Chapter XVII. - Taking Town Tinsel Town
-Hamlet – Act III, Scene 2
On a dark night in the following January, a high-level NVA conference convened in a private home in Westport, Oregon. Present were Red Morehouse, First Brigade Commandant Tommy Coyle with both of his urban battalion COs Bud Lawlor and Larry Donner, as well as Second Brigade Commandant Harry Hannon with his two battalion captains Mark Conway and Art McNeill. Lieutenant Wayne Hill and Lieutenant Charlie Randall represented the Third Section, with a nervous Captain Zack Hatfield and Lieutenant Charlie Washburn of Third Battalion acted as Mine Hosts. Once the men were all seated in the capacious living room of the safe house, and mugs of coffee or soft drinks distributed all around, Red opened the meeting. “Everything copacetic in the neighborhood, Zack?” he asked.
“We’ve got almost forty Volunteers outside and up and down the road, and patrolling the woods around and about,” Hatfield told them, taking his seat and taking off his broad-brimmed hat. “I’m not taking any chances. We made a concealed stand up on that little bluff behind us, and we’ve got a specially mounted twin M-60 rig and a couple of crack riflemen with infrared night sights in case any helicopters try to buzz us, but with all due respect, sir, I think we need to get through whatever it is you need to get done, and then break this up. I’m not happy about having this many of our people in one place, especially this many senior officers. The Wild Bunch has pretty much put the fear of God into anybody who might be inclined to drop a dime on us, but with this many bodies there’s bound to be some kind of accidental observation the longer we stay here, if only from Eye In The Sky satellites with infrared heat sensors. They can always send a Predator drone out here just on spec. I know you well enough not to have to say this, but this had better be important enough to justify this kind of risk.”
“It is,” Morehouse assured him. “All right, let’s get on with it, then. You all understand, I’m speaking for the Army Council now. I am going to be detailing a major strategic initiative, and the words top secret don’t even begin to cover the security we have to maintain on this until we’re ready to pop the top. First the bad news, and that is that I’m going to have to ask you guys for some of your best men, at least two dozen of them, maybe more, to be sent on detached duty for an undetermined amount of time. After a lot of consideration, the Portland brigades have been selected to put together a special active service unit for a series of highly sensitive and risky operations, the first extensive campaign the NVA has mounted outside the Northwest Homeland itself. The name of this unit will be Task Force Director’s Cut. Its mission will be to neutralize one of the prime weapons that ZOG has in this war, which is the Hollywood movie, media, and entertainment industry, and to render that industry as useless to the enemy as we can possibly accomplish. Put bluntly, we are going down to Hollywood, and we are going to take the Dream Machine apart at the seams.”
There was a low round of chuckles and approving grunts and comments. “Do we get to volunteer?” asked Conway. “I need to work on my tan.”
“I’ll need a cover job as a waiter or a soda jerk so I can be discovered by a big Jew producer,” said Lawlor. “Full frontal nudity is no problem.”
“I get dibs on wasting that obnoxious hebe Bert Steinfeld,” said McNeill, naming a well-known Hollywood leading man of the Mosaic persuasion who claimed to be a karate black belt and former Green Beret, a claim disputed by the United States Army, and who specialized in tough-yet-sensitive cop roles where he and his black or female or gay sidekick beat up on wicked white racists of various kinds while laying on snappy witticisms and one-liners.
“That’s one reason we’re here, to start working out the nuts and bolts,” said Morehouse. “Gentlemen, I don’t have to tell you that ever since the invention of the motion picture over a century ago, the movie industry has been the most completely Jewish field of private enterprise in the world, with the exception of international banking and the stock exchange. Even today, Yiddish is considered to be Hollywood’s second language. Literally so. It is spoken regularly on movie lots and sound sets, and in every office and casting department and boardroom. The senior executive office complex of every major production studio contains a private synagogue or chapel called a mincha, with one or more rabbis attached, as well as special glatt kosher catering facilities and kitchens. Entire boards of directors in Hollywood and also at their parent companies in New York sometimes hold Jewish religious services prior to meetings. Every crucial, non-technical job on the business and creative end of any major movie is either held by a Jew or is in the power of a Jew, from the studio heads, the producers and the directors, down to the scriptwriters, the casting directors, the agents, the accountants, and anything to do with the money. Even in areas that seem to be controlled by Gentiles, you will find that somewhere along the line during the process, Jews have crucial input and veto power. This control by the Tribe is pervasive and complete, and it extends into television as well, with the exception of two of the major cable networks, which are heavily Jewish in their senior personnel but are owned by consortiums of super-wealthy Protestant evangelical Christians of the Israel-worshipping, neo-Zionist persuasion, major neocons and Republican party backers, who are in their own way even more poisonous in their evil than the Jews themselves, because they have no excuse for turning on their own blood.
