How Sweet It Will Be…

I always liked Jackie Gleason.  I dunno why.  Maybe it was because he never crossed that line of decency that the jewish comics have all but erased.  And notwithstanding George Carlin’s idolization of Lenny Bruce… to me, it was that sick jewish  fuck that all but destroyed the art of stand-up.  But comedy doesn’t mean that much to me anymore. Decency is big with me nowadays. It seems these two notions are mutually exclusive in recent times. I don’t know why that is. I can imagine.

But I was talking about my rediscovered fondness for all things decent. Maybe after all the ‘free love’ and drug hang-overs of the 60’s and 70’s…I grew up a little.  Maybe we all need to do a bit more growing up.  Even those that haven’t done so chronologically.  Those times for me and many like me were a luxury that I’m afraid won’t be able to be enjoyed by the next few generations.  There won’t be time or opportunity. Life itself will be luxury enough to those battle-weary youths of the near future when the coming down comes down.  And it is coming.  Trust me.

 But I don’t want to talk about comedians.  I don’t think there is much to laugh about. My favorite part of a Carlin routine was when the laughter stopped.  Maybe it’s time we all stopped laughing…best medicine or not…we need more than medicine nowadays.  We need a transplant.  And you better plan for a stay in the hospital.  An extended one.  But as Jackie always said “how sweet it is”.  And how sweet it will be when they all get their comeuppance.  Those that deal in human flesh and dashing dreams.  Like the crack addict or the alcoholic, our spirit will rebel and we will seek to return to normalcy, but normalcy was long since eroded by the Lenny Bruces that command all the stages now.  We will all be seeking Jesus or someone like him when we realize the stand-up is no longer funny.
I want to revel in the times to come.  I want to share…no, exceed the joy of a fellow human’s demise and suffering.  The demise and suffering of those that afflict us all right now.

You know that I am going to name the beast…but.
You can say “it isn’t just the joos”, and I’m okay with that.
You can say “it’s the NWO”  and I’ll say “right on”.
You can say “it’s a conspiracy of Masons” or “Illuminati”,and I will let it pass.
I will be clicking my tongue to myself, but I understand why you say these things.  I will let these things slide because I know that you can at least see that there is a horror in this world.  A sickness that needs cured.  The lab report will come back soon enough in this crime-scene-investigation that details exactly whodunnit.  But at least you know there IS a crime.  And it is one that is of a serial nature.  And that’s enough for right now.  The perpetrators in israel and Brentwood and Miami and Jew York and Chicago will become apparent to even the dullest of wits, for their time is coming.  And it will be sweet.  I feel I know who’s fingerprints are on the weapon right now.  Few listen.  But they will.

Listening to reason is an acquired taste. It begs to become more popular, and it will when the laughter stops.  There will be a kind of joy…a glee in the retribution that is coming to the vampires in charge now…but it won’t be funny and it won’t cause laughter.  It will be sweet revenge to witness that karma coming back around the bend when we know it isn’t coming for us.  We addicts that have given up the jew’s drug of decadence.  So keep the goal in mind. There will be a time when we all have homes and food on our tables and something to laugh about.  No matter who you think is pissing down your back right now.  The time for noticing that it isn’t raining is now.  And the time for reversing pisser and piss-ee is coming.  It will be glorious. I guarantee it.  Pendulums do swing and circles complete themselves even if they have to be guided in their paths. Gravity will do the rest.  The shit-storm that is coming to the tribal adherents will be like none other.  And for the first time in the history of man, history will not only be written by the winners…it will be written as it actually happened.



So as hard as it is to live today, it will be all the easier tomorrow.  When we all know the inhuman orders being screamed over phones from the back rooms of the khazar.  When we grasp how far it has gone.  And we all understand there really is a mentality that has no concern for human life and actually enjoys extinguishing it, we will begin to look for the patterns that prescribe this horror.  And we will find it in the talmud.  And we will stop it forever.  
And how sweet it will be…

 

I See Now, You Can’t Stop…

I’m going back to childhood on this one.  Again.  It seems that we all place things that we experience in reference to those formative years…no matter how old we are.
I remember the first Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin movie that I ever saw.  I saw it at a drive-in in the company of an Aunt of mine.  Drive-ins were where you went to see second-run movies, outside sitting in your car.  Anyway, I think I must have been pretty young.  I was eating my popcorn and taking laughing cues from my Aunt.  She thought Lewis was hilarious.  I would look at his inane antics on the screen that would only amuse a dull-witted infant…then look at my Aunt convulsing in laughter…then look back to the screen to make sure I hadn’t missed something that caused her so much mirth.  I preferred the parts where Dino sang.

