In an over-civilized society, where every person is supposed to be treated like nobility of old, our training in apologetics is used as a lure by predators. Chief among this is the belief that every person is your moral equal and that you must answer any question posed by any stranger. Secondary to this is our understanding that we are all equal and all entitled to the necessities of life, nigh, even entitled to every possible luxury, for ease is the altar of the degenerate cult we have been weaned on.

Recently, in my new Baltimore County neighborhood, I have been aware of innocent, unarmed, ebon youth making demands of ghostly-skinned adult residents. Indeed, this has been going on here for three years, as I have coached in this neighborhood for most of the past ten years. These demands often escalate to destruction of property, threats and attacks. Recently demands for aid have been given by home invaders.

This brings to mind a terrible piece of film propaganda about an ebon victim of a car accident who is denied aid, an entire film excoriating any person who would not engage in the postmodern sacrament that is the interplay of African American entitlement and Caucasian American guilt. Inoculated against guilt for decades, I declined to view the film as it played across the land-lady’s TV, tied on my boots, went to the gym and then let Tannika blow me, making a more positive addition to the African American experience than those dead ghosts wringing their pale hands over that sappy film.

Below is a sign that you and yours are being targeted by packs of ebon criminals, mostly youths.

On Saturday afternoon a guy knocked on my front door. The storm door was locked. I asked what he wanted. He said he had crashed his car and needed money. When I said “no” he began cursing me and my neighbors. I called and reported to 911. After the incident on Naturo Road if the guy walking into the house, we need to be vigilant and aware. This person was a white male, approximately 5’8” tall, shaved head, tattoos, wearing a black pullover hoody, black sweatpants, and tennis shoes.

That’s right, whitey. Just like in the days of Iron Backsides, known amongst you folks as General George Armstrong Custer, if you were a Lakota person, you damn well knew that the Long Knives were soon to come when you saw some Crow snooping round as their scout.

The asshole above is a drug addict, dressed as a professional pedestrian criminal, not a motorist. He is engaged in three-stage opportunism:

-beg for aid

If he fails:

-escalate to extortion

If he fails:

-scout the target as a mark for the reparation Recovery Agents who supply his drugs.

These Caucasian reparations scouts can generally be attacked free of government penalty. Of course, you will not describe it as an attack, but as a defense. He definitely has a record, is known to local cops and they will help you out where he is concerned. They can also jack his ass up because he is of ghostly pallor, where if he were an ebon kang the ministers of media justice would spring to his defense. Just don’t kill him. Punishing scouts is the task typically assigned to young men in tribal societies. But in civilization, with no warrior tradition and no ethos of territorial vigilance, it has fallen out of favor. In a human world, this punk would have had his right thumb and forefinger snapped and his left ankle crushed by local men.

But remember, as you operate in an over-civilized world that all civilizations place artificial value on those classes of people who have been assigned to play wolves to the sheep. To take out a wolf, marks you as a threat to the Civilization, for men and lions cannot occupy the same space. Once upon a time the knight was assigned to play the wolf to our mud hut dwelling ancestors. Then, when our folk were dragged here in chains and planted like so many tax trees, the Native American was assigned the role of the wolf at our throat. Then, in the time of our grandfathers it was the policeman who was assigned to torment the tax slave. Now, as the curtain of night comes down on the civilization we slave to sustain, the merest jackals of men have been assigned the role of our tormentors, the weakest, stupidest, least masculine and most unsuccessful slave race of man has been assigned to hound us into our oblivion—so be ware only to mangle their scouts and avoid offending the Falz Kangz set over us by our puppet masters. Better spent is the effort to spark the smoldering coals of unquenchable fear that forever glows in their otherwise hollow souls. Crush them with your mind by braking their junky scout’s feet and sending them a whispered message that you are ready and waiting for the main force.

And don’t forget to tell the dog that you don’t fear the pigs.

If this is not done, or if the cops do not accidentally stumble upon this guy, he will escalate to operating with two ebon agents against your sons, your daughters and even the old lady next door.

In my old neighborhood in the city a one salt to pepper team robbed and beat a ghost girl and her brother, not yet sickened by the civilized lie, found the traitor ghost and crushed his hand with a mallet.

We can’t know when the choice to be a bleep on social media or a force in staving off the rot will face us, but we should know there is a choice before the end is forced upon us, because once that ghost boy tries to put your neck in the hands of your ebon overlords, your life will change forever, one way of the other.