Friday, October 14, 2011

Creep

There was a posting on Jews sans frontieres that I got on the rss feed but can't find on the blog, so here it is in case you missed it:
"The closet Nazis are coming out of the closet
by Gabriel
No. Not really. They hide their poor little oppressed nordic posterior beneath internet handles, while their aluminum foil hat blocks the mind control exercized by us "cultural marxists" from reaching their mushed brain. The blob of excrement lodged underneath the handle "Xymphora" recommends to put me on a list for now, powerless as he is, for eventual "reckoning."  I'm guilty of describing in too much details how Atzmon fabricates history. I am confident I won't be put on the same list with Kevin Macdonald, who graceously found the passage from Mein Kampf that most clearly articulates Atzmon's contribution to the "study" of history.
But Xymphora is wrong. This isn't about the history of National Socialism. It is about the undergrowth of mould and slime that is proliferating in the interstices of modern barbarism, ready to done the blackshirt and do the "recknoning" as soon as the Master finally graces them with the attention to which they feel entitled. Until that happy moment they will have to satisfy themsevles with reading Atzmon. I can barely imagine how depressing that must be.
I'm already on the shitlist. Put me on your list as well, creep. Ii's a distinction."
By the way, by 'reckoning' I don't mean any kind of violence. I mean we'll be able to separate the Evil from the Good. For one thing, the powerful won't be allowed to use phony claims of victimization in order to hide their victimizing. They won't be able to keep tricking us into fighting wars and killing literally millions of people - and millions of dead is the stakes we're talking about here, along with massive suffering, the end of international law, political oppression, etc, etc - so that a tiny group of supremacists may be able to build their ark in the Middle East to protect them from assimilation. That sort of thing. The kind of thing that we creeps don't like.
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