These were the early years of jewish “entitlement” in the media.  Before then, especially dealing with humor, the general public was not subjected heavily to jewish humor.  The lowest form of the artform.  It seemed then to me, and does even more so now, to be based in the basest form of comedy.  They were just, in these days of Jerry Lewis, Milton Berle and Jack Benny, beginning to encroach in this arena of the media, where Gentiles had dominated before.  Replacing wit with simplistic, often off-color jokes aimed at the lowest I.Q. in the audience. It worked.  Of course then came the obviously jewish saturation of dramatic film roles which lowered the standards in that arena as well.  As we see in this screen test of James Dean barely edging out a young Paul Newman for a role in “East of Eden”(no, I don’t think Newman had anything to do with Dean’s eventual demise…just an example-grin).




I made the mistake yesterday of being coaxed into watching a professional basketball semi-final game at a friend’s house.  I hadn’t actually watched commercial television for a hell of a long time(outside that annoying flickering at the tops of restaurant walls, where the eatery’s designers assume that their patrons are going to have some kind of electronic-disconnect-seizure if they don’t keep these talmud-vision screens on during business hours).  I never look at those screens when I go to such places of business…as a matter of fact…I have a little key-chain device with which I can, and do, surreptitiously turn them off, to the bewilderment of the staff.  But I relented and watched or rather endured this broadcast and my blood-pressure has yet to return to normal.

The game itself was fun to watch.  The commercials that took up more screen-time than the game, were…I dunno…maddening, disgusting, obvious, childish, transparent, annoying, nauseating, violent, patronizing, lying, loud…I guess the all-inclusive adjective that I am grasping for here is…”jewish”.  Totally jewish.
How do you people endure this shit for 153 hours a month? And probably more importantly…why? It leaves me almost speechless to think that humans can voluntarily beam this horseshit into their HOMES.  Does the average person ever think about what can be done constructively with 153 hours a month? Hell…just think of the extra sleep you could get…if nothing else.
So I am looking at my friend during this electronic-yiddish-money-changing spectacle…and I am looking back at the screen…thinking I missed something that would mesmerize me too.  And I laughed.
He says, “what?”.  I said “they must use special lenses to keep all those huge noses in frame”.  He says, “huh?”.  I says, “forget it”.

The point is…they don’t get it.  Those that endure this crap.  The fried-chicken commercials aimed at blacks.  The bank/mortgage commercials aimed at the mentally challenged.  All the happy minorities…happy to live in amerika and happy to buy all this shit…and ALWAYS..the curly-headed huge-nosed jew in the picture.  And I mean always.  Their reminder, albeit subtle at times…that they own this medium.  They own these corporations.  And they own your living-room.  They own you.  Shut up and watch the CG commercials and learn.  Learn on a very sub-harmonic level.  While attempting to continue the ball-oriented conversation with my friend during these commercials, I felt as if I was interloping on some sort of religious communion between he and the screen.  He would say “yeah…I guess” a lot as his eyes were transfixed on the screen. Only when they had momentarily released his attention to get back to the game, did I recognize this guy.  


“Spooky” is not the word.  “Frightening” doesn’t even begin to describe it.  I would suggest putting a mirror next to the screen so these people could see how trance-like they are during these divine moments of electronic commerce…but they wouldn’t be able to look at it, when mammon commands their eyes.  I left his house in a different type of stupor.  One of realizing how far this has come since Jerry Lewis put my Aunt into fits of laughter.  This is scary shit. 

So go ahead.  Keep your tv on 153 hours a month.  I understand it a little better now.  You can’t not watch it.  You can’t turn it off and throw it in the shit-can.  It is a religion.  Worship. Buy a kippa and wear it while you worship.  It will be more fitting.
My cause against this electronic hold that the jewish has on you was defeated long ago.  Probably not long after the original Rebel was silenced.  Oh well.

