‘the Perfume Nationalist circle’ don’t know how they’re gassing up [sic] this homo’s Warhol/Factory aspirations.” (2020.10.28)

  • Ghost Jail Nº 1: Women (≈56:10):

    What do I think about women? Well, being a homosexual, I grew up in the world of women. You generally emerge from a cushy uterine female world into the world of men later on, whereas straight men follow the opposite path, going from the world of boys into a world of total enslavement by females until the grave.

    I actually like women quite a lot, which is something that seems incompatible with my alleged status as a misogynist. But they made themselves simply unbearable throughout the entirety of the 2010s, the worst decade in human history. Women operate as brownshirts for liberals, for the Democrat party. Because [of] their innate conformity and desire for approval, social approval, they are extremely susceptible to all manner of propaganda – most notably, first of all, gender theory, the widespread and cynical dispersal of transgender ideas throughout the 2010s as soon as regular homosexuals like myself had ceased to become a profitable minority for Democrats after the passage of gay marriage.

    Women have an innate love of censorship. Show me a woman who doesn’t love censorship and I’ll show you a liar. They are always on the side of things needing to be excised, things needing to be forgotten, for the common good, for an abstract common good. They have a reptilian capacity for adaptation to any situation, any societal or cultural changes, which works to their credit, but to me is not likable or admirable.

    We’ve seen their reptilian capacity for adaptation with the covid propaganda, which has been largely executed through women. Women are now OK with wearing a mask in public forever as a symbol of their fight against white supremacy and patriarchy and Donald Trump. They are no longer bothered by any of the trappings of covid that seemed so authoritarian to them just a few months ago. They’re totally fine with lapsing slowly into a lifestyle of pointless E‑mail-correspondence jobs, and eternal Netflix, and Uber Eats delivery by only the blackest of Africans, which they will never acknowledge.

    They are preserved and protected at all costs despite [the fact] that they have more power than anyone in society. And, as Sam Hyde said, it’s like having your video-game character’s capabilities maxed out at the start, and still they tend to fail.

    Mainly I hate them because they’re largely responsible for the 2010s.

See also

The Perfume Nationalist Fragrance Collection ☛

The final episode of the Perfume Nationalist

…should treat the most disturbing film ever made: The Rapture.

The Perfume Nationalist will necessarily have a final episode. Everything episodic must. The end will occur because, one by one, all of the soldier-redolent boys who hurl themselves olfactorily at Jack will dare to voice a single criticism each. So in turn will other fans. These are all people who can think and, redolence notwithstanding, have no reticence to speak their minds.

Jack – with no capacity to tolerate dissent or criticism, even while regaling us of his tales of growing up gay, fat, popular, and well-adjusted (also right about everything) – will block every one of them. After the Ice‑9 manner, soon there will be no one left to block. Jack’s fan base will be as corpses gauzily visible beneath the frozen Thames.

Thus will conclude the Perfume Nationalist – “delivered to an audience of no one, for no reason.”

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.04.19 13:15. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

(2020.06.28) It is extraordinarily complex to buy memory for Macintosh computers. (Give it a shot. Can you get it right on the first go?) After four visits to stores and dealers, I gave up and ordered from the ostensibly-well-reputed Newegg. The RAM manufacturer was Nexim.

The RAM, which took weeks to arrive, was defective. My Mac was in the shop twice, in the latter case for six weeks, trying to diagnose the issue. It never was diagnosed. Only when I removed the Nexim RAM, and lived with not enough memory, and then later replaced it with another manufacturer’s, did this machine work correctly.

I asked for a return and a refund. It cost 18 bucks to mail back the RAM, which, incidentally, had been shipped via postal mail in a regular padded envelope. (I used a box.) The destination was somewhere in Bumfuck, Florida, in an industrial park. (I checked Street View images.) The delivery confirmation stated the item had been left in a storage locker, implying the destination is the sort of thing one would have used as a dead drop during the Cold War.

Nexim and Newegg then proceeded to:

  1. repeatedly ask for the tracking number of the package, including after it had been received

  2. repeatedly pretend not to be able to read or manipulate that tracking number, despite dealing with somebody who does not top-post and avoids HTML E‑mail, and who ultimately wrote it out in military alphabet

  3. issue a refund on an internal system, sent me umpteen notifications of same, then sent me a notification stating the refund had been cancelled

  4. keep my money

Newegg’s CEO (it has one) was keen on informing me of its pandemic preparedness plans. Given two months to reply to two requests for comment, he did nothing.

Newegg and Nexim are fly-by-night operations. Do not spend money with them.

(I have learned through this tribulation that Apple’s unreasonable prices for memory are a good deal overall. If remotely possible, buy a machine with all the RAM you will ever need present out of the box and ordered through and installed by Apple.)

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.04.13 12:03. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

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