Monday, 30 April 2012

Of Satyrs and Centaurs at Garden Parties

I was at a garden party, somewhere in Malaysia.  The gardens were vast and terraced.  Malaysian children singing almost identifiable English songs could be heard.   I remember feeling a twinge of regret that I probably wouldn't be able to remember the tune or the words to ask people later what they were.

Suddenly I saw this exotic animal.  It was a creature owned by the host, who was showing it off to the guests, who had gathered round.  It was the fur at the back of it that was so charming: grey, tufty and pleasingly designed - ideal for a coat perhaps, I thought.   At the other end of this creature was a man - a white man with ginger chest hair, with a strangely vulnerable expression on his face.  This must a be a satyr, I thought.

Or was he a centaur?

Or was he a faun?

I was not actually in the garden, but standing at the threshold.  The creature spotted me and came towards me purposefully.  When he was at the threshold making to come in, I said to it (or him) "You can't come in here."  But the guests accompanying him seemed to think it was OK, and so he  took my hand and came in, as if I were the hostess.  I immediately felt a certain responsibility to look after this powerful but unhappy looking  creature.

The Satyr at the Garden Party I was at looked like this man

He came in and plonked himself on the white sofa.  "Is that all right?", I asked the other guests pleadingly, for I am sure I would not have liked an outdoor satyr whose toilet habits I was uncertain of to sit on my sofa.

"Er, I think we had better wait for permission before sitting down, don't you think?" I said to it.   He obligingly got up, and I saw that he had in fact been sitting on a cushion.  I felt relieved, on behalf of the host.  Only the cushion to dry-clean then, I thought.

I asked the guests to please please ask the host if everything that was happening is how he would wish it, because I did not know the protocol about entertaining satyrs in someone else's home. The creature was still holding my hand.

Eventually, someone did come to me, sent by the host.  I then realised it was someone who disliked me called Troy Southgate, who had banned me after from attending any more New Right meetings after the 36th one.  My heart sank.  And then I woke up.

(Yes, I did know about the guy being a BNP candidate before I went to bed last night.)  I do hope I shall be given some credit for not talking about this until it was mentioned by others, but probably not.

I have a system of generating dream numbers, so send me your dream and I will see what I can do.

As for how I feel about the BNP, I do already know that many nationalists are dysfunctional, socially retarded, and do not come from the best backgrounds nor have they been to best schools.  

They are the party of Angry White Losers with a reputation for violence, and Nick Griffin will do nothing to shift this impression as he clings to his loyal core supporters, who unquestioningly support him.

That is why they are treated with contempt by their own race.  The Labour Party, who might  have looked after lumpenproletariat in a previous age, has gone all trendy and aren't in any case interested in non-unionised members of the white working classes.  To be a member of the privileged unionised members of the working class aristocracy, however, you would have to be very PC indeed, or you will find yourself kicked out of your union.

The BNP are mostly a party of lower class white men who cannot compete with foreign labour.   Most criminals come from a lower class background.  The leader of the BNP is not interested in making nationalism attractive to middle class graduates because he does not want anyone who could be leadership material stealing his limelight.

The fact is that these people have been ignored and marginalised because the Labour Party has kicked away the ladder of a good traditional education for them, and by this I mean the grammar schools.  Some of you may remember that Shirley Williams and Tony Crosland wanted to destroy every single fucking grammar school in the land and have more or less succeeded in doing so.  The white urban proletariat are not taught the virtues of hard work at their sink schools and have been deprived of their fathers by their slut single mothers who have not had the ability to teach them good manners or anything of much use in their fatherless undisciplined childhoods.

Now, they only have the BNP to go to, but Nick Griffin only wants them so he can exploit their grievance and their credulity.   He has no intention of even saying what needs to be said to fix the country, because that would be unpopular indeed, but I do.  I dare to criticise the Slut Single Mother.  

Very few people however dare criticise the worst of women and the worst of employees - the Slut Single Mum, probably because they know someone who is an SSM, are themselves an SSM or their mother is an SSM, so degenerate are the white working classes these days.

Indeed, so degenerate are the whites that David Starkey (one of the more honourable homosexuals who disdains gay marriage) said that the whites have become black.  Even he forbore to say that black people are mostly singly parented, fearing the wrath of feminists both white and black.

So it is not surprising then that no sane British employer would want to hire them, and instead prefer cheaper more willing foreign labour.

The Labour Party has completely closed its eyes to the degeneracy of the white working classes because it has its testicles in the vice-like grip of the feminists who also have the testicles of the teaching profession in its vice-like grip.   The Labour Party is so rotten with feminism that its current leader forgot to marry the mother of his two sons until compelled to do so when he became Labour Party leader in spite of all expectation.

The Labour Party is so rotten with feminism that the promoter of the only electorally viable idea of Blue Labour, Lord Glasman, was disgraced and marginalised by the feminists.

The Conservative Party too is also rotten with feminism, for its leader is now promoting gay marriage.

Feminism is a cancer.  Gay marriage is a tumour.

Cameron is so unmanned that he doesn't even pretend to hide the fact that he is afraid of the harridans at Mumsnet.

It is actually quite easy to defeat feminism if you know how, and I certainly do.  Strange, is it not, that I have more moral courage in my little finger than the leader of the BNP, who only feels comfortable with people who are his social inferiors because he finds them more easy to manipulate and impress?  It is he who has seen to it that the BNP remains the party of losers, social retards, of white working class men who cannot compete with foreign labour in the field of unskilled manual labour as well as the party of CHAVs, sluts, granny porn stars and bastards.  Anyone of any talent is sooner or later marginalised, suspended or expelled because he wants to be Top Dog at all costs because the party is his only source of income.

Nick Griffin won't be touching feminism with a barge-pole because it is more than his job's worth.   To tell the degenerate white working classes they have been fucked by feminism is not the message he cares or dares to give.   That is basically how DEGENERATE the nationalist movement is.  To be fair, no nationalist I know outside the BNP dares to discuss feminism either, and use his real name, apart from Simon Sheppard, the Political Prisoner.

So intellectually bankrupt are these nationalists that they can only go on about the JOOS,  MOOSIES and IMMIES so they can blame them for everything that is wrong with their lives and their government while Nick Griffin feeds and fattens himself on their grievance, which he has no intention of addressing.

So there you are.  I could instantly transform the BNP into a party worth voting for by the next election, but I know that the racial pride of white men will not allow them to be led by a foreigner and a female of another race.   They prefer the weeds of Nick Griffin and the NF to the fruits of Claire Khaw.

So there we are, sliding merrily along the slippery slope of decline, decadence, degeneracy and doom.  You cannot help a person who does not want to help himself, who has given up and is rotting even now as we speak - morally, spiritually and physically - as Britain continues to marinate in a stinking concoction of toxic feminism ....

Isn't it time YOU called the cops on feminism?

Dare you discuss this with a woman?

No, of course not.  That is how scared you are, you little man afflicted by moral and spiritual limp-dickery that is only the prerogative of woman.    That is why you, your nation and your civilisation deserve to DIE.

Who will protect the men when the men become women?  Not the women, you can be sure.   The men will be slaughtered, and the women and children sold as slaves.   

No comments: