I have a number of You Tube channels I subscribe to and regularly view, which shall remain unnamed. I don’t wish any of my content providers to be painted with the sissy brush, for in this bias-confirming sissy world there is no paint remover strong enough to remove the bitch-boy tattoo.
Over the last week I have tried in vain to log on to a You Tube video—from whence, like the pallid ape I am, I check the sidebar for suggested viewing—only to find an endless stream of whining about the latest Hollywood propaganda, about the Black Panther movie.
I know nothing about the movie, the comic, their history from print to digital and care far, far less. The complaint seems to be that Hollywood is promoting an overtly racist black superhero, supported by a story line right out of Black Muslim myth, targeting American audiences in order to stir up anti-white hatred among black youth and suicidal ennui among white youth.
Since I have no time for superhero movies, as comics and their derivative films are fodder for sissy boys who’d rather sit and read their fantasy on the school bus while youth destined to be men fight the enemy, I’ll never see the movie. So, in order to keep from making assholish assumptions, let me suppose for the sake of argument that the many hours spent by You Tubers whining about this gay movie genre being taken back by their masters and given to the people who have tormented and robbed these comic geeks their entire life and suppose it is so.
So what?
Three generations of European Americans stuck their face in comic books while the world passed them by and their collective balls were burned on the Altar of their Sacred Emasculation.
Comics are for slave minds.
Movies are for slave minds.
Poetry and prose are intended for the higher mind.
Heroes are supposed to be racially identified.
Perhaps, the most iconic Hollywood hero of yesteryear was John Wayne’s protagonist in The Searchers, a man who was such a racist he was intent on killing his abducted niece for the crime of being raped by a man of another race.
There is no true human heroism without identity. Rather than bemoaning this racist black hero, you should welcome the fact that the literary and media establishments who have banished the racially identified white Euro-Hero have resurrected the racist hero and should be crowd-funding a Bran Mak Morn movie!
Think operationally, strategically. These media globalists fear the hero in all his forms and have been driven to such desperation to quench the awakening Arуan mind that they have brought back to life a racially identified actionist, which will awaken in the collective mind of the audience a desire to see his opposite.
The hero is the last vestige of decent Barbarism in our collective soul and to keep the notion alive in any sense is for the good of all men trapped in the indecency of Civilization.
But no, Whiteman, you simper in your collective well of tears!
So, Whiteman, the puppet masters of this world have been directing their minions to tear down your civic statuary, rewrite your sissy comics, replace your ass-kissing white superheroes with bitches and mudmen…
I say, good! We are about to find out how many of our race were born and bred for nothing better than servitude and how many can make the heroic cut.
Whining, begging, complaining, bemoaning, mourning anything, let alone the handing over of your fairytales to the race that has been cynically elevated above you on the collective moral plane, is slavish activity.
You know what has run through my mind, this past week as I have seen the sissy bitch-parade of Alt-Right heralds and criers bemoaning a comic fantasy?
This:
The last time one of my slave girls, looked up from her kneeling state of supplication and asked me not to make her swallow because I hadn’t been drinking enough coconut water and pineapple juice and it was going to taste like whiskey—and I pasted her just-washed hair to the side of her pretty head. Her plaintive whines followed me across the room as I reached for my bottle of Clontarff memorial whiskey.
That is the image that enters my mind every time I see some wealthy whiner padding his Paypal account by pandering to the lesser angels of our corroding Arуan nature. To be an Arуan is to share a language and identity steeped in heroic myth, not to be merely whitish of skin from plotting behind your soul softening walls.
What we really need is a white King Kong.
On Bitches
link › jameslafond.blogspot.com
Your Trojan Whorse
I hoping they make a whole slew of these"WandaLand" or whatever movies. Where the Black Man is supreme and everything is perfect. Then we pay them to move there after a huge propaganda barrage and payments of $50,000 per Dindu, which they could not resist. Then...fun!
"Movies are for slave minds."
