Holiday Uncelebration of the former Columbus Day in the year 2038

Boulder, Former State of Colorado — Seven-year-old white racist Tammy Fluch was horsewhipped to within an inch of her desecrating life today by Yewish Defense Militia soldiers who witnessed the errant nazi-child using an outdoor writing device (Burnt Umber in color) to deface a cobble and defame a people with what appears to have been the evil white racist arrow cross symbol.

The unfolding atrocity was discovered by YDM Staff Investigator Sarah Israel, who described the horror for herself:

“While conducting a routine patrol of the reedy area of Riverfront Park, my canine defense platoon and I observed the young white racist female rhythmically agitating the surface of a noticeable cobble and defiling it with markings. Further investigation found the racial youth gangster to be drawing what was demonstrably interpreted as a prohibited hate symbol and violence inciter. I thought to myself, ‘Yes, these racist vermin are ripe for harvest: they are easy to entrap’.

Imprisoned in the cruel, steely grasp of the Nazi child, the writing device, innocent itself, must have endured over four seconds of unimaginable torment forcibly submitted to this grotesque and perverted display of detestable hate violence. The assault upon our senses left us momentarily speechless but, recovering our courage and storming the reedy area, I bellowed, ‘Step away from the cobble NOW, NAZI BITCH!’ The Nazi responded in frenzied and aggressive squeals of Nazi gibberish, which I naturally interpreted to mean, ‘One step closer and I threaten to throw this at you’. Opting to fall back to a defensive position, my platoon and I circled to the southeastern ridge, which offered a prime vantage point from which to disable the assailant with repeated volleys of rubber crowd bullets.

Within minutes, a seek and destroy team had charged down the embankment and placed the stunned Nazi assailant in custody. We quickly bound and gagged her with duct tape and a hard rubber ball in the mouth. The sheer unimaginable EVIL of her racist being made my heart palpitate. It made one wish to use strap-on tools and rape them, spray oven cleaner in their eyes, pour powdered detergent down their throats, and set their hair on fire. After tethering the suspect to a mature Yew tree, my platoon and I proceeded to administer a caning of appropriate severity and duration — brutal and one hour, respectively. After branding the Nazi youth gang member’s forehead with the Y.D.M.’s distinctive 666 logo, I admonished her sternly and set her on her dirty, dirty Nazi way. So ends my official report to the Learned Elders of Zion.”

And they wonder why...

Southside Neighborhood Left to Corpseaters

UNASSOCIATED PRESS — December 19, 2039 Southcentral LA/Aztlan (UAP)

At the little concrete Mezteca restaurant, the scene is as it should be. Benches are pulled up in front of small wooden tables. Serving dishes are stacked in the back. A green-and-white sign hangs above the door, showing a crudely drawn knife and spoon laid across a bowl of menudo. Hopefully, the “meat” portion of the menudo is derived from beef, rather than something with fewer legs. But Noche/El Pancho’s #3 shouldn’t be HERE, of all places. Everything around it was destroyed, testament to one neighborhood’s apocalypse in the recent Truth and Reconciliation Riots. Nothing else escaped: the Primary, Secondary, Tertiary, and Quaternary Health Clinics, the Truth and Life Gospel AME Church, the bodegas that sold holy soap and holy candles, the homes. Sout’ Central’s Carson neighborhood is in ruins — except, inexplicably, for this one restaurant whose wooden door, blowing in the late afternoon seabreeze, opens to a vision of hell.

One black man’s body lies in the street, pigs eating his burned, bloated corpse, paying “especial attencion” to what is left of the head. Others across the Southland still have the claws of hammers protruding from the “new ones” that were ripped open for them, and from which they were then hoisted like slabs of meat. “People” whose faces were used as “pavement paint” were simply left on the streets at the spots where the blood ran out.

On last September 16, “Mexican Independence Day”, on what they used to call a hellhole-hot late Indian Summer day, the 900,000 brownblack and blackbrown residents of Sout’ Central, saw their world explode with bloodriots when the latest verdict of the Civil War Two Truth and Reconciliation Commission was announced. One shade of brown, only slighter lighter than another, went to total war over that difference, and their respective national origins. Across the flats, neighbors turned against neighbors, twisting and torturing, mutilating men and turning them into bleeding “bitches”, burning buildings with occupants forced to remain to roast under gunfire, butchering women and children, and generally eating one another alive and screaming. “I want to hear you scream”, or its Spangleesh version, was the phrase most commonly heard.

At least 80,000 are dead, though some officials put the number at more than 350,000. The stench of burnt human “fur” suggests no one will ever really want to know. If any side “won” the two week war — ignited by a proposal to bring Nopale, or Mexican “Cactus” Law, to the region — it remains unclear. For the relatively new nation of Aztlan, though, the violence is an unmitigated disaster for her acceptance into the Chinese International Dung Trade Union. The Chinese have commented with considerable disdain on Aztlan internal ethnic and religious strife.

On Monday, Aztlanese soldiers were FINALLY (but quite uselessly) deployed to the eastern town of Bell Gardens, where the few blackbrowns had been quickly targeted in revenge attacks after a number of twisted, tortured, and partially digested bodies of brownblack homeboys were returned from the Carson area. A week of resettlement of “survivors” later, and the streets and homes were formally abandoned — for the present — to the barbed-wire tied decaying corpses, dogs, and birds. The innumerable splayed bodies in the streets are reminders of black vs. brown/brown vs. black distrust twisted into obscene leering bigotry.

Who were these? Who was in this group, tied with wire, heads missing? Or that man, stuffed head-first into a cement mixer and allowed to harden so? Who were the thirteen cut down in front of the MLK/Drew/Chavez Med. Center, several impaled on security fencing, some bodies, some heads, some hands? Or those still hanging from upper floor verandas, where they were apparently tied off with extension cords and tossed to airborne strangulation, now slowly rotting away in the winter weather? Or the group that after three months had almost finished oozing out of the patio chairs they were carefully postured in postmortem? THERE, almost unnoticed, is a row of flowerpots in which the severed heads of infants act as shriveled zinnias. And this is only the fraction of the decaying dead that, unclaimed by any but the devil given his due, remain on display.

No one seems to know, or care, except the non-human life forms that do what they must to survive. Scrawny cats nibble at dried-up brownblack and blackbrown ear lobes. It is left to “the lower life forms” in this colored man’s coloniahood to give them any form of burial... and that being fragment by fragment.

“…Within minutes, fistfights had escalated into bottlefights, knifefighting, axes, and ‘mixtra’ gang assault weapons. Women went after one another’s hair and eyes; brownblack and blackbrown children tearing up each other’s faces. Entire city blocks burned, with people simultaneously laughing and screaming, depending on who was doing the dying at that parteekular time and place. People, men, women, children, infants, would be doused with gasoline and set ablaze, always with someone laughing.”

In the Carson area, things were perhaps the worst. After fighting their way home though Miztec neighborhoods, the chigroes found themselves surrounded. Tens of thousands of Mezzican attackers moved in from surrounding neighborhoods. Then, said Caleb Alpha-dogg, an unemployed preacher, the cutting “from crotch to eyeball”, the “live body art” burning, and the crucifixions began. The shrieks were said to be heard at Civil War Two Memorial Coliseum, nearly 20 clicks distant.

