"...Last Words, Last Words, Out!..."
http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...=2050#post2050
INTRODUCTION/TECHNICAL NOTE:
OK, now that I've got everyone's attention.....
Actually, it's like this: May 12th was the absolute latest that I was willing to put off the posting of my autobiography on here, so here goes.
I chose this date because it has a certain amount of personal significance to me. First of all, it was the birthday of this chick that I was really hung up on back in 1986, when I was in the eighth grade. She was three years older than me, and barely aware of my existence. (I was 13. She was 16.)
I was going to this fundamentalist Baptist "Christian" school at the time, which was really fucked up in a lot of ways, which I will get into in great detail later on. But, anyway, in October of that year, they caught her and a number of others cheating on a test, and her punishment was that they all had to go up in front of the whole school and apologize during a chapel service. She got so pissed about that that she left a few weeks later. Can't much say that I blamed her.
But, anyway, I had gotten the idea in my brain that I was gonna kill myself on her birthday that next year to impress her. Just one of those goofy little adolescent whims. I was gonna jump off a railroad trestle and land on some rocks, but considering the fact that the railroad trestle was only about ten feet high, and I was six feet tall at that point, the most I would likely have done was maybe break a leg.
But, the weekend before I was to do it, I had picked up a vinyl copy of The Who's TOMMY, and it totally changed my life. I really related to the story, because of the fucked up childhood I had had. I figured that, if ol' TW could rise above all the many pitfalls and stumblingblocks that he had encountered, then so could I. There were bigger and better things still ahead.
So, within a few months, I had forgotten all about this stupid bitch, and had a good laugh every time I thought about how I almost did myself in over her.
By the time that date rolled around the next year, I was hung up on a different chick,---one who was in the same grade I was in, and only a few months older. We actually hung out together, and got along quite well. She was a really mellow, down-to-earth chick, unlike the rest of those stuck-up bitches over there. She just saw me as a friend at first, but, in hindsight, I'm glad things never went any further than they did between us. She was crazier than I was, and that's saying something. I didn't find out until later that the bitch was basically fucking every guy in town besides me. Just as well, then that I never fucked her. God only knows what diseases I might've picked up from a skank like that. Gonorrhea at the very least.
But, anyway, on May 12, 1988, I did this big ritual of "burying" the other bitch "at sea"--putting her picture under a rock in the "Little Pond", basically an oversized puddle down in the woods that my Dad had made by draining off water from a stream, where he used to put small fish that he had caught, so they could grow bigger.
And, on May 12, 1989, I wrote a kind of letter to myself, just sort of taking stock of the current situation, since I had finally gotten over the second bitch (She had left, too, back in September.) and had all but forgotten the first.
Years later, in early March of 1996, I found the letter, and, with nothing better to do one afternoon, began reading it for comic effect, in the style of a nigger preacher. I thought it was pretty damn funny. Then, a few weeks later, after I had learned a couple of chords on acoustic guitar, and had begun recording some crude demos of some of my songs, I decided I would turn that performance into a song as well. The end result kinda sounded like a Roger Miller number, which I thought was pretty cool. I included it on my second album, FROM THE TRENCHES.
So, anyway, that's the significance of the date.
As far as the title is concerned, it's taken from the final poem written by my spiritual father, before they found him dead in that bathtub in Paris, France, back in July, 1971. Some have speculated that it was intended as a sort of suicide note.
I actually chose it back in late 2008, when I was still planning on reading my anti-nigger poems at the Poetry Slam in Knoxville, and taking whatever consequences there were. I was gonna post it on PokerFace Forum (still am, actually) and, I suppose, on OD, too which I had just then started posting to. Of course, I was kicked out of that litle cyber-shithole about a year ago.
Keep in mind, though, that the actual title I've chosen for my autobiography is MIDDLE FINGER FIRST, and that's what I will ultimately change it to, once I get it written to my satisfaction. This version is merely a rough draft. But, since the above title is what I told my friend Tim to look for, back in 2008, I will leave it as such for know. Who knows, if I fall over dead of a heart attack from being a lardass with no self-discipline before I finish this, the title may take on a prophetic quality. And I guess I'm just morbid/sadistic enough to appreciate that.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I want death for all concerned
You're gonna burn
For what you have not learned
And I know I'm never gonna be free
Until I see your asses hanging from a tree
And you're not on this earth no more
You've done gone back to the Mother Whore
And you can't fuck with me."