DID SIX MILLION REALLY DIE? by Pandora Pushkin (Satire)

Editor’s Note: “Is the Holocaust a suitable subject for satire?” I asked myself seriously, before deciding to accept this new article from satirical spoof writer Pandora Pushkin. In view of the fact that Christianity appears to be fair game for blaspheming Jews — Christ sucks (pornographer Al Goldstein) and I hope the Jews DID kill Christ! I’d fucking do it again in a second! (comedienne Sarah Silverman) — I saw no reason why Holocaustianity, the new world religion, should be exempt from criticism or satirical treatment. Provided it’s done with good taste, of course.

“Some events do take place but are not true; others are, although they never occurred.”— Elie Wiesel, World’s Most Famous Holocaust Survivor

Holcaustianity,the world’s newest religion, is now doing its best to replace Christianity in America, Europe and other English-speaking countries. It has been largely successful in its endeavors, having made an impact even on the Vatican where it has persuaded many holy fathers of the Church to ditch Christianity in favor of a  new religion invented at Auschwitz. About time too! We’ve had enough of Christianity and its silly Ten Commandments.

Speaking for myself, I wish to make up my own mind about what is right or wrong. Yessir, I’m not going to take instructions from any killjoy Pope!

Here is Pope Benedict himself, paying his respects to the new Supergod at Auschwitz, disguised as a tripod.

And here, in case you are interested, is the swimming pool at Auschwitz which the Supreme Pontiff visited also on his well-publicized  visit to Poland.

In this hallowed spot the Holy Father may have paused a few brief moments to offer up a prayer for all those millions of martyrs—6 million at the last count—who perished in the furnaces of Auschwitz, but were probably allowed to refresh themselves with a little swim before they died.

This would happen, I should imagine, in two circumstances: (a) If the Nazi camp guard on duty was particularly kind-hearted or in a good mood, which was obviously almost never, since no Nazi camp guard I have ever heard of has ever been  known to be kind-hearted or in a good mood; (b) if the camp was short of Zyklon B  gas, or  if there was a need to economize and save this precious substance for delousing inmates’ clothing—in which case inmates were led to the pool and pushed in, being left to swim around there until they drowned. If they tried to climb out of the pool, no problem!—they were just kicked back into the water by one of those hobnailed jackboots the evil Nazis wore at all times, even in bed. So I am told by an informed source in Tel Aviv.

For more details on the swimming pool at Auschwitz, see this scary article by evil Holocaust denier Robert Faurisson. You can see his blood-covered face here. This is what courageous Jewish activists did to him when Mr Faurisson foolishly refused to admit that 6 million Jews died in the Holocaust.

The Holocaust, according to that other evil Holocaust denier Germar Rudolf—who spent only four years in prison for his shocking thought  crimes, has its own high priests: the Jewish people themselves. These constitute, collectively, the New World Messiah whose name is King Khazar.

King Khazar did not die on the cross. Instead, he fragmented himself into a myriad life forms and lives today in the minds and bodies of his countless devotees, known in the vulgar language of the masses as “Holocaust Survivors.”

These minor deities live all over the world, some in New York, London, Paris and other cosmopolitan centers, but most of them pursue their earthly existence in Tel Aviv. Here they live austere lives of prayer and sacrifice to King Khazar, all their material needs being taken care of by generous checks from Swiss and German banks.

When they are not engaged in killing the Palestinians in a blood sacrifice to King Khazar, they are to be found sitting by their  luxury swimming pools in Judea and Samaria enjoying the afternoon sunshine and the soothing hum of bulldozers demolishing houses in the distance . . . until their lives are suddenly terminated by deadly rockets shot at them by evil Hezbollah or Hamas—terrorist organizations which will soon be operating in New York and Los Angeles, London and Paris, unless and until America in its wisdom decides to exterminate them. So my informed source in Tel Aviv tells me.

Hollocaustianity, as you might expect, has its Devil. Every bit as evil as Christianity’s equivalent, he has replaced Satan as the most feared and hated figure ever to have existed. With a mad glint in his eye, and a frightening toothbrush mustache garnishing his upper lip,  this Demon in human guise  received his incarnation on earth in April 1889 at an inn in Ranshofen called the Gasthof  zum Pommer in the thrice-cursèd anti-Semitic kingdom of Austro-Hungary. He is known today in Vatican circles, where everyone is still forced to speak ecclesiastical Latin, as Adolphus Hitlerus Abominabilis.

