The BATFE Are Amoral Morons
This just speaks for itself.
"To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is free...to a time when truth exists, and what is done cannot be undone...From the age of uniformity, from the age of solitude, from the age of Big Brother, from the age of doublethink--greetings!" - George Orwell, 1984
This just speaks for itself.
About a week ago I was minding my own business, trying to find a discount tire shop I had heard of in a neighboring township not far from my home. It was a little before 9pm, and according to the ad, they were open until 10pm. I wasn't quite sure of their location because I'd only seen the place once about ten years ago, and was having to cruise the area to find it.
Finally I stopped at a local grab and puke and got a cup of coffee while I thought over my options. Suddenly the passenger door opened, and in plopped an old girlfriend of mine from years ago that I hadn't seen in at least a decade. We started yacking and she said that she had recognized me as she was heading into the store.
We were laughing and talking for about three minutes when suddenly there was a bright spotlight beam shining in my eyes from outside! Some hotdog county sheriff had snuck up on where I was parked and started harassing me for no reason whatsoever! He demanded rudely that I roll down the window, then he demanded we get out of the truck.
I then demanded to know why he had jumped me, and what his probable cause was to harass me. The prick had the gall to say, "You guys looked like you were fighting, so I came to break it up."
"Fighting?" I said incredulously, "You know better than that. You're lying through your teeth. You just wanted to hassle us because we were here so why don't you just admit it?" He got irate at those words because like most tyrants, we didn't take kindly to someone not quivering in terror at his very presence. Not me fella...
Then I recognized the bastard. This particular pig had a reputation across the entire county for being a hotdog and a royal pain in the ass to everyone in the county. Most people despised his guts and would throw a frigging party if he ever got fragged. In fact he pulled my sister over so many times that she packed up and moved out of the county! And she's a teacher and interpreter for the deaf, with no record and no tickets, and no reason on earth for this maggot to be harassing her all the time.
And here I was, with the bad luck to be in this fanatic's clutches. Well, he ran a make on me and it came back clean of course, with no record, no warrants and flagged as ex law enforcement. But this only pissed him off because he wanted to BUST somebody tonight. So then he confiscated my keys, my license, and gave me the drunk test. Then he searched me and my friend as well, harassing her with the same gusto. Then he decided he was going to search my truck for contraband. And this asshole didn't just search it, but tore my truck apart! He pulled everything out and threw it on the pavement.
He even took all my cancer medications out and put them on the roof of my truck, as if he'd found drugs. I shit you not. I also had a jar of mountain water in the back, and he opens it, gruffly asks, "And just what is this?" I said,"What the fuck does it look like? Taste it!" Instead he gives me a smart ass look and tosses the jar on top of my books and important papers. without bothering to re-tighten the lid. Yes, the water spilled all over my books and some of my meds, ruining everything. Bastard...
Next he goes to my toolbox in the back of the truck and dumps them all out on the ground, leaving them for me to pick up. He dug in all the cracks, crevasses, under, over, and between the seats and everyplace else he could think of, desperately trying to find something..anything to bust me on. But I was as clean as a hound's tooth, which almost drove him nuts. I was preparing for the sonofabitch to plant something on me next, just to get his bust, but just then another cop rolled up and he cooled it. The second cop was just as bad as the first, and together they grilled me like the frigging Gestapo!
Finally I'd had enough and said, "Either arrest me you assholes, or cut me loose. You had no PC but you pulled me out of my truck anyway, you did a search, a drunk test, a body search and a grilling not to mention ran a make on me, and you didn't even have the legal right. We're done!" The young punk almost exploded in egomaniacal anger at my words, but the older, wiser cop made him gag it. He then handed me my papers, but I had to go find my license. The bastard had thrown it on the pavement!
I then backed out and drove off, madder than hell. My friend did likewise, after chewing both of them tot he red. The next day I called his supervisor and read him the riot act over the buffoon, but his sergeant had the gall to tell me that this cop was "one of their best producers", and that he actually encourages this prick to behave that way! That's when I told that creep to expect a call from the state's attorney general, because I was going to call him. And I am going to call him tomorrow, now that all the bureaucrats are back from vacation...
This folks, is just a sample of what we can all expect more and more frequently as things continue to degrade in this country. The lowest of the low are being given authority over us and they're abusing the hell out of it. That bastard cop wanted to wreck my life! He was trying as hard as he could.
These assholes look at it like a game. It's the joy of the hunt to them, and every person out there is nothing more than a criminal they haven't busted yet. When the rebellion hits we must make doubly sure that we eliminate every one of these bastards. We must toss them in the same tank with all the other low-lifes that have made living in America the nightmare it's now become. I'm still boiling over the incident, and if it had been anyone else, I'd have killed the bastard where he stood.
No one has the right to treat people that way. No one. And like I said, it's only going to get worse. So when this government of ours ..and I use the term loosely..demands we hand over all our guns, the only thing we should give them is the lead. Just wait until this happens to you..and it will, and soon. You'll start to understand what I'm talking about. War is upon us whether we want it or not.
-The Lone Haranguer
Welcome to our web site’s latest visitors, U. S. Army Intelligence from Tacoma. No doubt they are conducting a “threat assessment,” as well they should. The concept of freedom is always a threat to tyrants.
Saoirse an dath Ban.
Wanted you all to know that Edgar Steele has been moved to the Bonner County Jail in Sandpoint, Idaho. The U.S. Marshals moved him after his hearing before Magistrate Candy Dale on February 16th.
[Okay, I'm a bit rushed today and tomorrow, so I'll re-post this one like I do every 18 months or so. I first posted this almost five years ago, and I re-post it regularly with slight updates, and it never fails to get dozens of comments, more than any article I post. Most of the comments come from Jewish men agreeing with me. Really, no joke. - HAC]
A friend and I were nattering on line about Jews in Hollywood, and he mentioned that while the Jewess Lauren Bacall was actually quite a fox in her Bogarting days, in later life she was a genuinely horrible-looking old yenta. This set off my standard rave about Jewish women as evidenced by their Hollywood exemplars, and it strikes me I haven't ever blogged that one.