“I do not need to tell you of the terrible and largely irreversible damage that Hollywood has done to the white race and to Western civilization over the past century. For four generations, the international bankers and the corrupt politicians have committed unspeakable crimes against humanity, especially the war after war after bloody war they have plunged our people into for Jewry’s sake, but it is Hollywood and Hollywood’s mutant bastard spawn television that has made the white people of America and the world swallow these atrocities and actually support them with enthusiasm. It is Hollywood that has spent the past 50 years pushing every conceivable kind of perversion of body and mind down the throats of white people. It is Hollywood that has turned the loathsome practice of homosexuality into something cute and trendy, the subject for silly jokes, when it is in fact a poison of the very soul. It is Hollywood that has turned white women as portrayed on film into either mindless sex objects, or else de-gendered, masculinized, man-hating neurotics. It is Hollywood that has poisoned the minds and broken the spirits of generation after generation of white children who are now beyond recovery, and turned them into whiggers. The bankers have stolen our money. The federal government of the United States has stolen our lives and our freedom and soaked the earth with Aryan blood, spilled to save a filthy race of Asiatic parasites. But Hollywood has stolen our peoples’ minds and souls, and in some ways that makes Hollywood more evil to my mind even than the sinks of iniquity centered in New York and Washington, D.C. Comrades, we will go down to southern California, we will grip this monster by the throat, and we will cut its heart out!” There was a cheer from around the table; the men found the project to their liking. “At this point I’ll turn the floor over to Lieutenant Hill,” said Morehouse.
“Thank you, Red, and isn’t this a great audience in our studio tonight?” There was a chuckle from the assembled men. “I need to begin by explaining just what has precipitated this operation, which by the way, has been designated Operation We Are Not Amused,” said Hill. There was more laughter. “Obviously, any revolutionary movement within North America has to deal with the Hollywood problem at some point or other, and it’s always been on our back burner, even back in the pre-10/22 days of the old Party. But for the past several years, our main problem has been survival on the streets of our own land. Although we have taken on the printed and electronic local media here in the Pacific Northwest and largely neutralized them as an effective weapon for the occupiers, we haven’t had the time and the manpower and the resources to go for the very root of the problem, that cesspool down in Los Angeles. That’s changing now. It’s pretty obvious that barring some catastrophic event, the NVA is here to stay as a permanent feature of Northwest life, and for us, to survive is eventually to win. The time has come for us to take our offensive for balance in the media right into the belly of the Beast.
“As odd as it may seem, in view of the rubbish they put on the tube about us every night, we’ve actually been surprised by just how relatively restrained the reaction of the Hollywood establishment has been to events in the Northwest. Restrained by their standards, anyway. The news programming originating outside the Northwest is pure government propaganda, of course, since they think we can’t get at them in New York or Atlanta or Los Angeles. Especially the cable TV talking heads. We get the sarcastic needling jokes by the late night celebrity show hosts, and there have been a few television episodes in various series dealing with the main characters fighting wicked racism in the Northwest and heroically saving cute little black babies and kiddies in yarmulkes from the Satanic racist revolt during the Sixteen Days, that kind of moo, but all things considered, the treatment that we’ve gotten at Hollywood’s hands hasn’t been nearly as vile an outpouring of hysterical hatred and incitement as we might have expected.”
“Yeah, I kind of noticed that myself,” spoke up Donner. “They’re just being snide and vicious, not full-bore screaming. Why do you think that is, Lieutenant?”
“A couple of subtle and complex reasons,” said Hill seriously. “First, we need to realize that Hollywood is not a monolith. As in all empowered élites, there are a number of competing and antagonistic factions within the top echelons, bitter personal feuds and conflicts of interest, and all kinds of wheels within wheels. Mostly these factions are concerned with personal prestige and wealth, and the acquisition and use of what was, up until Coeur d’Alene, real power in this society, i.e. media power, money power, and political power emanating from La Cesspool Grande on the Potomac. There are a lot of people of power in Hollywood, men and women, Jewish and otherwise, who are genuinely opposed to President Clinton and her clique for a wide variety of reasons, some ideological, others personal. You will notice that the slant of some of these television shows that have in fact come out over the past two years about events in the Northwest have not been so much about how wicked and evil we are—that’s taken as a given in the Hollywood ethos and our people are portrayed as simple stereotype villains—but how bumbling and incompetent and compromised Hillary and her government and her FBI are in the face of their increasingly obvious inability to do anything about us. There are also a lot of people in the industry who are really concerned that Hillary is going to throw the Constitution out the window and set up what amounts to a Presidency for Life.”
“Word is she’s going to put Chelsea in the Oval Office to warm her seat for her, while Mommy Dearest keeps on calling the shots,” said Morehouse. “I don’t know, though. Chelsea is so completely hopeless that I’m not sure the Sea Hag could get even this brain-dead electorate to swallow her.”
“Sir, you’re talking about a nation of people who actually re-elected George W. Bush in 2004, when everyone knew perfectly well that he had lied to the whole country to make up an excuse to invade Iraq and begin this horror show in the Middle East that hasn’t left us since then,” Hatfield reminded him. “There is no limit to the stupidity of the American electorate.”
“Point taken, Cap,” said Morehouse with a chuckle. “But Lieutenant Hill is correct in that so long as we don’t start shooting them, there are empowered people in Hollywood who, although they would never come right out and say it, don’t really mind having us around as a stick to beat Hillary with. They have fallen into the error of believing their own stereotypes about us. They don’t take us seriously and in the insulated, incestuous and self-absorbed world of Hollywood, it’s simply inconceivable to the empowered élite that we can win, so they don’t see us as a long-term threat to their own wealth and position.”
“But now we are about to start shooting them,” Harry Hannon interjected.
“And that’s another reason I think they’ve gone comparatively lightly on us since 10/22,” said Morehouse. “I said that the Hollywood élite don’t take us seriously as a long-term existential threat to their world, but remember, they live in a kind of money-fortified Green Zone down there, surrounded by criminals, junkies, black and Mexican and Vietnamese gang-bangers, and psychos of every stripe. Men with guns they can wrap their minds around. These people aren’t fools, comrades, and like all Jews they have a very highly developed personal sense of danger awareness and an almost instinctive threat assessment. They understand that we don’t like them or their filthy movies and boob tube, and that it wouldn’t take much provocation for us to come down there out of our northern forests and take a crack at them.”
“From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord deliver us?” said Hatfield.
“Exactly,” said Hill, nodding in agreement. “They’re taking precautions, against us and against their own environment, which ironically they have helped to create with their own crapulence. One of the biggest industries right now in Tinseltown is high-powered and discreet bodyguarding, personal, home, and corporate security. If you’re an ex-cop or ex-FBI you can write your own ticket down there. The stars’ homes have been fortified for years anyway, because of stalkers and gang-bangers and the general parade of lunatics that comes out under every southern California full moon, but now every studio and every lot and every office building in the industry is almost like Stalag Thirteen, surrounded by electrified fences and razor wire, with checkpoints and armies of hired goons patrolling the grounds, guard dogs, security clearances for various levels of employees, electronic surveillance everywhere, you name it.”
“But it’s not just simple fear that’s made Hollywood go a little easy on us so far,” Red Morehouse said. “I don’t want to get metaphysical, but Hollywood has always been the American ruling establishment with its heart on its sleeve, and southern California has always taken point in the culture wars, openly and brazenly, so you can read them like a book. And I can sense a deep and definite malaise. The Jewish and liberal establishment down there is not just afraid, they’re puzzled, disturbed, confused. They don’t know what to make of us quite yet. They’ve never seen white men act like this before—hell, no one in living memory has seen white men act like this before. Comrades, even if we were all wiped out tomorrow, the NVA has managed to achieve one incredible accomplishment, something that for the entire twentieth century, no one ever thought was possible. We have reintroduced the gun into American politics, the ultimate fount of all law and political power.”
Morehouse smiled and shook his head in admiration. “For the first time since the Civil War, the United States of America no longer has a credible monopoly of armed force, and that fact has thrown the whole ruling élite in this country for a loop, unbalanced them. Jews, Senators, judges, sheriffs, prison guards, lawyers, bureaucrats, corporate CEOs, asshole bosses, arrogant teachers and professors who destroy kids’ lives for a politically incorrect remark, faggots and dykes who corrupt and seduce teenagers, liberal and neo-con talking heads on TV, federal house niggers who are used to Mau-Mauing the honkies and seeing us tremble, all of these people who were once cock of the walk are now having to adjust, to come to grips with the fact that they can no longer just do any damned thing they please. If a tyrant in a black robe or sitting behind some government desk or directing a movie camera fucks over white people, there is now at least some chance that he will be shot for it, that he will be punished, that he will be held responsible. You can’t imagine how completely freaked out these arrogant ruling élitist sons of bitches are over this, and in Hollywood, where the Burger Kings, the Big Kikes, are neurotic as hell anyway under the best of conditions, we see signs that they are going quietly bonkers with paranoia. Those Hollywood Men of the Nose in their boardrooms and their jacuzzis and their limos, with their little twenty-room hideaways in Carmel and their reserved tables at the plushest restaurants, and their special trailers on set with the casting couches for blonde shiksas, know damned well that their turn is coming.”
"Which is why they may have decided to strike the first blow,” said Wayne Hill. “For reasons we have not been able to determine yet, the movie industry’s hands-off and go-slow policy regarding the NVA over the past two years seems to have been abandoned. This appears to have occurred several months ago at a hush-hush weekend house party at the Beverly Hills mansion of Sid Glick, the head of Paradigm Studios, attended by over 50 people. The guest list included other studio czars, industry CEOs, independent producers, directors, screenwriters, and some major actors and actresses. All without exception were Jewish, and according to our sources down there, even the caterers, the masseurs, the cocaine dealers and the poolside prostitutes were all Jewish, provided by a specialty madam in Bel Air. Whatever was discussed that weekend by Sid Glick’s swimming pool, and in his hot tub, and on his private handball court was not for goyische ears. The results of that meeting weren’t long in coming.”
Hill opened his briefcase and took out two large, bulky typescripts hand-bound in heavy cloth report covers. He handed them around the room. “About a month ago, Third Section came into possession of two highly classified documents from the Dream Machine down there. Both of these are movie scripts. Each studio copy of these preliminary scripts is numbered, a number you will see that I have effaced in these photocopies. The first, the blue-bound one, is from World Artists, chairman of the board Manny Gelblum, Senior Vice President in Charge of Production Hyman Landauer, you get the idea. This script has the working title Great White North, written by two top-echelon Hollywood writers, Josh Horowitz and Andrea Franken, and it’s being pushed through WA by the producer David Katz, with Arthur Bernstein slated to direct. This abortion is up to the slimiest Judaic standards, needless to say. It’s the story of a wicked and evil NVA terrorist who discovers to his horror that he’s really Jewish, and so he ends up returning to his Jewish roots and turning over his whole brigade to the feds, led by a sassy and charismatic black FBI agent with a lame white sidekick for comic relief, and of course his Strong Womyn supervisor. In the closing scene the rabbi places a yarmulke on this character’s head in a prison synagogue while he’s in chains in an orange jump suit, and he weeps for joy at having found peace at last as they take him away to the needle room to be executed.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” snarled Larry Donner in disgust, throwing the script on the table.
“We’ll take your word for it, Lieutenant,” said Lawlor.
“You don’t need to eat all of a bad egg to know it’s rotten,” said Hannon contemptuously. “The smell is enough.”