---from "Death For All Concerned", (unfinished song) 1993.
"They told me everything was guaranteed
Someone somwhere must've lied to me
But one of these days I'm gonna pay it back
Pay it back one of these days."
----Elvis Costello, from "Pay It Back", 1977.
I think about a lot of things. There is absolutely nothing that I haven't thought about. No thought that has ever occurred to any human being since the beginning of time that hasn't occurred to me.
I have questioned God, the nature of my own existence, the realities of race and culture, whether God or Satan, in fact, actually created the perplexing creature called "woman", whether my parents ever really loved me, whether some child-molesting Jew rabbi hadn't imbedded some backwards message in every song that's ever been recorded, and, yes, even the rightness of the Southron Cause.
There is *ABSOLUTELY NOTHING* that I haven't questioned, particularly since I began my past seventeen years of self-imposed solitary confinement, here in my little Appalachian poet's shack. Hell, it's even occurred to me that Joyce DeWitt, pretty as she once was, might actually be a Jewess.
And the conclusion I have ultimately come to is this: What the fuck does it even MATTER whether I'm crazy or not? Hell, it's not like the rest of the world is so incredibly sane, anyhow. Like Pastor Lindstedt once stated, and I'm paraphasing, here, "The whole ZOGland is basically nothing but a giant coast-to-coast [open-air] free-range nuthouse without a roof." I couldn't agree more. In my 37 years of existence, that fact has been confirmed time and time again.
The past two generations of Ameriswine are nothing but creatures from Dr. Kikenstein's laboratory. Every single thought we've initially had has been programmed into us by the ZOG-box. The only difference is that Der Boomenschwein grew up with programs like LEAVE IT TO BEAVER and FATHER KNOWS BEST and Walt Disney programs extolling the virtues of people like Revolutionary War hero Francis Marion and Confederate General John Singleton Mosby, not to mention a feature film about the fictional Minuteman, Johnny Tremaine. Therefore, the way they turned out is nobody's fault but their own. They were all too willing to partake of that Forbidden Fruit. Hymie didn't have to hold a gun to their heads. Not so with my generation, though. Hell, the first thing I ever saw on the ZOG-box was Cher's navel.
Most of my generation, I fear, is completely and utterly lost, without a clue as to what's actually going on. The bottom line is they're just worthless whiggers, and God chose to make them that. There's no polishing that turd. If it's His will for them to be damned, they will be damned.
As for myself, I may be a mamzer and a demoniac, but that wasn't my doing, and has little or nothing to do with who I really am as a person. A mamzer has free will, just like anybody else. Even a dog gets to decide who he wants to bite and why. Better a mongrel dog than a whigger hyena, I say.
I just don't believe God would have allowed me to know all the things that I've come to know if He didn't want me to survive. And that's what I have determined to do --- SURVIVE. It may be that a lot of the things that the world has deemed to be disadvantages might prove to be advantages. When the shit hits the fan, it may actually be a good thing to be a little crazy.
At any rate, I've chosen to post this here in Mamzerville in the interest of intellectual honesty. After all, I am a mamzer, whether I like it or not. I would also ask that Pastor Lindstedt mirror this thread over in the 'Bedlam/Nuthouse' section as well.
(Will do after reformatting/NOT editing a bit. PMLDL)
What I intend to do is post this autobiography, however long it takes me to do so, -- working at it about two days a week, whenever possible --, and when I finish, volunteer my services to Pastor Lindstedt as his personal Gibeonite/two-legged guard dog, if he's willing to take me in. Otherwise, if he can refer me to somebody else who lives an agrarian/survivalist type lifestyle and plans to fight back when ZOG comes to the door, that would be great.
I figure it will probably take me between six months and a year to finish this thing. By then, assuming the race war/Great Tribulation hasn't already started, IT WILL BE TIME FOR ME TO GET SERIOUS. I live two and a half miles downwind from a nuclear plant, so, whether it's the Chinks or the Magical Nigger or some future President, if they ever decide to hit that, I'm toast.
I think what I need is a chance to get back to an agrarian type situation where I'm living in the REAL WORLD, and not this phony little Antichrist electronic soap opera that Hymie has created, with the help of that Human Lucifer, Thomas Alva Edison. I think if I can learn some survival skills and basic self-reliance, I'll be alright. Those are the very things that Hymie does his damnedest to keep us from learning, so that we end up with a bunch of goofy intellectual posers like Cunterre Wallace, who couldn't find their dicks in a windstorm, yet think they're actually accomplishing something. Spiritually speaking, they're nothing but Monkey-People, like the Bandar-Log in Kipling's THE JUNGLE BOOK.