The fact is that Jewish women really just aren't that sexually attractive on the whole. Even their own men don't find them so. This probably has something to do with the general neurosis that appears both among them and Jewish men. You'll notice that in great "classics" of Joosh literchur like Portnoy's Complaint, as well as in real life, it's always the blond Gentile woman that Sammy Glick and Portnoy and his counterparts lust after.
JAPs have a very grim reputation along that line as ugly, greedy, arrogant, self-absorbed, bitchy and repulsive in their personal habits, crazy as loons, and sexually frigid. Gina Gershon may have a certain exotic air, but you look close and you get the impression of body hair and odor.
Okay, I'll grant you, some Jewesses are pretty cute when they're in their teens, especially the Hollywood variety who have the benefit of the most skilled makeup artists, trainers, plastic surgeons, and cosmetologists in the world. But when they hit about age 21 they start to get porky, misproportioned, saggy-titted and camel-faced really quick.
Good example #1, Alicia Silverstone, whom I saw in some bow-wow the other day. I think her face must have been plastic-surgeried as to the nose, since that's still pretty pert. She and Michael Jackson may share the same nip-and-tucker. But I'll swear she's already had her first face lift and it still hasn't completely done in the jowls and chubby cheeks.
Despite liposucting a whole barrel of lard off her thighs and gut, she's still thick in the middle. In that Aerosmith video she did at 15 she was an incredible edible, but even by the time of Clueless she was starting to get noticeably heavy hips. Not so much a negroid buffalo butt as she's just thick in the body, a very common attribute of Jewish females. No wonder her career is in the toilet, given Hollywood's obsession with thinness.
Supposedly Alicia won't do nude scenes as a matter of principle. Well, maybe. But more likely, she can't find anyone who's interested in seeing her nekkid. Producers don't want their male audiences yelling " Put it back on! Put it all back on!"
I hear Alicia, as well as some others I won't name, are on something Hollywood unofficially refers to as the "Buchenwald Diet" (invented by a Jew doctor, of course) of 900 calories a day. Jesus, imagine being a millionaire many times over and having to live on a "Buchenwald diet?" Even movie stars have their crosses to bear, it would seem.
Good example #2: Mila Kunis. Ukrainian Jew, born in Kiev in 1983. During her first couple of seasons of That 70s Show (she more or less stole the part by lying about her age; she was 14 when she tried out) I will grant you, she was cute as a cut-button in a black-haired gypsy kind of way. It didn't last. I saw her last night doing an interview about Family Guy (she does the voice of Meg.) Either she did it without makeup, or else someone on the set really screwed up, because she looked like a hag.
She's 26 now and her face is really going Golda Meir, lips thickening, first crow's feet appearing, cheeks starting to sag, hair lank and rough-looking, and her skin is really dark--you can tell she's got a lot of Tatar in her, like Lenin did. Mila's small-boned and short enough so she won't have the blowsy, tit-sagging Jewess look as she gets older. She'll have the small, hard, brown Jewess look, if you get my drift, the one that reminds you that Jews are an Asiatic people. She could play Gina Gershon's daughter, easy.
Final example, lest this turn into a Hollywood gossip column: Natalie Portman. Israeli. At age 13 in The Professional she was a charming, impish little waif. She's 27 now, going on about 42, on a good day.
I caught her in the The Other Boleyn Girl, and she's headed straight for Yenta City. Face rounding, cheeks and lips swelling, nose flaring into the classic Hebrew 6-shape, typical Jewish camel-face heading her way like an oncoming train. She better start making appointments with some of those Beverly Hills plastic surgeons pretty soon or she won't be able to get any parts besides Yiddishe mamas.
Speaking of which, you want to see the result of a Jewess trying to stay Aryan-looking and marketable thereby? Jane Seymour, nee Wilhelmina Frankenberg. She damned sure ain't no Bond Girl no more. She's had so much facial surgery and strategic botox the skin is stretched across her cheeks and the side of her skull tight as a drum, to where it looks about to split and her nose looks almost like it will start to melt like a candle, like Michael Jackson's.
In desperation she finally agreed to do a topless scene in The Wedding Crashers and supposedly she had to have a kind of botox support system surgically installed to get her sagging Yiddishe udders up off her waist. Hmm...maybe I could make it as a Hollywood gossip columnist...
Seriously, though, in the sheer beauty department, none of these JAPs can hold a candle to Jennifer Aniston, Meg Ryan, Drew Barrymore, Reese Witherspoon, Kirsten Dunst, Dominique Swain, or even the trashed-out Lindsay Lohan.
Okay, granted that morality-wise Hollywood corrupts the whole lot of them, and I'm certainly not claiming your average Gentile actress is someone you'd want to bring home to mother. But look at your big Jew producers and directors and studio heads--and who they choose to marry for their trophy wives when they can afford it, as they can. Maybe Jewish men know something about Jewish women we don't.
Sorry, got sidetracked this weekend into some other stuff and neglected to update this blog. Will catch up today.
WASHINGTON -- Three days before the Nov. 2 election, [Democrat] U. S. Representative David Wu's most loyal and senior staffers were so alarmed by his erratic behavior that they demanded he enter a hospital for psychiatric treatment.
Their concern had been spiking for weeks in tandem with the Oregon Democrat's increasingly unpredictable performance on the campaign trail and in private. He was loud and sometimes angry, some of them told The Oregonian. He said kooky things to staff and -- more worrisome with a tough election fast approaching -- around potential voters and donors.
Most of all, they were worried for Wu, a 55-year-old single father of two children.
Earlier and gentler efforts had failed, so the tight-knit group of high-level staff took other steps, including quiet inquiries about the availability of beds in hospitals in Portland and Washington, D.C., multiple sources familiar with the effort told The Oregonian. [His own staff was about to have him dragged away to the cackle box by force.]
Several staff members confronted Wu for the final time on Oct. 30. Wu’s psychiatrist was brought into that meeting as well, joining the group at the Portland campaign headquarters by speaker phone. The meeting was held after four consecutive days of troubling behavior [raving lunacy] that led the staff to agree that Wu needed a higher level of medical care, [a rubber room] according to people intimately familiar with the events of that period.
