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White Revolution Fiction
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-15 13:30:27 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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The following fiction story is presented for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended to instruct, propose, or encourage any illegal or violent act. Any similarity to actual persons, places, or events, present or future, is entirely coincidental.
2025 C.E.
By J. J. Archer
The Department of Homeland Security maintained a five-mile special zone around New Frankfurt. We called it “the donut.” In the New Frankfurt region nearly every whiteskin lived in the city. Only the very special few lived outside. The donut was a sort of neutral zone intended by the System for the healthier whiteskins to get out for recreation. It was sparsely populated, heavily wooded. The elite of all colors lived outside the donut. I mean rich whites, jews, the multi-racial elite, all well-connected politically and economically. They had been imported under Globalist plans. The healthiest of us wanted out.
The DHS ran unbelievably tight security. The outer border of the donut was surveilled by radar balloons, ground sensors, patrols by humvee, motorcycle, foot, and horse. It was very difficult to break out, and if they caught you the consequences were severe. They’d run your “citizen number” and if you turned up wiseguy, they often liquidated you right there. Understand, there was an overpopulation problem too. The state that used to be the United States had gone Chinese in pyschology. The cheapest thing in the world was a human being. Or sometimes they didn’t bother running you; they’d shoot you on sight.
The majority of whiteskins consigned to the city were not wholly European genetically, and thus their Euro instincts were disconnected and mattoid. Some might have good manners, for example, but they couldn’t run a power plant. Or they could run the power plant but they kicked their dog and didn’t keep themselves clean. Et cetera. They had mixed with niggers and browns and an unholy mongrelization into coffee-color was occurring. This, too, was the Globalists’ intention. The real purpose of the donut was to provide recreation for the healthy whites, who had to get away from the cancerous rabble, as I said. The System understood that Aryans need space or they will go insane. Officially the donut was called “The Greenway,” a bit of psyops there meant to cause certain thinking. It is an eco-sounding name but it diverted no intelligent White from recognizing the fact of his or her slavery. Yes, there were a few whole Whites left. This all was essentially a Soviet system of control. That is, a jew-controlled government.
So, the oberjuden lived outside with the rich whiteskins and the multi-racial administrators of the Globalist system. A social caste system helped maintain this arrangement. Intelligent whiteskins born inside the donut were closely monitored starting in pre-school, and tested. Those deemed malleable were offered special training. Most took it—usually under the frantic urging from their parents. There was no other way out—legally. By this method talented whiteskins were removed from the masses and neutralized as possible troublemakers. But some whiteskins refused System opportunities. Really, as tyrannical as it was the System couldn’t make you ambitious, or accept the exit it was offering. I was one. I remember being offered “different” classes—that was their first adjective in their proposal to me—when in grade school, and I refused them. I still don’t know why. My instinct said “no.” I didn’t like the kids who accepted them. In every case they were the arrogant ones, the tattlers, the short-cutters. My parents went crazy because I refused. My mother wept. My father beat me. But I wouldn’t take the System’s offers.
We were high-prole. The System kept our kind in the cities to maintain the technology and to run the System buyoff departments. The System calls these “public services”. All private companies were so heavily controlled they weren’t really privately owned. System media went on with the charade that there was private capital. But it was gone. The former United States had become a Marxist state with a new name. The duller proles did the low end technical work and the brute labor. We were short of power machines, but not short of manual laborers. Our job was to feed the masses of mongrel and nigger breeders. Manage them. Dole out buyoff money and surplus food efficiently. Our job was to make sure they didn’t riot, didn’t burn down the city or break out into the outer zone.
As it was, the New Frankfurt masses didn’t like the donut. Only desperation would drive them into it.
The only System job I volunteered for was the ZOG army. I went in for the training. Period. I served four years—nearly one in training, a little over three in the Mercosur Zone. I was a radioman and deep reconnaissance specialist with Task Force Arturo. We spent three years hunting down narco lords in the mountains and swamps of Columbia. It was a farce. An alien invader always loses. It might appear he is winning; but in the end he loses. The purpose of Task Force Arturo was the purpose of all ZOG military actions since the Federal offensive against the Confederacy in the old United States in the mid 19th century. That is, to crush economic competition. These narcos were the renegades, guys trying to set up outside control of the Globalist elite. You might know some history, from back in the 1980s, rumors of the old Central Intelligence Agency running drugs into Los Angeles. Eventually the System propagandized the rumor out of the mass buzz, but CIA had done it. I heard it confirmed from an ex-operative of the agency. It’s a fact. For the System it had been a close call, but all it had to do was deny and put on extra niggerball games and in a few months the rumour faded.
If you doubt that the Yalies and Oxfordians really control gutter drugs, consider this: why was marijuana suppressed so long? Answer: because it is easily grown. To legalize it would mean the System elite would lose control of the market. The Globalists would lose billions of dollars. Alcohol is difficult to make, so it is legal. My time with Task Force Arturo was most enlightening. Very, very. I didn’t believe in the System before I joined the army. But after my Arturo experience that skepticism took on a vitality and momentum which still startles me sometimes. I find myself on the edge of going crazy when memories of certain words, scenes, attitudes of people and circumstances come on me, or when I encounter them. This might sound strange, but if you think about it, you yourself experience it. In the mountains I saw peasants murdered—for nothing. I saw agents of Globalist business come in, set up, deliberately destroy local culture and economies. I said nothing, did nothing. What could I have done? There was only one course for me: get out of the army and embargo ZOG. My goal was to survive—and learn. Knowledge is everything. Action will come with knowledge.
