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‘Postal Customer’
A View of Postmodern Dental Care

At http://www.jameslafond/yourlobotomy

we cover it all, even dental advertisements. If you doubt my credentials or my eyesight go to and see for yourself.

This link takes you to a picture of some smirking white devil—do not trust his ass! The mailer on this table says otherwise to his guise... Sorry, Boss, gettin' ahead of maself...

Furthermore, my fraudulent self is stepping back, unhooking the battery cables attached to my literary slave’s kokobolos and the battery of Tony Rooster’s 1954 Chevy, and letting the real brain trust behind my work have a free hand… Get to it, Boy. My patience does have an end.

“Some of that cheap rum would be nice Master Devil-How-He-Do—fo a certain that saquatch-so-in-so ‘ill be suckin’ it down after work anyhow. Umhmm, hot damn if I ain’t black as Uncle Sam—you know that were Freddie Douglas, right? I can see some learnin’ has yet to be got up in that devil brain… Oh, Lordly that’s smooth…

Okay, what yo have here is some slave mistress bullshit to be sure. In the foreground of this dental advertisement is the best lookin’ black man I’ve ever seen. So much so that if I were to be reincarnated, after all I’ve been through, I’d come back as a black man if it could be him, but not if I had to be owned by that pale goddess clutching him with her right hand.

Now, you pencil-dick crackers might think this shot is aimed at you, that he’s cackling, “look what I got,” but no, his right hand reaching up to peel this paw of ghostly ownership from his mighty, sweater-sheathed Bantu breast, is saying, “Look, Girl you fine en all—white besides—but don’t be latching on to me like I’m some Mandigo buck you just paid $1,300 for down in Charleston Harbor.”

Then, overtop comes her left hand, covering his in a conformation of ownership—over his very heart don’t you know, and the elongated cackle of her ghost face under that dead looking bleached hair and black brow paint broadcasts to the world, “That’s right, bitchez, this hunk is mine—en don’t you move, Lamont or all call the police and tell them you hit me then sue their asses and become a millionaire after they sink your black ass six feet down…Good Boy! Who’s your mamma!”

See, that’s how they do a brother. The two types of people who are not pictured here are cracker men and black women, who respectively control most of America’s money, with rich crackers owning 98% of everything and black women given the queen’s portion of 2%, while a brother is left to slave in the boudoir of some ghetto queen or some paleface fiend like this scary looking bitch looking like the Wicked Witch of the West, clinging like a gargoyle to a man who should have been a king in his own land!

Then, up in the right hand corner, with no need to appeal to the black woman who is bought off with her government job, or the tiny percent of white men who control every puppet string in the economy, we have the service providers, two dentists, a pretty, mixed race woman with a German last name, certainly an army brat with just enough African DNA to offset that pin-straight nose with black hair and eyes too far apart for a pure Caucasoid—unless she was Polish. Now, next to Maghan Markle, just so everyone knows that there is some high IQ in that dentistry office, is a pasty white Asian man—whiter than your Devil-how-he-do ass by the light of the silver moon!

There you go, selling to white women and their pets, as expressed by homosexual white men and sterile white women, on behalf of The Man, who gathers us all in the darkness, binds us to his twisted will, above the all-tempering forge of his aberrant desire, and remains hungry still.

-Stevedore Jackson, Entire.

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