People caught in the mob’s path were beaten to death while being held upright or burned. Entire blackbrown families were herded into groups and marched into buildings one could see were about to be torched from the other side; a few “men” offered to “fight the fires” with XXXX-Beerpiss, laughing maniacally. Women and children were forced to their knees and ordered to sing “Los Cumpleanos”, until their tormentors grew bored and macheted them in the back. Sometimes a blackbrown would even spit out the last few words of the song in their own blood. Ominous taco stands would be set up on the spot, offering “two-legged pigmeat” tortas.

The testimonia of Mayeflower Bonga Girlfren:

“At noon on Septiembre 16, a Brownblack unit occupied the Day Labor Service Camp of Whazzup in Newcarson. The Commissario, who spoke both Bubonics and Spangleesh well, informed me that the camp was dissolved and that, as a uniformed unit, we were to be transported immediately to a collecting camp. The transport went to Carson Stadium, into the yard of what used to be the locker room entrance. We were some 500 girls from the Women’s Day Labor Service. The Commissario was very polite to us and assigned us to a newly-designated ‘foreign’ workers’ barracks under the stadium. The space was too small for 11 of us, and so I went to speak to the Commissario about it the next morning. He said it was, after all, only a very temporary arrangement.

He then told me that we, all of us, had been designated ‘enemy combatants’, and that we had to rememberia that we thus had no steenking rights. Suddenly I heard loud screams, and immediately two ‘Brown Army’ soldiers brought in five girls. Commissario Echevarre ordered them to undress. When they refused out of modesty, he ordered me to do it to them, and for all of us to follow him. We crossed to the former ‘homey’ locker room, which had been completely cleared out except for a few tables on one side. Mostly below ground, it was cold, and the poor girls shivered. In the large, tiled room some Mezzicans were waiting for us, making remarks that must have been very obscene, judging from how everything each said drew gales of laughter.

The Commissario told me to watch and learn how to turn the blackbrown race into whimpering bits of misery. Now three muchalucha localocos came in, dressed only in trousers, and the girls cried out at their sight. They quickly grabbed the first of the girls, and bent her backwards over the edge of the table until her joints cracked. I was close to passing out as one of them took his knife and, before the very eyes of the other girls, cut off her right breast, and tossed it to the gathered troops as a trophy. He paused for a moment, then cut off the other side. I have never heard anyone scream as desperately as that girl. After this operation he drove his knife into her gut several times, which again was accompanied by the cheers of the Mezzies. The next girl cried for mercy, but in vain, it even seemed that the gruesome deed was done particularly slowly because she was a lighter-skinned ‘yeller’. The other three had collapsed, they cried for their mommas and begged for a quick death, but the same fate awaited them as well. The last of them was still almost a child, with barely developed breasts. They literally tore the flesh off her ribs until the bones showed.

Another five girls were brought in. They had been carefully chosen this time. All of them were well-developed, with ‘pointy dugs’. When they saw the bodies of their predecessors they began to cry and scream. Weakly, they tried desperately to defend themselves, but it did them no good as the Locos grew ever more cruel. They sliced the body of one of them open lengthwise and poured in a container of exercise machine lube oil, which they tried to light. A Mezzie Officer shot one of the other girls in the genitals before they cut off her breasts. Loud howls of approval began when someone brought a saw from a tool chest. This was used to rip off the breasts of the other girls, which soon caused the floor to be awash in blood. The Mezzes were in a blood frenzy. More girls were being brought in continually.

I saw these grisly proceedings as through a red haze. Over and over again I heard the terrible screams when the breasts were tortured, and the loud groans at the mutilation of the genitals. When my knees buckled I was forced onto a chair. The Commissario always made sure that I was watching, and when I had to throw up they even paused in their tortures. One girl had not undressed completely, she may also have been a little older than the others, who were around seventeen years of age. They soaked her bra with oil and set it on fire, and while she screamed, a thin iron rod was shoved into her vagina until it came out her navel.

In the hallway entire groups of girls were clubbed to death after the prettiest of them had been selected for this torture. The air was filled with the death cries of many hundreds of girls. But compared to what happened in here, the beating to death outside was almost humane. It was a horrible fact that not one of the girls mutilated here ever fainted. Each of them suffered mutilation fully conscious. In their terror all of them were alike in their pleading; it was always the same, the begging for mercy, the high-pitched scream when the breasts were cut and the groans when the genitals were mutilated. The slaughter was interrupted several times to sweep the blood out of the room and to clear the bodies onto the field. As I learned later, some 2,000 girls who had been in DAY and other camps nearby were murdered in the first three days of brown occupation.”

All these “people” were ostensibly “united” in a nation cobbled together by United Nations and International Court authorities after the atrocities of U.S. Civil War Two had forced world military intervention. The whites and east asians fled as a group to the strongholds north of Santa Barbara and the closer “Mountain Resort” areas, which they defend to this date with the most vicious means imaginable, even though the U.N. has declared their largely white settlements to be legally part of Aztlan.

The colored flatlands, deprived of the whiteland resources, remain a vision of hatred gone wild. Bodies are scattered in macabre anonymity — twisted, bloated and burned, eyes and lips eaten away by insects and other of Dog’s creatures, skin peeling away in scaly chunks. They lie splayed in “storm-sewage” ditches or alone in empty lots.

Until the now-customary 4:00 p.m. military curfew, blackbrown and brownblack women, sullen and yet silent, wander the streets, looking for parts of their brothers, fathers, daughters, sons. Perhaps the scale of butchery, some say, will make people stop. And then finally the sun sets in a haze of cheap fuel smog, turning blood-red into filthy shades of Aztlan Brown.

09/03/40 - “We Started it just so they could end it”

Petersson displays not one shred of remorse. As a paramilitary provocateur in Aztlan he committed and witnessed many murders but they are just a haze among his light-headed, almost giddy peals of laughter.

He throws back a brew, back at his home in Arrowbear, a white ethnic enclave ostensibly part of the Peoples’ Republic of Aztlan, but clearly under control by roadblocks of White Wolf paramilitaries. It was from locales like this that the White Wolfpacks descended to the smog-filled flatlands earlier this summer on warm nights to rape, torture and murder browns so that it could be blamed on blacks and rape, mutilate, butcher and rip to shreds blacks so that it could be blamed on browns.

The fact that these two groups, so “inspired”, then made a battlefield of every street, public building, home and vacant lot in “Aztlan flat”, literally eating alive 3.5 millions of one another in bug-eyed drunken predatory hunts during the next 6 weeks, shows how successful the whites were at dividing their racial opponents up like deli-sliced cold cuts. He picks up a sausage sammich, but has to stop, as he is now choking with laughter. He fears no retribution or being held to account for what he and his comrades know they have done. The subsequent scale of butchery blooded over every bit of evidence they might have left behind. But for his victims, he says that he does feel “something” — then regales us with “Ah think I FEEL like taking a piss!”, and roars on.