“Yeah, well, if that one smells, this one in the brown cover reeks like the sewers of Calcutta,” said Hill. “It’s from Mammoth Productions, which is a subsidiary of Sid Glick’s paradigm and run by his brother Shlomo, but this one has Sid’s fingerprints all over it. The working title is Homeland, and I won’t even try to describe the plot to you. It is a compendium of every anti-racist, anti-Nazi, anti-white cinematic cliché since To Kill A Mockingbird. We are not just wicked and evil. We’re ugly and fat, or else alcohol-skinny, usually covered with prison tattoos, we have black teeth and body odor and we fart and pick our noses, we’re psychotic killers and craven cowards, we bomb babies, we’re all closet queers of course, and needless to say we abuse white women—in fact, the flick opens with a group of so-called Volunteers gang-raping a beautiful blond white girl whom we suspect of being an informer and then cutting her up with a chain saw. Do you want me to go on?”
“We get the picture, Lieutenant,” said Hatfield grimly.
“If we’re all supposed to be queers, then how do we come to be gang-raping women?” asked McNeill sarcastically.
Morehouse raised his finger bookishly. “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. Ralph Waldo Emerson.”
“You need to understand that these are not just made-for-TV movies or B flicks that will hit the theaters for three weeks and then go to DVD,” Hill told them. “These are going to be the biggest blockbusters Tinsel Town has put out in years. They have both been granted starting budgets of one hundred million dollars each. Virtually every speaking role in both movies will be played by a major or minor star. Some of these are only cameo roles or walk-ons, and they’ve got every once-famous has-been from the past twenty years lined up for the parts, even some old coots from the 80s and 90s they’ve dug up out of retirement or some nursing home. Mary Steenburgen is playing an old lady in a wheel chair, Ted Danson’s doing a wino and Melissa Rivers is playing a Yiddishe grandmama, with a nice long shawl to conceal her colostomy bag. The opening titles will read like a Who’s Who of Hollywood for the past quarter century; the casts alone will draw audiences since almost everybody’s favorite star is bound to be in there somewhere. And get this—they’re digging into the old archives and they’re going to be including some gratuitous dream sequences and fantasy scenes and whatnot with old movie footage never before seen, outtakes from Casablanca and Citizen Kane and old Westerns, so they can legitimately give new credits to old stars like Bogart and Bacall, Charlton Heston, Orson Welles, John Wayne, Glenn Ford and Jimmy Stewart.”
“Jesus, that’s overkill!” exclaimed Lawlor.
“Yeah, but can you imagine what the playbill is going to look like?” Hill asked. “It’s a blatant trick, but it will work. People will go see these damned things just to see Charlie Chaplin, Marilyn Monroe, Robert DeNiro and Brad Pitt do a scene together, and to watch all those hams falling all over the set trying to upstage one another. Needless to say, these pictures will be given the very best cameramen, sound men, grips, and crew in the industry, the most skillful cinematographers and set designers, top-notch special effects and fight coordinators, the zonks. They’re already scouting Northwest-looking locations for outdoor shooting, in Colorado, around the Great Lakes and in New England. They have sense enough to stay away from the Homeland itself, of course, and they’re doing their damnedest to keep it all hush-hush. They know how we’re going to react. As if it was ever possible to keep any secret in that goldfish bowl down there! But this is what’s coming down the pike, comrades, and if we don’t put the hammer down on these shenanigans, then from now on it will be more and more of the same, lies, vilification, insults, contempt, world without end!”
“We’re putting the hammer down, comrades,” said Morehouse. “We’ve taken a hundred years of this shit from these people. No more! It ends now!”
“Who gets to be the hammer?” asked Tommy Coyle eagerly.
"Sorry, Tom,” said Morehouse, genuinely commiserating. “You and Harry are too badly needed up here with your brigades, and that goes for you battalion commanders as well. I’m afraid the reason you are here is because we’re going to need your help and your concurrence to cherry-pick your units. The actual hammering will be planned and organized by the Third Section, but the nails will be from Portland and the North Shore.”
“Who ya gonna call? Jew-Busters!” laughed Charlie Washburn.