Icon of Evil Adolphus Hitlerus Abominabilis
(top figure, not bottom).

Mention his name, dear reader, in hushed terms if you dare. Better still, don’t mention it at all, but leave it to Devil Worshippers such as David Irving and his brood of evil demons to do so.

The High priests of the new world religion are the orthodox Holocaust historians. Praised be their names, for their research has been mighty and marvelous and has unearthed many mindblowing facts: namely, that six million Jews died in gas chambers at Auschwitz, Chelmno, Majdanek, Belzec, Sobibor, Treblinka and elsewhere, on the express orders of  Adolphus Hitlerus Abominabilis and his evil henchmen in human form, known in Vatican circles as Jackbootici Horribiles—in simple English, “the Horrible Jackbooted Ones”. (i.e., Nazis.)

Unlike the Christian martyrs, these latter-day saints were neither crucified nor thrown to the lions in the Circus Maximus. Instead, they were tortured to death in cruel experiments by Josef Mengele (“Dr Death”), buried alive in ditches, burnt alive at the stake, asphyxiated in gas chambers, and finally turned into lampshades.

Typical lampshade? No way! DNA tests reveal that this lampshade was made of genuine human skin, probably one of millions made by evil Nazis and sold them to unsuspecting department stores all over the world. (See here)

The new world religion, Hollocaustianity, also has its temples: these are known as Holocaust Museums. They are being built now in ever increasing quantities thanks to the generosity of taxpayers (Jewish as well as non-Jewish) whose earnings are being earmarked not only for the construction of these grim edifices in honor of King Khazar but for new wars being fought on his behalf in Iraq, Afghanistan and other Islamic countries such as Pakistan.

Here in Afpak, incidentally, even the women and children are so evil that they need to be destroyed by deadly drones from the sky, known in Vatican circles as Arma Ignavi  (“The Coward’s Weapon”). Wedding parties are obliterated. Ambulances speeding to rescue the dying are blown to smithereens. Even mothers scrabbling in the ruins to pull their mangled children from the rubble are blown off the face of the earth. Why? Because they are all terrorists who refuse to worship King Khazar, the Jewish God of War whose worship in America has now become obligatory.

These lethal drone weapons (Arma Ignavi) are operated by courageous American warriors in shirtsleeves (sometimes known as “chickenhawks” but more often as “inglourious basterds”) who sit in front of computer screens in distant America playing an exciting new war game known as “Collateral Damage”.

Yea, the New World  Religion also hath its “Day of Remembrance” (27 January), on which day the world is solemnly besought to Remember The Six Million Who Died. It has its saints and its martyrs: the victims who die and the victims who survive and today receive the holy Eucharist—the Bread of Life—known as “Holocaust reparations”.

It has its prophets too: noble eyewitnesses such Elie Wiezel and Binjamin Wilkomirski, both  known and honored for their unswerving devotion to the Truth.

It has its patron saint, Anne Frank, known in Vatican circles as Puella Pulchra Ballpointica, the Beautiful Girl with the Ballpoint Pen.

PUELLA PULCHRA BALLPOINTICA, the “Beautiful Girl with the Ballpoint Pen,” the only saint in history to travel into the future to borrow a ballpoint pen and then relocate back to the past in order to complete her famous manuscript, The Diary of Anne Frank”.

Hollocaustianity has its pilgrims, its publishing houses, its clergy, its laity. It even has its Inquisition in sixteen countries, where denial of its sacred tenets are serious crimes resulting in imprisonment: Austria, Belgium, Canada, Czech Republic, France, Germany, Hungary, Israel, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, and Switzerland.

A shocking email appeared in my inbox this morning which almost made my eyes pop from their sockets. It contained this appalling quotation from evil Holocaust Denier Germar Rudolf, actually arguing that Israel has exploited the Holocaust to carry out a genocidal program of its own against the Palestinians. Look at his picture on the left. Who would have thought this pretty little boy (age 8 in the picture) would grow up one day to become such an evil monster of Thought Crime?