When I was discharged I returned to New Frankfurt. The army had offered me a commission but I turned it down. Then some trash surveillance agency offered me a job. I discreetly turned them down. I wanted out. This was crap, being a hitman for fat jew bankers and greedy whiteskins. Absolute anti-nature. I went to work in the trucking firm where my father worked. I was made a dispatcher. I did well—but I’d never escape until I discovered an obscure path out. It would be psychological, of course. The material would show up on the right track of thought.
And why did whites seldom break out? Because our RFID implants would trip the sensors. Yes, we had all received them on our 5th birthdays, by an almost painless method, similar to the old style pneumatic vaccination guns, under our right armpits. A child later selected for grooming into the System would undergo de-implantation surgery. Need I say that it was much easier putting one in than taking one out? Like a fishhook. And need I describe the city? You already know. It was filthy and maddening. If you stopped moving five minutes, stopped consuming, and looked around you like a bird, or a hermit, really seeing, you would go mad. Whites were always retreating before the black and brown tide of cancer. One neighborhood after another would go bad, and the media would lie or ignore the cause. White women were raped; white schoolchildren bullied; white property plundered; weak and helpless elderly whites were robbed and beaten, their homes invaded. Any white who fought back was crucified by the media. Television vans would swarm his house, embarrass him, humiliate him. He would lose his job. ZOG pigs would arrest him. Filthy kike System lawyers would make sure he was convicted. You know the story. Whites were under siege, and the politicos were sock puppets. And need I say that addiction to alcohol and drugs was sky high?
The System dosed us with sports and lotteries, pornography and cheap beer. Televisions were everywhere—the subways, bus stations, fast food restaurants. The sports section was the thickest in the newspaper. We were inundated with sound, symbol, image, no matter where we went. The only relief was in our own homes, and few whites had enough native independence of mind to simply not consume System propasphere fodder. It was of course illegal to possess any type of firearm or pneumatic rifle or pistol or crossbows. All ammunition sales had been banned decades ago. Any blade over four inches was illegal. One could own bows but they must be left at System run ranges. These were for target practice only. To be caught with a firearm meant two decades in prison; or if the System didn’t like your profile, you might simply disappear, NKVD style. The Constitution of the old United States had simply faded out through demographic alienation. The mass instincts for it were diluted out of effectiveness. But plenty of whites had firearms. The possession of them was kept a dire secret. The System knew there were millions of guns out there yet, especially in rural areas, but it could do nothing until a neighbor denounced neighbor, children their parents, partners their partners.
System computers micro-monitored our economic lives. Cash was illegal; all transactions were by debit card. Being white outside the System elite was like living in a vise the jews were slowly tightening, tightening, crushing your mind, your dignity, mocking your honor, smothering your soul. Eventually any white determined to survive came to a psychological crossroads. I observed this many times. It was a crossroads where his or her interior circumstances met exterior constraints, and one prevailed. One knew then it was time to run the red light. The results were rarely positive. Two results were possible: destruction or liberation. Most whites lost. I won—perhaps by fortune, or luck, or perhaps by my skills. More of the former, I think. Allow me to tell you the story.
This day was my day off. I had been looking forward to it, I needed it, and would try to get the most out of it. I had plans to break out—someday. Every healthy White did. Every recreation outing was a reconnaissance. I had been probing the outer donut for thin surveillance. I had been researching ways of neutralizing my implant. The most discussed was focused microwaving, although those I had talked with who had tried it said it was like immersing your torso in boiling water—with no guarantee the chip would be neutralized. There were rumors that some had succeeded, but I never met a success nor spoke with anyone who had. And anyway, any successful breakout was long gone and not apt to communicate with someone still inside.
But my own trial method for gaining freedom—what I preferred, that is—did not involve sneaking. For me that back-alley method seemed somehow cheap—sklavmoral. I wanted to fight my out. Yes, cut my way out! I wanted to hurt the System and its henchmen, its high blood, its fat remoras… In the meantime I was up to seeing what I could do with the status quo to make myself comfortable. Above all I needed a woman—the right woman. Deadness was all around me in the city. If anything would drive me to effective action, it would be the prospect of securing the right woman.
There were signs the day would be rough. As soon as I got up an irritation seized my throat and I started coughing violently. In that toxic environment that was no surprise. Then I cut myself shaving. And here it was, my single day off in the week. I needed more sleep, but life was beckoning. I needed to move. I could feel my soul collapsing; soon life would be merely an endurance affair. A man is edged and edged until he’s at the precipice. I would move as much as I could. The System is not quite stupid but it does have too much on its plate—which often renders it stupid. It also has the biggest, nastiest guns. That’s all. And the talmudvision. It has brutality and deception. It has the money to buy lackies and informers and consultants. But really, the System doesn’t know what it’s about. And it has the upper hand—for now. There are 100 million White guns out there, waiting. But the time was not yet here to take on the DHS or any department. So this day was to be for me only.
I hauled up and hit the shower and was out. I hopped in my little truck and she started fine. I left the reeking city behind. I started thinking as I drove, and remembered. I had barely escaped death in the last riots, five years before, and no White who had been there could remember without shudders. I won’t clog this narrative with statistics, but let me say this: at least 1,000 Whites disappeared—and the ZOG did nothing about it. It was like the cleansing of Whites from Southern Africa by the nigger governments the jews and Capitalists had installed. No, those whites didn’t break out of the cordon. It was simply this: when the riots were finally put down these Whites were gone, they didn’t exist anymore officially.
The day out went well enough—for life in the zone. I hiked around the prescribed paths, trying to ignore the cameras disguised as bird shelters. A White person not in the System never really had privacy. Even the trees were controlled. Like one revolutionary writer said, the jews will never let White people get away. And that puzzles me to infinity because the jew is only a parasite, like a leech. A White warrior can burn the leech off. All he has to do is do it.
I had no anticipation of trouble; I sensed nothing coming on. The strange part is that, even on your best behavior, on the best of days when everything outside you is smooth, a renegade moment can reverse it all. No matter how hard you try, a demon arrives, and all that was going well is turned on its head. And then you are running for your life or fighting for keeps.
I had my day and it went all right, hiking about in the “state park.” I took the same route back, an old road, the colonial road. There is a river. This river is barely 20 meters wide in most places, and stocked with trout. One sees fishermen and kayakers. It is a marvelous place for so close to a large city with all the problems that come with a large city. The demons of decomposition have not touched this place yet. A trail winds along this river. I had gone a few miles, walking along this trail, seeing a few other people, enjoying the new green of Springtime, the birdsong, the gurgle of the little river. I went down and down that trail, or rather up it, upriver until it was time to return. When I got back to my truck I was well worked out, and felt much better. In fact I was feeling like a human being again—although that coughing of the morning was still echoing in me. However, I dismissed it because I had won myself a few hours of peace. At the moment I didn’t feel like a tax animal, a slave, insulted by the System. No, that stress had fallen away somewhat and I was feeling optimistic. I was ready to take on life in the big city again. Anyway, I had no choice.
Most White people will hew to their imagination. They can visualize what will ensue from certain actions. An assault, for example: arrest, jail, their names bannered by the so-called media, and the gauntlet of lawyers, exposure, soiled reputation, termination from work, etc. And thus they choose, wisely, to flee trouble. One should not hold this against them. I had done it many times. A White man can’t win in the city anymore. So I was coming down this old country road on my way back to the city, feeling good. I would take on the city again. I would be tolerant and productive, as the System counselled. I would be a leader. I would “escape” the zone some other time… Of course this self-promising was a way of doing nothing, the postponement that we all use to avoid the difficult.
And I turned back onto that long country road, home toward the city. I drove. The night was cool and black, an envelope. Time passed. I was alone, remarkably alone, yet just a few kilometers from one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Three or five murders a night, venereal disease, drug addiction, psychosis, the rest of it. It was a city that all civilized whites who could had abandoned, that all intelligent whites wanted to burn—if only we could get our own lives out first. Behold the first truth: self-preservation is the highest law. It operates from microbe to whale, and Man knows it most.
But optimism had vanished. I felt like the middle class kid determined to get rich, going way out of his character by selling securities or pharmaceuticals or aircraft. Desperate grasping for the gold ring that I would never touch. It was a nightmare. Self-promises made, promises impossible to sustain even in alcohol-soaked fanstasies. I cursed, I pounded the wheel. I was going “home.” Gods! Was there no escape? How desperate had been Newton, Pythagoras, for change? What could I invent?—what quantum, what novel application of the legal things to defeating the System? But of course my private ranting did nothing. It was reaction of a beast. I was wasting my energy, weakening myself. I felt my energy leaving my body, hemorrhaging, my virile White force bleeding into the jew-corrupted air…
And then the vehicle appeared. Instantly I knew it was an Eliter. It was a beautiful, powerful machine. He came crashing out of the darkness and fairly pounced on me like a tiger. He was more than rude; he was arrogant. In a world of free men he would be a short-timer. He rode me for miles. This fellow behind me, I had no idea who he might be, how deep in the elite his family went. His lights were blinding me. Stone cold rude, he was. Insulting, offensive. If he possessed any degree of discretion it was asleep. The bastard radiated arrogance; I could feel it through the steel and glass, the sticky night air… What he was doing was, in fact, very stupid, as you will shortly see. He exploded up on me, suddenly was just fucking there, headlights blaring and glaring in my wake, two little suns frying my dignity.
He stuck to me mile after mile. I could hardly believe that our routes coincided that long. And why wasn’t he on the interstate? He could drive faster there. He had the special permits. I concluded that he was out for a thrill, something novel to his world, taking the old road through the prole zone into the city. And what was he looking for in the city? Dope? Sex with coloreds? I examined the inside of his cab as well as I could, by glances, in the blinding floodlight.
After a while I saw the woman. A very attractive woman, slim and poised, just in her silhouette. And it was clear they were arguing.
Well, the guy was out of his tree, the way he was driving. He might have crushed me like an ant. I wondered how he got that way. His vehicle was huge, and he drove it like a bullying machine. He kept right on my tail for miles. I should have pulled over, let him pass, but I refused to give in. On that narrow old road I had time to think, despite the insult to my personal space. All my rage was coming up. Oh, I was controlling it, but with difficulty. All the insults, all the suppressions, were coming up like lava. There were few houses. Few lights. It was like the deep forest here, where a man was on his own. It was remarkable that this was so, not far from a big city. It shows how nervous the System is, how much revenue it had sacrificed by evacuating a huge area, like Stalin did, to keep three and a half million animals tethered in the concrete jungle. And very few cars had passed us. No one wanted to be in the ring, the donut, after dark, because the rumors were true: White wolves stood by in ambush, waiting for the right sort of vehicle to come by. Vehicles driven by System people, vehicles like the one behind me. This fellow behind me was out for a thrill, no doubt. And no doubt too he was ready to hit the alarm button and summon Executive Rescue the moment things got dangerous. But boredom is a powerful distorter, and I concluded that this fellow was just looking for a thrill. Very well.