He is not alone. The story he recounts can be told by the hundreds of Socal Aryan volunteers who, driven by race bloodlust and hatred for “their” new nation, joined independent paramilitary alphadog wolfpacks to rape, murder, murder and rape their way from the San Gabriel Valleys to the Coast, only to calmly return after the final red dawn to their white loved ones. “I am a fighter. That’s what I know”, he says, going for some locally made hand-twisted pretzels. “War is war. I do not fear war. I fear peace with the brownblacks and the blackbrowns” he adds, joining his hands together behind his head and leaning back.

He was one of “Alex’s Axe-Boys”, a group run by an unnamed elder statesman of what they now labeled Racial Holy War I. When asked how many murders Petersson and his comrades had committed or witnessed he waves his hand dismissively. “There were many, many deaths, of course. It’s a silly question. At first, you know, you remember them. Then, it’s as common as saying ‘Good morning, Kamarad!’. We worked by night, and slept by day, hiding out in long-abandoned industrial areas or old former-government buildings. We had no trouble. If someone did see us, we waved some gold coins in the air long enough to distract them and cut off their heads.”

Only a few of the atrocities his group committed truly remain with him. The first was in Claremont, an old college town near the unofficial border with Whiteworld. He and his group were ahead of the Aztlan Army, intent on hunting down those “evil Jegro Terrorists” that were leaving raped and tortured Mezzicans from Anaheim and Azuza to Rancho Cucamonga. The white werewolves entered a small house where an elderly Latrina was cowering in a chair with her grandson, aged three or four.

“It was still real hot outside, but here this senora was shaking, so we should have known something was up. My friend Dannyboy went over to see if she was sick, when she suddenly took a blade from her skirt, and stuck it in Danny’s side. She killed him! She fucking stabbed my best friend. He was killed by a goddamn abuela! Can you imagine that? We ripped her grandson apart with our bare hands before her eyes after gagging her. She finally choked to death on her own tears and vomit. She had a bad death, but fuck it, she must have known what was coming! You cannot be sentimental.”

The second was in the niggertown section of Pomona, where an elderly Rastus was caring for his three grandsons, all aged under 12. “At first one of the group said we should kill the man and spare the boys. But then one of the commanders unsmilingly said ‘No. Don’t kill grandfather. He might be one of my ol’ Afican ancestros!’. For just a second there was silence; then everyone bent over with laughter. We kind-hearted all of them with Rambose knives, for mercy’s sake. Then, we skinned the blackest patches off their hides and put the untanned leather in the food dish of their big dogs, writing on the side in magic marker ‘menudo para los perros’. THAT would get the other jigs burning!

At the Santa Ana Riverbed, we came upon one parteekuIarly dynamic duo, in a small side channel pond. She was on her knees in front of him, and looked up with beaming eyes, hair and face glistening. He stood straight, looking down at her with both hands palm-down over her haid. I assumed he’d just given her a full-load ‘facial plus hair conditioning’ jes before we arrived. Both were ‘beautifully ethnic’, i.e., hideously Chewish, with shit-brown hair, shining shit-brown eyes, and full gourd honkers. She ided hersef as ‘Magda’, and he claimed to be the ‘Son of the Dawn’. He said she was ‘the first so annointed’ and that ‘it was not supposed to be like this’. I doubted the first, lisping that he ‘must thay that to all the not-so-pretty girls’. As to the second, I noted: ‘Tomorrow is Promised to no Man, but the Fates certainly await every Whore’. He looked very glum. I asked her sharply: ‘Will you die for him!?’… without response. ‘No more shall his power go into thy mouth.’

As three of us crucified him between two good willows, with his legs dangling and jangling free, others half-buried her alive under the weight of river cobbles, with her ‘origin of the world’ exposed for ‘all comers’. ‘Show it to me, mommy, show it to me!’.

He mumbled and frothered some nonsense to the Sky we didn’t understand, but it p.o.’ed Centurion Bran, who called ‘Come down and save ursef, King of the Jews!’. Wolfy brought up his Dobe to lick the blood dripping all the way down to his feet. But the Dobe didn’t like the stench, I guess, so Bran then did something even I regard as cruel and unusual. He roughly pushed the dogito aside, and inserted phony steel ‘vampire teeth’ over his own. Bran the Blessed then grabbed the Messiah’s fighting feet, one at a time, and bit through the sole of each foot, tearing the flesh away down to the bone and spitting it out. I just stood there with my mouth open. He wiped the Jewblood out of his mouth, and said ‘that’s enuf now’. The mess-iah merely crapped and wept.

You know, I didn’t particularly want to be a murderer. But that is not my fate. My God decided what I would be the moment the U.N. and the Chinese decided this would no longer be part of a nation I was born in, low tho’ it had fallen.”

His “unit” was made up of 84 soldiers, comprising 12 squads of six, seven re-suppliers and drivers, three doctors, and two officers. Street fighters, (POMMs) “Prisoners of Mother-fucking Mexico”, and racial mercenaries he was ashamed of none of the appellations. “They could call me demon locust Apollyon, and I wouldn’t care!”. At the end of 20 days they had a huge party, and “Lil’ Alex”, “the clockwork of white”, accompanied by his wife and children, walked down the line shaking hands with every one of them. Sgt. Dragon of the Blood-in-the-Snout Unit was the most highly decorated, for quietly killing more than 500 local elected officials and public employees of the Jegro and Messican persuasions, which the imbeciles “naturally” blamed on one another. Now dripping with gold jewelry from Rap Church altars, he grabbed a redhead, sunk his face into her hair scented of whiteskin powder, the pine trees, and hearthsmoke, and began to cry. So did they all for a moment.

SS-Mann Bruckner also returned alive from a perhaps-even-riskier task than the initial stage murders. He was given a skin-dye job and sent down to the warland to report back on what the blackbrowns and brownblacks were doing to one another, in order to see if additional wolf forays would be needed. He estimates he personally witnessed more than 20,000 murders in just a few weeks. “In Huntington Park, when brownblacks asked the blackbrown minister of one church how they might be spared, he suggested they seek sanctuary at his crib. They did, and a few hours later the man himself came with Rap Gangs to butcher them all. I crept in that night. God, EVERYTHING was slick with their blood, and I could only breathe through a lightly bleached kerchief”.

“I, Murray Whorowitz, of the One World Hate Crimes Tribunal, offer this report on International Peoples’ Labor Day, 2041. I was escorted by Aztlanese officials in a Dung ‘Lucky-12’ helicopter on loan from the Chinese East Asian Prosperity Zone Air Force. We landed in a parking lot where heavy construction equipment had cleared a pathway, in front of the former Carson AMR (Afican Methodactors and Rappers) Church. We were greeted by a single, very formal Aztlanese soldier armed with a CHINMAK. Newly planted banana trees were everywhere. I stepped up the partially burnt stairs and over the threshold. At least 260 mostly decomposed cadavers covered the floor, wadded in clothing, their belongings strewn about and smashed. Macheted skulls had rolled here and there.

