Friday, May 01, 2009

Attitude

When I'm driving anywhere for any amount of time there's always, and I mean always some punk that gets on my ass and starts tailgating me, right up on my bumper. And it doesn't matter if I'm going thirty or eighty. These bastards are there. You can't shake them either. Once they tag you they stay with you.

If you gun it and go around the car ahead of you, he'll do it too and get right back on your ass regardless of the danger. He'll narrowly miss other cars, change lanes without signaling, pass in no pass zones, and generally be a royal pain in the ass until you finally turn off to your destination. And when you take a quick look out your window to check out your antagonist, it's always some asshole wetback punk under 30 who is grinning like a fool and sometimes even flipping you off as he speeds by.

They don't do this to other wetbacks or even the blacks. Only gringos. Why? Simple. Because they can. These clowns know that the majority of whites won't do squat about it, they'll just stew in their juices, or if it's a female she'll piss her pants in terror but do nothing. What they're doing is letting whitey know who owns this land now. And by intimidating as many as they can on the road they hammer the point home. It makes them feel like big men. They can go home and crow to their lowlife buddies about how they harassed another wetto.

Lately though, they've been running into a little problem. It seems that more and more of them are getting their asses kicked. A lot of white men have flat had enough and are risking a jail sentence to nail these weasels. Case in point;

I myself have nailed at least five of the SOBs in the past four months for doing this to me. I wait until we both are stuck at a light, then I slam my truck into park, jump out and leap to their door and drag the sonofabitch out of his car. I then proceed to pick him up off the highway with one arm and shake him like a rat with his feet dangling, eyes bugging in terror, and mouth agape in shock and surprise. I stick my face right into his and tell him that if I ever see his maggot ass around my turf again I'll pull his head off and crap down the bloody stump.

You'd be amazed at just how well this works as an attitude adjustment tool. But you see, at no time do I actually strike him or damage him, only scare the baranca out of him and make him feel lucky he's still breathing. I carry a red crowbar between my bucket seat and the door, and if there's more than one of them I bring it along for an equalizer since wetbacks are cowards and only attack when they have a gang to back them up. So far I haven't had to go that far.

Two-thirds of the fight is looking like you don't care what the outcome is as long as you get to kill something. I always make sure I look deranged and bloodthirsty. Haw! If there's one thing wetbacks fear, it's a berserker white man..

One time it was a buck nigger that tried that crap on me. He was about 20, nappy-headed, skinny and about 6 foot-four. He was driving a new GMC that was no doubt a company truck of some sort because he damn sure couldn't afford it. But like all young punks behind the wheel of somebody else's ride, he was abusing the hell out of it. He was speeding like the devil and came up on my ass on a lonely stretch of highway leading into town. He tailgated me and goosed the motor continually, trying to get my goat.

Finally he gets in front of me and instead of speeding off into the sunset, gets in front of me and slows down to a crawl, blocking me from going around him. This punk was simply screwing with whitey because there was nobody around to nail him for it, and he mistook me for just another cowardly yuppie. Stupid nigger. Kicks are for coons...

And so I patiently played his game until we finally came to the first red light on the outskirts of town. It was a long one at a five-way stop, and there was no place Rastus could go. So once again I slammed my truck into park, got out, went to his truck and jerked his tall black ass physically out of that truck. His eyes looked like two soft boiled eggs jammed in a black bowling ball. I pulled him down to my eye level, which is six feet, stared him in the face and asked him one simple question. "Are you trying to get me to kill you, you stupid nigger?"

He stammered, and his big lips flapped like two sheets in a stiff breeze as he answered, "Uh, uh, NO! NO! I wuz jes' funnin' mistah! Honess! Ahhz dinnut mean nuthin' byz it!" He stuck his huge hands out in a defensive motion. I gave him my scariest glare, guaranteed to make him think he was about to go to that Great Big rib restaurant in the sky. There was an older white guy in his late sixties with silver hair and his aging wife in a big Chrysler. He rolled down his window and gave me a huge grin and an emphatic thumbs up sign. I caught this out of the side of my eye and tried not to grin. After all, I was making an impression here.

I bared my teeth at him like a hungry wolf and said in a low voice, " You know, I flat hate niggers. You know why I hate niggers?" He shook his head "No" as I squeezed the front of his shirt tighter. "Because all you worthless bastards are nothing but trouble. Every one of you ought to have the shit kicked out of you on a daily basis!" He bugged his eyes even bigger if that were possible. I'm sure he thought I was giving him the prelude to an ass kicking. "What do you think Buckwheat? You think you need to have your ass kicked?"

He shook his head in a violent "No!" and said "Nossuh! Ah promise! Ah won't dooz it aginn!" I pretended like I was battling about my decision, making him really sweat. But the light had changed and people were honking. It was only a matter of time before some goodie-two-shoes liberal bag called the cops on me. So I gave dillweed one last vigorous shake and slammed him into the door of his truck..hard. Then I growled at him and said, "Get your black ass out of here. And if I ever see your worthless hide in these parts again I'm going to make a point of stopping you and giving you the ass kicking you deserve. Got that chimp?"

