Clown Juice and the Hebros

My YouTube channel.

Black Hebrew terrorist goes into the Narrate-o-Matic, comes out white. Poor bastard.
The New York Times:

For almost two decades, the intelligence bureau of the New York Police Department has built a security apparatus designed to track international terror groups like Al Qaeda and the Islamic State.
Now, the department is aiming those resources at a different target: far-right and extremist hate groups.

Police officials say they have formed a new unit within the department’s intelligence bureau, known as “Racially and Ethnically Motivated Extremism,” or “R.E.M.E,” that will be primarily dedicated to investigating terror threats from far-right and neo-Nazi organizations, including groups like the Atomwaffen Division and The Proud Boys.

The unit became operational early this month, and already has dozens of open investigations, police officials said.

John Miller, the commissioner of the intelligence division, said the far-right extremist groups are not that different in nature from Islamic extremist groups like Al Qaeda. “There’s no different recipe except our offenders are likely to be on the ground here,” he said in an interview.

Mayor Bill de Blasio announced the unit’s creation on Wednesday at City Hall, just a day after a gun battle in Jersey City, during which two people with guns opened fire at two different locations, including a kosher supermarket, killing three bystanders and a Jersey City detective.

“What we saw yesterday was a premeditated, violent, anti-Semitic hate crime,” Mr. de Blasio said. “In other words, you can say it was an act of terror.”

Did super-skeevy TMZ neglect to mention the (apparent) overdose of rapper “Juice WRLD” happened during a drug bust out of a woke sense of decency?
TMZ:

Juice WRLD, the talented young rapper and singer whose career was just taking off, is dead after suffering a seizure in Chicago’s Midway airport … TMZ has learned.

Juice’s flight from California landed early Sunday morning and, after deplaning … witnesses tell us he suffered the seizure while walking through the airport. Law enforcement sources say he was bleeding from the mouth when paramedics got on scene.

We’re told Juice — real name Jarad Anthony Higgins — was still conscious when he was transported by Chicago Fire. However, he was pronounced dead a short time later at the hospital. The cause of death is unclear at this time.

Pensacola

Seeing a pair of Saudi officers in the mess hall at Pensacola Naval Air Station was a mere curiosity in 1986. My squadron had sent me there to attend something called Naval Aircrewman Candidate School. The Naval Officer Candidate School across the street from us, not long before portrayed in the film An Officer and a Gentleman, was our model. For them it was their boot camp, Officer Training School (OTS) with an aviation focus. Candidates wearing comic chrome helmets were continually harried by Marine Drill instructors, all of senior enlisted rank.

For us it was bootcamp-lite. Very light. Up early for physical training and classes and usually done and at liberty by three or so in the afternoon. The course was dominated by water survival training. You did things like swim a mile in a flight suit, tread water for ten minutes in same (not as easy as it sounds), and of course the legendary “Dilbert Dunker”, a simulated water crash wherein you had to escape blindfolded from a great big barrel dropped in the water and turned upside down.

A couple of days camping hungry at Elgin Air Force base constituted survival training. The land there was spare woods of small thin trees, strafed by the sound of OV-10 Warhogs and occasionally the sinister drone of “Puff the Magic Dragon”, a C-130 mounted with a 25mm gatling gun.

Pensacola was pleasant, especially compared to the giant scrub patch that is Camp Pendelton.
Spanish moss draped the trees and the architecture was colonial. Overhead you might see the bases’ Blue Angels flying team practicing. We chased girls at night and talked about it in the day, without shame. Political correctness wasn’t here yet.

9/11 was years away.

The Unbearable Whiteness of the Democratic Field

Kamala Harris was arguably the establishment candidate before Elizabeth Warren surged ahead, despite being virtually unknown beyond California and Democratic politics (Liz is actually getting a boost now from earlier national attention as Trump’s foil).

Lacking the desire or nerve to separate herself from the pack, which at this point resembles a dog race with fringe group approval as the rabbit, she was left with only her record as California’s Attorney General, in our season of “mass incarceration”, and her Law and Order-Homocide-SVU acquired affectations. As when grandstanding during her questioning of Bret Kavanaugh, in debate she was all pursed lips and stern gazes; she seemed to be always channeling her favorite characters from television, on television (we see a curious effect here that deserves study–art imitating life imitating art imitating life imitating…spiraling down into–imagine that–boring mediocrity).

But if that’s her real personality she must be hell to live with–“did you not, in fact,” tossed hair, lowered chin, raised eyebrow, hand on hip, “leave the cap off the toothpaste–let me finish, sir–yet again?”, head tilt, icy glare.

The occasional dips into ghetto inflection, a silly controversy about her listening to Tupac Shakur while smokng weed (to deflect from all the Tupac-wannabes she’s put in jail–a comic affirmation the Democrats have completely inverted the morality of law and order), getting smacked down by the younger Tulsi Gabbard, the bad hair days, and Willie Brown leering over it all.

Despite favorable coverage from the Press she simply couldn’t get traction with the actual human citizens the Democrats still, sullenly, have to deal with. She thought she was playing to her strengths–“black” status and a vagina–and running from her weakness–having put away countless criminals in California.