"This is way beyond acceptable levels and the charade needs to end NOW," wrote Lisa Grove, a senior and long-serving campaign pollster, in an e-mail to colleagues that day. "No enabling by any potential enablers, he needs help and you need to be protected. Nothing else matters right now. Nothing else."
[Apparently, getting a Democrat elected to the House of Representatives mattered to the point where the topic of having this yellow fruit loop resign from the race and concede to his Republican opponent was the one option that was never discussed.]
Wu, however, remained defiant, sources said. He left the meeting and said he was going to a movie.[One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.]
Faced with a stalemate, the campaign essentially shut down at the very time when most other candidates were at their most frenzied. No public announcement was made, but campaign staff withdrew and Wu did not hold another formal campaign event until he emerged on Tuesday night after winning a seventh term.
[My italics. In other words, Wu's staff perpetrated an act of electoral fraud on the people of Oregon by concealing the fact that their Democratic candidate was raving mad. Needless to say, there will be no effort to remove Wu from his seat in the House of Representatives, where he will sit at his desk on the House floor gibbering and laughing and talking to himself for the next two years. I doubt anyone there will notice. - HAC]
Last month, The Oregonian reported that at least a half-dozen members of Wu’s staff had resigned after he won re-election in November. That group included his longtime chief of staff and his spokeswoman. In addition, he lost his campaign pollster and his fundraiser. [Apparently one manifestation of his mental illness was he forgot to sign paychecks.]
Wu declined to be interviewed for that story, and he declined to be interviewed for this one, despite multiple attempts by The Oregonian to reach him. He rushed away from a reporter after a speech on the U.S. House floor on Friday, accusing the journalist of being a pod person from the Alpha Centauri star system. [Okay, I made that last bit up, but I am ROFLMAO over this story and I can't resist the urge to play with it.]
Late Friday his office sent a prepared statement. In it he said that he was "not always at my best with staff or constituents" and that he sought "professional medical care."
"Some of my stress was derived from a very tough campaign, but I was also dealing with raising two children alone and the death of my father," he wrote.
"I fully acknowledge that I could have dealt with these difficult circumstances better, and I remain focused on being a good father to my children and a strong representative for the people of Oregon," the statement said. "They're coming to take me away, ha ha, they're coming to take me away, ho ho, hee hee. ha ha, to the funny farm, with trees and flowers and chirping birds, and basket weavers who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes..." [Okay, okay, I'll settle down...]
This account is based on The Oregonian's interviews with multiple sources who worked for his congressional office, his campaign, and in some cases, both. Each had detailed knowledge of campaign events and the rippling concern about Wu. The people interviewed are still working in politics in Washington and in Oregon, and talked on the condition that they not be named. Together, they offer a consistent and independent account, backed up by e-mails, that reveals serious and expanding concerns about Wu’s deteriorating condition in the last days before the election.
Beginning of the end
For some staffers, the beginning of the end was Wednesday, Oct. 27, when Wu delivered a belligerent and rambling 19-minute monologue to Washington County Democrats that some in the audience said was inappropriate for the friendly crowd. [How could they tell? No, seriously, how does one differentiate between insanity and the usual kind of Democrat public tirade?] His behavior left staff members aghast.[Maybe he really was talking about pod people.]
That Thursday, on a downtown Portland sidewalk in front of Central Drugs, several staff members pleaded with him to get into their car for a private intervention. Wu refused and took off on foot. His campaign staff could only watch helplessly, afraid what their candidate might say or do. [I suppose chasing the Congressman down the street with butterfly nets would have kind of given the game away.]
They returned to the campaign office and sent the few remaining people home. He later called in his employees and reprimanded them for blowing things out of proportion and accused the predominantly female staff of being overly emotional, sources told The Oregonian.
[In British journalist-ese, "tired and emotional" is an accepted circumlocution for exceedingly drunk. Has anyone thought that this gook's mental condition may have to do with him simply being hammered all the time? "He's not crazy, he's just a lush" has long been an acceptable excuse for Congressional malfeasance.]
On Friday, Oct. 29, Wu attended a fundraiser at which U.S. Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius was the featured guest. Wu tried to get Sebelius to talk to his children on his cell phone.
That evening, he talked his way through security at Portland International Airport in order to meet his young children at the gate, only to solicit votes from passengers as his kids skipped ahead, according to a report filed with Port of Portland police. Later, the duty manager was reprimanded for letting Wu past the security checkpoint.
[You know, that sounds like some of the Old Democrats, Boss Tweed, Earl Long, Richard Daley, etc. Seriously, for a Democrat ward heeler of the more traditional type, that's not crazy behavior at all. It's what Democrats do.]
In the early morning of Saturday, several odd messages written from Wu’s private House of Representatives e-mail address were sent to some staffers, all female, with still others copied on them.
One message was written in the name and voice of Wu’s son. "Cut him some slack, man. What he does when he's wasted is send e-mails, not harass people he works with."
["Vote David Wu! When he's drunk he taps, not gropes!"]
Yet another was purportedly signed by both children, who are adolescents. It praised the female staffer for sticking by Wu. "My Dad says you're the best because not even my Mom put up with him for [REDACTED: #] years and you have. We think you're cool."
Aides with knowledge of the messages told The Oregonian they were convinced all were written by David Wu, or possibly by Hadding Scott. [All right, all right, I promise I'll zip it!] The messages were sent from his BlackBerry around 1:30 a.m. Moreover, the private e-mail address of a member of Congress is closely guarded and it would be highly unusual for another person other than the elected official to have access to the account.
Wu also forwarded a cheery photo of himself dressed as a tiger for Halloween. He had both hands -- paws -- held up to either side of his face. He was grinning broadly. [Well, at least he was wearing a costume,unlike that Congressman who recently posted a semi-nude "beefcake" photo of himself on Craigslist.]
At that point, staff knew something was terribly wrong with their candidate. That Saturday, Oct. 30, they checked for available hospital beds and consulted with his psychiatrist. Veteran pollster Grove sent staffers the e-mail that signaled the end. She declined to comment for this story but earlier told The Oregonian that she would never work for Wu again.
[I must have guessed right about Wu forgetting to sign the paychecks. Political operatives are reptiles and they have no ethics and no conscience. Really. Dollars for donuts, there is a financial aspect to this we're not being told about.]
