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‘Like Playing Basketball’
Race War Story from the 2003 Rotten Apple Blackout
At least we think this was 2003. What does it matter, the exact time of such ancient history?
I remember my friend, Mister Grey, calling me after this happened. He has since retold the story a couple of times in my presence. I keep forgetting what part of New York this was in. I think it was in Brooklyn, which I know is not part of NYC—but your city is dying anyway and I will not be returning, so I care not.
There are important lessons here, five I should say.
-1. Our man was coming home from work with typical work possessions in his hands, a string bag and a gallon jug of water. I believe it was a hot summer night in the most vile city on earth. Working men travelling at dawn, dusk and by night have always been the preferred prey of the elite and their savage pets, from the helots slain by Spartan youth for sport, to the Comanche butchering defecating old men of other tribes at dawn, to the American Knights hunting palefaces to extinction in their urban crusades to purge the land of evil.
Mister Grey managed to use his bag and jug to defend himself from five Knights, one armed with a knife.
-2. That many elements of ball sport generalize to group fights on the artificial turf of urban America.
Mister Grey described himself as skipping and shuffling and turning and dashing this way and that around and in between cars to keep from being surrounded, “Just like playing basketball.” I was reminded of my recent experience playing basketball with well-trained young men 30 to 40 years my junior in the 101 degree Virginia sun and my ability to keep up with them using stick-fighting footwork, and having only played basketball once.
-3. That mean as our hereditary hunters are, they at least honor us with the N-word. Just like Hazelnut Van Helsing when he challenged me to racial combat earlier this month called me the N-word, Mister Grey was so honored when one of the five Knights attacking him said to the one with the knife, “Stab the N-*&^%!”
This at least validates us as worthy enemies. Our relatives and friends would and have invalidated us by saying such things as:
“Why were you there?”
I wanted to get the fuck home!
“What is the matter with you?”
I have to work for a living!
“Why don’t you get a new job?”
Give it to me—I’ll take it now!
“Why don’t you buy a car instead of save money?”
Because I want to get out of this shithole someday!
“Why don’t you buy a house in the suburbs?”
Because I can’t afford it with only two jobs and that suburb is going to be a shithole like this someday!
-4. That so-called “white people” [elite, hipster, police, liberal, conservative, left, right, stupid and bright] hate us palefaces, hate us working examples of a failed economic aspiration, despise us who are branded with a dirty lack of purity, absolutely hate any failed ghost man who walks instead of drives and gladly and always insult us as we are attacked by the ebony and agave warriors swarming about us in the street.
Of the dozens of times that white men have threatened to do me harm and attack me, they were, all but twice, motorists and I was on foot.
Hence Mister Grey, as he scrambled and scrimmaged for his life, fending this way and that like a leopard warding off five hyenas, was jeered at and threatened and complained to by hate-filled Rotten Apples as they beeped and drove by in their chariots of aspirational ascension, from their grand conveyances hooting at the failed member of their meta-zoological economic “race.”
-5. As an extension of point 4, could you imagine—if the media and TV drama has not removed your capacity to imagine—five Shawnee warriors, one armed with a knife, failing to kill, wound, abduct or even wound Daniel Boone if he were armed only with his coonskin cap and a water bottle?
Yet four leading European identity scholars have declared that people descended from recent African ancestors are super “warriors,” possessed of “the warrior gene” despite them dominating less than 15 of 110 sports and having only conquered one modern nation?
Even those European descended people who do not wish to live with our ebony hunters worship them!
I respect my enemies. I do not worship them.
I have no problem living with Bantus, but I will not worship them as super warriors like the liberals and conservatives who vote for their contested savior every four years.
What is worse, the hundreds of videos of liberal ghosts praying and kneeling to their living gods, or the fact that I was discouraged from manly pursuits and the seeking of hand-to-hand combat ability as a youth by parents, relatives, educators and a doctor, who all told me point blank that I could never successfully engage an African American in combat because I was born with inferior physicality?
Of course my rebellious journey into Reality, away from the fantasy of “white” inferiority taught me that race literally had no significant place in hand-to-hand combat.
In this Mister Grey and I, who disagree deeply on many things, agree, that the dawning Wolf Age, in which these sissies, faggots, bitches and snitches that have forever set the PIGs on us and always blamed us for being attacked on foot by impis of Bantu hordsemen for the crime of not owning a car, that one of the great savoring pleasures of the Wolf Age will be to see hipsters, businessmen, lawyers, PIGs, trophy wife whores, 2nd Amendment Cultists, fat boomers, Leftist screechers, Alt-Right whiners, doctors and educators—all of the sickly scions of the nation that spat and shat upon us working trash—to see these fuckers dragged from their cars and violated by the savages they have cheered on as they assailed us in our youth and even in my oldering years.
Here comes Knightly Might, Mister White!
You should have learned how to fight and how to skulk in the night.
As Mister Grey and I journey towards our end, which we both hope features us taking an enemy with us when we are finally run to ground in some alley or lot, too old to basketball our way out of harms way, and we are killed and hoisted on the petards of media hate, we will, along the media-lit way be able to see some Whiteman dragged from his chariot and served the fate that has been allotted us who he so despises for failure to economically thrive.
And as always, thank you for your support!
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Add Comment
BryceSeptember 23, 2020 11:05 AM UTC

