Consider a cube 1 inch on a side. It "stretches out" to 1 inch. Take that cube and section it by halves according to the 3 axes. You'd end up with 8 smaller cubes ½ inch on a side. Stretched out, they would reach a distance of ½(8) = 4 inches. Doing the triple slice bounce, this stretch number would be 9 inches. The astute person will recognize that the stretch distance is the square of the division. Division by 100 would yield a length of 10000 inches or about 1/6 of a mile. When you get down to the width of a molecule, truly astounding figures result but what of it? It's only more baffling bull to bewilder and bewitch, the gullible goyim.
What are the facts, ma'am? No one is ever going to stretch out any molecule and if they did, could never drape it between the earth and the moon like a clothes line. The whole country is like the man walking backwards on an escalator. He thinks he is progressing.
Since "black holes" "suck" up anything which comes near them, how come they don't consume themselves? With this scientific fact – black holes and their properties – it is easy to deduce that they are homosexual. Cosmic perverts, as it were.
Then there is the issue of how the voting cards received their dents, holes, or whatever. Did the voters really intend to punch or not to punch. That is the question. If they intended to punch, then did they intend to punch that hole? If they intended to punch hole A, missed and punched hole C, then that could be puzzling indeed. But suppose that one intended to punch hole B, missed and punched hole C. Would the REAL vote then be A or B? At this point, I had to call in a volunteer surveyor who determined the exact distance, and bearing, between holes A and B, and holes A and C. Which, in all probability, would represent the voter's intent? I was fortunate to have had some math background and so I computed the mean and standard deviation which allowed me to have an educated guess as to A or B. Since I am not on the official, approved list of "experts", I am not sure that this judgment would be accepted. Anyway, couldn't it be possible that the voter did an "eeny meeny miny mo" on the candidates in question? If so, then would his vote count more than the vote of someone who didn't know his A from a hole in the card?
During my lunch break, I came to realize that I'd had seen this all before in the 1954 movie, The Caine Mutiny, where Captain Queeg (Humphrey Bogart) was as concerned over, and involved in, the count of the ship's strawberries as is our, sad to say, whole political apparatus.
Did I really intend to write this?
Sect. 1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as
a punishment for crime, whereof the party shall have been duly
convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.
Sect. 2. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
Here's a better one: http://www.amendment-13.org/index.html
This is the story of our youth and their Marxist indoctrination, in the schools, churches, TV and most homes. At some point, many of them go "ape" and turn to senseless vandalism, assaults, drugs and anything available which would serve to deaden the pain in their heads. They are taught one thing and their senses tell them another. The internal mental war seeks a solution and the path involving avoidance produces an individual who is worthless not only himself, but to his family and society in general. The strong weather this quandary and nod with approval at the insanity about them but retaining an inner composure and strength of character. Take the approach that was voiced by Fletcher (John Vernon) in The Outlaw Josey Wales (Clint Eastwood): "Don't piss down my back and try to tell me it's rain." My eyes, ears and nose tell me that "equality" is a lie and I care not about some hearsay relating all of that "nutrition" found in spinach – I don't like the stuff. You and the rabbits can eat it.
In anticipation of being again targeted by females who choose to read these ventilations, I'll add a tidbit. Women have always been claimed to be like cats – friends of the house. Men are like dogs – faithful to their human companions. Which is the greater problem solver?
My uncle had both cat and dog. They always waited at the right side of the door to be let in. Uncle Ben replaced that door with one which opened on the opposite side. The next day, Skippy the dog was waiting on the right but observed that the door opened on the left. The next time he waited to come in, he was on the left side. Quick learner, eh what? The cat Mustard finally caught on after the third day.
I am now reminded of a hilarious book containing paintings of nude men and women. Each illustration had a caption. The one showing a man swimming in an ocean of waves, each depicted as a woman's breast, was captioned "Obsession". In another, the ground resembled swiss cheese where blindfolded men were smilingly walking from here to there. Every once in a while a man would step off into one of those pit-like holes. On the shoulders of the men were naked women who could view the field and notice whether the man she was riding on was about to step into a hole. At this point, she merely transferred herself to another man. The caption: "Women's Logic".
Aluminum is the most abundant metal in the earth's crust. It is usually found as hydrated oxides (bauxite). The WHITE MAN found a way to obtain pure aluminum – an idea he probably stole from the Aborigines of Australia – no es verdad?
Do you ever get weary, as I do, of this sort of nonsense which defies logic? And stand amazed at the unbounded crap the human mind will believe?
http://www.jrbooksonline.com/ Don't lose this one!! This fellow has his hands on some great old editions.