You see, I'm absolutely convinced that THE KEY TO SANITY IS AGRICULTURE. I don't doubt that it cured many a mamzer of his goofiness, back in the day. You've got to admit, you don't hear the phrase, "crazy farmer" used very often. The greatest victory Hymie ever won was getting most White people off the land. Once he had accomplished that, the rest was just academic. Had he not accomplshed that, he never would've succeeded in stealing their hearts and minds.
Once he got us off the land, he got us to literally worship women, which we did. You see, WITHOUT AGRICULTURE THERE CAN BE NO TRUE PATRIARCHY. If woman doesn't need man to go out and work in the field every day, in order to literally put food on the table, what in the bloody hell DOES she need him for??? Not much. In this infernal modern age, she can go out and earn a living for herself. Doesn't need a man for that. If she owns a gun and knows how to use it, she can protect herself, too. Doesn't need a man for that. Hell, she doesn't even need a man for sex. She can get that from a vibrating dildo, or another woman, or, God forbid, her dog. (Disgusting as it is, I doubt if it's all that rare, anymore. And I'm sure the femroidz are all for it.)
So, what you have is a little twat-centered soap opera world that's all about instant gratification. And no man can live in it without being a little crazy. Most of us, in fact, are more than a little crazy. It just can't be helped. Because, after all, what is there to do? Make a little money, buy a TV, a DVD player, a stereo system, a computer, and, usually, some type of video game system, and then, of course, plenty of DVDs, CDs, and game cartridges to play on them.
Well, I've done all that. Thankfully, I didn't have to actually work for the so-called "privilege", but I've done it. And I'm sick of it. It ain't gonna save my soul. It ain't gonna get me sane. It's the PROBLEM, not the solution. The disease, not the cure. All you end up doing is whacking off and blowing smoke up your own ass, telling yourself that you'll get laid someday, when, in fact, you don't really even want to get laid, because you just know deep down, that, if you did, the evil little bitch would call the cops on you and get you thrown in jail, the minute you failed to satisfy one of her little whims.
Because, in reality, "casual sex" only exists in the twisted mind of the Jew. Women always want more than that from a guy, unless they're drunk, in which case, they could always have you arrested for "date rape", so it's no better. They're out to trap men into relationships. And, nowadays, most of the little skanks can't even seem to get off unless you beat the shit out of them, and, if you relent, and do so, how easy would it be for them to simply call the cops on your ass for "domestic violence"? THINK ABOUT IT!!!
I swear, if I could afford to get one of those high-priced mechanical "love dolls" I would. I'd get one that looked exactly like Joyce DeWitt back in 1979, and fuck it whenever I wanted. And the pigs couldn't do shit!!! See what I mean? THE MODERN AGE MAKES PEOPLE CRAZY, DAMNIT!!!
But, anyway, what it all boils down to is, we're all in the same boat. In this Jew-ridden age we live in, if somebody looks like a White man, well, he gets treated like a White man,---that is to say, like a mangy dog. So, in that sense, it matters very little whether someone is 100% White or not. If he looks White, he's got a target on his ass, and ZOG put it there.
So, to a great degree, my problems are your problems. And, as far as the problems that you don't have, namely demonic possession, you could certainly stand to learn a little about, first-hand. There are some things about my condition that I *KNOW* to be true, and other areas where I merely have to speculate. But, for what it's worth, I intend to tell you all I know about the way that I am, and why I'm that way, and, if there's anyone to blame besides myself, well, the bastards deserve to be exposed for the Satan-serving vermin they are.
Here goes....
http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...=2050#post2050
INTRODUCTION/TECHNICAL NOTE:
OK, now that I've got everyone's attention.....
Actually, it's like this: May 12th was the absolute latest that I was willing to put off the posting of my autobiography on here, so here goes.
I chose this date because it has a certain amount of personal significance to me. First of all, it was the birthday of this chick that I was really hung up on back in 1986, when I was in the eighth grade. She was three years older than me, and barely aware of my existence. (I was 13. She was 16.)
I was going to this fundamentalist Baptist "Christian" school at the time, which was really fucked up in a lot of ways, which I will get into in great detail later on. But, anyway, in October of that year, they caught her and a number of others cheating on a test, and her punishment was that they all had to go up in front of the whole school and apologize during a chapel service. She got so pissed about that that she left a few weeks later. Can't much say that I blamed her.