“This new religion,” he raves, “serves many Jews in general and the Apartheid State of Israel in particular as a sword and shield in their interactions with gentiles and foreign nations. To prevent a new “Holocaust,” Israel is allowed to commit any cruelty, wage any war, violate any international law it likes. They get away with (almost) anything. But this new superstition also serves many other nations as a bogeyman to make their own populations accept wars. First they accuse a foreign leader of a Holocaust – committed or planned – then they start the war. It works shockingly well.” (To verify this appalling quote, click HERE).

Here is the evil Thought Criminal again, age 39, doing his best to look charming and acceptably human. He fails!  Note the Satanic smile and the white-hot glow of hellfire in his evil eyes. This monster of Historical Distortionism has recently been interviewed by the equally insane Dr David Duke on the Jeff Rense Radio satellite network that goes all over the world. If you want to hear these fiends in human form discuss the new world religion, Holocaustianity, this is your chance.

Don’t miss this incredibly EVIL SHOW (55 mins.) which breaks new ground in THOUGHT CRIME!

Listen to it HERE!

______________________________________________________________
“Pandora Pushkin” is a pseudonym for a writer who has written many other articles for the internet under other names.

So What?

A friend recently alerted me to an upcoming lecture tour by another “holocaust survivor”.  This woman, Irene Zisblatt, that is coming to an elementary school near you…has got to rank second only to Elie “Weasel” in her popularity on the holohoax-lie circuit.

But the lying Weasel has got nothing on this “Granny-like” character.
She specializes in spreading her lies to school children.  I would imagine that these kids sit in credulous awe as “Granny” weaves her fairy tales of evil doctors, bitch guards and swallowing then shitting diamonds. And how she outwitted them all to come to America and live to tell the tale.

Ok.  We all know the drill.  We have all had to put up with this shit for 40-50 years in the Occident.
Another acquaintance asked me once, after hearing me rail on against this disgusting propaganda…”So what?”  “So what if their tales are embellished…or even completely false?…what harm does it do?”  Well, there’s the rub, isn’t it.  What harm indeed.
Well, if it was just another ‘story’ told by ancients sitting around the nursing home like the following…each trying to out-do the other, it would be hilarious and harmless:

But to answer the question posed, it requires quite a bit more examination, and on multiple levels.
First, imagine yourself as a ten-year-old child being corralled into
an auditorium…and lo and behold, there is a woman onstage that looks just like your Grandmother.  She begins weaving these tales and says the word “poop”.  That’s fun.  Then she tells of evil villains, gas-chambers and jews.  You don’t even know what a jew is, but this story is better than anything your Gran tells you before bed!  These tales go to a special part of your brain’s filing system.  All wound around fairy tales and spooks under your bed.  But as you grow these tales are moved to the “known to be true” part of your cranium for they are reinforced by “facts” spewed out daily in the media about that time that your surrogate Granny told you of.  Six million.  Six million.  Then you feel yourself lucky to have been in the same room as this woman that told you the “truth”, way back then. Very impressive.


Next, even though all of these stories of concentration camp horrors have been debunked at one time or another, it is the constant reminder that jews are the eternal victim.  Oh, you may not go to hear Eva Kor, or pay to see “Inglorious Basterds“…but the images and the illusion of truth surrounds these slickly-marketed myths.  And you and your kids buy it like a Big Mac.  Gobble it down without tasting it.  Don’t listen to the warnings about the hazards of such fair…gobble it down.  The next one is even bigger and better.  And what does all this accomplish?  You have solidified the eternally-suffering-jew in your psyche.  Nothing can remove it.  He is playing his sad fiddle from the roof and you cannot deny him.
So when he tells you again of his suffering the concentration-camp type of hatred from the next evil Hitler…you believe.  You believe so much that you allow your child to die in his wars.  It is that simple.  It produces that much horror.  This holohoax excuses ten-times the detestable behaviour of those mythical Nazi “death camps”.  It is meant to excuse the TRUE open air prison camp that is Gaza.  It is meant to make you turn a blind eye to the unspeakable murder of women and children.  And it all starts with a lie.  The big lie.