Read the material on the "noble Indian" and let your social indoctrinator (religious or school teacher) know that others do not share their egalitarian views when it comes to savages.
"I don't go so far as to think that the only good Indians are the
dead Indians, but I believe
nine out of ten are, and I shouldn't inquire too closely into the health
of the tenth!" – Theodore Roosevelt
You high schoolers are missing out on great fun. When your teacher gasses out "history", schmaltzy social schlock or some other bolshevik baloney, keep calm, cool, collected, smiling, and spout something contradictory you've read on the "web". Be helpful: give them some "dot" addresses and never forget to ask why so much material is going down the "memory hole"... why YOU are not being told the WHOLE story.
There is a slight danger that the blackboard bimbo just might ax your grades. It happens very frequently – especially to white males. Remember that it's hard to fudge exam grades so do your homework and learn what it is that has to be parroted in order to prove that you are properly indoctrinated. Don't take their Marxist drivel seriously like some of your classmates do, for they are truly the "lost sheep". LOST, intelligence wise no matter how many "A"s they get rewarded with, and SHEEP by virtue of the fact they are getting sheared.
Hell mates, why not print up some simple fliers – nothing obscene – with a simple non-abusive or aggressive suggestion, and your favorite p.i.c. web addresses and leave them here and there – in the gym, cafeteria, classroom, etc. Don't store them in your locker nor carry more than one on your person – which you should ditch when no one is looking. Never tell your girlfriend as the female turns quicker than a rattlesnake where she gets p---ed off at you. (Much of the success of the Mafia depended upon the women knowing nothing about the "business".) On one occasion, I handed a sheet around asking who it could have been that stuck it in my locker. "Gee, it says that these sites tell the other side of the story. I wonder what story they were talking about?" Curiosity needs very little prompting. Be POLITE and LEGAL above all. Not all seeds grow in to plants. It depends upon where they were planted.
Did you ever notice that this ZOG club is never used in all-black, all-asian or all-mestizo businesses? Did it ever occur to you that the playing field might not be level? Do you care? Or do you think this is just fine and dandy and that the whole world deserves a piece of the whitey pie? Especially if it's some other honky's pie?
As kids we had own little gang wars. Derogatory names would be voiced and people thumped. "Your mother screws dogs," or "You sick kraut," would be enough to precipitate a brawl. I, one of the smaller of the various clans, usually got trounced. I was tossed off a bridge once and at another time, strung up by the thumbs and branded with a hot iron. I still have the scar on my left shoulder. The point I am making is that we lived in a society where there was far more freedom than we have today, in this rapidly approaching bolshevik police state. A man catching his wife being serviced by the milkman, was free to bounce her off the wall and make sure her sheet-soiling partner had enough bruises to remember that he was upsetting someone's husband. Gang fights were common. Men mutually agreeing to do the "let's go outside" thing, were at liberty to trounce each other until they both tired. Freedom means that one is free to suffer the consequences of his own acts without interference.
In the 1950s, a Grand Island incident would have simply passed as business as usual. Please note that this incident actually warranted more TV coverage and community concern than did the stomping to death of one white man by six blacks a few months ago in a suburb of Buffalo. When you take a simple "pushing" and add that to "hate" ("proven" by the use of a politically incorrect term) you get an event which is more horrendous than an outright, and malicious, and brutal killing. If this sort of focus is not enough to convince you that you are living in insane, and dangerous, times then I do not know what sort of head wiring you possess.
I am saddened by the fact that these three young men are now going to get the short end of a witch trial – for that's all that it will be. This sort of rowdiness has always been part and parcel of what constitutes naughty little boys and is what prepares them to stand up and be counted as men. Wimps never have a need for such on-the-job training and that's what the moms prefer. Wimps always gravitate towards the legal "profession", it appears.
I can understand the frustrations of our awake young men but they must realize that the deck is stacked against them and all should behave with extreme care and caution. If white men obey the law, they will continue to lose as they are doing now. If they disobey the law, then they risk doing jail time. This is an explosive situation and no SANE government would ignore it. Our ZOG is not sane and they will continue to press on, as do those addicted to sex and drugs, until the feeble strings which hold this rotting package together, break. The actions of these lads – called "white thugs", by the effeminate lackeys of the TV bend-over-and-kiss-it club, are wasteful and I do not like to see them happen. My experience reminds me that this sort of young man is far more attuned to reality that is his partially brain-washed counterpart who secures higher grades in school. The path to "A"s and "success" is directly linked to how well, and how often, one kowtows to his – for the present – masters. It pays not to be masculine in this upside down zoo.