And this guy kept riding me, flashing his xenon lights. His vehicle was expensive and powerful, sat high. His powerful headlights flooded the cab of my beat old truck; it rattled and squealed as I took the tight curves. I blinked when his lights penetrated my cab at a new angle. I held up a blocking hand. I drove the posted speed limit and no faster.
Night had come full on. There was no moon and the night was very dark. His machine was far superior to mine. It cost five years salary of the average White prole. I had no chance to outrun him. Nor was there enough shoulder to allow me to pull over. I was trapped, you see. This went on, and all along I was hoping he’d turn off—but no, apparently the city was his destination as well. It is unnerving to have a powerful machine riding you for miles, especially at night. You have been through it yourself. You know.
I knew what I must do. I wasn’t imagining the consequences, nor am I now even writing about them all. The solution was so neat, without splinters or shades. Like an animal’s instinct. I thought of the crowding, and the ruthless elite of my country which wanted the crowding. The purpose was to drive us all down into the animal level, where we would be desperate and become mere consumers. More profit in crowding, you see. And here was one of theirs. So I didn’t care. An attitude of abandon seized me. There simply wasn’t anything else to consider.
We came to an intersection. There was a stop sign. I downshifted to a crawl as we came down the hill and by the time we reached the intersection the fool was as close as he could be. And then he actually bumped me. I took my truck out of gear, jammed on the brake and seized my revolver. I got out and set up and shot the motherfucker. The round punched through the windshield, just over the top of his steering wheel, caught the center of his chest.
A White man in honor-combat prefers to kill with a blade. I yanked the door open. It was unlocked. I seized his collar and slit his throat just as he was reaching for the rescue button. He never made it. He gurgled and slumped. His eyes were wide. Disbelief was in them. A prole had broken out of the net… He departed this ball not understanding that this arrangement never was what the System had said it was. This clown obviously had started to believe his own propaganda… I still remember his perfect white teeth, his golf shirt. He blinked and tried to say something and then he was gone.
Of course his woman was screaming. As soon as I sliced his throat she froze. She was holding a cell phone; her fingers were poised above it. She locked eyes with me, an enigmatic expression in her eyes. I did not understand it. The look is still hard for me to describe. All I felt at the moment was that the mind behind that look was not working as one would expect. All I understood then was that something had gone out of her. Something went out and another would come in. Whatever else she happened to be, she was not slow—that I sensed instantly.
So, in less that 15 seconds it was over. This bandit had a hole in his chest and his carotid artery was pouring his life force onto the leather interior. It was brutal, horrible, exhilarating—much moreso than when I had terminated that nigger in the city several years earlier with this same blade. For this Eliter whiteskin of the outer zone his “assets” didn’t matter any more. Now they were mine.
Now the woman was coiled in her bucket seat. She was out of her mind—but quiet, oh so quiet! The gears behind her eyes were turning one thousand times a minute. She was waiting. I could hear her heart beating… She was limp, her eyes were locked on me like a lost fawn’s. She was too scared to scream. I looked at her a minute wondering if I should terminate her too. But no, that’s not in me. I walked around to her side. I heard the locks click. I pulled on the handle. Her door was locked.
“Open the door,” I said.
Slowly her hand crept forward and hit a button. The door clicked. I opened it. What would I do with her? She appeared remarkably present-minded. She was crying silently, horror-thralled. The night was in conspiracy with me. Not a sound emitted from the sky, the woods. The trees were like a solid wall around us. The System had swept people out in order to keep them in. And all I could do was stand there. Her man was dead and their luxury car was bloody and destroyed. It was all over; her world was shattered. I had ruined it.
The scene was damned ugly, but I didn’t care. And I didn’t feel completely part of it. No, I did not because I had done what any honorable white man would. This was natural law. My opportunity at fortune had come and I took it.
The night was deep black and the clouds were thick, hiding the stars. I wondered why no cars had come along. Was it possible? Was it possible that no Executive Rescue gunships were on the way, no cruisers? It was a miracle… No—it was pure chance that no one had come along. I took a quick look around. I saw no lights in the trees, not one. Where were the houses? I couldn’t get over this proof of the rumor that no one lived in the zone… I stood there watching this woman, and the shock visible in her eyes pierced me like pilums, as the engine idled. But this was war, and her lord had offered me battle, and lost.
I felt like the loneliest man in the world. I might as well have been in a pup tent at the South Pole. I took the phone from her. She didn’t resist. And I knew that moment that she had surrendered. Perhaps she was foolish, or weak, but I knew she belonged to me. Perhaps she had slipped into the psychology of the hostage. Or not. And it occurred to me that if I did not go hard on her she would owe me, and I would owe her. Perhaps I had invented these thoughts for my satisfaction in the moment. But they were what came.
Maybe she really had liked her man. Loved him. Or maybe she was along for the ride—the comfortable life he gave her, life in the outside. Lots of people are like that. From what I knew of their caste, the latter was likely. Perhaps, I thought, she has the soul of a courtesan.