But, anyway, I had gotten the idea in my brain that I was gonna kill myself on her birthday that next year to impress her. Just one of those goofy little adolescent whims. I was gonna jump off a railroad trestle and land on some rocks, but considering the fact that the railroad trestle was only about ten feet high, and I was six feet tall at that point, the most I would likely have done was maybe break a leg.
But, the weekend before I was to do it, I had picked up a vinyl copy of The Who's TOMMY, and it totally changed my life. I really related to the story, because of the fucked up childhood I had had. I figured that, if ol' TW could rise above all the many pitfalls and stumblingblocks that he had encountered, then so could I. There were bigger and better things still ahead.
So, within a few months, I had forgotten all about this stupid bitch, and had a good laugh every time I thought about how I almost did myself in over her.
By the time that date rolled around the next year, I was hung up on a different chick,---one who was in the same grade I was in, and only a few months older. We actually hung out together, and got along quite well. She was a really mellow, down-to-earth chick, unlike the rest of those stuck-up bitches over there. She just saw me as a friend at first, but, in hindsight, I'm glad things never went any further than they did between us. She was crazier than I was, and that's saying something. I didn't find out until later that the bitch was basically fucking every guy in town besides me. Just as well, then that I never fucked her. God only knows what diseases I might've picked up from a skank like that. Gonorrhea at the very least.
But, anyway, on May 12, 1988, I did this big ritual of "burying" the other bitch "at sea"--putting her picture under a rock in the "Little Pond", basically an oversized puddle down in the woods that my Dad had made by draining off water from a stream, where he used to put small fish that he had caught, so they could grow bigger.
And, on May 12, 1989, I wrote a kind of letter to myself, just sort of taking stock of the current situation, since I had finally gotten over the second bitch (She had left, too, back in September.) and had all but forgotten the first.
Years later, in early March of 1996, I found the letter, and, with nothing better to do one afternoon, began reading it for comic effect, in the style of a nigger preacher. I thought it was pretty damn funny. Then, a few weeks later, after I had learned a couple of chords on acoustic guitar, and had begun recording some crude demos of some of my songs, I decided I would turn that performance into a song as well. The end result kinda sounded like a Roger Miller number, which I thought was pretty cool. I included it on my second album, FROM THE TRENCHES.
So, anyway, that's the significance of the date.
As far as the title is concerned, it's taken from the final poem written by my spiritual father, before they found him dead in that bathtub in Paris, France, back in July, 1971. Some have speculated that it was intended as a sort of suicide note.
I actually chose it back in late 2008, when I was still planning on reading my anti-nigger poems at the Poetry Slam in Knoxville, and taking whatever consequences there were. I was gonna post it on PokerFace Forum (still am, actually) and, I suppose, on OD, too which I had just then started posting to. Of course, I was kicked out of that litle cyber-shithole about a year ago.
Keep in mind, though, that the actual title I've chosen for my autobiography is MIDDLE FINGER FIRST, and that's what I will ultimately change it to, once I get it written to my satisfaction. This version is merely a rough draft. But, since the above title is what I told my friend Tim to look for, back in 2008, I will leave it as such for know. Who knows, if I fall over dead of a heart attack from being a lardass with no self-discipline before I finish this, the title may take on a prophetic quality. And I guess I'm just morbid/sadistic enough to appreciate that.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
"I want death for all concerned
You're gonna burn
For what you have not learned
And I know I'm never gonna be free
Until I see your asses hanging from a tree
And you're not on this earth no more
You've done gone back to the Mother Whore
And you can't fuck with me."
---from "Death For All Concerned", (unfinished song) 1993.
"They told me everything was guaranteed
Someone somwhere must've lied to me
But one of these days I'm gonna pay it back
Pay it back one of these days."
----Elvis Costello, from "Pay It Back", 1977.
I think about a lot of things. There is absolutely nothing that I haven't thought about. No thought that has ever occurred to any human being since the beginning of time that hasn't occurred to me.
I have questioned God, the nature of my own existence, the realities of race and culture, whether God or Satan, in fact, actually created the perplexing creature called "woman", whether my parents ever really loved me, whether some child-molesting Jew rabbi hadn't imbedded some backwards message in every song that's ever been recorded, and, yes, even the rightness of the Southron Cause.