“But we don’t want to just arbitrarily start snatching bodies right, left, and center for Task Force Director’s Cut,” Wayne Hill assured them. “We have a list of names and we want to go over every one of them with you beforehand.”
"Who and what, exactly, will you need for this special team?” asked Hannon. “What kind of skill sets are you looking for?”
“For that I’ll hand over the floor to a colleague of mine. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we have a comrade here tonight who hasn’t said much so far,” said Hill. “Gentleman, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Charlie Randall, one of our racial brothers from Down Under, who will serve as company commander for Task Force Director’s Cut.” Randall got up and stepped forward, and stood by the hearth, leaning on the mantelpiece.
“G’day, gents,” said the young Australian. “Threesec chose me to ramrod this little shindig because you can tell I’m not from around these parts the first time I open me mouth, and of course because of me rugged good looks as well, which will make it credible that I’m an aspiring actor and give me an excuse for hanging around movie people and places at all odd hours. Not to mention that me life’s vocation is manufacturing dead sheenies, a craft I’ve gotten bloody good at, if I do say so meself.”
“I will be the XO, the planning and intelligence officer,” Hill told them, “For the third member of the task force’s Trouble Trio, I would like to ask Zack here for the services of Lieutenant Christina Ekstrom as quartermaster. I heard she had to go under a while back.”
“Yeah, she’s been helping her dad out, and she’s as knowledgeable on guns as he is,” said Zack. “But before that she was our eyes and ears in local law enforcement for almost two years. I think she could do with a change of scene. The FBI have a real case of the ass for her because of the first tickle she helped us with, and they want her almost as bad as they want me. She’s a good choice.”
“We want to bring in at least six or eight other female comrades so we can make up boy-girl teams for the large amount of surveillance we’ll need to do,” said Hill. “Established couples would be best if you can spare them. I also want Lieutenant Vincent Pascarella and two Volunteers of Pascarella’s choosing from First Brigade EOD. I really want the Red Baron himself, but I was told flat out by the Army Council that he’s too badly needed here and the risk of losing him would be too great, so I can’t have him. We’re going to be making some noise down there, and we might even pop a chug-chug or two.”
Coyle nodded. “Okay, you got Pascarella and two EODs.”
“Then from Second Brigade, I’d like to take Johnny Featherstone along for torch work. I hear he’s good at it.”
“Yeah, he uses some goop one of our techie nerds made up that burns hot enough to melt steel, and he knows just where to place it and how much,” agreed Hannon. “When Johnny flicks his Bic, you can put what’s left of the joint in a teacup. Okay, you got him.”
“Now, dollars to donuts here’s where you comrades are going to go downright mulish on us,” said Randall, with a friendly grin. “We want at least four of your best snipers, including Cat-Eyes Lockhart himself.”
“I kind of saw that one coming,” admitted Coyle. “To be honest, I’ve been worried about Cat. Things are getting really hot for him in Portland again. His face is on TV every night and on every damned wall and telephone pole. They want him so bad they’re slavering, and his DT bounty is the only million-dollar reward in the NVA for a non-officer. He seems to have some kind of magical ability to move almost openly in the city without being spotted, but that kind of luck can’t hold forever. As much as I hate to lose Cat and his body count, I actually think it would be a good idea for him to go on the road again for a while outside Portland, until the heat here cools down a bit. You got him.”
“We need at least four good full auto men for watch-dogging and for spray jobs where necessary,” continued Randall. “Machine-gunners who can actually hit what they aim at and not just play John Wayne on the sands of Iwo Jima. Two from each brigade.”
“Jimmy Wingo,” said Coyle reluctantly. “Ace Biedermann to back him up.”
"Mike Gauss,” said Hannon. “And, uh, let’s see—Willis Nixon.”
“Machine Gun Mike? Good on him, mate,” said Randall happily. “As a sweetener, you can tell them they’ll be given two M-60s, a PKM, and an HK-11, with plenty of belts and ammo, and they can pick and train their own crews once we get down there.”
“You plan on playin’ Rambo down there, Lieutenant?” asked Conway, intrigued.