But one thing such a woman could do to rescue her honor: bear White children. I glanced in the back seat. There was no child carrier. She had stopped crying again and now was watching me with some objectivity. Her eyes were hard. The transformation was remarkable. I myself was calmer now. A silence intervened as we felt each other out. Her face was streaked, pink and wet. I really regretted putting her in that condition. I hated soiling her beautiful clothes. And now as she was snuffling and looking at me, I shuddered at the miracle that she had not been hit. It was well I had fired only one round. She had green eyes, auburn hair, a little nose that turned upward. Her arms and fingers were slender and long. Her eyes were bright, intelligent. She had been bred to mate with success; Nature had made her for the winners. And what was I going to do? She expected me to kill her, didn’t she? Didn’t she? Well, there was nothing else to do but follow my instinct. It was clear that the old god was dead and the new gods hadn’t arrived.
Hadn’t her System daddy moved her out to “the country,” away from the proles and the rabble? I knew their scene: big house, expensive but shoddily made, situated on a sold out farm. Other homes like it. Big lawns, big drives. A cinderblock wall around the complex, stuccoed to resemble a medieval town. Ex-infantrymen in black creeper uniforms patrolling. Cameras, sensors everywhere. You know the scene. How contrived it must feel for the outer circle, how boring. How terminal….
Nowadays the developers were leaving the silos up—as if to prove to the elite that they were getting a piece of the old days. And what were the “old days”? Nothing more than low-density Euro society. An agrarian society, with small towns. Now look at what the humanists and kikes and marxists had wrought! One could see their mortgaged havens from the freeways, built of fiberboard and aluminum! Mortgage slaves. Thirty years and four times the original cost of the house in interest. Four million dollars for a million dollar “house” the big bad wolf of anarchy would blow down. They had whored their honor. Imagine the arse they had to kiss in the political brothels!
In the meantime what should I do with this woman? Now I was a hunted man forever. The System thugs would be hunting me. And what should I do? I could not possibly harm this woman.
Then she spoke. “You—had—no—right.” Her eyes were boring into mine. Her lips were trembling and such tension flooded her I thought I must be imagining it. But she had no case. She knew there was a war on.
“Where are your kids?” I asked.
She looked away defiantly. For the first time I sensed a bit of pagan in her.
“Get in my truck,” I told her.
She went and sat in my truck.
I went through her husband’s clothes, took keys, change, the like. I pulled out his billfold and put it in my pocket. He had been a very handsome man. I went through the vehicle. I saw his bag, which I opened and inspected. There were gym clothes in there, a T shirt with the logo of a System political party. I took it out. I saw her bag; I just glanced through it. A pair of sandals, a skirt and top, some underclothes. I put it in my truck. I came back to the SUV. The engine was still running. I opened all the windows and doors, the hood.
Then I went back to my truck and got the jerrycan and splashed fuel throughout the interior. I shot holes in the fuel tank. I soaked his political shirt in fuel. I ignited it, tossed it in. Flames leapt and in moments the SUV was a pyre.
I went back to my truck. She was looking straight ahead. I handed her husband’s billfold, keys, change. She took them without a word, without looking at me.
I did a u-turn and headed for the outside. Would the chip in my chest activate the alarm? Maybe she would cover for me. I would find out. As we drove away a huge flame leaped up in my rearview as the fuel gushing from the tank caught. It was like a battle scene. The light of the flames was blinking on the trees. Men were hunting and killing each other again. Power was shifting. The System was breaking down. I felt no remorse. This was war. There is always a war.
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News Source: Email
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Dr. Carlton Stevens Coon
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-13 12:57:14 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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by Darrell
Racist anthropologist Carlton Stevens Coon (1904 - 1981) has been completely removed from World Book Encyclopedia. The work of international Jewry, no doubt. Why is the Jewish establishment afraid of Carlton Coon's racial ideas?
Coon professed that the White race was a highly refined product of racial progression often at the expense of indigenous peoples. The most recent example is the New World.
Professor Coon's racial thinking was rejected by Jewish scientists such as Franz Boas, Stephen Gould, Richard Lewontin, Margaret Mead and many others. Boas argued that cultures, languages and physical types of different human populations were determined by 'environment', not heredity or biological racism. It's no wonder that Boasian Anthropology, Freudian psychoanalysis, and Einsteinian physics were dismissed as Jewish science by National Socialist Germany.
Coon was an adventurer who did field work in North Africa, Europe, the Middle East, South America, etc. He would have preferred that more physical anthropologists study their ancient ancestors in and around Europe rather than travel to distant lands to observe aborigines.
The excellence of Professor Coon's work is too numerous to be detailed in this humble summary.
General accomplishments: Coon is well-known as an anthropologist, archaeologist, and writer. He studied hieroglyphics, ancient Greek, and Egyptology. Coon graduated Harvard magna cum laude in 1925, and earned his Ph.D. in 1928. He then returned to Harvard as a lecturer and professor. Coon later accepted a dual appointment with the University of Pennsylvania as Professor of Anthropology and Curator of Ethnology at the University of Pennsylvania Museum. Coon's special interest in race is revealed in his published works. His most noted book was "THE ORIGIN OF RACES".
"You stay in your village and I will stay in mine. If your sheep eat our grass we will kill you, or we may kill you anyhow to get all the grass for our own sheep. Anyone who tries to make us change our ways is a witch and we will kill him. Keep out of our village." —Carlton Coon, "The Story of Man", 1954, page 376.
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News Source: Email
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Hillary Plays the Race Card
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-12 00:10:44 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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Hillary Plays the Race Card
by Edgar J. Steele
May 11, 2008
My name is Edgar J. Steele.
Now that it is all but arithmetically impossible for Hillary Clinton to secure the Democratic nomination for President, she has thrown caution to the wind and openly turned to White voters. After all, what does she have to lose in appealing to us?
