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'Only the Great Khan Knows...'
Goose the Shaman Seeks Extinct Advice on Why the Men of Wind and Ice Are Now Mice


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The Mighty Khan!


3:51 PM UTC

Sorry for the delay, Goose, but summoning the Khan is neither an exact nor timely practice.

Oh the Great Khan! I'm summoning your spirit with a question that is carried to your Kurgan by this fine mare and her foal. This mare's milk gives the thickest, the smelliest koumiss in the whole steppe around Tanais. She is from the blood line that has been in our family for generations. Now she is yours.

Since I was a young boy playing with painted bones from sheep's feet, I was mystified by something I've been observing.

Why some bahadurs produce lines counting many kings, to whose names people add "The Great", and yet many of equally great warriors only remain as a lone kurgan, like our last king?

The dust receiving the painted sheep bones has much wisdom. It has footprints of many great bahadurs. It saw the King of Kings who could not poison himself when he needed to. It carried a khan who fought at what northmen call 'Grunwald'. But even it could not teach me.

Unable to find the answer on my own, I asked my Aunts. "He shouldn't have taken that slave girl of a vanquished blood line to be the wife of his children" they said.

I asked my Father, and he said "He should have produced more sons to pick the finest from".

I asked my Uncles; they said: "Serai life makes princes' hearts rot. He should have led our horde in war against more enemies, so the boys would turn into hard men".

Who is right, who to believe?

The wind was picking up again. I threw the painted bones one last time. I heard a whisper: "...only the Great Khan knows...". Or was it the rustling of the grass against the bone?

I turned, ran toward home, leaving the sheep bones where they fell. Let the steppe reclaim its own.

James responded on Sep-28-2018 at 3:58 PM:

This is such an awesome question, and such a responsibility, that I may not attempt to summon the Khan to answer it until I consult with my Shaman, Big Ron, under the Raven's Roof, this very sundown!

Oh prince of the Young Tribes, you are to be pitied for residing in such degenerate times—a shame I don’t have any aunties handy to wale for your misplaced soul!

"He shouldn't have taken that slave girl of a vanquished blood line to be the wife of his children…"

—said your aunties!

You asked this of ME!

The opinions of women must not echo in the dank of my barrow mound.

Tasty sacrifice—you are forgiven.

Next postulate.

"He should have produced more sons to pick the finest from," said your father.

There is a man who knows. Rape every bitch among the human chaff and let the sons of the weak serve the sons of the strong. This is the way.

One of the aspects of ancient life that is not appreciated by you sissies of the future is the fact that so many of a chief’s most staunch shield-companions were his brothers by the father. The degenerate Arabs have promulgated the notion that brother should murder brother to achieve possession of his goods. This is what happens when a sissy race maintains multiple wives. One must be a barbarian, a fighting man, if he is to lead his seed by example away from the petty concerns of paltry soft-cushioned souls. Men who stay behind among the women who are not addled, maimed or ancient should be exiled, their wives apportioned and their sons and daughters sold.

"Serai life makes princes' hearts rot. He should have led our horde in war against more enemies, so the boys would turn into hard men," so said your wise uncles, reinforcing the point above. The sissy that stays home among the soft cushions deserves the point of the spear. Nothing is more axiomatic of our kind than the fact that rest rots the best. This is why everything should be a contest:

Make your wife happier than your companions make their wives—by properly disrespecting her, of course!

Give more away to the unlucky and the loyal than your fellows give.

Teach more to the youths than your fellows teach—especially methods of skinning civilized scholars alive so that their books might be properly bound in their own skin.

Show more kindness to the children than your peers—if you are unlucky enough to have any—and in place of peers sandbag your interiors in this manner.

Be more ruthless in dealing with the enemy than your companions…

The point is that we should all approach life competitively, as if there were one father above us all and we all sought to bring back the largest kill from the hunt to gain his approval. How this was twisted into the Sky God becoming a sheep drover and men envisioning themselves as sheep, is a matter thankfully beyond my ken.

Be better than the rest.

Be the best.

And hopefully, your son will not become God’s jest.

Thought Crimes: Capital



Add Comment
Sam J.October 7, 2018 2:00 PM UTC

The simple answer is over 50 years of Jewish controlled media brainwashing. Constant and relentless brainwashing.
Jeremy BenthamOctober 6, 2018 6:31 PM UTC

“Make good better. Good is our teacher, and so bad is wrong.”

“It is not sufficient that I succeed - all others must fail.”

- Genghis Khan, 1162-1227
GooseOctober 6, 2018 3:22 PM UTC

For the benefit of other readers:

The King of Kings who could not poison himself was Mithridates VI, the King of Pontus. Defeated, betrayed and besieged, he attempted to end his life by taking poison (after watching his daughters take theirs), but his body refused to die: he had the habit of ingesting small dozes of poison as a conditioning agent against getting poisoned by his plotting enemies.

The Khan who fought Teutonic Knights at Grunwald was the son of the great Tokhtamysh, the enemy of the equally great Timur. He was aiding his ally the Lithuanian Grand Prince, who was temporarily sheltering him. They were victorious.