Donal Sonderstrom (1941-). American. Look at these guys. You are amongst men who are, as they say back east, mobbed up. You aren’t troubled by this are you? You know about this, right? Good. Okay. But look at them. Tough Irish sons-of-bitches, half of them. Crazy Fins and Swedes the rest of them. They have names like Sean and Liam and Soren and Tomas and Leif and Declan. Good names. Tough guy names. Names that can drop with no awkwardness into the same sentence as “is going to break your fucking legs.” And they’re starting to have children these guys, which in itself is fine. A man needs to have children, and specifically a man needs to have sons. But they give their kids these names like Logan and Dakotah and Dermot and Sequoia. These aren’t tough guy names, these are soap opera names. How are you going to people a crew with a bunch of guys named Sequoia? Am I going to trust my life, am I going to put my life in the hands of a guy named Sequoia? No. Look around. This is the end. The last generation. A once great people—and now I’m not just talking about just Irish or Fins or Swedes, I’m talking about Americans as a people, as a race—this is a people who have withered and they are about to die. You are witnessing the end of something.