Speaking to USA Today a few days ago, she observed how "Obama's support among working, hard-working Americans, white Americans, is weakening again, and how whites in both states (North Carolina and Indiana) who had not completed college were supporting me."
Gee, I dunno. I suppose we could organize a Klan rally and burn a cross or two for her. I could make some calls.
"There's a pattern emerging here," she went on to tell that USA Today reporter. I'll say.
Nothing will make a woman into a supporter of the Second Amendment like being raped. Now that Hillary has been beaten up by a Black guy, she wants us White guys to do him for her. You know - Git a rope and so on.
You Race-Traitor
Sorry, Hill, but it doesn't work that way, not even among those of us who didn't complete college, as you so indelicately put it. Especially among those of us, actually. You've made your bed, now lie in it, you race-traitor.
You think we want you for our President? Where were you during Waco, when your Lesbian lover Janet Reno murdered and burned so many White babies? After all, that is part of the period for which you claim relevant "experience."
Where were you in Serbia when so many White Christians were murdered by your Jew-suck concubine, that pants-less horror of a husband you have not had the simple dignity to shed?
Why have you heaped praise upon the murderous Israeli state for having killed so many Arab Christians?
Why have you been advocating the murder of millions of White Aryans in Iran (yes, Aryan, not Arab - go Google it and prove it for yourself, gentle reader)?
In fact, where have you been every time that Whites have been forced to take a back seat to Negroes, Mestizos and other "minorities" of every stripe? Busy bashing us White folk and sucking up to the Al Sharptons of the world, that's where!
During law school, your main extracurricular activity was helping the Black Panthers, then on trial in Connecticut for torturing and killing a federal agent. Reportedly, you went to court every day as part of a student committee on the lookout for technicalities upon which to base an appeal for the feral beasts on trial. Are you asking that federal agent's white family to support you now, too?
After law school and after flunking the District of Columbia bar exam, one of the easiest in the nation, you spent a year interning for the head of the California Communist Party, Bob Truehaft, the fellow who represented the Black Panthers.
Only after Bill became Arkansas' Attorney General did you even get a job offer beyond your position with the University of Arkansas Law School, and that one had been gotten for you by Bill only because he already worked there. So much for your claims of turning down lots of lucrative job offers (not a single one, not even non-lucrative, ever came your way without Bill's prodding). Even then, it took Bill winning the Arkansas governorship for you to be offered a partnership at the Rose Law Firm, the one that hired you because of your direct line into the Attorney General's office.
I don't care what color you are. You are the last person in the world for whom I would vote, based solely upon your color. It's not that I won't vote White over Black, all other things being equal. I will, in a heartbeat, just as will most White folks. Even though you polled 60% of the White vote recently while Obama took 90% of the Black vote, don't get the idea that, somehow, that is your White support speaking. It isn't.
Exactly what is your color, incidentally? I have trouble telling. Must be all the smoke from the sniper fire you now are enduring. Your husband made me ashamed to be an American. You almost make me ashamed to be White. Almost, I said. Being White is something of which I never will be ashamed. Nor does it get the likes of you my support, you race-traitor.
As pointed out in my book, Defensive Racism, there are far better reasons for desiring separation from a couple of other races than skin color and character is the most important of those reasons. Character. You know, the quality you ain't got, in spades (pun intended). Just because you are White doesn't mean you have acceptable character. On the contrary, in your case, Hillary. The ability to tell the truth, particularly, is wedded to good character. On that count, you are beneath contempt.
Lies as Far as the Eye Can See
Most recently, of course, there was your ridiculous lie about landing in Bosnia "under sniper fire," which film footage disclosed to be absolutely false.
Time and again, Hillary, you lie even when there is no obvious need - as when you claimed on the Today Show that your daughter almost was killed by falling debris while she was out jogging on 9/11, though she was four miles away, watching it all on TV.
Could it be as simple as put by New York Times columnist William Safire, when he wrote on January 8, 1986, that "our first lady ... is a congenital liar?" Congenital, essentially, refers to lies told with nothing to hide. Compulsive lying.
Of course, it seems that, most of the time, you have something real to cover up, so you always are being caught out in lies. Consider all the times you stood up for Bill, denying the philandering of which you were well aware, and destroying innocent lives in the process. Gennifer Flowers comes to mind. And Paula Jones, described by you as trailer trash. And, who can forget about Bill's affair with Monica, which you dismissed as being part of a "vast, right-wing conspiracy?"
Then there is your $99,000 cattle futures profit, stolen for you by your brokers from others who actually earned that money and then laid atop your "investment" that day of only $1,000.
And your denial of having engineered firing the entire White House travel department so as to hire in some political pals in their place, in that episode now known as "Travelgate."
Removing, hiding and then destroying a large number of documents from Deputy White House Counsel Vince Foster's office directly following his murder ("suicide," said the authorities, as a result of White House influence).
Your mysterious, vanishing billing records in the Madison Guaranty scandal, which saw two men imprisoned for defrauding the bank with your help.
You really would have served Bill better, had you stayed home and baked cookies.
We've Got Your White Support Right Here
You are a lying, contemptible and contemptuous broad, Hillary. You want White Support? We've got your White Support right here, in the form of a rope. And being a race traitor is the least of it, believe me.
Hopefully, the day will come when we can drag you out onto the platform in shackles alongside your contemptible husband (not to mention every last member of both Bush Administrations) and offer you the sight of a hooded figure holding your noose, your just reward for all that you have done to us, your White countrymen, and our beloved America.