Then there is the issue of "waste". Humping Hanna has an IQ of 130 and all she does with her life to is make sure her beaver is never left hungry. Brainy Barney also has an IQ of 130 and whiles away his time exploring the outer reaches of Upper Volta, measuring, calculating, obtaining sustenance, and so on. We are quick to remark that they are both "wasting their ability", which, in essence, means that they are not doing what we think we would be doing if the roles were interchanged. Are we correct in this judgment? Hanna DOES NOT NEED other than the barest parcel of intelligence in order to pursue her calling. In this sense, she wastes all of that brain power. Availability needs no intelligence. Barney, on the other hand, must learn how to survive and do what is necessary in order to continue with his adventures. A dimwit would be a crocodile's breakfast at the first portage. In this sense, Barney could actually USE MORE intelligence for Nature has little use for failures.
My advice for those whom I really feel are more racially sound than the usual mob who congregates at degenerate nigger-rock non-concerts, is: stay cool, collected, and keep within the bounds imposed by the lunatics who stage asinine spectacles such as the number of strands of fiber it takes to make a fledgling "chad" invalid. You are not alone and there are millions who feel the injustice as you do – and a whole batch of them, like myself, are not exactly in the prime of life. Der Tag is not some bit of wishful thinking. Prepare and remember.
Our little burg was separated by ethnic/racial divisions. Those who ran the show, owned the business and factories, while looking down their long noses, were called the "hill" people because they lived on the upper reaches of the area in relative, and conspicuous, comfort. On one side of the railroad tracks, which divided the town in twain, were the wops and polacks, as they were smilingly referred to. In one little corner were three families of "chocolate drops" who pretty much kept to themselves. We had our own little section and we were called "hard working trash". There was a generous batch of jews who preferred to remain inconspicuous. One might think that since we were closely related, in a racial sense, to the hill people, we'd be accepted as a sort of equal. Not so. Those "oh dear" sighs included everyone who were blue collar people. The hill Anglos had the money and supposedly the brains.
Thanks to Providence for providing me with the mother and father I had, I soon discovered that I had a speedy mind although Janice, John, Robert, Jean, and their consorts in snobbery, only saw a blue collar even when I wore no shirt at all. To make a hilarious story shorter, I delighted in creaming their pretentious asses on every exam and test which was given in high school. Some of them still resent my arrogant manner to this very day. I do not regret my behavior in this regard for they would never have accepted me as worthwhile anyway. From these early stages in my life, I formed a genuine and deep respect for the working man and a general disdain for the "intellectual" crowd – the Ph.D. set – who can't tell shit from shinola. I worked to obtain a couple of college diplomas just to prove a point to myself but I frankly do not feel I gained much from it.
Art was another innovative and intelligent man who preferred to operate his own garage. He chose his own path in life rather than follow the advice of others who thought he should put his talent to work in other areas. Anyway, Art took a drive shaft from some old Chevy and sawed one end off. He had earlier noticed that the inside diameter of the shaft just allowed a beer can to slide through. In the closed end, he drilled and tapped a hole to fit a spark plug. To this plug, he – some distance away – wired a battery and ignition coil. After securely propping up the improvised cannon, he used a shop towel as a sealing wrap and loaded his can of beer projectile down the barrel in the manner of an old musket loader. Next, he turned to the acetylene torch and adjusted the flame to the light blue inner cone which was indicative of a proper oxygen content. The flame was extinguished and while the gas mixture was still flowing, he filled the empty chamber of his cannon via the open spark plug hole. Once done, the plug was screwed in. We then retreated to the shielding safety of the garage where the ignition button was located. Art shouted, "Fire in the hole" and pressed the button. Ba-wham! The can of beer was launched straight across the creek, at a 45 degree angle, headed straight toward Sally's house where she was entertaining one of the lustier members of the Ward Street gang.
I happened to be at a hot dog stand on the far side of town one day when I heard that familiar ba-wham. Next to me was the Chief of Police who remarked, "Sounds like Art is firing up his artillery range again."
I have often wondered if one of the shining stars of our town, now a Supreme Court juror – up from his high school role as a porn supplier and keyhole peeper –, could ever have dreamed up anything such as Art's cannon. I doubt it.
The worker is still the bedrock of all societies and when the so-called leaders forget that, it's time to remind them in a way they'll remember for the rest of their lives.