There is *ABSOLUTELY NOTHING* that I haven't questioned, particularly since I began my past seventeen years of self-imposed solitary confinement, here in my little Appalachian poet's shack. Hell, it's even occurred to me that Joyce DeWitt, pretty as she once was, might actually be a Jewess.
And the conclusion I have ultimately come to is this: What the fuck does it even MATTER whether I'm crazy or not? Hell, it's not like the rest of the world is so incredibly sane, anyhow. Like Pastor Lindstedt once stated, and I'm paraphasing, here, "The whole ZOGland is basically nothing but a giant coast-to-coast [open-air] free-range nuthouse without a roof." I couldn't agree more. In my 37 years of existence, that fact has been confirmed time and time again.
The past two generations of Ameriswine are nothing but creatures from Dr. Kikenstein's laboratory. Every single thought we've initially had has been programmed into us by the ZOG-box. The only difference is that Der Boomenschwein grew up with programs like LEAVE IT TO BEAVER and FATHER KNOWS BEST and Walt Disney programs extolling the virtues of people like Revolutionary War hero Francis Marion and Confederate General John Singleton Mosby, not to mention a feature film about the fictional Minuteman, Johnny Tremaine. Therefore, the way they turned out is nobody's fault but their own. They were all too willing to partake of that Forbidden Fruit. Hymie didn't have to hold a gun to their heads. Not so with my generation, though. Hell, the first thing I ever saw on the ZOG-box was Cher's navel.
Most of my generation, I fear, is completely and utterly lost, without a clue as to what's actually going on. The bottom line is they're just worthless whiggers, and God chose to make them that. There's no polishing that turd. If it's His will for them to be damned, they will be damned.
As for myself, I may be a mamzer and a demoniac, but that wasn't my doing, and has little or nothing to do with who I really am as a person. A mamzer has free will, just like anybody else. Even a dog gets to decide who he wants to bite and why. Better a mongrel dog than a whigger hyena, I say.
I just don't believe God would have allowed me to know all the things that I've come to know if He didn't want me to survive. And that's what I have determined to do --- SURVIVE. It may be that a lot of the things that the world has deemed to be disadvantages might prove to be advantages. When the shit hits the fan, it may actually be a good thing to be a little crazy.
At any rate, I've chosen to post this here in Mamzerville in the interest of intellectual honesty. After all, I am a mamzer, whether I like it or not. I would also ask that Pastor Lindstedt mirror this thread over in the 'Bedlam/Nuthouse' section as well.
(Will do after reformatting/NOT editing a bit. PMLDL)
What I intend to do is post this autobiography, however long it takes me to do so, -- working at it about two days a week, whenever possible --, and when I finish, volunteer my services to Pastor Lindstedt as his personal Gibeonite/two-legged guard dog, if he's willing to take me in. Otherwise, if he can refer me to somebody else who lives an agrarian/survivalist type lifestyle and plans to fight back when ZOG comes to the door, that would be great.
Well, I can't allow myself a personal pet mamzer after chewing ass on baal-priests for having pet jews, niggers amd mamzers. However, King Saul had to pay for killing the Gibeonites and there is enough room on this continent for numerous bantustans of mamzers if such be YHWH's Will. YHWH and Jesus Christ determine who goes where, cf. Matt 25:31-33. That there shall be sundry nations left for Christ to judge after the Great Tribulation is thus a given. Thus it is Christ's Will for all survivors to face judgment, and no Israelite dare trespass upon Christ's and YHWH's perogatives lightly.
What I could use is a musician able to do the instrumental work on sundry songs starting with "Whigger Problem." That Christian Israel's biggest problem isn't the muds or even the jews, but treasonous whiggers, and that ZOG is comprised of racial Israel serving Kenite Babylon, has been my main message. The DSCI message is not aimed at the non-Israelite, but at the Israelite, taking such to task for their sins, as the non-Israelite cannot sin as such are outside the Law of YHWH. Pastor Martin LD Lindstedt CJCC/AN
What I could use is a musician able to do the instrumental work on sundry songs starting with "Whigger Problem." That Christian Israel's biggest problem isn't the muds or even the jews, but treasonous whiggers, and that ZOG is comprised of racial Israel serving Kenite Babylon, has been my main message. The DSCI message is not aimed at the non-Israelite, but at the Israelite, taking such to task for their sins, as the non-Israelite cannot sin as such are outside the Law of YHWH. Pastor Martin LD Lindstedt CJCC/AN
I figure it will probably take me between six months and a year to finish this thing. By then, assuming the race war/Great Tribulation hasn't already started, IT WILL BE TIME FOR ME TO GET SERIOUS. I live two and a half miles downwind from a nuclear plant, so, whether it's the Chinks or the Magical Nigger or some future President, if they ever decide to hit that, I'm toast.