The dead looked like pictures of the dead. They did not smell. They did not buzz with flies. They had been killed months earlier, and they hadn’t been moved. Truly black skin stuck here and there over the bones, many of which lay scattered away from the bodies, dismembered by the killers, or by scavengers — birds, dogs, bugs. The more complete figures looked a lot like people, which they once were. A woman in an African-style cloth wrap printed with flowers lay near the door. Her fleshless hip bones were high and her legs slightly spread, and a child’s skeleton extended between them. Her torso was hollowed out, ribs and spinal column poked through the rotting cloth. Her head was tipped back and her mouth was open: a strange image-half agony, half repose.

Not hearing the silence of the place, with beds of exquisite, decadent, death-fertilized flowers blooming over the corpses, it was unimaginable. There was an indescribable taste in my mouth. How could these citizens of the New World Order do this to one another, regardless of the ostensible provocation? A huge increase in public education was clearly called for. What else could you really see? The Bible bloated with rain lying on top of one corpse or, littered about, bloody basketball sneakers (many horrifically rammed into bodily orifices), a broken-off machete blade still imbedded in one skull, ‘looking’ up at the church ceiling and, no doubt, their god.

The soldier with the MAK (he called himself Colonel Francisco) said the dead in this room were mostly women and male and female children who had been raped before, while or after being murdered. He was candid and briskly official. I looked instead at my feet. The rusty, blood-encrusted head of a hatchet lay beside them in the dirt. A few days earlier, in the capital city Los Angeles, in a giant open-aire market off Alameda, I had watched a man butchering a cow with a machete. He was quite expert at his work, taking big precise strokes that made a sharp hacking noise. The rallying cry to the latin killers during the genocide was said to have been ‘Do the work like some gringo was actually paying you for it!’ And I saw that it was work, this butchery, hard work. It took many hacks — two, three, four, five hard hacks — to chop through the cow’s leg. How many to dismember a person?

Hundreds of thousands of people of color, separated only by shades of brown skin color, language, national origin, and religion, had worked as killers in regular shifts. There was always only the next victim, and the next. What sustained them, beyond the frenzy of the first attack, through the plain physical exhaustion and mess of it? The engineers and perpetrators of a slaughter like the one just inside the door where I stood need not enjoy killing, and they may even find it unpleasant. What is required above all is that they want their victims dead. They have to want it so badly that they consider it a necessity.

These dead and their killers had been neighbors, schoolmates, colleagues, sometimes friends, even in-laws. The dead had looked their killers in the eyes, and often recognized them. What does either one say in such a situation: ‘Pardon, but now I want to hear you scream’?

They killed all day at Carson. At dusk they cut the Achilles tendons of any survivors so they couldn’t walk away, and went off to feast behind the church, roasting cattle and corn tortillas, and drinking XXXX beer. In the morning, still drunk after whatever sleep they could find beneath the cries of their prey, the killers awoke at dawn, put their boots on, went back into the church, did they morning excretory functions on the dead, and began to butcher the living again. Day after day, minute to minute, all across Aztlan, they worked like that.

God forgive me, the dead were, I’m afraid, beautiful. There was no getting around it. Humanity to a Jew is supposed to be a beautiful thing. The randomness of the fallen forms, the strange tranquility of their rude exposure, the skull here, the arm bent in some un-interpretable gesture there — I couldn’t settle on any meaningful response: revulsion, alarm, sorrow, grief, shame, incomprehension, but finally awe.

We went on through the first room. There was another and another. ALL were full of bodies, and more picked-clean bones were scattered in the parking lot, and there were stray skulls in the broken glass and the grass, which was thick and wonderfully green. I heard a crunch. The colonel stumbled in front of me, and I saw, though he did not notice, that his foot had rolled on a skull and broken it. Then I heard another crunch, and felt a vibration underfoot. I had stepped on a jawbone.

‘I came home to find the bodies of 81 total strangers stuffed in my home, including 8 decaying in the closets’, said Willye Tailback-Betadogg, an unemployed preacher. ‘The neighbors on my block alone counted 647 in their homes and yards. We’re next to the old freeway, and apparently someone got tired of carting these people around. They tortured them, too. You had to see how they killed them. The damn ceilings had almost as much blood as the floors. And what with baseball bats with the names of star latin players, studded with nails driven through, road flares, rebar, shovels, they say that if you begged with your body, you might be lucky enough to get a bullet, and not in the gut. Lookit my crib now.’

So ends my report to the Commission.”

Meanywhile, back in the Mountain Resorts areas…

“C’mon, boys! Let’s go over to Ingrid’s Deli in Big Bear. They’ve got the best German cold cut sammiches, and for the longest time they’ve always had at least one Aryan girl there so beautiful you knew exactly why you were killing monsters.”

2042 - The death of a chewish community

Encino, lying in the plains and lowlands at the northeastern corner of Los Angeles Major, was the city holding the corridor to the Santa Monica Mountains, whose summits rise proudly against the mysts of the distant horizons on the path to North Hollywood, a small town lying in the direction of the official Aztlan Angelino frontier. The River Styx served as a diadem to our wide-stretching and multi-coloured Jewish city, with its embroidery of ornamental lawns and trees as far as the foothills of the mountains.

Tho we lived under the authority of the Aztlanese as “autonomous cooperatives” (a political structure we Jews invented, for the protection of “our interests”, after 2025 as the former “United States” began to crumble), we lived not in fear. We felt the control we still held over all means of mass-communication and mass-entertainment would in turn control the brown-blacks and black-browns.

Little did we realize the kind of group “entertainment” they would turn to in the early 2040s under the evil influence of...gulp!...white neo-skins and paleo2-nazis!

The Jews were of curse the vital spirit and dominated the entire economic life of the region. We managed manufactures, trade, style clothing, fuel, all serious culture and all finance, as well as the jewsmedia. The Jews reigned supreme in all branches of human existence — and why shouldn’t we, being more equal than the others!?

Almost all the shops in Los Angeleze remained behind the scenes in Jewish hands. We learned our lesson as early as 1965 when the darkies burned our businesses on Manchester Avenue and 103rd Streets, knowing them to have 100% Jewish proprietors. Now we had brown-blacks and yellow-browns as “our” storekeepers and pretense owners. We had even smartened up after 2025, and convinced all the Patels to convert so that we could also control the tourist hostelries behind the curtain.

The Encino Community is of proud lineage. Its Rabbinical seat had been occupied by Geonim — “Cedars of Lebanon, giants of Torah” as the Hebrew puts it, creatures such as Rebbi Mikeael Jackson, and His Son Putzpah, both sexperts in the Kaballah of the intercourse of the One with His Shekinah.

Of curse, the comparative poverty of depending on only the Aztlanese state to suck dry lead many Jews to turn to Hassidic wonder-rebbis and the lick as the foundation of their universe. In their spiritual world they found compensation for the brown reality. On the First day of September 2041, with the renewed outbreak of war between brown-blacks and black-browns, a mysty curtain fell and the fate of Aztlanese Jewry was sealed; and among them the fate of those who were so clear, near and dear to us, the Jews of Encino.

