Saturday, 27 June 2015


( which I troll a black power rally…)

I don’t know for sure, but I suspect Dylann Roof was groomed by the F.B.I. or some other government organization; groomed to carry out his irrational shooting spree as a means of acting as a catalyst for rubbing out the last of the pro-European sentiment inherent in the American folk mind.

Whether you believe this or whether you believe he was really a lone wolf, acting out his adolescent angst, the catalyst is the same. The satanists are using this as a machiavellian presumption to attack all things white, southern, and Christian. Knowing this to be the case, Matthew Heimbach of the Traditionalist Youth Network invited me to be proactive by going with him to Charleston and laying a wreath at the steps of the church where the shooting took place. In this way, we hoped to stave off the narrative by showing that even the pro-white community rejects this sort of indiscriminate action and that we’re not to be blamed for the tragedy.

As my seasoned readers may have suspected, especially if they watch the news, our ploy didn’t work. How could it have? Our enemies want white blood and only white blood will satiate them. They want no shows of solidarity or unity-in-mourning. The politicians, the academics, the bureaucrats, all side with the vicious black panthers in demanding white blood. Only white blood will satisfy their master.

Well, by God if they want it, we’ll make them earn it.

After placing the wreath and making the rounds through the media, we decided to stroll into the middle of the most violent (in terms of rhetoric) Black Panther rally held in years. A BBC producer wanted to get our interaction with black nationalists and wondered if we felt safe. It wasn’t the blacks we were worried about, of course, it was the sackless, no-good cowardly “social justice warriors” from the local college, all skinny-jean clad white boys, out to prove their value to their negro gods by causing real white men as much trouble as possible.

Still, we were on edge as we nudged our way to the front of the crowd and stared the black leaders in their eyes. The highest ranking speaker was a vest-wearing negro who called for the death of all the white devil slave masters – meaning all whites, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until his wishes were fulfilled. I stood tall, only yards away from him as he yelled about rape and slaughter, looking him in his dead black eyes. The bastard wouldn’t hold my gaze.

During the next speaker, I inched my way to the side and commandeered a “black power” flag. I took it and paraded it around behind all the speakers, hoping that national TV would get a shot of a notorious white racist, trolling a black power rally. The national leader of the black panthers looked at me like I was crazy. “Who dis white boy is?” I wish I could be in the room with them when they find out. I’m only kicking myself for not stealing the flag and burning it.

The crowd dispersed but not before Heimbach (a national celebrity) was noticed by, you guessed it, a gang of skinny-jean clad social justice warriors, whom, as expected, began shouting, waving their signs, and trying to cause us as much trouble as possible. Heimbach, a true goth, ripped a sign away from a small-boned jewish lad and glared at him until he might have passed out, his eyes glazing over with tears. We intellectually stomped their arguments, asking if “race” was a social construct, why anthropologists were able to determine race via bones? They couldn’t answer and were visibly shaken by Heimbach’s arguments.

Heimbach’s passion is a wonder to see in real life. He stuck his finger in the ring-leader’s face and asked if he was so against racism, why in the hell didn’t he show up and protest the black panthers just now. The kid was obviously scared to death of the blacks, so Heimbach began calling him a coward. Defeated, the team tried to slink off, but Heimbach stayed on them, shouting at them how cowardly they were and demanding they “sack up” and come with us to the church where the negros were rallying, so they might be consistent with their “anti-racist” message. The social justice faggots retreated as fast as their skinny jeans would allow.

Our Charleston adventures prove to me all the more that our enemies cannot be reasoned with. We have only two choices (that I can see): we must either flee or we must fight.

I leave it to my readers to guess my choice.

Originally published at Shotgun Barrel Straight

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