12 December 2000
The DNA yammerers are spending a lot of time trying to convince us – against what our senses and native intelligence tell us – that we all are so equal that it's surprising that we hadn't noticed it during the last Ice Age. What is astounding is that so many people can have their good sense short-circuited by political-scientific drivel. What did interest me, in the program I viewed, was the statement that "IF you took one strand of DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid) and put it in a straight line, it would reach to the moon and back 40 times.." ( I emphasized the foolish "if" since this sort of thing permeates all of the thinking of the majority of ignoramuses who run to the voting booth believing they are doing something significant. "IF" Ernst had not lost his hand by putting it into a revolving lawn mower blade, he might have become a concert pianist. If the moon were made of green cheese, then the Rock of Gibraltar could dance the minuet.) That 40 times to the moon bit might cause many to "wow" during sips of beer but it's really a ding-dong excursion into the wide, wide world of mathematics limited by the size of a hydrogen atom, which, by the way, is in the neighborhood of 1 Angstrom in width. 6 million of them, laid out end to end, would be equivalent to the thickness of a white man's hair.

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.


As a vote counter of recounted votes which were recounted by other counters, I had a formidable task. How was I to place a standard upon that which I observed? I knew a chad (computerese dating from the 1960s) when I saw one. It was a separate entity which might be on the floor, in a waste basket or even in Helen's brassiere. As I looked at the card sideways, I saw a yet unborn chad hanging by an umbilical cord from the bottom. Was this the result of a machine malfunction or just an exaggerated dent? Was it a dimple gone awry? A minuscule crater high on 'crack'? If I snipped it off, then I could count it as a chad. But that would probably be vote fraud. One thing I did notice, however, was that when I turned the cards over, all of the dents and dimples vanished. What was now in evidence was a pottage of bumps, lumps, welts, wales and weals. Dimples became pimples. I made a note of that! Also, how could I determine whether the dent was caused by the machine or perhaps just an imperfection in the card to begin with? These problems soon became very taxing.

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?


13th Amendment

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


Generous Jenny allowed me to hang by my knees from a branch on her magnolia tree. There I was, deep in philosophical thought wondering about why I was wondering. Why are all of those birds flying upside down?, I asked myself. Also, the trees were suspended and any moment I felt that they would lose their grip and plummet into the blue abyss. I knew that gravity was still working because I observed a hot air balloon falling straight down. I guess hate is like that – it all depends upon how you look at it.
Two pads are available for the hungry dog to choose. One is marked with a circle and the other with an elongated ellipse. The circle always meant great eats while the ellipse meant an electric shock. The pads were interchanged position-wise in a random manner. At first, the dog merrily stomps upon the circle and gets his giant meatball. A few ellipse encounters made him learn the ropes very quickly. As the days passed, the circle was made slightly elliptical while the ellipse was moving toward a more circular shape. There was a point where the dog could not distinguish one from the other. At this time it was tossed into total confusion and exhibited neurotic behavior. The dog refused to press any pedal and entered a stage of howling, shaking, and starvation.

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".


Jes, my frents, buggery is just another natural exercise. That's why you see so many bull elephants humping one another. That also explains why stallions are always enjoy "fudge packing" with other stallions. In fact, our Holstein bull Ferdinand shunned the company of cows and sulked until he could do his "natural" thing with Mr. Betzhold's bull. Enjoy your shower.
College logic: Everyone on the planet is race mixed. That proves there is no such thing as race.
Let's see – aluminum does not naturally exist in pure form on the planet. That proves there is no such thing as aluminum.

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?


BUYER BEWARE!!Before you join – that is, send money to – any "patriotic" group, organization or social bickering club, make sure you HAVE MET the "leader" and his associates. Make sure you KNOW WHO your hard earned bucks are going to. The fact that someone yammers that "the juice are out to get us" or "weez white folks should stick together" is NO GUARANTEE that your money is going to be used in a manner pleasing to you. In fact, you'd be surprised as to the uses "supporter's" money is going (trips to Europe; vacations with their latest humping partner; etc.) – and the possibility that it is going to whom you perceive as "the enemy" is higher than you think. 
The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion. Claimed to be "forgeries" by those who don't want you to the read them. "Forgeries of what?", I ask. Henry Ford cared not as to their origin but emphasized that "they fit" what is going on. Don't be victim of the gossip gab – read them for yourself!

http://www.ptialaska.net/~swampy/illuminati/zion.html


Here are a couple of great sites. The "geocities" one is a freebie and p.i.c. freebies have a way of getting bopped by the server. (The blightwing just HATES spending money. The jews don't – when it's in their interest. That's part of the reason one side is winning.) Therefore, if you are interested, then cop the material and stuff it on your diskettes. That also goes for the links to current news articles. Many joints do not archive their daily material.

http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/7006/psychopolitics.html

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.