Then we will turn our attention to those among us who destroyed our culture by holding the immigration floodgates wide open and then placing the boot of multiculturalism and racial preference upon our necks. Street lamps throughout America will be festooned with the swaying bodies of politicians, plutocrats, bankers and other thieves, rest assured.
New America. An idea whose time has come.
My name is Edgar J. Steele. Thanks for listening. Please visit my web site, www.ConspiracyPenPal.com, for other messages just like this one.
-ed
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Thank You, Z.O.G.!
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-09 11:55:42 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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Many thanks to the Zionist Occupied Government for my economic stimulus package tax refund check, which I used to get satellite internet, so I can work more quickly and efficiently for the cause, and eventually bring you down.
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Like White On Rice
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-06 12:34:52 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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World Rice Shortage?
Cyclone Nargis’ toll may not be fully felt for several months. The devastating storm hit Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, especially hard: 25,000 people dead. 40,000 missing. A million homeless refugees. And, perhaps most far-reaching, the Irrawaddy River delta region, Myanmar’s primary rice-producing area, has been almost completely wiped out.
Now, unless you visit Myanmar for some ridiculous reason, this normally wouldn’t affect you, except for some grim scenes on CNN. But with world rice production already outstripped by demand and rice prices at record highs, it could. I’m not talking about higher per plate prices on General Tsao’s chicken, either.
World rice production had been forecast to increase by 1.8 percent in 2008 to try to meet the demand, but if a large percentage of Myanmar’s annual thirteen billion, one-hundred and sixty-four million tons (based on the 18% of cultivated land under irrigation twenty years ago) of rice production is subtracted this year, things will only get worse, as they already were feeding themselves as well as exporting rice to their neighbors using more modern mass production methods.
Of course the million or more refugees will have to be fed, as will those millions who normally would have been fed by the now non-existent rice crop, in an ever-expanding ripple effect. Thailand has already suggested the prospect of forming a rice cartel with other major rice producing countries, and that prospect might be looking more appealing to them, now. The world’s two largest rice-producing countries, India and China, are mutually antagonistic neighbors, both of whom have nuclear weapons and massive, potentially hungry land armies. You don’t have to eat rice yourself to see the implications, there. And let’s not even think about North Korea.
Rice. A formerly cheap bulk food. The sustainer of a couple billion desperate Asian lives. Now, perhaps the catalyst for international upheaval, famine, and war? Let’s send Congoleeza over and see how they divide her up.
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Sinko de America
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-05 10:52:05 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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It's No Holiday!
On the front page of my local newspaper yesterday; Arkansas State Police attempted to pull over a van for reckless driving on the interstate. A chase followed, and the van left the interstate for a rural highway, where the driver and his eleven passengers bailed and fled on foot. To their credit law enforcement were able to apprehend ten of the twelve fugitives, but the driver and one other criminal immigrant escaped, and are now wandering around on the loose.* Does their presence here make you feel safe? How about having your neighborhood swarmed by escaped third-world fugitives?
*The ten Mestizo invaders are being held for I.C.E. pending identification and re-deportation, as are twenty-four others arrested while working at the Little Rock National Airport last week. Think about THAT next time you're standing in a TSA security line like cattle.
Today is the day when Mestizo invaders celebrate their making America more like Mexico. Is that an improvement? We don't think so.
Sinko de America
by Edgar J. Steele
May 5, 2008
Today is the new Amerikwan holiday: Cinquo de Mayo. I'm sure that, already, Bush very nearly is down to the worm at the bottom of the bottle.
No big deal? It will be, before long, as we get pushed aside by the burgeoning hordes from down South, "just here to do the jobs that we won't," such as raping, killing, stealing and usurping welfare and medical benefits that we and our parents sweated so many years to build up.
You can't really blame them. Well, you can, of course, but no more than you might blame cockroaches for invading a sloppy kitchen.
I blame those among us who allowed it to happen and, particularly, now that it is apparent, insist upon perpetuating it. People like George H. W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Hillary Clinton (is there a Romanesque echo in here?), Barack Obama, John McCain and, of course, the redoubtable Senator from Messychoosey: Ted Kennedy.
What a bunch of murderers, traitors, swindlers, liars and perverts! Guess that's why they feel right at home with the trash of Latin America.
Before I get off on a rant here, I really just popped in to let you know that I will be the inaugural guest on Marc Krieger's new Internet radio show tonight, starting at about 11:30 pm, ET (8:30 pm, PT). Please tune in to http://reasonradionetwork.com (click on the right side of that web page for streaming audio). The call-in number is 1-866-944-8523.
Please join us for what I expect to be a wide-ranging discussion covering all the things that drive me crazy.
-ed
Edgar J. Steele
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Heah Come De Judge!
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-05-02 16:44:28 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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Atlanta- Evolutionarily challenged Georgia Superior Court Judge Marvin Arrington joined Bill Cosby Thursday night in lecturing black kids about staying out of trouble. Some may remember that he asked all of the White people to leave his courtroom recently so that he could talk privately with just the black people. (Imagine if a White judge had made a similar request!?!)
According to CNN, "The judge has admitted he shouldn't have made white people leave as he tried to scare straight some young black men at the March 27 court session. He said he wanted only to get the defendants' attention without dressing them down in front of whites."
When was the last time anyone hesitated to "dress down" Whites for the perceived enslavement and oppression of lower primates? Not very conductive to creating an open and honest dialogue on race, is it?
