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Iceman Cometh
By Eirik Bloodaxe

I got a call at work from my youngest daughter, whose name I cannot remember, having had so little contact with her through the black magic of divorce. Dad, she said… Do I know you, I said, without adding quote marks. Dad… there is some lunatic outside the house…I mean in the street…going crazy…listen.. [sound effects, lunatic screaming].

Indeed there was, probably someone on ice/crystal meth, there being an epidemic of this in Australia at the moment:

Anyway, I told her to ring the cops and stay in the house, arming herself with the Bowie knife and ultra-sharp Latin machete that I had given her. I will head to the house now. I did not think to ask where her whore of a mother was, but no doubt, she was doing what aging whores do.

However, I was sure that unnamed daughter would be ok, as the house that I helped build was a fortress, with stone walls, thick bars on every window, and thick hardwood doors. Each external door had a primary steel security door, double-deadlocked. Then, her room was on the top floor, and anyone would have to break through a whole house of doors and locks. Her door was solid hardwood. I should add that this house is in one of the richest arreas of this town, all my life money having been put in this fucking house, which a feminist lawyer tore from my cold dead hands.

What happened next was that the iceman collapsed. Half an hour later, a single cop turned up, even though the local cop shop was one minute drive away. He pulled up just as I made it across town in my ute. The cop got out, checked that the iceman was still alive, but unconscious, and was not drowning in his own blood and vomit. And then, out of the wood work, literally, another iceman appeared, who bundled up the collapsed iceman, and began carting him off. I came over to the cop at that point. I said to the cop: what are you going to do about these guys? He said: nothing, we get dozens of these reports each day in just this precinct alone, and this is one of the best. There are no resources to waste on these people. You are not in any danger. Ok, fair enough. My daughter did not come down from her castle to talk to me, but just pulled back the curtains to cast a quick coy glance. Not even a wave, merely the radiation of the hostility that is the norm now. I got back into my ute to head back to work, probably $50 poorer from having to leave work.

I imagine that in the poorer districts, collapsed icemen will be just left to melt in the hot Aussie sun, their rotting fly-blown carcasses waiting for the “Green Bin” organic waste pickup, every Thursday. When those services cease, in the collapse, their bodies will be eaten by feral dogs who are set to have a ready supply of food, in the world fast approaching:

Turd America

Trumpapocalypse Now: The Advent of an American Usurper at the fall of Western Civilization

Own the collected works of John Saxon, Professor X, Eirik Blood Axe, William Rapier and other counter culture critics, on Kindle, via the link below. Amazon:

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