There was no doubt Wu was having a rough 2010. He had separated from his [White] wife, and he faced a credible opponent -- Republican Rob Cornilles -- in a difficult year for all Democrats. He told people he had stopped drinking in July. [He also has a bridge in Brooklyn he'd like to sell them.]
But staffers and others who encountered Wu say his behavior that fall was not an ordinary response to stress. As the campaign wore on, they said, Wu became unpredictable and sometimes loopy, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and often not making sense. Nor would he own up to their concerns.
Campaign staffers were seeing an entirely different picture of the campaign than the public. Upbeat Facebook feeds under Wu’s name, written by his communications team, appeared on the campaign’s website. They bore little similarity to real life within the campaign, which by then had split largely into two -- Wu and the rest of staff.
He made few campaign appearances and near the end of the campaign was even placed under what one campaign official characterized as "house arrest." [In a straitjacket?] A spokesman disputed that, saying Wu went to a football game that Saturday and on other errands and activities through the weekend.
Previous erratic behavior
Wu had shown signs of erratic behavior before. In 2007, he accused the Bush White House of acting like fake Klingons. In 2003, he appeared to go catatonic before a crucial vote on Medicare.
[I notice that this article doesn't mention a charge of sexual assault against a former girl friend, almost certainly White, some years previously that I found on Google.]
Sources reported that over the years Wu would have normal periods, followed by times when he seemed disturbed. Each episode seemed more erratic, they said. But just before the election, they said, was the worst they had seen.
[Yet the liberal Democrats of Oregon keep on electing him. because it would be so politically incorrect to prefer a White man over an insane gook. They might be called racists, and we can't have that, now, can we? Okay, granted, most Republicans are as crooked as a dog's hind leg, but still, a thief makes a better Congressman than a lunatic. Doesn't he?]
As Election Day approached, the prevailing mood, according to one person, "was that the only thing worse than losing the campaign would be winning it."
[The Chinese (heavy irony) have a saying: "Be careful what you wish for. You may get it."]
Voters saw none of the turmoil within the campaign. On Sunday, Oct. 31, Wu’s Facebook page thanked "incredible volunteers" for knocking on doors to get out the vote.
On election night, as returns were tallied, Wu’s staff posted a final message on his page.
"In a year of hard-fought contests, my race was no exception. I am humbled by the confidence that Oregonians continue to place in me and grateful for all the volunteers, staff, and friends who have stood by my side throughout this campaign. Thank you for your support!"
Wu had been elected to a seventh term in Congress.
by John Kaminski
What do you do, after observing how the Israelis shot those unarmed peace protesters trying to bring food to the starving people of Gaza, when some Jew like Colin Powell gets in your face and bellows: “You’re an anti-Semite! Anything you say about Israel is anti-Semitic!”
You should respond to the Jew thusly.
“Why should I believe anything you say? You have a five thousand year record of not telling the truth, plus you take an oath you renew every year to lie about everything to anyone and everyone. In fact, your lies are directly responsible for most of the misery in the world. Now, what was it you were saying? Even though I’d be a fool to believe anything you say.”
So, then, some smarmy Jew wannabe says, “We have to treat all people in the world equally. We’re all in this together.”
In that case, your response should be this.
“I believe that each person on this planet has a soul, a spirit, that deserves to be free and not be harmed by the evil plans of others. I believe all people in the world--except one group--believe in that principle. It is clear to everyone in the world who that one group is.”
Then of course, the Jew organizations fume, and begin to plot how to neutralize you. If words won’t work, then they’ll resort to more drastic measures, but first, they come at you in different guises, and have an uncanny knack of knowing your weaknesses to better worm their way into your confidence. “I’m with you, baby,” says the dapper long haired fuzzy from Scarsdale, “I’ve supported the Palestinian cause for years.”
This is how you respond.
“Jews have profaned, prostituted, ravaged, betrayed, sabotaged, infected, manipulated, and above all, lied about everything they’ve ever touched since the dawn of time. Judaism is the philosophy of thieves and murderers, pathological in the abuse of even themselves, unfaithful to their brothers, pimps to their wives and children in the service of an evil deity that bids them to forever exploit and murder those they deem less deserving than themselves. And upon what do they base this insane behavior? Ancient nightmares that are proven to be works of pathological fiction woven together with the blood of innocents to morph its followers into regimented robots ready to kill on demand. And for what? An insane lie.”
So, when they realize you’re not going to be convinced by sweet remonstrances, they will resort to coarser measures. There is no shortage of corpses ready to exhibit their various methods of forced demise.
If the Jew refuses to acknowledge that your logic and presentation of historical consensus is far more convincing than his feeble attacks on your shameful character for offending his Jewish sensibilities in such a hurtful way, tell him this.
“As a Jew, you are a thoroughly despicable fellow merely for the philosophy you espouse in the name that you claim to be yours. To be a Jew is to be distrusted by the whole world for reasons that are wholly legitimate. Therefore, your protestations of being offended, or being victims of a hate crime, are ludicrous, since you are the inventor of hate crimes, as disgustingly delineated throughout your holy book, the accurséd Talmud.
A common diversionary tactic among so-called liberal Jews, and also among goy Jew wannabes like Dirk Chardet, is to exclaim, “It’s not all Jews. Most Jews are atheists and don’t even know what’s in the Talmud.”
Point one. Judaism is atheism. The G-d thing should have tipped you off--it’s the quintessential opposite of God. And you wondered why their holy book was so weird, but you didn’t wonder, thanks to Jewish control of the media, why you couldn’t buy it anywhere, and you really should have, because in it are the instructions for your own destruction. Just thought you’ like to know.
Anyway, to say Jews are atheists is about as obvious as saying Christians, Muslims and almost everybody else worship a god or gods; they don’ hate God like Jews do. Who would hate God? Only an idiot, or someone who’ insane, right? And even atheists don’t hate God; they just believe he doesn’t exist, and most of them are very thoughtful about why they think that way, which scares the hell out of routine believers whose thoughts about these matters are usually far less developed than their adversaries.
But only the Jews actually hate God, which is another way of saying they hate life, which is evidenced all too vividly by the tragic events in the world that they The Jews by their cunning, have created. Jews are the anti-Gods, thirsty for the debauchery of everything that lives.