What I Am Not…

Like most boys in the 50’s to 60’s, posers or serious musicians, I learned at least to make some noise on the 6-string instrument of the day.  I plinked and plunked till I could make some coherent melodies without accompaniment.  That amazes a young person.  The self-taught(usually)craft of actually expressing oneself through music.  No matter how bad or commercially inviable.  As obi-wan said “you have just taken a step into a much larger world”…or something platitudinous like that.  Besides it was hugely fun to slam out power-chords and pretend to be Hendrix or Ray Davies.  Oh well, even now many young folks still find a part of themselves in the vibrations of these guitar strings.  No matter how much of their personalities as adults remain in this rudimentary understanding of the universal language…it is character building at the very least. 

Some understand this language of music better than others.  Or at least how to speak it.  Some keep it as a hobby, and use this experience as a language-lesson, if you will, that affords a keener appreciation of the efforts of those that stuck with it.  I fell into the latter category over the years.  So I am not a musician.

Gilad Atzmon is.  Gilad is also a jew. I can’t help but like this guy.  For both reasons.  Before you pick your jaw up off the floor from hearing that I like a person BECAUSE they are jewish…let me explain.  In his book “The Wandering Who?”, which I truly enjoyed reading, he struck a chord with me.  He mentions there that a huge influence on his self-image as a younger man, was a book written by the self-hating jew, Otto Weininger; “Sex And Character”.  I too have read this book and also enjoyed it. In the book, Weininger(whom is reputed to have received praise as the
“only good jew” from Adolph Hitler)stated essentially that what he hated about jews was what he saw and hated in himself.  I have always agreed with this on a more universal scale.  I think we all do.  Hate others for what we see, or at least see the potential for, in ourselves.  For instance, I hate racism because I was raised around it. I abhor religion in general because I was also so influenced.  So this can be a mechanism for positive denial of a negative influence.  And, if you read and listen to Atzmon, you will understand what I mean.


To me, he possesses a huge portion of quintessential “jewishness” himself.  He is comfortable in the spotlight, vain and impressed by his own opinions and musical abilities.  But this is one of those rare occasions in which someone’s jewish cultural upbringing serves them well.  And I don’t necessarily say that just because I agree with most that he has to say.  He fully understands (even more so than most Gentiles because he is an israeli jew) what is “hate-able” about judaism and the criminal state of israel on a very fundamental level, and exposes it. Exposes and disavows it.  I have to respect that. Directly from the horse’s mouth.

I will not be as successful as Atzmon in my efforts in publishing a book.  And definitely not as successful as a musician.  That’s okay.  I gave up on music at about the same time I was beginning to understand “jewishness” from other horses’ mouths.  And even though we espouse essentially the same philosophy regarding the negative force of the yiddish, Atzmon is jewish himself…and it is tough to make the label “anti-semite” stick on an israeli-born jew.  The Western jewish power establishment has fits trying to do so…but fewer and fewer are buying it.  So he is a force on our side. To me this learned hubris of his is what is needed, because it is used for good.  Even though he will not, or as yet hasn’t, even gone into the subject of holocaust-revisionism(although I have never heard him drone the 6-million mantra)…still, this is friendly-fire in the nest of vipers in which he was raised and I give it a standing ovation.  And he is a hell of a tenor-sax man.
But I don’t mean to go on about him as if he was a hero.  There are no heroes.  Not even guitar-ones…well, with the possible exception of Jimi Hendrix. 
So on this Cinco-de-Mayo, and the night of the “Super-moon” and the Kentucky Derby and on and on…  Maybe there is some magic in the ether.  Maybe not.  Maybe there is a super-war on the horizon…maybe that is just wanna-be jazz musicians and their fear-mongering crap.  It just feels as if there is something about to be unveiled.  “Something wonderful” perhaps, as the spirit of Dave Bowman would tell us. 


But another thing that I am not, besides being a jew or a musician…is a prophet.  Come to think of it, I am probably as comfortable in my life for what I am not, as much as for what I am.  Go figure.

Progress, Reviews And Thanks…

I have been writing something all my life.  Be it prose or poetry, I got hooked on lining up my thoughts horizontally using subjects and verbs as weapons, very early. Most was negligible.  But that doesn’t matter to one driven to do this “writing” thing.  I even had some stuff published in periodicals of various sorts over the years.  It’s fun for me. Like a “poser” author.
I even declared it as a major in college.  Well…English Lit, for a couple years.  Took creative writing courses.  Learned the proper way to communicate using the written language.  I didn’t use much of what I learned…but you have to know the rules to break them effectively, I think.  So many things got in the way, however.  Mentally weak, I guess.  Too much so, to set aside the temptations of life long enough to pursue writing as a  real vocation.  Oh well, maybe in my next life.  But wait.
Out of the blue I got an offer for a book deal. Wow.  A publisher friend-of-a-friend offered to put out a collection of my essays from this site.  I then started to learn how many concessions are required to sell your prose.  Change this.  Add to that.  You can’t say that. Arrange this differently…ad frustratum.