A mortar bomb fell on the house of Nathan Swiner near the towne centre and smashed it entirely. Twenty-six precious Jewish men, women and children who had taken cover in the wine cellar were all killed. Among the victims was Reb Motel Rathole, the modest Hassid and gentle sage. Matters became worse when we saw Aztlanese Federal forces retreating in confusion toward the Mex border, abandoning their bahges.

Invited in by the Tripartite Northam Nations, the Chinese Dung Army landed and crossed from the coast to the northwest to try and bring law and order. The Jews revived when the first Red Units entered the city. It rejoiced my heart to talk pure Yiddish with Chinese-Jewish officers. One of them began talking to me, and after we had become friendly he told me in secret : “We have brought you “joy and happiness”: You’ll rejoice at a loaf of bread and be fucking happy if you can obtain a piece of sugar or butter”.

We Jews were nonetheless glad for having the Dung, but became terrified when even THEY threw up their hands at the murderous rampages of the brown-blacks and black-browns against one another.

All too soon, they left us to our fate! And REFUSED to evac all the Jews, even upon the absolute promise of a $1 Billion (old U.S.) payment for their soivices. The Herman-o army now crossed the River Styx and entered the town. Mezzican unpleasants from the surrounding villages came in crowds to greet them, dressed in their finest clothes. The POV-riders wore coloured garments. A few seemed far too blonde for our tastes.

A triumphal arch was set up in Dromedary Street, with a “playful inscription”, translated from the Spangleesh: “We shall pave the way of victory for the Herman-o soldiers with Jewish skulls”. The city was gay and lively, but we Jews all hid in attics and lofts and cellars from the fangs of the lions.

Now I must begin to describe the liquidation of the Jewish Community and the end of Jewish Encino. How painful it is to write those words! They include the precious, holy and pure souls of thousands of people, which were extinguished before their time by suffering and anguish to which nothing can compare since mankind came into being. Neither the legends of the Destruction of the Temple nor the Book of Lamentations, together with the works of the most outstanding and expressive writers, nothing written by mortal hand, could or can express even the least part of what it was my bitter fate to experience and see with my own eyes.

The powers of human expression are incapable of recounting the cruelty of the brownish, murderous beast which came forth from its den in order to introduce “a New Order in the Southwest”. My hands fail and the finger seems to stick to the holoscreen. O Lord, I beseech you to strengthen and sustain me so that I may be able to tell my brethren in Zion and those who are dispersed throughout the world what the Herman-os and their neo-skin infiltrators did to our brethren and sisters, our children and little ones, in order to ensure that those of our blood who still exist are imbued with the duty of vengeance for generation upon generations.

Those “sans-bahges” each on his own was a merciless professional murderer and blood-thirsty executioner. When the Beast arrived the pits in the courtyard of the Encino public library were opened. Those pits were full of corpses of slain people, from decades past, buried there by who knows who? Certainly not we harmless Jews, the eternal scapegoat, symbolizing the red devil in the eyes of all.

Here a few lines must be devoted to our Mezzican neighbours with their hands steeped in blood, the offspring of who-knows-what. They were the axe in the hands of the Herman-os. Their hatred of the Jews led them to savage murders and the robbery and pillage of all that was Jewish. While the Herman-os shot from automatic pulserifles, the Mezzicans murdered with their own hands, cutting us to pieces with machetes.

They had been living in our midst for dozens of years. Both sides had benefited from mutual trade and we had never done them any harm. On the contrary, the Jewish merchants and bankers had provided them with all needs, against reasonable payments which were often enough not met. Now that the Herman-os had come, these, drunk with joy, regarded them as angels who would deliver them from the monetary debts owed to the Jews, and would fulfil their impossible dream of a financial freedom from us, all to be built on the ruin of the Jews.

The Herman-o “officials” quickly appointed a Mezzican “policia” of thieves, murderers, drunkards and scoundrels, a rabble from the underworld of this people. These scoundrels, who had always been dressed in rags we sold them and with whom no decent person would come to touch in normal times, now received new army uniforms with gleaming buttons, old bullet rifles or revolvers. They were given a free hand, and gave the back of it to we kindly Jews.

On the day after the Herman-o Occupation a soldier entered my apartment, accompanied by a newly-scrubbed Policia ruffian who I recognised as an attendant at the Russian Bathhouse, where he was always asleep. I was summoned to work and ordered to fetch a pail, broom and rags. In the street I joined a group of Jews whose numbers rose from house to house. We were led to the town square in order to clean their armored vehicles, collect the debris from mortared buildings and clean the landscape.

Every Jew from the age of 16 – 60 was compelled to work. Never had we done such things. The work was not in the least boring, for from time to time the supervisor brought his whip down murderously over our heads and backs, to the joy of idlers and vagabonds who laughed at our distress. I had the impudence to ask the supervisor why he was beating me if I was working as ordered. Before I had finished my question the Herman hit me over the face to the accompaniment of indescribable curses. The blood began flowing down over my face. “For hundreds of years”, said he in dialect, “you and your race have been sucking our blood. The Jews always lived luxuriously. All the finer houses in town belonged to them. We were your servants, doorkeepers, your boot polishers, your toilet cleaners. You wore the handsome expensive clothes, you lived in the finest apartments, you ate fish eggs and drank spring water. Now the time has come to settle your debt. You’ll pay with the same amount of blood, sweat and tears we have spilled for you.” This pained me far more than the whip. The fool actually believed such nonsense.

Every morning we went out in our thousands to work, but were forbidden to leave the town limits. We were given “rations” unfit for Chihuahuans. They regularly stripped off the clothes and Crypto-Italian boots of Jews, and paid for them with murderous blows. We submitted to this situation humbly, for we were still living in our own apartments. This general calm made some innocent ones among us delude themselves with the vain hope that work would save us, since in wartime work is an important factor and the Hermans could not permit themselves to kill productive people like us. Who then would work in our places? And on the other hand, they argued, it was impossible that this cultured “nation” of Spangleesh poets and Latrino philosophers should simple indulge in the mass slaughter of Jews. What would the New World Order say?

Two weeks later the order establishing the Jewish Quarter (Barrio Israel) was published and paved the way for the Ghetto. It meant that the Jews were taken from their pleasant homes and comm links! Vat vould become of us now? Ve should have known! The Temple Councilory was ordered to make room for 23,000 who had been expelled from other parts of Encino as well as smaller hoods in the district. The overcrowding instantly led to filth and disease. Electricity, gas, water and comm were cut off, or blocked. The sewers were blocked, with consequences hard to imagine, except to suggest that the entire Jewish community began to smell like rotting onions.

It was on November 11, 2042, at 5 a.m. before dawn. There was a tremendous downpour of rain. The heavens were weeping at our calamity. Squads of Herman soldiers and Mezzican policia came into the Jewish Quarter. Twelve hundred men were taken out of their beds and led to three days of beatings and torture. Driven to an abandoned sand and gravel pit, the unhappy victims were forced to dig themselves a common grave with their own bleeding hands and were buried alive by dozers. Ish kabibel! What a horror! God wept and bled.

