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Hunting Feral Meat-Puppets
Yeti Waters Discusses Surfing the Urban Apocalypse: 7/15/2022: Part 2
© 2022 James LaFond
By the time the following article posts, I will have been in Portland, God willing, for over a month.
[You are still thinking ‘fight’ instead of ‘hunt.’ You have a life time to hunt this guy down and break his feat. Burn his face and form and gait into your mind’s eye and make every step you take out of your house part of the never ending hunt to break his feat. Big guys do not do well with broken feet—I know this from experience.]
Perhaps the desire not to repeat the first encounter.
[Thirst for the next run in with this guy. If you don’t have your sons he probably won’t start anything and may not even recognize you. Pretend to be limping on that bone crushing solid metal T-cane to draw him or any tweaker into attacking you. Play Odin, pretending to be feeble among men so as to punish the emergent bully. It does not have to be him, any tweaker will do. Limp on that cane and then use the steel hammer head to crush his feet!]
 Perhaps it was also anger and pride.  I've sucker punched and sneak attacked stronger adversaries a time or two before.
[That is commendable. You might want to practice doing this on random tweakers just to hone your skills.]
I suppose more than anything it was not wanting to be a bitch and just take it.
[This is that negro mentality you picked up in jail that is not functional in predatory situations. You are not in a jailhouse chimpout, playing dominoes for food trays, but among feral hunters of a higher order. Your average tweaker is smarter than negro gang leaders and prison master minds. The good news is since they are not human either, they make good training meat for practicing to deal with higher order predators like the gangs of criminal cops that will eventually evolve out of the nice civic minded cops in your area duking it out with Aunt Queefa these past few years.]
 I have to live around here. 
[Then frame your home as a lair, from where you hunt your teaming enemies. The leopard is outnumbered, as is the tiger. Even the wolf pack is vastly outnumbered by its swarming prey. Every time you venture forth, you should scan for a victim, target, a trophy. You don’t have to take it. But if you address the world as a game preserve which you hunt, then you have placed yourself into the role of this guy that set you so far back on your heels. Eventually, they recognize you as one of them and seek easier prey.]
If it happened 20 miles from home I think I could've let it go a lot easier. 
[Hopefully some other tweaker will try you and you will be properly armed. Do keep in mind that you are potentially dealing with a pack of them, so an ax handle, guitar, pry-bar, framing hammer, T-cane, a pole-arm is preferable. Bro, get a tool belt and wear a hammer and screw driver on each side. Don’t use the hammer against the head. Hold the screwdriver in reserve to threaten a stab if they get close and just smash their arms, ribs and shoulders, then break a foot. Always smash a foot before you leave—oh yes, the right thumb and forefinger need to be smashed or broken before you leave them, to prevent comeback shootings.]
I am definitely not a prime example of a masculine Aryаn warrior. 
[I’m more dangerous now at 59 then I was in my prime, because I do not accept challenges, only transgressions to be punished. You are just starting the process of becoming a man hunter, a functional hate farmer. This was an important training session, which is what you intended. You just have to tamp down that negro ego inside of you. We all have it—the bitch trying to rise within. Strangle that bitch in her bed! I’m wearing up to seven edged weapons now. Wherever a man grabs me or comes from I’ve got something for his ass! I can take a better beating now too, since I’m lighter. My neck no longer hurts when I get punched in the head and face.]
 Just a fat old truck driver trying to make his way in this world the best he can.  
[Truck driver tools, whatever they are, you should be packing them. Any bars, hooks, wrenches, tire hammers, chains? Oh yes, I have found that since of lost more weight and am back in my 160s, which is close to my prime 150s weight, that I am getting mean, aggressive, my sex drive increasing and I’m enjoying boxing when I dreaded hearing my neck bones slam together when I was over 170. Not only do I get hit less hard and outlast younger guys sparring, the loss of fat on this last notch has keened up my active mind. This makes me want to go all the way down to the 140s in hopes of becoming a terrible little savage again. Maybe getting back on your diet could help this.]
[Remember, he got verbal, which means he is a bitch. He should have just made nice with one of your boys, asked you for directions and then snuck-punched you. He is a woman inside, just like a black guy. You just need to keep quiet next time and dig until you find the pulsating ϲunt at the center of his sickly soul. She is there, begging to be conquered. These tweakers are far superior to the darker subhumans. But most of them were raised and neglected by women, so will have that pussy inside of them. It has only been two years since your town went to hell. You’re a quick study, and will learn what needs learning so long as you can get rid of the fight-challenge mentality and start thinking like a hunter of hateful meat.]
[Example: last night, here in the East Baltimore Barrio, Megan and I are drinking rum on the porch, Chinegroes across the street smoking weed, Mexicans to the left getting drunk, Salvadorans to the right getting drunk… The man and woman to the right get into it and Megan lights up, “Look at this spic bitch; Spic bitches don’t fuck around—look!” The little Latina had a butcher knife and was stabbing the shit out of her husband’s car tires— “Hiss…” Well, Chico is packing his stuff and leaving this morning.]
[Weapons, bro. Weapons are what set us above the beasts. Never, ever permit yourself to be unarmed. The Sikh’s are right—a man should always be armed, always. I like you with a hammer, based on your movement. Besides, you once worked with a hammer. I personally love dead blow hammers. Love, yes love...I love them. Humanity though, that is just a collection of bent and rusty nails.]
What follows was my email back, knowing that this will post five months from now.
I think you did fine not verbally engaging in the crosswalk. 
it was not a potential win for you. The tweaker was risking nothing. 
Take care, Man.
The discussion in terms of survival doctrine is in brackets above.
When the Wrong Thing Feels Right
crackpot mailbox
Bodega Butcher
on combat
night city
shrouds of aryаs
your trojan whorse
sons of aryаs
the greatest boxer
beasts of aryаs
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