I think what I need is a chance to get back to an agrarian type situation where I'm living in the REAL WORLD, and not this phony little Antichrist electronic soap opera that Hymie has created, with the help of that Human Lucifer, Thomas Alva Edison. I think if I can learn some survival skills and basic self-reliance, I'll be alright. Those are the very things that Hymie does his damnedest to keep us from learning, so that we end up with a bunch of goofy intellectual posers like Cunterre Wallace, who couldn't find their dicks in a windstorm, yet think they're actually accomplishing something. Spiritually speaking, they're nothing but Monkey-People, like the Bandar-Log in Kipling's THE JUNGLE BOOK.
You see, I'm absolutely convinced that THE KEY TO SANITY IS AGRICULTURE. I don't doubt that it cured many a mamzer of his goofiness, back in the day. You've got to admit, you don't hear the phrase, "crazy farmer" used very often. The greatest victory Hymie ever won was getting most White people off the land. Once he had accomplished that, the rest was just academic. Had he not accomplshed that, he never would've succeeded in stealing their hearts and minds.
Once he got us off the land, he got us to literally worship women, which we did. You see, WITHOUT AGRICULTURE THERE CAN BE NO TRUE PATRIARCHY. If woman doesn't need man to go out and work in the field every day, in order to literally put food on the table, what in the bloody hell DOES she need him for??? Not much. In this infernal modern age, she can go out and earn a living for herself. Doesn't need a man for that. If she owns a gun and knows how to use it, she can protect herself, too. Doesn't need a man for that. Hell, she doesn't even need a man for sex. She can get that from a vibrating dildo, or another woman, or, God forbid, her dog. (Disgusting as it is, I doubt if it's all that rare, anymore. And I'm sure the femroidz are all for it.)
So, what you have is a little twat-centered soap opera world that's all about instant gratification. And no man can live in it without being a little crazy. Most of us, in fact, are more than a little crazy. It just can't be helped. Because, after all, what is there to do? Make a little money, buy a TV, a DVD player, a stereo system, a computer, and, usually, some type of video game system, and then, of course, plenty of DVDs, CDs, and game cartridges to play on them.
Well, I've done all that. Thankfully, I didn't have to actually work for the so-called "privilege", but I've done it. And I'm sick of it. It ain't gonna save my soul. It ain't gonna get me sane. It's the PROBLEM, not the solution. The disease, not the cure. All you end up doing is whacking off and blowing smoke up your own ass, telling yourself that you'll get laid someday, when, in fact, you don't really even want to get laid, because you just know deep down, that, if you did, the evil little bitch would call the cops on you and get you thrown in jail, the minute you failed to satisfy one of her little whims.
Because, in reality, "casual sex" only exists in the twisted mind of the Jew. Women always want more than that from a guy, unless they're drunk, in which case, they could always have you arrested for "date rape", so it's no better. They're out to trap men into relationships. And, nowadays, most of the little skanks can't even seem to get off unless you beat the shit out of them, and, if you relent, and do so, how easy would it be for them to simply call the cops on your ass for "domestic violence"? THINK ABOUT IT!!!
I swear, if I could afford to get one of those high-priced mechanical "love dolls" I would. I'd get one that looked exactly like Joyce DeWitt back in 1979, and fuck it whenever I wanted. And the pigs couldn't do shit!!! See what I mean? THE MODERN AGE MAKES PEOPLE CRAZY, DAMNIT!!!
But, anyway, what it all boils down to is, we're all in the same boat. In this Jew-ridden age we live in, if somebody looks like a White man, well, he gets treated like a White man,---that is to say, like a mangy dog. So, in that sense, it matters very little whether someone is 100% White or not. If he looks White, he's got a target on his ass, and ZOG put it there.
So, to a great degree, my problems are your problems. And, as far as the problems that you don't have, namely demonic possession, you could certainly stand to learn a little about, first-hand. There are some things about my condition that I *KNOW* to be true, and other areas where I merely have to speculate. But, for what it's worth, I intend to tell you all I know about the way that I am, and why I'm that way, and, if there's anyone to blame besides myself, well, the bastards deserve to be exposed for the Satan-serving vermin they are.
Here goes....
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