Point two. Jews are trained as children to view everyone else in the world as hostile enemies with a traditional animosity toward Jews. Why this animosity exists is never fully explained to Jewish children, nor are all the perverse crimes of stealth against everyone that are clearly enumerated throughout the Talmud honestly explained to most Jews growing up. The vast majority of Jews believe they are members of a conspiracy against the world, and that they are bettering the world by their effort, except the evidence they produce for this assertion is most clearly presented in the blood of the millions of innocent people slaughtered by their schemes. And the silence of the Jews about the misery they inflict is a consistent reflection of the character they lack and the compassion and sincerity they mock as unprofitable sentimentality.
That’s right. I know it comes as a shock. Jews lack character. Imagine that.
Point three. The jugular of the Judaic world monster is to be found snugly ensconced in the most opulent and well-appointed suburbs of the United States of America, in push button control of their worldwide money markets and connections and directions as to how to grease the skids and get in on the gravy train. That’s what they’re teaching kids to do in the schools of America. Don’t know too much; just have the right answer when the boss asks? And that’s the philosophy of a zombie country, no doubt about it.
But we didn’t think it up ourselves. We never would have. It takes a foreign invader to ravage a country properly, and the Jewish invasion of the U.S. where the original mafiosi became the lawmakers has done that as it has always done that, from the reversed plot line of the Old Testament savaging of Egypt, through the corrupt disintegration of Rome, through the perversion of England, the bloody murder of France, Russia and Germany, and now, presiding on the eve of the vaporization of the United States are the smug, bomb-throwing, murderous Jews, snickering in Jerusalem with their insincere smiles, threatening the world with mass starvation, poisoning from air, and nuclear weapons aimed at all the European capitals. It would be wonderful if this was not our future, but it is, and the Jews are wholly responsible for it.
Other effective rejoinders to snide Jewish comments about anti-Semitism include:
“Mr. Edwards, how does it feel to call someone a cockroach or a grasshopper or cattle? Tell us all about it.”
“Hey, Shlomo, did a mohel conduct your circumcision? Did you like it?”
“To all Jews and all people who support Jews: Can you tell me something you don’t have to lie about? Why if Jews are such sterling characters do they have to constantly lie about who they are, and what they’re doing?
“To everyone: “Can you look at anything on TV and see anything that is not the result of Jewish money? OK, and what has that result done to American children? It has destroyed them. It has robbed them of the tools they need to make informed decisions about anything, and replaced the requirements of their lives with the tools of a slavery they will never know they’re under, as we never did, until it was too late.”
And lastly, always demand of a Jew to thank you for not killing him on the spot for all the harm his people have done to the world, but only if it doesn’t cost you money to do so. If it does, well, then, I leave it up to you to decide what to do.
In fact, maybe we should adopt one particular axiom from the Talmud, which stipulates that a Jew incurs no penalty for killing any non Jew. Justly transposed by what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, the Law of Reversal now declares that a non Jew accrues no penalty for killing a Jew. The hue and cry over this suggestion advocating fairness for all will provide us all with a very clear indication of how out of balance the world actually is, and how far immersed in the diseased legacy of slaves who believe they are free we actually are. How ironic, how cosmically and karmically appropriate, that a Talmudic axiom might be the solution to the manifold problems vomited forth from the Talmud itself upon an unsuspecting world.
Radio Northwest #56, dated February 17, 2011, is now available for download from the Party web site at
Frankly, I think I’m going to get in trouble over this one. I respond to some e-mails from Homecoming White migrants to Washington and Montana, then I talk about a practical White Nationalist attitude towards Islam.
[The first section of this chapter of The Brigade can be found in the entry for January 6th, 2011.]
“Okay, so if you promised to stay out of bars in McMinnville, how do we find the NVA?” asked Eric Sellars as they walked along the quad at Ashdown Academy. They were dressed in their dark blue school uniforms, with a dark green tartan plaid skirt for Annette, along with parkas and sweaters against the weather, their books under their arms. It was their first day back after the long Christmas break. The school authorities had told Annette she could have some more time off if she needed it, but she had responded that she wanted to get back into the routine of school as soon as possible.
“We don’t,” said Annette. She took a deep breath “Eric, I think we need to quit seeing each other, and you need to put some visible public distance between you and me. I’m going to do something, one way or the other, and my father is right. I’m probably going to end up destroying myself just as surely as Jan did when she swallowed those pills. I have no right to take you with me on this death trip.”
“I’m in,” he said. “I mean it, Annette, I’m in. I loved Jan too, not like I love you, but she was important to you, and that made her important to me. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, I can’t make you, but if that’s the way you want it, then I’ll go after Flammus myself. As corny as this may sound, if I can’t be with you I don’t much care what happens to me.”
“I know,” she sighed. “That’s what bothers me. I thought a lot about what Dad said, about what will happen to him and to Mom and to you if I fuck this up, which I probably will.”
“But you’re going ahead anyway?” he asked.
“I have to,” said Annette. “It just can’t be any other way, Eric. Dad was wrong about one thing. At some time we have to lift our heads up from the trough, and we have to let ourselves hear the screams. I can’t let this go, Eric. If I don’t let myself hear the death scream of my own sister, if I pretend I don’t hear because I’m afraid or because it’s just too darned inconvenient to hear, then it will get easier and easier from then on, and eventually I will be just as deaf and dumb and blind as everyone else. Somebody has to hear the screams, Eric, and do something to stop it all. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not Joan of Arc, and I’m so scared of what I’m doing I think I may shit myself sometimes. But I just can’t do anything else.”
“That old saying about the truth will set you free is crap,” said Eric. “The truth isn’t liberating, it’s lethal. We live in a world based on lies, and anyone who chooses truth, they’re going to try to destroy. There is just no way I can stand by and let you go into this alone, Annette. You’re doing it for Jan. So am I, a little. But mostly I’m doing it for you. I want to, I have to, and I don’t want you to ever blame yourself. You offered me an out, and I said no. I’m in. Now how are we going to find the NVA?”