Hey...I like movies...Of course I don;t pay for them. It might be that I use I2P to download them.
Here's a good one I saw recently "First they killed My Father"
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_They_Killed_My_Father_(film)
It was good. The only problem was the obligatory attack on the US and by extension Whites. They blamed obliquely the Khmer Rouge for the massacre of Cambodians. How the US bombing North Vietnamese in Cambodia caused the Cambodian Khmer Rouge to decide to kill off 25% of the population of Cambodia they didn't explain. The rest though was a good look at what they have in store for us in the future under whatever great leader they wish to promote or is bloodthirsty enough to take power,
"Poetry and prose are intended for the higher mind."
"...What matter? Out of cavern comes a voice,
And all it knows is that one word 'Rejoice!'
Conduct and work grow coarse, and coarse the soul,
What matter? Those that Rocky Face holds dear,
Lovers of horses and of women, shall,
From marble of a broken sepulchre..."
Blah, blah, blah...
I do not like poetry.
I like movies a lot.
They play to my slave half—I've been a good little slave most of my life.
Amen. And so it is good that these sleepers discuss the movie, that heroism may stir in shriveled sacks.
Alas, the movie transformed the heroic man of action into a man of social programs and UN membership by the end. He hardly needs his magical black skinsuit for that, when a European one with a gaily colored noose will do so much better.
There was something too whimpering about how so many alt-right you tubers went after the comic myth in this movie as if someone had rewritten scripture or gospel as porn, that struck me as noxiously weak.
Maybe you can answer a question I have. I was moving some heavy stuff and got a Charley horse or a muscle cramp. Continuous ache that peaks in very sharp pain off and on, It's in my upper back near the middle and sometimes shoots pain all the way down one of my arms. I've had muscle cramps before, when I say muscle cramp I mean severe pain where the muscle locks up tight, usually strong pressure and high force massage unlocks the muscle but this one won't go. I can feel a big knot at the spot. It's been three days. I've never had a long term cramp like this. I've tried, lots of salt, lots of magnesium calcium, lots of pressure, a massage chair thing, rubbing my back on the wall, stretching, hanging from a bar bell. Any ideas on how to get rid of this?
While I was typing this I remembered this.
A Brunette goes to the Doctor. She tells the Doctor she's in terrible pain. The Doctor says where. She says everywhere. She says it hurts when I touch my shoulder, it hurts when I touch my, hip, it hurts when I touch my leg, it just hurts. The Doctor says you're not a Brunette you're a blond aren't you. She says yes how did you know? The Doctor says, your fingers broken.
I have an appetite for things visual, so movies hit a particular spot. Much, though not all, of Hollywood's output is low quality as well as hostile to whites. But I'm also continuously fascinated by the cunning way in which whites are lead around and humiliated by the very propaganda they pay for.
It's instructive to observe the enemy's stratagems and his war-craft. Attacking, he unwittingly reveals his own fears and weaknesses.
Noxiously weak is right. That is the root of all this evil.
Jim of Jim's blog has identified the same problem, coming from an entirely different methodology, life background, and intellectual school:
blog.jim.com/uncategorized/the-ruling-underclass
Sam—It doesn't sound like a muscle pull or cramp to me. I would say that you have a vertebrae or two out of alignment, and you need to pop them back into place. A chiropractic adjustment would be best, but they can get a little spendy, so here's what I do when I have a pain in that area;
Find a surface with a rounded, kinda soft edge like an ottoman. Lie on your back, with the edge more or less under the affected area. RELAX, and let your head drop toward the ground so you're sorta bent backwards. EXHALE, and hold the position for a while. If you hear/feel a crack or even a deep thunk, you will have corrected the problem. Do this not only when you get a pain, but also as part of your regular exercise regime.
Since the spine is a unit, you might want to work downstream of the problem area, as well. Lie on your back on a hard surface, pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them. again, exhale, relax, and hold. Wait for the pop that brings sweet, sweet relief.