The Dissident Right Loses Its Voice—for Now

Nobody puts Carlson in the corner.

Drinking Murdoch tears.

In October of 2019, when Baby Peachy had something like five measly followers and was not yet the internet micro celebrity she is today, I sent an essay to my friend Matt Peterson at The American Mind.

To my delight, he decided to publish it.

That early essay, which I titled “And You Call Yourself a Christian,” was the very first thing I wrote as Peachy Keenan.

I remembered this week that I’d written it because of Tucker Carlson. Earlier that day, I’d watched a segment on Fox where Longhouse shield maiden Kristen Powers berated Tucker about immigration. How could he call himself a Christian and be against open borders, she scolded. How dare he claim to be a good person and yet want to stop illegal immigration?

Here is the exchange from that segment:

CARLSON: So I have a moral obligation to share my earnings—

POWERS: Yes.

CARLSON: —and my country with people I’ve never met because they are suffering?

POWERS: Are you a Christian?

CARLSON: I am absolutely a Christian.

POWERS: Okay, have you read the Bible? That Bible says—

CARLSON: This is not a theocracy.

POWERS: It is very clear.

CARLSON: No, countries are not run according to Christian concepts.

POWERS: You are telling me that you don’t have any obligation as a Christian to care?

CARLSON: No, you are not saying that.

POWERS: That’s exactly what I’m saying.

CARLSON: What you’re saying is the U.S. government has a responsibility. Now you may have a Christian obligation. You can give charity money. That’s a massive difference.

You can read my old article here.

It was thanks to Tucker Carlson that I’d been inspired to pound out a reactionary screed and try to get it published. My longtime career as a copywriter for woke corporations and ad agencies had suddenly taken a thrilling turn—into rightwing samizdat.

A year or so later, I still didn’t have many followers, but my profile was growing—I had picked up a few of the right followers. One evening, I was minding my own business when I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

It was Tucker Carlson. Oh, no big deal. Apparently he’d read and really enjoyed my latest essay, so he tracked down my number so he could let me know. After he was fired last Monday, Meghan Basham, Nate Hochman, and even Matt Walsh tweeted that he’d sent the same sort of lovely message to them about something they’d written back when they had much smaller profiles than they do now.

When you are a writer toiling in obscurity and literal anonymity, masked, with the lights off and the doors locked lest any of the “In This House We Believe” neighbors know you have different opinions about things—you sometimes wonder if anyone sees the stuff you’re tossing out into the digital void. Why am I doing this? Is there a point? Should I just quit? Does anyone even read this stuff?

Well, Tucker did—and that was enough to motivate me to keep going, to post through the pandemic and the election and the ensuing madness that engulfed the land. Through it all, he was THE main voice of sanity who wasn’t just a disembodied Twitter anon. He has a name and a face and wrote blistering daily monologues that seemed to unite our side like nothing has done since the Johnny Carson monologues used to.

His nightly Fox show was the bridge between the normiecon right and the edgelords of frog Twitter. It wasn’t a rickety footbridge over a stream, either. It was a 10-lane expressway that allowed us all—MAGA moms and anons and trad wives and TERFs and based zoomers and boomers in pleasure-boat armadas—to make sense of the nonsensical. He was at the vanguard, and from his commanding position; he could see the battlefield much more clearly that we could from our laptops and bedrooms.

He was even kind enough to blurb my book:

He’s a real mensch, what can I say?

Longhouse Fraulein Strikes Back

Head Fox Booker and Longhouse resident Abby Grossberg.

A woman who had never once even met Tucker but worked as Head Booker on his show was miraculously on TV that very day, already booked on all the other news shows, to explain why she’d singlehandedly forced Fox to fire her boss.

Abby Grossberg had a bone to pick with the man who she’d never met. We all know this type of girl. Tale as old as time!

Also—does anyone think it’s just a coincidence that Joe Biden announced his run for re-election—THE DAY AFTER TUCKER WAS FIRED?

That pretty much tells you everything you need to know about who we are up against. Our supervillains know what they have to do. Their methods are crude, but they work—like a sledgehammer through butter. No one is brave enough to say no to them, so they will continue to bulldoze the house while we sleep.

Except maybe Tucker.

We want him on that wall. We need him on that wall.

Fox News Puts Peachy in the Corner

Now let’s talk about how his disgraceful and disrespectful firing directly affects yours truly.

When minor league baseball players get called up to the majors, they call it “going to the show.” In mid April, I got the call. I was going to the show! On June 6th, the very day my upcoming book would finally be out, I would appear live on Tucker Carlson Tonight, to promote my book!

I was even going to “dox” myself—come out from behind the anonymous mask. My facedoxxing was going to be a national event! Was there even enough botox in Los Angeles to prepare me for my close-up?

I’m ready for my close up, America:

It was all set—Fox would send a car to my house to take me to the local studio. All I’d have to do is chat with Tucker for a few minutes, reveal my real face to the world, and then sit back and watch my Amazon book ranking number skyrocket.

I’d never appeared on TV before. We’re not a TV-appearing family. My mother was once on Jeopardy (where she came in second), but that was it.

This past Monday, as Tucker and his unsuspecting staff reeled from the dirty bomb unleashed by the Murdochs, my big plans for a splashy book launch were imploding, crashing to Earth as fast as Fox’s ratings will in their post-Tucker hellscape.

In their zeal to please their masters, the highly dysfunctional father-son team of Rupert and Lachlan Murdoch had Silenced Womyn’s Voices. Or at least, this woman’s voice.

In the aftermath, a hilarious story in Vanity Fair reported that Rupert Murdoch was so jealous his new fiancée (what is that, number 10?) had gushed over Tucker at dinner recently that he dumped her the next week. What a guy!

Imagine working for Godless heathens like this. Unsustainable in the extreme.

Full disclosure: I’m not really a Fox viewer. We don’t watch any network or cable news on TV. But I almost always caught his show online somehow.

Tucker must come back. He’s got two studios just sitting there inside his houses, so he has no excuse. What’s he gonna do, turn them in to grow rooms for a mail-order cannabis business? Hardly, dude.

Which reminds me, this might be a good theme song for his future show:

Dear Mr. Carlson: Thank you so much for the encouragement and support. I will happily be a guest on your new show from any room in your house—doghouse, outhouse, or henhouse. Come back soon!

—Peachy

P.S. Thanks for reading, everyone. Don’t forget to pre-order my book, which comes out June 6th!! Oh, and I’ll be appearing on Steve Bannon’s War Room next week—stay tuned.

This is the cover. I did not cross stitch it myself.