 It became a forbidding business deal…or more like a poker game.  “I’ll see your title, and raise you a foreword”.
So much of this took place in a short span of negotiations, that I began to wonder exactly what it was of mine that I was about to allow to be published.  I understood, for example, the two-year ordeal that Harper Lee went through with editors to get “Atticus” on the bookshelves.  I think it can become like that.  A work, an idea…can be a battle to get to print.  Battles, I have enough of.  But it did give me the idea, after eventually turning down the original offer to have my stuff printed as a book…to self-publish.  It’s a new century after all.  We don’t have to kowtow to a(kosher) publishing establishment that have their own ideas about the story you want to tell.  So, I gave it a shot.  Not easy, I can tell you.  I have instantly gained a great deal of respect for editors and am learning that book marketing people don’t just sit around on their hands in their chosen vocation.  I am learning a lot through this experience and I’m sure there are more lessons to come.  But I am doing it.

So I finally got this book printed.  I am the publisher.  I couldn’t be happier with the contents.  The advantage of self-publishing is that everything you want…you get.  This can also be a drawback.  I have gone through several horribly time-consuming total revisions just to get this project where it is.  And now I learn that to market it anywhere other than here, I have to do an entirely new revision to make it align with industry standards mechanically, concerning definitive margin size, page numbering codes, software backups…etc.  I figure I will jump off that bridge when I come to it.  And it looks like I am just about to.
So far the sales are astounding me.  Way more than I expected already and the book hasn’t even been in print a week.  Neat!  To those of you that have already purchased my little foray into publishing, I thank you sincerely.  To those that are aware of it, but are waiting for reviews…they are starting to roll in  (review attached at bottom).

I’m going to break my arm from so much self-back-patting here…but I actually sat down and read my book…and I liked it.  Me.  The guy that doesn’t much care for my own writing after the fact.  The guy that always thinks that I could have said it better.  I actually got a charge and quite a few chuckles out of reading my own book!  I know…what hubris.  What inflated self-adulation, huh?  Well, I am going to allow myself this tiny bit of pride…just this once.

But my self-assessment goes deeper than that.  It is also the statement that I am trying to make.  Take or leave my prose styling, you gotta acknowledge the sheer in-your-face-ness of the book.  And I’m also a bit proud to have made my contribution to fighting the jewish powers that be and marketing it in “their” world.  For that is the statement I am attempting with this latter-day effort of publishing my thoughts on paper.  And no matter how many copies are distributed over time, I can rest assured that I haven’t just jabbered in the cyber-netherworld about doing something tangible(as I am wont to do)…I am doing it.  And sometime in the  future, my family will be sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table… and I won’t mind if they remember the crazy guy by the book(s?) he published.


Now at this point I have a few accolades to pass out to my friends.  I want to thank all that have helped me in this effort, by linking my book on their sites.  I am humbled by the support I have gotten from: Veritas, Les Visible, Noor, Kenny and Dr. Lasha Darkmoon.  These folks are true friends by going out on a limb for me and hawking my wares without even having read the book.  I am truly grateful for the trust they have placed in my publishing mission, sight-unseen.  You don’t come across people with such confidence in others every day.  I thank you all…and hope my effort does not disappoint your followers that purchase the tome through your suggestion.  If there is anything I have always lacked, it is the ability to self-promote.  It is nice to know that others will do that for you.  Again…thank you.

How Dare I: Collected Essays On The Destructive Force of Judaism

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A book review of TJ Chaney’s long-awaited volume of essays on the Jewish Problem. Better known to his friends as “Timster”, TJ Chaney has written a series of essays  that will help to illuminate the darker corners of the Jewish psyche, thereby causing consternation in certain quarters and increasing this talented writer’s slowly growing notoriety.