Cosby and Arrington are supposedly counseling young curtain-climbers to abstain from profanity, pre-marital sex (yeah, right) and drugs (ahem), and for the yard-apes to be more respectful of their parents. Oh, they also asked the juvenile porch monkeys to stop killing each other.
Don't hold your breath.
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Corrective Lenses For The World
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-04-30 13:34:19 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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As we all know, the controlled media skews their news coverage both by deciding what stories to cover and emphasize, as well as in their subtle and not so subtle editorializing. Thus, black on White crimes are ignored or deemphasized, while the rare case of White on black crime is blown out of all proportion. Just by following the controlled media, one would believe that racialist skinheads are constantly stalking every street in America looking for nonWhites to victimize in an epidemic of unending brutality, when in reality more people in America are killed by bumblebee stings every year, than by skinheads.
This bias is evident in entertainment, economic, and international news reporting, as well. Therefore, it's important for concerned and patriotic Americans to learn to filter the mainstream news through the corrective lenses of racial consciousness, and to interpret correctly what they hear in the foreign language of liberal propaganda.
Here's how: Whenever you're reading a newspaper, or looking at an online news website, scan the headlines. Look for buzzwords that imply race was an issue in the incident covered. More importantly, learn how to recognize news stories which ARE important to our race's future, even when they are deemphasized or presented in a manner designed to obscure or deny the racial implications of said story. Examples from a typical day's CNN headline stories:
"Fed may cut rates"
Yes, the Federal Reserve will probably cut key interest rates by another quarter percent this week, but that's as far as they're going to be willing to go because food costs and other basic economic indicator prices are already rising rapidly due to expanding inflation. Lower interest rates encourage borrowing and spending, see, but they also drive up inflation, and high gas prices increase the retail costs of goods and services, as well. What this means: Most people's economic stimulus package refund checks will be eaten up by increased inflationary prices, rather than reinvested in the economy to keep it churning along, as they are designed to do. In other words, instead of the "r" word, we may be whispering the "d" word by the end of summer. People should plan for a difficult economic future in the near term, and perhaps even begin thinking again about how to feed their families if the waste product strikes the oscillating cooling device. Severe economic downturns lead to racial unrest, of course. Food riots, protests, even, dare I say? ('Dare, Dare!')...Civil War Two.
"CSI Star Gary Dourdan Facing Drug Charges"
'And another one's gone, and another one's gone, another one bites the dust.' Not quite as dramatic as a three year sentence for tax evasion, but hey, we'll take what we can get.
"Girl, 6, thrown on fire for being 'lowest class'"
In India, six thousand years after the Aryans established their civilization there, Hinduism and the caste system of racial separation is still alive and well. Unfortunately, despite all their efforts, miscegenation between their descendants and the nonWhites has occurred extensively, so almost no Indians could be considered White, today.
In short, whenever you read or hear or see any news story, ask yourself how the story is affected by, or affects, race. Always think racially and interpret the world through that prism. What is good for the race is good, and what is bad the race is bad. Everything else is fluff, no matter how large the font.
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The Wright Stuff
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Posted by Billy Roper on: 2008-04-27 11:52:22 in category: General [ Print | 0 Comment(s) ]
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UPDATE: Why do so many blacks believe that AIDS was created and spread by the U.S. government as a genocidal effort to eradicate them?
Answer: When you're taught for four generations that nothing that happens to you is ever your fault, and that you and your entire race are the helpless victims of an ancient and universal oppression, you kind of tend to shirk responsibility for a lot of your own shortcomings. Blacks in America have been taught all their lives by White apologists that their low I.Q.'s, low test scores, lack of work ethic, drug addictions, predeliction to crime, and even their health problems are a result of "de man keepin dem down". So, in their own minds black males aren't 14 times more likely to be AIDS carriers than heterosexual White males (according to the Centers For Disease Control), because of their I.V. drug use, or because of their "down low" bisexual culture, or because they're overly promiscuous and a significant number of them spend years in prison, where both the H.I.V. infection rates and the homosexuality rates are higher than in the general population...no, it's all Whitey's fault. Whitey makes them do drugs and screw like rhesus monkeys on goatweed and fall asleep at work. It's a conspiracy. True dat.
Never mind that the first human AIDS cases began in Africa, when the black natives contracted it by having sex with and eating infected monkeys, and was brought to America by homosexual carriers. Never mind that many majority black African countries now have upwards of twenty to thirty percent of their populations registered as being HIV positive, and the plague continues to grow daily. Of course in Africa they have different conspiracy theories about AIDS. There, the blacks believe that it can be cured by having sex with virgins, so they rape young children and give the disease to them. I suppose that with black superstitions, just as with real estate, it's all about location, location, location.
Obama's former pastor is a conspiracy theorist. But he's not alone in the black community in holding his beliefs.
According to the Dallas Morning News, "Dr. Wright asserts that HIV was invented by the U.S. government as a tool of genocide. A national survey in 2002 and 2003 by researchers at Rand Corp. and Oregon State University indicated that about half of African-Americans believe the virus was created on purpose; and a quarter said the virus was first brewed in a government laboratory."
Wright also claims, falsely, that the U.S. government purposefully infected black men with syphilis in the Tuskegee experiment. The truth is that they were already infected, on their own, before the experiment began.
..."Dr. Wright also implied that the government sent illegal drugs to black neighborhoods to kill or imprison blacks. That theory has no reputable evidence but nonetheless has considerable support among African-Americans."
Dr. Wright, we wish that your paranoia was based on fact, but unfortunately, we're just not that far along, yet. Wait for it.
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