We had already began the feverish building of bunkers in the Quarter houses and court-yards. Jewish intelligence and kultur, together with a natural sense of self-preservation, enabled us to invent hiding places which were beyond all human imagination. Blind brick walls were built in cellars, attics, on the ceilings of lavatories, in places where the Herman curs would never dream of searching. The chief difficulty was to hide the entry so that it should remain invisible. For the greater part a few bricks were removed in the corner of the blind wall. We crawled in on all fours through the little hole and afterwards the bricks were cautiously replaced so as not to leave any signs of cement or brick.

Sometimes the entries were made through the floors of a room, shop, store or even a pool shed after the course of bricks or the wooden board was removed from the floor, and replaced from within when those who were concealing themselves had entered. One exceptional invention which required special skill was the entry from under a window. The window-sill was removed. The middle was taken out of the wall leaving space for a thin child, and replaced after entry. We thought we were soooo smarty!

And yet, whenever a Jew out of desperate boredom dared appear in public, la policia would trample him OR her underfoot, and kick them to death. A stony indifference resulting from despair and complete hopelessness began to settle over the “survivors”. Were we to stay in hiding for all God’s eternity!? As usual in times of trouble people yearned for miracles. Maybe World Israel would finally launch its C-bomb stockpile.

The Jewish Quarter was surrounded on every side. Anyone who tried to escape was shot and killed on the spot, but few did. Everybody had taken shelter inside the homebunkers. But the walls were smashed in with hammers, pick-axes and hand grenades. When the murderers entered cellars or other suspect places, they put their receptors to the walls in order to try and distinguish movement or human voices. At such tense moments all those in hiding held their breaths. If anybody coughed or a child began to cry, all promptly covered him with their clothes and choked him. Children and babies found in the houses in upper floors were not brought downstairs but were simply dragged from the arms of their mothers and flung from the windows. Their little heads made a rotating arc through the verry aire, and then smashed against the pavement, where the little bodies were then trampled underfoot by the Booters.

The bunkers were gradually but inevitably smashed open. Fires of hell were literally burning in the Ghetto. The murderers went from house to house seeking victims, and absolutely destroyed the buildings. One blue-eyed “worker” with the face of a murderer, called Capitan Hitleria, took parteekular delight in pick-axing through a wooden wall he knew someone was cowering behind. His shirt was unbuttoned, his face was red and he looked like a savage and bloodthirsty beast.

Where they suspected the existence of bunkers they flung phosphorus grenades or flooded the areas with fire hoses. Those who did not drown were buried alive under piles of bricks, stones and dust or else were burnt and choked in the smoke. “Some perished by water and some by fire, some by strangling and some by stoning”, as the prayers for the New Year and Day of Atonement put it.

Those who never heard the yells of feral beasts roaring, “Alli! Ahorra!” (Out! Quick!), and those who never heard the weeping and wailing of the babies and sucklings trampled and murdered in the streets, can have no idea of Hell.

The dead may have been more fortunate than those torn from the rubble. The Mezzican curs beat the naked bodies of our brothers and sisters with nail-studded clubs. Hundreds were shot in the streets. Thousands were taken to Temple and from there to mass Slaughter. In the curse of their actions the Mezzies had burnt, smashed, or ruined the Torah scrolls, wiping themselves with them.

The thirst for Jewish blood they were shedding like water could not be quenched.

Some of us tore our clothes off, while others voided themselves for very fear and dread. The earth did not open its mouth and the world was not destroyed. In genocides of the past, the flesh of the martyrs was ripped from them. Their fat was used for making soap. Yet no matter how the polluted ones try to cleanse themselves their sins stain them forever.

Jewish bodies lay rotting on the banks of the River Styx, riddled with holes or wearing hideous barbed strangling wire “Tijuana Neckties”. The “living” were taken to the sand pits. Those who reached the pit had to strip quickly, put their clothes in order on one side and their shoes on the other, separately. The victims walked over a board, and young strangely fair-haired men about 18 years old shot them with pulse rifles. The victims fell straight into the Pit, with those who were not killed soon choked to death under the press of bodies and leaking blood.

The crush was dreadful. Every one wished to be done with his life as soon as possible. The long file moved closer and closer to the board. The people around my brother, and he himself, began to unbutton their clothes and unlace their shoes, to be ready for their turn.

Each Jewish girl was raped hundreds of times by the Mezzies, yet strangely and pitifully did NOT die, but gradually became quieter and simply drained profusely. The beautiful Jewish girls were finally killed with road flares. Such a thing for our God to see!

The blond beasts who had somehow wolfed their way into becoming the leaders of the pack of Jew-killers...simply laughed, and called for another cerveza. They pissed the pools of Jewish blood away.

After the Hermans left the field of slaughter the level of the new graves gradually rose because of the sea of blood that had been shed, and the sweet decay. For several days afterwards dogs licked the blood that oozed from the earth. Along the paths to the stripped and homeless dead souls lay fragments of skull and scattered bone. They yet quiver, gasping for air, scorched and burnt, tortured and tormented in the emptiness of a world without Jews.

That is the story of the destruction of Encino. Those voices which once cleaved the heavens have grown silent. No more moaning. No little children study the law. There are no more public disputes, and the rancorous quarrels of parties are at an end. The Jews have no place in her markets. The earth little covers the Jews of the Holy Congregation of Encino forever. The burning bush has been consumed.

“Happy he that seizeth and dasheth thy babies against the rock. May I yet be one of them. May my feet stand in their blood, and may I wash in their wicked blood as they washed in ours.”

January 15, 2043

The Battle of Fairbanks

No one who has not lived in Central Alaska (the former State) can understand the depth of the relatively dry cold of winter there. It could be 60 below outside with only a couple of inches of snow on the ground during the five hours of daylight. Today, it was only 40 below zero on the old Fahrenheit scale, as we heard the sound of the approaching Chinamex Arctic War Train. Coming from the south, they would have struggled endlessly with the many meters of snow around Anchorage and the smaller cities north of that.

On arriving at the Tanana River plain, they would have relaxed, which was great for us planning on killing them all. They would also be completely worn out, but with orders to keep on moving inexorably toward the oil resources of the far north, and ALL Communalist orders must be followed, doncha know! They would also hunker down in the cabs and rooms of the units, and be much less vigilant outside, as the air temperature dropped 30 degrees below what they were accustomed to in the South. At 40 below zero F., your eyeballs begin to freeze over in seconds, so vehicle-mounted sentries NOT trained to blink every second will be quite useless. Exhausted, relaxed, and basically hiding from the elements. I approved.

The Arctic War Train was basically a series of enormous armored tracked vehicles, each with a gas turbine engine but otherwise designed for a separate function, linked together in a train. The treads were each three meters wide, which made the whole “fire vurm-monster” about 7 meters wide, and pretty much unstoppable. Sure, you could blow the treads on several units, but these would simply be de-linked as the rest moved forward, to be repaired with surplus Chinese parts, courtesy the Dung Corporation, and then re-attached at the end of the train.