"We plan on rattling those Hebrews’ cages but good,” said Randall firmly. “Now, I mentioned we need at least six or eight gun bunnies, couples are fine, but bear in mind we’re dealing with Jews here, and so we’re going to need at least a few of those girls to serve as Loreleis and set honey traps. This will usually require the Sheilas to pose as aspiring actresses. As male chauvinist and crude as this may sound, they’re going to have to be built and look good enough to be Loreleis and starlets in Hollywood, where there’s a ten on every corner. Our girls have to stand out enough to attract some randy kike across a crowded cocktail party, you know wot I mean. You need to square that with them before they sign on. Let me know who’s willing.”
“Mmmm, we got that really sweet looking preppy girl in A Company, Becky, but her father’s a major knob and she’s too well known in society circles under her real name,” said Bud Lawlor. “She might run into someone who knows her at the wrong moment. Kicky McGee would fill the bill, if you can target a kike who likes ‘em blue-collar and tattooed. She’s uh, experienced. No disrespect to the comrade, she’s a cool hand and she’s gutsy. She’s carried some packages, she’s driven for Cat Lockhart, and we all saw her in action on Flanders Street.”
“Any of her tattoos racial?” asked Randall. “Any Confederate flags or Swastikas, or anything that might give the game away?”
“No, not racist, just Celtic biker kind of stuff, some flowers and barbed wire and witchy motifs. She’s got a couple of leather and denim outfits she looks hot as a two dollar pistol in.”
“She hooked up?” asked Randall.
“She and Jimmy Wingo have a thing going,” Lawlor told them. “That’s another reason I thought of her.”
“She’s in, then,” decided Randall. “Maybe she can lead Sammy Steinberg into a close encounter with Jimmy’s M-60.”
"What will be your plan of attack, Lieutenant Randall?” asked Hatfield.
“The main strategic objective here is to neutralize the Hollywood movie and television apparatus as an effective weapon of enemy propaganda,” said Randall. “It is now such a weapon because of the Jewish control of these industries. We have to get the Jews’ hands off the levers of power and creative control down there as much as possible, not only by terminating individual hebes, but by establishing a credible deterrent sufficient to prevent those reptiles from producing dingo doo like those things there.”
Randall pointed to the scripts on the coffee table. “They have to know that even to contemplate producing an anti-NVA movie or television episode means bloody near certain death. We won’t be so much going after movie stars or actors themselves as we will be taking down the Jews who actually decide what movies and shows are made, and what their contents will be—studio heads, producers, directors, and screenwriters, and the money men. We have several objectives. First, to physically prevent these Jews from doing the dirty. A dead Jew can’t make an anti-white movie. Secondly, to create a psychological disincentive to make propaganda movies and telly for the Americans, since live Jews and liberals don’t wish to become dead ones. Finally, and this is a long-term goal, we want to demonstrate to the extensive Gentile community in the movie and television world down there that Jewish control of their industry, their money, their speech, and their creative talents is not some kind of perpetual, God-ordained inevitability. We want to show them and the whole world that Jewish power can be broken, right in the heart of their own oldest and most cherished empire in this country.”
“Gentile Hollywood people have been conditioned all their lives to a second-class status in their own world, in their work, and in their thoughts and their public utterances,” said Red Morehouse. “To them the Jewish control of their existence seems to be a law of nature, an immutable fact of life. Anyone who dares to stand up against it, or who makes a drunken slip like even the biggest stars like Max Garrett sometimes do, is crushed. But no one who has to live under Jewish rule likes it, and no one who is confronted on a daily basis with Jews in the flesh likes them as individuals. In a way, we’re trying to show the stars and the genuine film artists down there the same thing we’re trying to show our own people here in the Homeland—that it is possible to resist, and that the enemy is not invincible.”
“Which brings us to our own debut,” said Randall with an evil chuckle. “Gents, I am sure you’ve all seen the great blood and gore flicks of the past. Halloween. Friday the Thirteenth. Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Prom Night. Black Christmas. Well, the Northwest Volunteer Army is going to add another memorable date to the calendar of Hollywood horror. The one that will beat all those other nights of horror all to hell and gone, the goriest splatterfest of them all.” He leered and leaned forward as he hoarsely stage-whispered: