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Head on a Swivel
Ex Marine in Baltimore

Head on a swivel, head on a swivel. If its true, good for this guy.

-Mescaline Franklin

While editing this article I received a phone call, with a story that was very pertinent to this ex-marine's account of life in Dindustan: 'Already In Mexico'

Mescaline, you and five other readers, including SS Sam down in Argentina, sent me this link so it is about time I read it.

Okay. Despite being an Ex marine, this man had no survival instincts until he was injured, assumed he was in some liberal paradise and sat like meat in a tray in his already prepared coffin [or APC as grunts used to call Armored Fighting Vehicles].

I have numerous people give me a hard time for refusing to sit in a car while they get in and begin starting it up.

I do not get in while a male is on foot within 40 paces and never belt up until it is rolling.

What is this guy's answer to surviving Dindustan?

To use that car to live in an out of the way place. He marks the car that got him brain damaged and nearly killed as his salvation, counting his wits for nothing. And this is a war fighter! Read how brainwashed he was to amble about in civility mode in an utterly criminalized world.

He now lives in Annapolis, where he did his rabbit run to, though he still works in Baltimore. He seems to think the answer is to hide in a distant enclave and wait for the mass transit to stop running. I don't suppose he realizes yet that Annapolis will be connected—indeed, it is already linked by one extended bus line. Furthermore, as he runs and hides after work, he must still negotiate the criminalized disarmament zone. And last but not least, is why does he think that kid wanted his vehicle?

The kid wants the vehicle for his gang set, who will pile into it, with him as the hero prize-taker and then go hunting for whitey as far away as 40 miles. Now, once these dindu meet-puppets drive the low hanging Caucasian fruit to places as far away as Annapolis, do you think they will stop and say to one another, "Yo, I don' know about drivin' no extra five minutes jus' too bang some cracka upside 'is head and tax his bitche's ass? How 'bout we stay in B'more and throw down with the BGF—only half of us 'ill get killed and the otha half 'ill have time to smoke dey las' weed 'fo dem niggaz come fo payback."

Really, is this what Leroy and Jamal are going to say, or are they going to drive that extra 10 miles to dig a white rabbit out of its dry-walled hole?

This man is worth more to me and to any other right-thinking Aryan, than the entire Traitorous U.S. Government, including the Mercenary Marine Corp, yet he was never worth as much in his own eyes as the Corp he served. If he were in Kandahar, would he have sat texting while his commander snoozed in his hummer, or would he have practiced due diligence?

Even after his experience his answer is to liberal up and rabbit for the high grass, still not valuing his soul, his seed, his land, the land of his ancestors as much as he valued the killing machine he once served. And, since serving, he has failed to apply any of his service lessons in his own cause.

This man redeemed himself through fighting, which is the ultimate redemptive masculine action. But he still seems wedded to macro-solutions and the liberal world view. All government-action solutions are liberal and leftist, all.

He was born into a world where a man had zero responsibility to protect himself or his loved ones.

He is waking up to the fact that this Lie is not sufficient to permit his continued emasculation without paying a price such as he has, mere blocks from where a bartender who may have served him, was recently gunned down in what appeared to be the very lot he was attacked in.

Wake up!

The hoodrats are not going away. They are not staying put. They are being marshaled and sent after you. If the U. S. Marines can't teach you how to deal with hoodrats, perhaps you can pick up a Robert E. Howard book and read it! Or listen below.

The inn keeper, the city guard, the high priest, the dancing girl, all represent civilization. The cannibals and Conan represent the competing truths of barbarism.

This has become our world.

The Hunt for Whitey

Recognizing and Surviving the Condition of Anarcho-Tyranny

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