And yet, that was exactly our plan. The difference being that no one would be allowed outside to live long enough to complete those repairs. We knew what we were doing, being the same bunch of crazies that had slaughtered their terracycle recon battalion at the onset of winter (i.e., last Labor Day, as it used to be celebrated in the United States of America). Five hundred of them found their way into the freezing water, which then froze over completely, leaving many of all or half a head, an arm or leg, projecting above the surface of the ice, to be nibbled on by wood rats, deer mice, voles, bear and wolf, and finally ground down to the level surface of the reasonably clear ice by our own constant traffic through the killing field. It was strange tho, walking over a pond and seeing someone’s right eye staring up at you, like a fish in a large tank, while the left eye had been truncated away, along with its half of the skull.

The wounded survivors we burned over bonfires several days later, after severe “rendition questioning” (i.e., sing us a song, you whore and son of a whore!). We watched the end-of-season maggots try and flee from the fire’s heat, ending up in a roiling mass at the most distant extremity, then finally falling onto the grillwork below and melting into a whitish grease. A few bodies in the field not worth burying as the ground froze slowly separated and decayed, until each body for All Hallows’ Eve was topped with nothing but skeletal vertebrae. The kids stood them up with a metal rod hammered up their dead asses…and later used them as the basis of snowmen.

The old “United States Army” had actually built one of its own Arctic War Trains in the late 1950s or early 1960s, but then abandoned it due to the enormous maintenance cost and the presumption of its design that it was needed to re-take northern territory already conquered by an enemy. Apparently, that philosophy, tho o so prescient in the long run, was not acceptable to an Army that had not yet been utterly and completely defeated.

When they stopped at the intersection of five roads, we hit them from three sides, with nothing but slick ice 50 yards off in the last direction. As an ammo unit was hit, a naked body could be seen, headless. In place of its neck there was an enormous, blackish, misshapen hole. The fat of the thighs had burned, opening long white sizzling cracks, as I looked around for the steaming torso’s head. Suddenly I saw, stuck to a aged school bus stop sign, that body’s human mask. The explosion had scalped the bastard, stripping the skin, the eyes and a shock of black hair from the skull, which together flew through the aire and slapped into the metal sign, freezing stuck there instantly. From the mask, which had kept exact hooman shape and color, the black eyes stared toward me, while the mouth expressed considerable surprise. The tuft of black hair fluttered a bit in the breeze. Stopped here, it all said.

I had shot another “officer candidate” fleeing to the rear in the back of the head. The bullet must have been largely spent going through his helmet, because it exerted its last push inside his brain. When I caught up to him, each of his eyes had been pushed forward a couple inches on a stalk of exuded brain matter, which again had frozen solid after a couple seconds. He looked like some kind of stalk-eyed insect, with the stalks drooping a bit. Just then, I spied another get up from hiding and try to hide off. I blew his lower jaw off completely, and HIS long tongue lolled around under his skull for a few seconds exposed, until it too froze in a droop.

In the open, one was hit square in the chest with a mortar round. He was atomized into myst and, after a few seconds, countless shards of flesh, none bigger than an ear lobe, began to drift back to earth to settle in the thin snow. Plink, then plonk. You’re fucking late for Christmass, Santa.

A couple made it into the nearest cabin, but a shot from a recoilless gun apparently hit one of them dead in center body mass. When I crossed the threshold, it looked like the walls had been plastered over with some kind of pink porridge hurled about by a very large and very naughty ogre-child. Ribbons of gutstring hung here and there from the ceiling, beginning to coil up like party streamers (Communalist Party favors, of curse).

One made it all the way to the dead mens’ pond of the previous year’s battle. His intestines slithered across the ice like green and yellow serpents, until each froze, pinning him tight through his guts. I left him there to suffer.

The Communitarian Commissar had been standing between two Train units that had been detached from the main line. For some reason, an HE projectile made it into our mix of fire, and it detonated perhaps two meters in front of his face, which was instantly jammed back several inches into the back of his skull, largely intact. I could see his relocated face “staring back” at me from its strange new location, almost as if he was hiding in a cave, in this case made of himself. The man standing next to him had had his face and skull made two-dimensional, being completely flattened like an envelope.

A few feet away another “leader” had peered over the top and was blasted back for his insolence as a smoking hot lump of meat with the smell of burnt sled-dog butt fur.

Already, voles, mice and rats, awakened from their winter slumber, were crawling into and through the exposed green, gray and yellow intestines of the dead and dying, as if they were some kind of buffet transit tubes. I saw movement on one, with his rear upturned, and then watched a rat struggle to claw his way out and finally emerge head-first from the dead man’s asshole. His yellow bottom, soon to be crawling and chewed over, didn’t seem to mind.

At one point, their dead were so thick I had to walk over them. Their skin had quickly frozen over, but I found myself as if on a lake with thin ice. My weight kept cracking the dead skin covering their still warm and moist insides, and I would sink down several inches until my footing stabilized. They oozed and spurted in response. I could smell leftover pork re-cooked in curry. Damn them for the inconvenience.

At the edge of a nearby ravine, our boys were kicking the gut-wounded over the edge. Some splattered a bit hitting the bottom, while others caught half-way when their loose guts became entangled with rocks, and hung them there, screaming.

When it was over I climbed a bit to a small pond fed by a constant mineral hot spring, and so never icing up. It was 4 PM and thus dark, but I wanted just a few seconds in that hot tub to shake off the grime and the tuna stink of their blood frozen to my outerwear. Like everyone else, I carried a second set of clothes.

I had just stepped in when I felt something like floating bags filling the pond, and jumped back out. It was perhaps 30 of them, quite dead and turned into gigantic swollen sausages in the stew. I silently cursed the others for not having had the decency to kill the enemy somewhere else, but then sighed, and passed on.

2044 — The Intolerance of Intolerance

Medford, Oregon: Aztlanese White Boys taught to hate, torture and maim their own

Daily Mail — Arrowhead City, Mountain Republic of California. May 22, 2044

The whites of his eyes fluttering like moths in their sockets, he staggered forward on the school playground and groaned softly but repeatedly, taking weaker and weaker steps before he collapsed. Giggles all around.

Age 12, he had just acted out what a “racisterrorist” does when you have slashed the back of his neck. It was so well done, you knew he had seen it for real. He then expounded upon how to minimize the blood squirting on your school uniform when you hack off the hand (of head) of “an evil racist”.

Coastal Oregon is now a country not just of amputated limbs; nine years of civil war have left the white children, taught since pre-school to hate their own, with amputated minds. His self-administered “fighting cadre” name, that one used by the largely Jewish public school teachers is “Fuck You/Burn You” — real name Chad Menifer — as he sat beneath the pine trees in the World/National Forest near what once must have been a very beautiful lodge, now run by Jewish teachers as a cadre “anti-terrorist” paramilitary training centre. Absolutely no limitations to the hate for other whites or atrocities the children may commit with “those terrorists” they capture are given. ALL IS PERMITTED in the institutional “intolerance of intolerance”.

The St. Michael Jackson racialrehab centre is half an hour south from the World/National Guard Air Might Station, where heligunships fill the sky and the POV-parks of the swankiest hotels are stuffed with light blue UN Allterrain Cruisers, their plastichrome gleaming in the sun.

