Yesterday was the birthday of the most powerful, and therefore most evil government to bestride the earth in historical memory. It subjects and its enemies, it tax herd and its petrodollar prey, continue subject to its mesmerism, the herd believing their vile shepherd to represent them, and its prey that they are rivals rather than yet-to-be-consumed food. I have been to the White Chasm once as a chaperon on my youngest son’s 5th grade field trip to the Smithsonian. Every time I have been driven by or take the train through that Orifice of Utter Evil I have shuddered.
So, being driven from West Virginia down to Virginia brought pause. My driver said, “I suppose marching is not your style, so I have recommended you as a scout.” A camp of some 200 men pitched at a sympathetic farmstead. I had been brought by the lure of five bare-knuckle fighters. They were there. I trained with Thomas. The owner gave a tour of his hand-built estate. He is a charming, gruff, Royal Marines veteran become American.
Many fit young men were there, with a few fatties. A handful of older middle aged men showed signs that they were strength athletes grown older and tougher. The men in their 30s and 40s were generally impressive. The men in their 20s were either skinny, fat or prime combative specimens, all in need of mentoring by their older fellows. This was such a positive experience, as 200 self-described patriotic racists, most Christian, some Pagan, gathered in unusual post-modern concord.
For me the only drawback was the avalanche of fake names. The host, who has suffered much for his belief in a nation that does not abandon its founding race, he used his government name. The rest still had businesses, jobs and family to protect from our evil overlords’ hatred of extra-governmental family, brotherhood and faith. It was shocking to meet three long-time readers who remained unoffended by this writer’s alienest perspective.
Three young fellows and myself helped assemble and patch shields. Other men assembled flags. And handful of fatties and musclemen were dropping from heat stroke in the 100 degree sun. Their fellows and coaches cared for them.
I was brought into the scout plan and directed by the brilliant Texan, Bradly Texas, that if things went sideways I would devote all my powers to saving his lady, who was working undercover. My three immediate leaders were a man I rate as dangerous based on his pantherish gait, who I named the Cop Magnet, the Literary Theologian who served as navigator and planner, and Prepstone, the young, handsome, polite Texan for whom I served as half-breed scout in the urban environment. I gave him a $5 for homeless bribe, since he is a natural mark for the shambling ebony destitutes of the area.
Our task was to note USG personnel and physical barrier dispositions, assuming the All-Seeing-Eye Uncle Satan was upon all. Secondarily, potential criminals and communists, and the far more dangerous press, were to be noted. I will note the developments from most to least important:
1.) Arуan incubators were numerous and of high quality. Masculine activists would do well to acquire and breed some of these. At an Irish firemen bar and diner the lady owner sent her darling lass to give us ice water as we waited for her to open. When Prepstone went to the bathroom to communicate our post, she re-did her hair in the mirror in eager hopes.
2.) Slave girls of various races were also of high quality for recreational purposes.
3.) The pigs were not nearly as dickish as Baltimore pigs, as hard ass white-hating as Seattle cops, or as brutal as Chicago/NYPD uniformed thugs. When the column of 200 men with flags—including one stars and bars, emerged from the train station, I noted the lead officer organizing a march corridor. Also, most of the scouts had been made. Only myself and Prepstone, who had not been previously scouting, were unmade. I walked by the unarmed cop taking notes on them and he did not notice me as he scrawled. The two muscle guys from Texas stuck out way too much, as did Cop Magnet.
This could have been real bad if not for the obvious fact that the cops were more sympathetic to these patriots than the two communists yelling constant profanity over megaphones. The drums used by the marchers lent an air of interest and cultural nationalism that brought maybe 100 spectators, most of whom were neutral or positive. The last scout among the pig pen, I heard the detail lead report to his superior that the marchers had been very well behaved. I am not a person that thinks marches are anything but a trap for good people and a party for bad actors. But in this case, my inner “Oh no,” was reversed to a verbal, “Impressive job.” For the event seemed to imprint zero negative emotion or opinion on the pious Government-worshiping tourists and occupied America garrison functionaries. The negative vibes came from the leftist megaphone huffing and puffing.
4.) As I waited for directions to search for a lost media man, a National Guardsman gave me the most intense eye-fucking I have had since 2012 when a Baltimore County cop tried to pick a fight with me for being white trash while I was stocking the food his big ass was buying while he was supposed to be working. This guardsman was a big, dangerous, fit, hate-filled man. He felt like a cop, a USG cop. I sensed here, as I saw guardsmen mill about in armor, that Occupied America has also come under an overt military boot heel. I here predict, that national guard troops will be deployed to conduct field executions of Americans who practice the twin heresies of self-sufficiency and racial identity. This cop was whiter than my cracker ass and I am confident he hated me for sharing his skin without sharing his sacred occupation.
…
On and during our safe return, which answered the prayers that Literary Theologian said for us on the drive down into Mordor, I helped with three heat exhaustion cases out of my salt, potassium and magnesium supplies. Then came a very positive speech by the leader, who I believe goes unmasked in marches and is known by name to the communists. One of the fighters I have had the honor to train won a red arrow award for his dedication to masculine ideals, to include protection.
I met many gentlemen and even more cultured thugs, including a mad genius with brains and brawn to spare. The highest pleasure was doing bare knuckle drills with an Arуan buck and 4 Arуan bulls. Then came cleanup. Some of the mentoring will hopefully focus on the fact that the only man under 30 that seemed to do any camp work, was the blond Atlas that came with Red Arrow and his Leprechaun coach, and a blood-haired paragon from Virginia Beach. The skinnies and fatties in their 20s, just sat around as if we were their den mothers as two men in their 60s, the camp seniors, sorted trash right in front of them. I am confident that will be addressed. The other mark of improvement I would like to see is a requirement that every man wrestle or fight, being added to the basic fitness.