Apparently outflanking Trump on the law-and-order issue–after immigration perhaps the biggest reason for his success and something he’s abandoned entirely–was unthinkable, at least in the nomination stage. So it ended, with her finally showing some genuine emotion as she addressed her defeated troops and packed it in.

The Daily Caller reports now on the predictable response from the Democratic left:

“Obviously I’m no centrist but it’s downright effed up that smart, compelling, *very* experienced, centrist Democratic candidates of color are floundering while a smart but wildly inexperienced, centrist white mayor of teeny tiny city is surging,” liberal writer Sally Kohn wrote in a tweet. “Bad look, Democrats.”  

Left-wing commentator Lauren Duca implied that Democrats have a racism problem, as evidenced by Harris’s failed campaign. “White supremacy is not just a Fox News problem, folks,” she charged.

Some are talking of abandoning the Party:

“Kamala may not have been my number one candidate, but she belongs in the race,” added Imani Gandy, an analyst at left-wing outlet Rewire News. “Now we’ve got rich white dudes papering the airwaves with their bullshit,” Gandy wrote, adding: “I’m not voting for Biden or Buttigieg.”

Sanders is unwanted by the Party because he threatens to actually attempt some of the progressive economic reforms he champions. Oh, and he’s “white”. Tulsi Gabbard, woman of color and especially despised by Harris, likewise regarding foreign policy.

This mini-rage might be a deliberate action on behalf of the campaigns of Stacy Atkins and Julian Castro to rearrange the Democratic primaries to give the Democrats’ most powerful constituency, black women, a greater whip hand in the nomination process

“We can’t go around thanking black women for powering Democrats to victory all over the country and then at the same time, hold our first caucus and our first primary in states that have almost no African-Americans,” Secretary Castro told Vogue. “We’re right to call Republicans out when they suppress the votes of African-Americans or Latinos, but we’ve also got to recognize that this 50-year-old process was created during a time when minority voices had zero power in the party.” (Iowa initially began going first in 1972.)

Ironically, identity politics enthusiast Castro has virtually no support among Latinos. He has none among black women either, but their status as least productive, most loud demographic has made them the collective idiot king of the debased Democratic Party.

Castro concedes that the third and fourth primary states, Nevada and South Carolina, which come almost a month later, are more racially diverse. But he also says that the first states of primary season can make or break a candidate’s momentum. “Nobody can pretend that the first one or two states don’t have an oversized influence on what happens in the whole process,” he said. “If you can’t do well in Iowa or New Hampshire, then the chances of doing well in Nevada or South Carolina are much slimmer.”

The Democratic Party is the model for the future one-party United States they have planned, and they appear increasingly untenable as a meaningful institution.
Good times.

Broadcast Note


Tomorrow at 6PM Pacific Time I’ll be talking to semi-barbarian violence enthusiast (my description) and prolific author James LaFond on my YouTube channel.


Here are a couple of recent posts from James:

Our junk, or shacks, our asphalt tracks, our concrete streets are all aspects of our divine space wherein the Faith of Civic entitlement and ancestral guilt hover like Apollo Helios in his shimmering aspect about the braided head of Delphi’s drugged, bimbo Pythea. Our civic space is our holy place, where we worship at the altar which has swallowed all others, the altar of consumption. 

So today, on the way to Boomer Fred’s Baltimore County digs, the bus drove me through a construction site in Whitemarsh Maryland, where five six story, hotel sized low income housing projects are being placed dead center in the middle class urban flight zones where two generations of Baltimoreans have fled from the seething urban crime of the Citay. Each of these buildings is a barracks for the invading forces of occupation being removed from Baltimore City to make room for hipster homesteader bug people to serve the dark lords 30 miles down the rushing road… 

Here lives Boomer Fred, a father of four daughters, injured, retired, guilty, nearly expired. The eldest girl lives with a working paleface in rural Pennsylvania, the two fled rather than dead. 

The three younger girls are all hoodrat incubators, impregnated owned, and abused by Knights of the Master Race. 

Fred wants to keep the family together and has the slacker sperm donners who hate him for the terrible guilt of his race over for dinner. 

Yesterday, for Sunday dinner, when the youthful incubator showed up with her knightly master, the Ebon God, Kenny the Kang, insisted on calling Fred’s daughter vile names, threatening Fred’s wife and otherwise disrespecting Fred in what might once have been imagined as his house. 

Fred is flummoxed, wondering if he should have a fatherly talk with Kenny the next time he visits, suggesting decorum, perhaps going so far as to suggest that Kenny should not scold his daughter as a bitch and a whore in his house. 

It was painful to be regaled by the old friend about his fall from knight to serf and the elevation of a member of the race who had hunted him in the streets as a youth into his honored place. 

What was more painful was Fred’s guilt-mired lack of appreciation for yesterday’s incivility. He actually thinks this young man attacked his daughter and his wife out of some lack of impulse control, some quirk in a parentless upbringing, when in fact, an intact and unguilty paleface could tell at a breath, that Fred had been usurped from his throne, stripped forever of the dignity of the only office he has ever aspired to. 

So withers a wretched folk in the civic space of America, the Cemetery of Races.

Indeed, I’ve long thought of our situation as akin to, say, early European hunter gatherers being conquered by Aryan invaders, with our men emasculated and enslaved, our women their concubines and breeders. Of course, if we were allowed to put up a fight, we wouldn’t be having this humiliating conversation. Here’s a recent book review from James:

2017, St. Martin’s Press, NY, 199 pages

Reading Navy SEAL memoirs is a pastime of mine—having read five. However, Discipline Equals Freedom was leant to me to read by my friend Dante, who spoke of it as an inspirational book which helped his son overcome some hard times. So, I dove in with both feet and found that Discipline Equals Freedom is the most uniquely formatted book I have read and, it appears, fits very well with the military mind set of the author. Whoever the ghost writer was was brilliant. This book is a tome of bullet points, mantras, positive declarations and can-do/don’t do interpretations of dilemmas we all face. 

Coming from a certified Deep State ass-kicking machine who trains with top MMA pros like Tito Ortiz [pictured in training photos] Willink is very convincing and to-the-point without being mechanical but rather inspirational. His advice on what martial arts one should train in according to what priority and in what order is excellent, but does reflect the budget of a high-earner and is something I never could have pursued as a low life in Baltimore, Maryland when I was the age of the guys he is writing for. But then again, Willink is all about positive energy and outcomes and would possibly remark that he doesn’t write for losers, but for winners. 

If you are an anti-statist, a free-thinker, a questioner and investigator of the human condition, and you have not served as a slave of the most effective military machine to ever stalk the earth, that is the U.S. military which holds nearly 1,000 war bases in foreign nations and is the virtual Lord of Hosts and God in Heaven summoned and called down by people of all classes, factions and nations to smite the Unbeliever, to displace those governments and murder people who do not worship the Divine American Body Economic, than you should partake of this strong man’s pitiless perspective. For, the servants of evil are very often good. They must be to be effective, to be good men in a vile cause. Wallink and his ilk have battled the world over to install rapacious engine of economic extraction, to install tyrants, implement and facilitate crimes against humanity, facilitate drug shipments to their home nation, promote pornography-based cultural values, and in large measure, such men prevail, succeed and survive because they are better quality people than the poor bastards who are the unwilling recipients of our good intentions. 

In the end, I care not a lick about the murder Americans commit across the world in my name, at the hands of men like Willink. What I do care about is that one day, if some infotech company’s censorship functionaries decide I need to die, that all they will have to do to accomplish it, is to quote this article and snippets of various other pieces I have written critical of America, present me to Willink as an Enemy of Freedom, and he will dispose of me in some manner for a handsome fee, and I will have been declared as having shot myself in the back of the head with a hunting rifle. 

It took 2 hours over 2 days at Bear Lake, Utah to read Willink’s book, while resting between my labors building Dante a retaining wall, and, as I hefted each block, flipped each railroad tie, dug each shovel full of earth, I’d imagine how Willink would kill me “right now” and if I’d even know it happened, and in the end decided I was so easy to kill while working that he’d probably send a Mexican to do it. 

Do yourself a favor and read Discipline Equals Freedom, a mantra I live by, and keep in mind that the man that wrote it and his brand of high-resolution postmodern warriors, have been hunting U.S. citizens in the U.S. since at least 2016 and probably earlier. This is the kind of man that will be called in on you when you swerve out of your lane in the long night to come. Willink’s premise and title, Discipline Equals Freedom is profoundly true, as is his mantra Hesitation is the Enemy. These are both internal concepts.  

However, as noted above, discipline such as that demonstrated by apex warrior types is the ultimate external enemy, for such men have the capacity to discipline their mind to such a degree as to serve naked evil in the shadows of the human sheepfold. My friend Tony Cox has a profound distrust of such discipline, for he has seen it manifested by mega-PIGs in criminal settings. 

As always, there is a third view. 

What have Tony [a barbarian], myself, a disciplined barbarian advocate, and Willink [a highly disciplined agent of Civilization] in common? 

We have actionism in common and Willink’s existence demands that Tony and I be better.
None of us hold commonality with the bleating flocks and folds of sheeple or even the puppet masters—wolfish minds in sheepish bodies—which deploy men like Willink to further their many evil desires. In the end, in my simian mind, I only have meaning because someone like Willink is training to kill me [as an anonymous “bad guy”] for stepping out of my assigned lane, when and if the order comes. And even then, if I had been granted a moment of clarity before the end, I’d admire my killer and some part of him would know jealousy for me as he left me dead in the dirt and walked away wondering if he could have been free like I had been and if his bid would have ended as finally. 

What use is an enemy to the combatant if you cannot salute him?

Okay, but it will be only my cold, dead hand that salutes the Dindu tools that tie me to the stake. For, they are not my real enemy. My real enemy hides, in comfort and splendor, and the magnificence of his blind, stupid hatred.

He’s not worth saluting either–because he doesn’t really fight.

Please join us tomorrow.