Working from home needs to be the way of the future so we're not going to/from wagecuck jobs and leaving our families undefended and ourselves exposed. We need to all come up with our own businesses that use our garages as shops and our yards as small farms. The modern city is built upon wagecuckery for large corporations who are no substitute for real neighborhoods and families.

Like you, James, I think ghosts should be prohibited from joining the US military. How is it fair to send them to war for the same System that prevents them from defending ruling their own households and reviles them as white supremacists?

I wish them the best trying to run the weapons invented by dead white males with whoever else they get.
responds:September 23, 2020 4:50 PM UTC

I have been seeing some of this home business initiative across the country, in Jersey, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania and Utah.
ShepSeptember 21, 2020 1:27 PM UTC

Colby Covington just did his part to defy the "supa warrior, supa afflete" trope. This will tide me over until the next white-on-black hate crimes by Tyson Fury and Lomacenko.

Strangely enough, all those "supa affletes" seem allergic to participating in the most athletic branches of the U.S. military where their warrior skills have the greatest chance of being tested.
responds:September 21, 2020 3:52 PM UTC

I think ghosts should be prohibited from joining the U.S. military.
C8September 21, 2020 10:17 AM UTC

1986. Knife fight broke out between two hispanics in Central Park, 11am on a brilliant Saturday, at West side benches near the Dakota ("Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon").

Quickly a circle of lithe Yupper West Siders formed around the gladiators, an arena for the impromptu bloodsport. (Sadly for them phones w/ cameras hadn't yet been invented.) The fight went on for some time, both blade runners possessed of some skill, imbued with honor, but attrition wore on, one getting cut more than the other, arm and belly slices, starting to bleed in the summer sun. The circle was expanding ever outward as the fighters sought greater maneouver room. My friend and I hung back on the outer rim, marveling as the blonde yupster girls critiqued the merits of the knife fighters, as if they were watching the NY ballet.

Which they were.

The bloodier of the two sought escape, bursting through some startled debutantes out onto Central Park West, pursued by his opponent. The circle migrated out of the park onto the sidewalk, now joined by other startled shoppers headed to Zabars. Blood was staining the shirt of the guy getting the worst of it, but both were young and fit and not quitting. Traffic halted on CPW, forming a metal thunderdome. It was fucking Manhattan Mad Max, it was unbelievable. Best ticket in town. Where was Tom Wolfe? There in the avenue, right in front of Woody Allen's apartment, the fighters lunged and parried. The less-cut fighter actually jumped on the hood of a yellow cab, attempting to leap down for the kill, I shit you not.

Suddenly 3 big old-school NYPD appeared, barreled down on the fighters, tackling and smashing them to the ground, all in the space of 2 seconds. They beat them until they dropped the blades, support units arrived, and the crowd, sated, truly delighted, dispersed laughing, back on the penny loafer hunt for further delights proffered by Ed Koch's gleaming City of Dreams.
responds:September 21, 2020 3:53 PM UTC

Thanks for that wonderful rendition!