“I’ve got one possible idea,” she told him. “About two years ago, Dad and I were coming back from the All-State swim meet in Salem. Remember, the one where I won the junior hundred-meter? We were in one of his company cars, a Caddy, and as we were going down the interstate an engine light came on and it started to lose power. Dad pulled off at Woodburn, and we found a gas station with a service section. It was kind of seedy, but the old guy there seemed to know his stuff. Turned out one of the Mexicans at the bank motor pool hadn’t bothered to check the transmission fluid, and the transmission was screwed up, and so Dad arranged to leave the car there and called a limo to come down for us from town. Anyway, we ended up hanging around this gas station down in redneck country for a couple of hours. They had a waiting room, sort of, with some old magazines, and I noticed there were a couple of copies of the Northwest Republic stuck in among the old People and Sports Illustrated magazines.”
“That’s the newspaper the Party put out, back before they were banned after Coeur d’Alene?” asked Eric keenly.
“Yeah. I wasn’t really interested in politics back then, and I just glanced at them. But I wandered into the office area where the vending machines were, and I also noticed that on the back counter this guy had a couple of bumper stickers from the Party put up, and a little stand with those little flags in it, an Oregon state flag but not a Stars and Stripes crossing it. It was that Jerry Reb flag they show on TV sometimes, the one that looks like France, except it’s blue and white and green.”
“I doubt he still has it there, since it’s good for life imprisonment these days,” commented Eric.
“No, but don’t you get it?” Annette pressed him. “That guy must have been with the Party, or he knows somebody who is. He might be able to point us in the right direction.”
“If he’s still there,” said Eric. “If he hasn’t been arrested or fled underground himself after Coeur d’Alene. Okay, so what do we do? Just walk up to this total stranger and say hi, guy, can you hook us up with the NVA, because we’ve got a nigger we want them to kill? I’m sure he’ll fall over himself to be helpful.”
“It’s all we’ve got,” said Annette.
“Speak of the damned devil!” said Eric, his lips turning down in a bitter sneer, his eyes riveted across the quad. Annette looked over and saw a group of students coming out of one of the mellow red brick buildings, all wearing the neat blue serge uniforms of Ashdown Academy, boys with trousers and girls with skirts and knee socks, and both with the blue blazer and Academy patch. In the center of the group was a huge figure, all six foot six inches of Ashdown’s star forward and shoo-in first-rank NBA draft choice, Lucius Flammus.
Flammus must have had some Watusi or other Nilotic ancestry. His skin was so black as to look almost as blue as the serge of his jacket, and instead of the usual round Negroid skull his cranium was elongated, almost hatchet-like. Stripped down into his basketball uniform, his body was lithe and superbly muscled, not the typical negro athlete template built like a refrigerator. As big as he was, Flammus moved down court like lightning, and he shot with the speed and accuracy of a striking cobra. He boasted, correctly, that in his entire life he had never missed a free throw. If Flammus scored less than seventy points in a game, he was having a bad night. He was eighteen years old and still had not reached his full growth; the sports doctor on loan from the NBA who was assigned to his specially tailored training program predicted that with the help of certain special “nutritional supplements” he’d top off in a couple of years at six foot eight.
Lucius Flammus was a stupid being who made up for his stupidity with a sharp, cruel, vicious cunning that compensated somewhat for the fact that he was a moron. He was totally without a single vestige of moral feeling or conscience. He ate, slept, and lived for but two things on earth: basketball and white females. Another one of his boasts was that he had never slept with a black or a Mexican girl. He did not use drugs himself, at least not hard drugs, since that would have interfered with his basketball game, but he kept a whole pharmacy on hand of both legal and illegal substances as party favors and bait for anything and everything white and female he could get near. Using crack cocaine and ecstasy tablets, it had taken less than two weeks for him to charm, seduce, and abandon Annette’s confused and vulnerable sister Jan, who was just starting her second year at Ashdown Academy, a year behind Annette. Jan hadn’t gotten the message, and she had made the mistake of going to Flammus’s dorm room one night in November, looking either for more drugs (according to Flammus) or some kind of reconciliation with the great love of her life, according to Jan’s incoherent iPod-recorded suicide note, which Ray Ridgeway had allowed Annette to hear, but not his wife. At the conclusion of this encounter either the two of them had a “farewell break-up fuck” (Flammus’s version) or Flammus had raped Jan (her iPod suicide note version.) This was the act that had left the girl pregnant, depressed, and half out of her mind, or rather more so than she normally was, and that had led to her New Year’s Eve freakout and death on the rec room floor.
Now Ashdown Academy’s official Black Boy With The Ball bee-bopped down the sidewalk with his admiring Caucasian coterie in tow, laughing, shucking and jiving, and babbling in his best gangsta rapper style. He was completely unconscious of the two pairs of white eyes watching him from across the quad, raging hatred and deadly serious murder in their hearts. After Flammus and his entourage had turned the corner, Annette said, “I’ve got French class fifth period and a study hall sixth, which I can cut.”
“Gym for sixth, which I will be glad to cut rather than look at that ape showing us all how he’s got more moves than Ex-Lax,” said Eric.
“Feel like a drive down to Woodburn?” asked Annette.
“Yeah,” said Eric.
It was about four in the afternoon when they pulled up to Jarrett’s Tune & Lube in Woodburn. The sun had come out on their drive down, the Oregon sky was blue for a while, and the rather seedy clapboard gas station was illuminated in the pale wan light of a crisp and cold winter afternoon. They were in one of the Ridgeway family Lexi, the white one, which Annette had decided was appropriate for this trip. They watched as a middle-aged man with long hair in greasy jeans and a plaid shirt pumped some gas for a customer and checked her oil. “That the guy you remember?” asked Eric.
“That’s him,” said Annette.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“I thought you said he was old?”
“He is old,” said Annette. “Well, old compared to us.”
“Okay, so how do you want to do this?” asked Eric. “Go buy some gas we don’t need and start dropping hints, tell a few nigger jokes, what?”
“Let’s just do it, Eric.” She turned and looked at him. “Last call, Eric. You can at least stay in the car. You know I’m not asking because I doubt you. I’m asking because I love you, and I owe you one final chance to back out of this.”
“I know,” said Eric, opening the car door. “I love you, Annette. Now let’s go see if we can cop ourselves a couple of life sentences.” They got out of the car as the customer drove away and walked up to the pump jockey.