Fuck You/Burn You was with two friends — a boy they called Corporal POV Crash, 11, (real name not revealed)and a girl called Rebel Slut, 12, (real name Titty Larner). The cadres had burnt a tattoo into her chest, this without teacher approval unfortunately. All three had been taken to fight at the age of nine. All units nowadays have Small Volunteers, they said.

Corporal Crash demonstrated the trick of cutting off an adult racist’s hands. You force the man down on the ground and shove a gun barrel at the back of his neck. Lying prone, the subject is helpless. Then another youth takes the man’s arm and rests it on a piece of wood, and then brings down the panga. POV Crash had done this many times.

He used a U.N.-supplied Galil-4, re-sized for cadre children. FU/BU showed how you cut down the rib cage and get at the liver, to eat it for “natural power”. This was not part of the approved curricula, either, but all the Jewish teachers looked the other way. All they wanted was the killing of racists by white “volunteers”, in any event. Children all around the New World Order now tell such stories wherever there are still “free-range” whites. Once you have chopped off a man’s hands, you can do anything. FU/BU ran through the options: you can cut off the ears and nose and lips, and give them to the victim to eat. You drink the blood from the back of the neck. If you slash the neck at the front, the blood spurts too fast and is wasted, he said.

Fuck You’s favourite torture was rubbing hot pepper into the eyes of “dis-armed” and castrated white victims. Suddenly, another mini-cadre appeared on the playground, a ghost-white-skinned girl all dressed in black, dancing round and screaming: “I want to drink blood”. She danced away as if in a trance.

POV Crash then recalled the time they poured petrol over the mother, father, two brothers and baby sister in an outlying mountain farmhouse, set fire to them, watching as they ran around, burning alive. And then they “took” the dead females. Again, a Jewish not-quite-approved course of action.

That, and the times when the Small Cadre Units caught a pregnant white woman. “They’d argue whether there was a boy child or a girl child in the belly”, Rebel Slut said. “To solve the argument, they would cut open the belly with pangas”... simple and elegant.

2045 — NewThought ReEducation Camp 777 Instructions for Instructors (excerpts)

Social isolation is the problem. Young people, notably young white men, should never be allowed to become socially isolated from the most diverse elements of modern society — black, white, blackbrown, brownblack, straight, gay, priest, gaypriest and atheist. NOT performing this service will imprison the young man in a “cage of reactivity”, far away from social goodness, where he judges others on the basis of his own self, may find them wanting, and may actually refuse to tolerate them even though society has chosen that he must do so.

Having narrow “peer groups” for these young men is just as dangerous. Their only peers should be the entire human race taken all together, both as a whole and individually. Nothing less will do.

Those moments of concentrated anger or hatred in all of us can be quickly dissipated by uncertainty over our positions and by having the broadest possible belief systems. Freeing oneself from certainty in a strange sense is the most “certain” way to avoid pain, and the aim of human life fundamentally should be to maximize one’s pleasure and minimize one’s pain.

And what will these white criminals be “aksed” to DO to make amends?.

They will simply be prevailed upon to imitate the more successfully adapted members of their own generation (i.e., products of more sustainable families), cleaning parks and vacant lots, being mentored by their peers protecting renewable energy sources (saving their shit to burn), and marching for equal access to greenspace, environmental justice and social rights, all in their cadre shorts and tees, under supervision of their more well-adapted peers.

Outside at that very moment... “Say, Jessica and Willye, hand me a Cadre Cola. Challenging these evil white racists to pick up dogshit with their hands under my gunpoint can be soooo exhausting. Ooops, seems another one fell from sunstroke. Let’s leave the evil white racist bastid there on the asphalt an’ see what happens!”

There can be… no, there IS no ambition but for the most pleasure. There is no lust, but for the next piece of pleasure. There is no fear, but of missing out on the next Mongolian clusterfuck. There can be no pride, and the only tolerable ideal is the worship of hoomanity in all its highest, ethereal aspects AND lowest, lowing gruntforms dropping turds on the carpet. Wese all bese equal. Hail!

[Remember tho, that a diversity of shit is still shit, and that “the Rights of Man” die the minute real men, the best of men, no longer have rights.]

7/7/46 – Free City News, West Montana (A Retrounderstanding)

Part I — Truthtelling

Life among blackbrowns for defenseless whites has been the same everywhere and for all times. It was the same in those former European colonies recently freed to return to animalism. It was November, 1964 in the Congo where blacks free and wild took whites by the thousands, a minority in their ‘hood, and:

1. Published official notices promising: “We Simbas shall cut out the hearts of the whites and wear them as fetishes. We shall dress ourselves in their skins. Kill, kill, kill all the white people, kill all the men, women and children. Kill them all. Have no scruples. Use your knives and your pangas”;

2. Raped white nuns while wearing monkey-skin robes and drooling over frenzied grunts;

3. Tried to physically cut whites in half at the waist with machine gun fire only;

4. Gave whites the choice between being impaled first, having their eyes gouged out with broken beer bottles; or their spines smashed with clubs;

5. Cut hands and feet off immediately before impalement upright on a stake, so that blood flying from the shaking limbs would shower black children in white blood as they danced;

6. Boiled whites alive in empty oil-drums;

7. Used spears to try and separate the muscle from the bones on living white children;

8. Hacked those ill-in-bed to pieces in those very beds;

9. Buried entire white families alive...after raping the women and children, girls and boys, but only to the depth one could see the soil move as they struggled from beneath;

10. Gave white prisoners to chained starved chimpanzees, which would rip off and eat their genitals first; and

11. Tied or nailed them upsidedown to trees to watch them consumed alive by insects.

Have blacks ape-roaring with laughter thus moved one inch toward civilization in the last 500 years? Albert Schweitzer said that his concept of “Reverence of Life” would ALWAYS have its greatest challenge in Africa, specifically because blacks were inherently more cruel AND naturally more violent. Was he wrong?

Part II — “What it takes to win”

No longer are we in what I call “the civilized world spear period”, when Whites would not speak the truth from their mouths at any time or any-where and, in consequence, were every-where speared in the backs, at which moment they could finally, with their last breaths bubbling through their own blood, grunt out objections to barbarism of color — and wonder if it ever really was such a good idea to dance with the Devil. WHITES MUST KNOW what it will take to win this war against the blackbrowns and the brownblacks. We once knew.

“We shot prisoners in cold blood, wiped out hospitals, lifeboats, killed or mistreated enemy civilians, finished off enemy wounded, tossed the dying into a hole with the dead, regulated flame-throwers in such a way that enemy soldiers were set afire, to die slowly and painfully, rather than be killed outright by a full blast of burning oil, mutilated the bodies of the enemy dead, cutting off their ears and kicking out their gold teeth for souvenirs, buried them with their testicles in their mouths and boiled the flesh off enemy skulls to make table ornaments for sweethearts, or carved their bones into letter openers. We should be realistic enough to appreciate that MORALITY HAS A LOW PRIORITY IN BATTLE.”—Edgar L. Jones, U.S. WWII veteran. Atlantic Monthly, February 1946