If you want to live a dull and boring life and die ignorant in bed, don’t buy this book! It’s not for you. But if, on the other hand, you are ready to experience the shock of the new and feel a tingle of excitement run down your spine from ideas that are as original as they are outrageous, then this is the book for you.

Buy it, borrow it, steal it, but whatever you do — READ it!  

—  Lasha Darkmoon 

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HOW DARE I: Collected Essays on the Destructive Force of Judaism, reviewed by “J”

Anti-Semite. Anti-what?

Until my path crossed with TJ Chaney’s, I was conditioned to believe the MSM’s “ideal” of what an anti-semite is supposed to be.

Images of pissed off burly guys and women with “tudes” about the state of things. Loners. People who are angry for uncertain (usually racist) reasons and ambitious to a dangerous fault for the same wrong reasons; essentially, those who should be ostracized. You know, the ones your mother warned you about.

I never really had any use for such conversations. Or such people. Hatred, division, racism, greed, violence and all their filthy cousins and relatives are nothing but poison. Period.

You can love people, but not their actions.

I’ve always been quite cautious about jumping on wagons. Generally, they are moving too fast, and I don’t have all my shit packed. But that’s beside the point. My introduction to TJ was happenstance at best.

I stumbled onto his path and decided to stay for a bit. Least give him a shot. He sounded intelligent. But I wasn’t buying what he had to say. Even today, I am skeptical. I can’t make the leap. Yes, I am afraid of heights, but that’s nothing to do with it. I just wanna make sure the cause I am jumping for is all it seems. Cause if I’m gonna get hurt or die from the impact at the bottom, it better be worth it or I’ll be very unhappy.

Intrigued is the only word that comes to mind at the moment. He dropped names, like Corrie, Frank, King, and on and on. It was the world according to TJ. And I wasn’t buying it. Don’t get me wrong, I was fascinated. But the pieces wouldn’t fit right in my head, or my heart. What do you mean the history books aren’t accurate? People lie? Really? (Ok, I’m not THAT naïve, but it can be a shock when you learn things aren’t right and those in charge of telling you the right thing are mistaken or purposely misleading.)

On the surface, the stories he told made sense, but the longer I would think about them the more twisted the avenues became and all sorts of cracks and (what I perceived to be) potholes would emerge. There was NO WAY I could come to terms with a huge Master Plan. Not something this intricate. So blatantly obvious, yet somehow still subtle, to the oblivious public.

I have faith in the Human Race, but none of us have that kind of time on our hands. Tell them what they wanna hear, not what they need to know. First came the blog. Then, long discussions. And, now, the book.

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 “An attempt to lead you down a twisting path to that place of my understanding of all things judaic.”

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We are all busy with our lives. Gazing into the funhouse mirrors (television, advertisements, movies, blah blah blah) I see how this Influence TJ speaks of could be left to fester … but … where to begin to understand?

The collected How Dare I essays are a great place to start. Exploring the deeply rooted ties through his eyes; TJ’s made a study of watching the Monster mature to the beast manning the Veil.

I applaud his courageous statement in the face of what he terms to be a cult-like racism disguised as religion. There’s definitely something amiss. But I’m still not convinced of an all encompassing Master Ideal . . .  Complete with a lil Mini-Me; his pinkie finger poised to the corner of maniacal lips stifling the stereotypical Evil Laugh.

The Essays offer a crisp look through the eyes of an all but casual observer. From early experiences to present day, TJ offers a good mix of angles, perception and possibilities. Make no mistake, the words he’s penned are more deeply rooted than mere tangents and musings. I don’t doubt he is onto something, but I ask for more.

I own no silverware. I refuse to be spoon-fed.

I don’t care if the words fall from the lips of the most revered, well-known personality in the world. And, fortunately or unfortunately, however one chooses to look at it, TJ is no different.

I invite all those who feel the same to give the Essays a chance. Hop, skip, jump or read straight through. Whatever the case, I know you will walk away with a starting point, something that strikes a cord. That cord may not be in tune initially, but sleep on it and revisit.

Use your hands and dig. Use the Essays as they’re intended. A jumping off point.

TJ is not your teacher.

He is not my teacher.

In fact, I don’t think he even holds a teaching license if you wanna get technical about it.

He is merely an observer who has found the courage to speak up.