Mexicans are definitely not white. More than
one Mexican is a horde of Mexicans . Horde must mean liquid in
Spanish because Mexican hordes either stream across the border or flood the
border. Many Mexicans spend all their time in the parking lot at Home Depot;
others take the jobs that rightly should go to real Americans; and all Mexicans
(like all black people) collect welfare and have many, many (Mexican) bastard
babies.
I also learned that, despite all the uproar about
using the N-word, the following words are still okay to use in a log-cabin
church with a swastika over the door: nigger, darkie, kike, Jew bastard,
spic, and wetback . These words are not offensive, although they do
cause different reactions in people.
Some people laugh when they hear them. The
laughter means that the person hearing the word is better than the person being
described by the word. The laughter happens because the truth—that some people,
such as drunken black people, would rather watch Oprah than work for a
living—is spoken so rarely that it catches the listener by surprise. It is the
laughter of people who realize that, while it might be politically incorrect to
call a nigger a nigger, it is, unfortunately, true. Black people are niggers.
Other people shake their heads in sadness when
they hear these words. They’re a notch more evolved than those who simply
laugh. They understand that niggers, kikes, wetbacks, and A-rabs represent the
most serious threat facing true white Christian Americans. This threat makes
them sad.
Still other people nod their heads in
determination. They are the most evolved because they understand that some
people have already put down the pen and picked up the sword of righteous anger
to smite those who wish to destroy us, and that the day is drawing nigh for
each and every one of us to strike back in our crusade to rid the world of
Satan’s children so that God’s dominion on Earth can be realized.
When I saw these people on the video, I couldn’t
predict which ones were going to laugh, which were going to be sad, and which
were going to be determined. They were all white people dressed alike, and they
all looked glad they’d driven out into the woods for the weekend speeches,
workshops, target practice, and explosives workshops. When I looked at other
videos from the end of the rally, the people all looked ready to drive back
home because they had to go to work on Monday, pay the mortgage, coach their
kid’s T-ball, and generally get on with things. I couldn’t tell whether anyone
in the audience had already picked up the sword of righteous anger and done
some smiting.
Oh, I learned one more thing: that I still do love
Jack Daniel’s.
* * * *
“Professor Willson
Fredericks. Very prolific scholar.” Ryan had hung up his sport jacket and was
walking over to his desk. He looked like he had slept eight luxurious,
dream-free hours, eaten a balanced, nutritious breakfast, hugged and kissed his
baby and his wife, put his ear to his wife’s big belly to hear the next baby
gurgling, and driven in to headquarters, tapping his fingers to an oldies
station while thinking about how we were going to get whoever killed Dolores
Weston.
Pretty much the same for me. After watching some
Montana Patriot Front videos, I had blacked out, coming to around eleven, which
gave me time to stagger into the final AA meeting of the day and get my damn
card signed. Running on four hours’ sleep, I stumbled into work this morning a
couple minutes early, just before Ryan. “And what did you learn?” I said.
“Well,” Ryan said, “Fredericks is super smart,
works real hard. Writes a couple of articles a year, half on a World War II era
subject, the other half on the patriot movement today.”
“And he write anything that’s gonna help us with
Dolores Weston?”
“I don’t know, but he’s pretty tight with the local
group, the Montana Patriot Front.”
“Yeah, I discovered them last night.”
“I read three of
one Mexican is a horde of Mexicans . Horde must mean liquid in
Spanish because Mexican hordes either stream across the border or flood the
border. Many Mexicans spend all their time in the parking lot at Home Depot;
others take the jobs that rightly should go to real Americans; and all Mexicans
(like all black people) collect welfare and have many, many (Mexican) bastard
babies.
I also learned that, despite all the uproar about
using the N-word, the following words are still okay to use in a log-cabin
church with a swastika over the door: nigger, darkie, kike, Jew bastard,
spic, and wetback . These words are not offensive, although they do
cause different reactions in people.
Some people laugh when they hear them. The
laughter means that the person hearing the word is better than the person being
described by the word. The laughter happens because the truth—that some people,
such as drunken black people, would rather watch Oprah than work for a
living—is spoken so rarely that it catches the listener by surprise. It is the
laughter of people who realize that, while it might be politically incorrect to
call a nigger a nigger, it is, unfortunately, true. Black people are niggers.
Other people shake their heads in sadness when
they hear these words. They’re a notch more evolved than those who simply
laugh. They understand that niggers, kikes, wetbacks, and A-rabs represent the
most serious threat facing true white Christian Americans. This threat makes
them sad.
Still other people nod their heads in
determination. They are the most evolved because they understand that some
people have already put down the pen and picked up the sword of righteous anger
to smite those who wish to destroy us, and that the day is drawing nigh for
each and every one of us to strike back in our crusade to rid the world of
Satan’s children so that God’s dominion on Earth can be realized.
When I saw these people on the video, I couldn’t
predict which ones were going to laugh, which were going to be sad, and which
were going to be determined. They were all white people dressed alike, and they
all looked glad they’d driven out into the woods for the weekend speeches,
workshops, target practice, and explosives workshops. When I looked at other
videos from the end of the rally, the people all looked ready to drive back
home because they had to go to work on Monday, pay the mortgage, coach their
kid’s T-ball, and generally get on with things. I couldn’t tell whether anyone
in the audience had already picked up the sword of righteous anger and done
some smiting.
Oh, I learned one more thing: that I still do love
Jack Daniel’s.
* * * *
“Professor Willson
Fredericks. Very prolific scholar.” Ryan had hung up his sport jacket and was
walking over to his desk. He looked like he had slept eight luxurious,
dream-free hours, eaten a balanced, nutritious breakfast, hugged and kissed his
baby and his wife, put his ear to his wife’s big belly to hear the next baby
gurgling, and driven in to headquarters, tapping his fingers to an oldies
station while thinking about how we were going to get whoever killed Dolores
Weston.
Pretty much the same for me. After watching some
Montana Patriot Front videos, I had blacked out, coming to around eleven, which
gave me time to stagger into the final AA meeting of the day and get my damn
card signed. Running on four hours’ sleep, I stumbled into work this morning a
couple minutes early, just before Ryan. “And what did you learn?” I said.
“Well,” Ryan said, “Fredericks is super smart,
works real hard. Writes a couple of articles a year, half on a World War II era
subject, the other half on the patriot movement today.”
“And he write anything that’s gonna help us with
Dolores Weston?”
“I don’t know, but he’s pretty tight with the local
group, the Montana Patriot Front.”
“Yeah, I discovered them last night.”
“I read three of
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