He didn't say a word. He just got in his truck and burned rubber as he got the hell out of there. I watched him as I climbed back in my rig amongst a horde of angry voices and honks. If he'd as so much as looked at me wrong as he left, I'd have gone after him and really laid into him. Sometimes it's all a guy can do not to give those bastards what they deserve. But by handling it this way I can't get nailed for assault, and if you put enough fear in them, they're not about to make a complaint about racism either. But it's one of those deals you either handle correctly or don't try at all, because it can go south on you real fast.

A lot of my relatives think I'm way too radical, and my own dear sweet old mother thinks I'm a vicious white supremist darky hater. I still can't understand where she gets that. But even she has to grudgingly admit I'm dead right about the things I say and believe, it's just in her later years she's mellowed considerably.

Hell, twenty years ago I used to have to carry a weapon whenever I went with her anywhere. Not for me, but to protect her!! Man, she had a mouth!

One time we were at a museum in Tulsa. About a half-dozen nasty bucks were coming down the main ramp and blocking the whole thing from anyone else using it, by walking side-by-side deliberately. Mom took one look at them and yelled, "Hey you damned stupid niggers! Get your worthless black asses out of the way before we kick you out of the way!"

Mom is 5' 10", 135 pounds. Not exactly Rocky Balboa. She came within a hair of forcing me into a blood match with this bunch of coons! But did she care? Hell no! She was ready to take on all comers.

I think the sheer shock of her audacity made them move, because they must have figured no white mamma is going to be that uppety unless she has an ace up her sleeve. So they parted like the Red Sea for her! I never saw anything like it. She just stuck her nose in the air and told me, "C'mon!" And she strutted right through them and on her way.

I just shook my head in amazement then said, "Mom, don't do that!, ok?" She just grinned at me out of the side of her face and kept going. I wanted to put a knot on her head! Man! Thinking about it, I wish now there had been a lot more like her back then.

But whether it's blacks, wetbacks, queers, liberals, or any of the other assorted enemies of our race, we all need to display a lot more attitude. We need to start instilling fear into all of these maggots.

That's because fear is a great weapon. It spreads like a cancer. It jumps from one person to another and it grows in strength the longer they brood on it. Paranoia sets in too. And the more they fear us, the more likely they are to lose in a confrontation with any of us at any time. This is good.

We want fear to demoralize the enemy at every turn. When I jump one coon, he spreads the tale. And like all tales it grows with every telling, until I'm ten feet tall, built like a gorilla, tattooed with swastikas all over, and was eating a live cat when I walked up to him.

But we don't just target coons and wetbacks. Don't forget we have a lot of other enemies out there that are working hard to bring about our destruction. We need to give them just as much attention. Never miss an opportunity to make one of them fear you.

You don't have to actually do one bodily harm, just make him believe you will. That's more than enough to do the job in most cases. Because kicking the ass of just one lowlife may be intensely satisfying, but it can also bring your career to an abrupt end by getting you tossed in the can. And no single maggot is worth that.

Make your sacrifices count. Wait until open war breaks out and you don't have a choice. Until then use psychology on them. After all, they've sure been using it on us.

All the darkies in my neighborhood are terrified of me. When I drive by they get out of the street, take afew steps closer to their door, and watch me with fear in their eyes as I slowly cruise by. I didn't have to kill a bunch of them to get this rep either. I simply used attitude.

And it's made my life a lot easier living here, because none of them would dare to come on my property and try to steal anything. Over the past few years I've done a few things that got around. Nothing too violent mind you, just some things that proved I am violent. When you prove to these lowlifes that you don't care what happens to you as long as you get to maim something, they start caring. It's that simple.

So get a little attitude and start scaring the crap out of your enemies. It's useful...and it's fun to boot.

-The Lone Haranguer

5 Comments:

Anonymous BLU-82 said...

Thanks for these good advices, could be quite useful for us up here in Sweden. You know, this people have not seen war since 1809. And we are a bunch of wimpering cowards now, just standing by and looking while enormous hordes of arabs are migrating into this country. The politicians are saying that since the USA has destructed the Iraq , Sweden ! has to take care of all these hundreds of thousands of miserable worthless arabs !.. Complete insanity.. And those sandniggers are complete destroying this country, and raping the women.. While the swedish man just stand there looking like stupid donkeys.. Madness, dont you think ?...

9:32 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

you've got a vivid imagination and/or a gift for fiction.

6:50 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Vic Hopson always does a good bit.

10:22 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

One of the things I like to do when a carload of idiots is tailgating me, is drive into a deserted light industrial area when I catch them at it. You know, just to see if I can sucker them into an ambush-type situation. Not that I'd ever DO anything like that...oh no. It's amazing how they always seem to figure out where we're going, and what COULD happen when we get there.

Heh heh heh.

Dave 05012009 / 1614

4:15 PM  
Anonymous A. Non said...

I have not a doubt in the world that you actually DID go face-to-face with those punks. I'd dismiss almost any other writer as spouting Internet truth...but I've read enough of your writings to know you've got enough steel in your spine to DO things.

Kudos for putting the 'fear of God and good men' into those slimebags. There are too many of them roaming the streets with near-total impunity.

7:23 AM  

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