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Who is the Master Race?
Notes on the Ancient Gods among Us by James LaFond and Stevedore Jackson


Yesterday, a nice balmy Sunday in late March in Portland Oregon, I set outside with The Colonel and his Woman, musing about the difference between life on the Leased Coast and the Bereft Coast and Mandy spoke up and said:

“A friend of mine from back east who lives here now told me that the difference between back East and out here is that back there people will tell you what they think of you, but here they will be nice to your face and then speak about you behind your back. I never thought about that until a little while ago when I observed it, and these people were saying terrible things in a store about someone they had just been so cordial with.”

The Colonel and I nodded, wondering what this foretold and I mused out loud:

“There is a certain honesty to a man back in Baltimore looking at you and saying, ‘Yo, where yo goin’ wit my shoes on,’ in that he is expressing his desire for your shoes and his clear intention of acquiring them by force or suggestion. Ironically, our Civilized notion of violence, as having to be a voluntary contest between two men, and our excusing of intimidation as a non-violent, voluntary activity on the part of the terrorized prey, shines through and offers a hint that we, as civilized palefaces are indeed controlled by deeper more powerful forces, namely the will of our masters. If you think this is strange consider that diction from African American ghettos has been penetrating the standard English American dialect for decades now and that such bedrock social norms as the Chuck Norris Rule originated in those same ghettos, and ironically, Chuck Norris’s side kick on the Texas Ranger show was a black man from Baltimore!"

The Colonel frowned from below his handlebar mustache and, more importantly, Mandy batted eyes that said, "Oh Colonel, I am so very entertained by this eccentric friend of yours," and the Colonel gave me the wink that said, "Good man, Sergeant, for convincing this here young doll that she could have done far worse than marry this old man-hunter."

Above is even more scientific evidence than I initially thought to bring to the table, so below I will bring even more, with the help of my now sober assistant and fact-checker, Stevedore.

Enter a True Student of the Human Condition

Enough of listening to cracker ideas crumble.

It's time to engage white deviltry in a metaphysical rumble.

The Chuck Norris Rule was recently enforced by a jury in Portland Oregon, in the case of a motorist who had retreated to his car from an ebon warrior who was attacking him with a steel pipe. The man then ran over the ebon warrior, killing him. Instead of being convicted of manslaughter the defender, for breaking the Chuck Norris Rule, and declining to fight pipe against pipe, was sentenced to life in prison on a first degree murder conviction with a racial rider, as he was also found guilty of being born to European American parents and therefore filled with hate towards people of African Ascent.

So, in the hundreds of attacks against James by well-meaning [his dumb ass won’t even catch this shit!] people of various races, only African American men have insisted that something that was his was theirs. In the thousands of accounts he has recorded of violent, deeds, only men of this racial background had made such claims. While not going so far as to suggest a correction in The Bell Curve book hypothesis, we would point out that a “high time preference” which has been cited repeatedly as a reason for ebon students failing to thrive in pale education systems, may in fact be a “high Time preference.”

That’s right, capitalize that shit!

Look, in European mythos only Odin or The Holy Spirit are able to travel through Time in two directions while men travel only forward into Time. As a way of describing how African American culture is the preeminent cultural form in America society despite being unable to grow our population beyond 13% of the body politic and that being but 5% of the body economic, is due to the very real phenomena of Cyclic Suggestion, a form of Anachronistic Travel—Time Travel if you must—in which the paleface walking with what he thinks are his shoes on, is questioned, quite convincingly, “Yo, what you doin’ wit my shoes?”

You see, the typical paleface, being a witless ape whose ancestors suffered from vitamin D deficiency for 250,000 years, thinks there has been a mistake. The white devil type of paleface will go to the crux and assume this is a lie and that the speaker is an aggressor, or grifter of the lowest sort and then that shit is goin’ ta turn sour.

But in reality, what has happened, is that the ebon warrior, upon seeing a pair of shoes that would be more productive on his feet than on the shiftless pale feet they are currently on, sacrifices his Chronological IQ—actually taking some brain damage here for the greater good of society, which will be better served by his black ass wearing those shoes than this stupid white muthafucka prancing around in them—casts himself forward in Time, puts the shoes on his princely feet as they are given over by the lowly cave person, tries them on, gets a job, works a job in those shoes, gets unjustly fired in those very shoes, runs off with some reparations from that ghost man who done fired him for no cause, gets his ass shot by a cop, thereby employing an entire chain of college graduates in his processing, trial, law suits—etc., you get it, all in those very shoes. He then travels back in Time [Stevedore says this is why he has a bigger penis than me, because of the “Inverse Gravity,” but I know better, having come up with this theory like Newton hit on the head by an apple at that beer garden with The Colonel] back into his current body, knowing with anachronistic surety that those shoes had worked many a day on his own feet after they were given by this man, who being a stupid cracker cannot think anachronistically, and now, you got an “ass whoopin” or a “here you go, sir,” or, in case our hero is less good at devil finding than he is at Time Flying, an “oops, white devil on deck situation.”

So there you go, palefaces. Unknown to your lineal minds, the cyclic mind of each and every African American among you gives him the ability to walk through Time like Odin or the current Heavenly Honcho. That’s what metaphysical centralization gets you. Now your ghostly pale ass is stuck inside of Time and your former melanin-blessed [1] victims are on it.

How’s it feel, Cracka Jack?

Notes

-1. Stevedore has asserted—without clinical evidence—that melanin, when activated by alcohol—preferably Don Cristobol Rum, facilitates anachronistic transmigration of the African Soul and has suggested a double-blind study in which he and I drink a bottle of rum, while Big Tony and Ezzard the Bantu Chieftain drink water, and has assured me that I will awake as if by magic, barefoot with he in my negro-stompin' boots, having similarly acquired Yeti Waters' guitar through anochronological means, which he ensures me will provide the key to Ezzard's woman's heart. I suspect this might be a ruse to send me off to the liquor store again—but science is science said the ghost man...

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