“What can I do for you kids?” he asked cheerily. On closer inspection he was a thin man of medium height; his long hair beneath the battered and stained baseball cap on his head was a dirty blonde laced with gray, and he looked at them through cheap Wal-Mart wire-rimmed spectacles with thick plastic lenses. They looked down and both spotted an odd tattoo on his right hand between his thumb and forefinger, a diamond with the crude letters “AB” over it. Both the young people recognized it as a prison tattoo.
“This is going to sound kind of weird, sir, but we’re trying to find somebody,” said Eric. “I think you might be able to help us.”
“And who might that be?” asked the man politely.
Annette stepped forward. “Okay, look, I’ll tell you exactly what this is all about. Sir, my name is Annette Ridgeway. This is Eric Sellars. You probably don’t remember me at all, but about two years ago, my father and I stopped here at your station for a couple of hours to get our car fixed. When I was here then, I saw that behind your counter there you had a little stand with a couple of flags on it. There was an Oregon state flag, and there was a three-colored flag that was blue and white and green. Plus there were some copies of a newspaper in your waiting room called the Northwest Republic. I think you can guess who we’re looking for. Now, have we come to the right place?”
While Annette had been speaking, a change had come over the man in front of them. It was impossible to define, except to say that during her few words the man seemed to become somehow hard and real. When Annette had begun speaking, he was a man of flesh and blood. When she finished, through some silent transmutation he was made of steel.
“I am going to ask you a question,” he told them both in a soft voice that struck them almost dumb with terror. He did not raise his voice, or make any threatening gesture, but all of a sudden both of them understood what they had gotten themselves into. “Who else have you told about me and about this place?”
“No one,” said Annette.
“We told no one,” confirmed Eric.
“I see. So you two fucking rich kids have the gall to come into my place of business and imply that I am some kind of racist terrorist? You’re saying that I hate people because of the color of their skins or their national origin? That I am in some way disloyal to the United States of America? I’ll tell you what. Both of you get back into your goddamned Lexus and you get the hell out of here. Do not ever let me see either of you around here again. Am I making myself quite clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Annette, gulping. Suddenly she knew that this man was turning over in his mind whether or not he should kill her and Eric.
“Yeah, okay, man, our mistake,” said Eric. “No offense intended, okay, man? Fine, we’ll go. Just be cool, all right?”
The two of them backed away and made it back to the Lexus. Eric started the car and then all of a sudden there was a knock on the window. He rolled it down. The pump jockey leaned in and said to them both, “Look, I don’t know what the fuck kind of game you two kids think you’re playing. But I’m going to give you a word of advice. Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it. One thing I learned at a very young age, about your age, in fact, is that if you go looking for trouble, you’re gonna find it. You don’t want to go looking for the Boys. Because if you do, then somebody who isn’t as loyal to this great country of ours as I am might make a phone call, and then the Boys might come looking for you. You don’t want that. Trust me on this, you don’t.” He turned and walked away, and Eric peeled the Lexus out of the gas station.
The man went inside the gas station, opened the drawer and pulled out a cell phone, and dialed a number. A male voice answered. “Sugar Shack.”
“You guys got any more of those jelly donuts you sent me last week?” asked the man.
“Plenty,” said the man on the other end. “You need some?”
“Yeah. I need some donuts, right away.” He closed the phone. Damn! he thought to himself, looking around the gas station. I’ve been here for ten years, and now I have to go on the bounce because of a couple of goddamned kids!
Apparently the Discovery Channel program on how Whites were here in North America first struck a bit too close to home for some people's comfort; Ice Age Columbus, Who Were The First Americans? is now no longer officially sold. Here is a URL for anyone who wants to download it:
What are the requirements for British immigrants and their families to the U. S.? Is there a website I can look at?
I periodically get queries from our comrades in Europe, the Antipodes, South Africa and Canada on this subject, but especially from the U.K. Apparently life has become so intolerable in Great Britain nowadays that many of our British comrades, knowing full well that they are jumping from the frying pan into the fire, still want to come here, where at least uttering a politically incorrect opinion is not followed by immediate arrest and Clockwork Orange-style brainwashing, and where there is not a closed-circuit television camera on every corner as Big Brother watches. (So much for England "standing for civilization.")
Several months ago, a comrade in Scotland, Mark, contacted me through a third party, James, and asked me about any possibility of him and his wife coming to America. This is an updated version of the letter I wrote to them:
Dear James and Mark:
I can tell you right now, it's going to be very, very difficult for you to come here to the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, unless Mark is a brain surgeon or a nuclear physicist. When Lady Liberty holds up her torch beside the Golden Door and says, "Give me your tired, your poor, your wretched huddled masses yearning to breathe free," for the past fifty years or so there has also been a sign tacked on below: "Colored only; no Caucasians need apply."
American immigration law is an incredibly confusing hodge-podge. Like the American tax code which even IRS agents cannot understand or explain, most ICE officers themselves do not know and cannot explain most provisions of American immigration practice. The rule of thumb seems to be that once a cheap laborer with a brown skin gets past the border, he is more or less ignored unless he gets really drunk or stoned and commits some spectacular criminal offense that can't be overlooked.
I can tell you from my own experience in trying to bring my New Zealand girl friend over here, and before that my wife and children in Ireland, that this country simply does not want White immigration, and will deliberately and with malice aforethought erect every conceivable barrier to keep White immigrants out.
Even the old dodge of marrying an American if Mark was single wouldn't serve; at my last job I knew an American girl whose British husband had already been ordered out of the country by the ICE. She was about to leave, with their child, to live with him and his parents in Cheshire (in mid-winter, yet. Joy!) for at least two years until his paperwork got sorted. The only way Jan and I were finally able to be together was for us both to live together in London. And that was pre-9/11. God knows what it's like now.
Unless a British or European falls into the highly, highly skilled category, I will go so far as to tell him or her that there's no point in even trying to do it through channels. True, there are a few possible loopholes, but the one thing he mustn't presume is that he will be cut the same slack that Juan Jiminez the illegal wetback picking lettuce or cleaning out the rich Jew's swimming pool in Beverly Hills will be afforded. He won't be.