Robert had a great little business going – about 13 employees. Then ZOG knocked on his door. The riot act, called Affirmative Action, was read as a proclamation. Robert had, just had – in the name of 'equality – to hire an incompetent with melanin problems. His employee count was at ZOG's critical mass. Robert pondered and thought and thought and pondered and then a minor god form Mount Olympus whispered into his ear. Robert dissolved company A; built a petition in the middle of the building; and then called one half of it company B and the other half, company C. Now business went about as usual without the benefit of minority intelligence. I guess Robert just wanted his enterprise to fail. TV informs us that whitey just can't hack it without some variety of mud saving his bacon.

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?


Your religion is hate.   My religion is great.   Therefore, you go to jail.
Multiculturalism is Babelism.   Diversity is divide and rule.   Eboli is AIDS in warp-drive.
If the past was so perfect, then why did it produce the present?
Is the typical American like the rabbit who runs and hides in the bush hoping that the fox eats some other rabbit?
If God knows the future then your path in life is predetermined.

If your path in life is predetermined, then you have no free will.
Please pass the gravy.
I don't hate tarantulas.     In fact, some of my best friends are tarantulas.

I know there are many stalwart men out there who would protect their women and children with their lives but who wouldn't cross the street for a freebie from one of those very plentiful bitches and witches who value men only by the size of their wallets and check books (a prostitute mentality if there ever was one). If you haven't read the old book A Generation of Vipers (Philip Wylie 1946), you should pick one up from a good used book store. In it is an ample description of the "princess" type.
I have also decided to add a new folder: Mr. Maguire. In the past I have posted many of his "meaty" paragraphs and I think that others, along with myself, will profit from his often remarkable information.
I'd like to comment
upon an incident which was "big news" in W.N.Y. On Grand Island – the place the Seneca Indians now want back (note that they made no claims to this piece of dirt until AFTER it was developed by the you-know-whos) – three white teen age boys approached a black man and make some "racial slurs" and pushed him. Those who are clued-in to the machinations of this asylum for idiots, run by criminals, KNOW that this is an incident which challenges the attack on Pearl harbor for first place as a major event. One can profane God with impunity but the Sondernegers are superior to God and hence naughty words directed toward them are that much more criminal. Like the sacred rats, cows and monkeys of that diverse sub-continent India, woe be to the man who is not nice to the black folk. (The time just might come when the failure to genuflect will be considered a crime.) This incident was immediately denounced by the D.A. who said he would seek the MAXIMUM penalty for this "hate crime". The lemmings in the area actually held a meeting so they could discuss the elimination of "hate". Good luck! You see, anyone who possesses one iota of emotion beyond that of a cow, is apparently an enemy of the state. Let me reflect a bit.

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.


I always performed better on school tests than did my brother. That's how I became known as the family's smarter critter. I always thought that this was funny since I knew – deep inside – that my brother was far more clever when it came to the real world. When  a problem arose, he's come to the rescue with some astounding solution which was simple and practical. When presented with the question – If a chicken and one half can lay an egg and one half in a day and one half, how long will it take 4 chickens to lay a dozen eggs? – Gene would rattle off the correct answer without much pause. I would grab a pencil and do the algebra required but it would take me a little more time. Here's another: If a brick weighs the same as three-quarters of a brick plus three-quarters of a pound, how much does the brick weigh? Gene could snap off the answer. He was advised by his female high school "counselor" to avoid algebra since he showed little talent for it. My father also demonstrated a remarkable gift for solving math problems without knowing an "x" from a stick of licorice. As I passed the years at various jobs, I was keenly aware that the blue-collar class had a gift for coping with reality which the white collar people didn't. This facet of intelligence was one which gave me much amusement and satisfaction in my younger years.

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.