White illegals get deported every day here, without trial or hearing. Just because the ICE ignores brown illegals, don't be fooled. They will pounce on a white illegal and throw them onto a plane so fast it will make their head spin. Ask those poor Russian and Hungarian girls who were busted in the big Wal-Mart raid two years ago when the ICE herded 400 young White women out to the airports and back to Eastern Europe with no hearing at all.
All that said, if you do decide to make the attempt:
Rule One is get past the airport. Once you are actually standing in the sidewalks of Jew Yawk or wherever, and you're in the country, if you know what you're doing or if you have a little money, you can start working the system like the Pinball Wizard from Soho down to Brighton, etc. Cicero said "The existence of many laws is the sign of a corrupt society." American law is a jungle housing many predators, but like all jungles, a savvy prey can also learn to escape, evade, and hide therein.
The first thing to do for Europeans aspiring to "breathe free" is to get your asses into the country by hook or crook, with some kind of valid visa. Entry without a visa makes you truly illegal. You can still work the system once you're in, but it's a lot more difficult, so try to at least get past the airport with a valid passport and a rubber stamp. (Note: it is also illegal for American citizens to re-enter the United States without going through customs and passport control at an authorized border check.)
Our aspiring Caucasian immigrant's visa needs to be at least one cut above tourist if this can be managed. Tourist visas are very hard to zilchify, sanctify, or transmute into a higher grade of visa, much less a green card. You keep getting constantly confronted with this moronic demand that you leave the country before they'll process your paperwork and then you have to hire lawyers to fight that demand for five years. (Anyone stupid enough to leave the country on promise of a visa later doesn't deserve to be here anyway. You know darned well that once you leave voluntarily, they're not going to let you back in. Ask Mark Cotterill.)
A student visa is best. Everyone from aspiring Quickie Mart managers from Calcutta to 9/11 hijackers originally gets into the United States on a student visa. Find some course to take at some Moo U. in Oregon or Idaho and get a student visa, of which there are several categories, some of which will even allow you to work legally on an ostensibly part-time basis, and some of which last two or three years.
Student visas also apply to certain kinds of on-the-job internships with large corporations. Your best chance at getting in might actually be through a corporation. If you can come in with some kind of job, even if it's only working for Arthur Treacher's Fish and Chips for your accent, you're killing two birds with one stone. The trick here is to work a shufty and get some American corporation to hire you, and let them worry about ICE. There are agencies all over London that specialize in U. S. employment, especially for nannies and servants (white servants are an incredible status symbol among America's super-rich.) More about the Indentured Servant option later on in this rave.
Once you get past the airport, you've got at least some wiggle room and you can start playing the system like a pinball machine. The Left has been doing it for years. You've got options.
If you decide you want to stay, resign yourself to the fact that you will eventually have to hire a skilled and expensive immigration attorney whose main function will be to get you out of this ridiculous ICE demand that you leave the country again for years while Washington puts your papers in a drawer indefinitely and leaves them there for the mice to nibble on.
A good lawyer can tie the System in knots for years. He can probably eventually get them to say "fuck it" and give you the necessary rubber stamp and papers to get you out of their hair and get your file off some bureaucrat's desk, never mind how.
Don't knock yourself out trying to assault the bureaucracy head-on. If you have a White skin, it is designed for the express purpose of keeping you out. The power to keep people out or kick people out is the immigration bureaucrat's narcotic, the one thing that makes him somebody other than the wretched little cretin he is, and they love to use it. Since these weak little Walter Mitty types can't use that power against blacks and browns and yellows, and this frustrates them, when White illegals get caught up in the mincing machine they get a double dose of bullshit.
If at all possible, try to get some kind of corporation on your team before you come, so you can come in on a temporary work permit which is much easier to transmute into a full green card. Failing that, the next best thing is a student visa, as I mentioned.
Now...there is another route into America which I hesitate to mention because it's so damned degrading. Fancy being a servant? Most likely to rich Jews or non-White nouveau-riche? Believe it or not, British butlers and nannies are still major status symbols over here.
No mansion in the Hamptons or penthouse on Central Park is complete without some pretty blond girl with a Euro accent in an obviously subservient position, taking orders and fetching and carrying and hauling around the squalling liver-lipped brats of Missus Greenboig whose hubby is the biggest junk bond dealer on The Street, or some negress of the new Obamanoid elite, dolled up to the nines whose husband is a big wheel federal prosecutor while she's got some GS-17 sinecure downtown. Yadda yadda yadda.
I know this would be the bitterest pill of all for any European with any personal or racial pride left to swallow, but a servant visa (there is a special visa for that, yes) will get you past the airport and allow you to plunk your feet down on American concrete with at least some legal right to engage in employment. And it's probably the easiest one to get. Otherwise, you could wait years.
Go down to London and go through Mr. Higginbotham's Six Week Boffin Brit Butler School, and get your wife some kind of cert from the Mary Poppins Nanny Academy, and then send resumes, cooked of course, to various domestic servant agencies along the American east coast. You will be on a plane to Jew York faster than you can say chim-chim-cheree. I happen to know through various nefarious sources that you will be snapped up. Domestic service for the wealthy is one of the few virtually guaranteed job openings remaining.
Since your employers will be on the upper levels of a thoroughly corrupt and money-driven society, and if they like you they will have the juice, the shekels, and the attorneys to make the ICE roll over, you need to stay on their good side for a while and refrain from chopping them up with an axe until you get that green card in your hand. The work and the humiliation will make you want to vomit, but you need to stick it long enough to get acclimated, before you flee into the night with your massah's silver in your suitcase.
Long and the short of it, guys--immigration to the United States from Europe can still be done, but it is bloody difficult. I will of course be glad to help with individual cases in any way I can. E-mail me with a precis of your individual situation and we'll put our heads together and see what we can come up with.
Sometimes I talk a little about the disrespect these invading mestizos have for our way of life and our sacred homeland, but I think it's time I pulled out all the stops and told it like it is. There's just too much going on right now for me to remain silent any longer. I've already told you folks about what these bastards have been doing to our national monuments and believe me, they're doing it for more than just the metal, they're doing it out of hate, spite, jealousy and greed. They want our homeland, and they mean to have it by breeding us off it.