Tuesday, October 17, 2017


image of quarreling - Young couple having a quarrel - JPG


  Of course Steve was not going to mention his attendance at the meeting to Doreen. It would be the romantic equivalent to cliff-diving when the tide was out. Why rock a boat that was gliding like a swan on a pond of pure bliss? The problem was his lack of natural guile. Keeping the truth from Doreen was hard work. It involved being constantly on high alert, scanning the angles, looking at potential pitfalls and being ready to throw some extra planking over them. It was lucky he had a good memory: he was discovering it was indispensable for weaving a not so truthful image.
     But what had been so carefully nurtured over a period of weeks was about to be ripped apart in the time it takes to destroy a cardboard box. "What’s this?" Doreen suddenly demanded to know. A note of alarm one might use on tripping over a decomposing corpse rang in her voice.
     "What’s what Sweety?" Steve was still in bed, pleasantly drowsy after a night of good food, wine and romance followed by deep sleep punctuated with bursts of urgent sex.
     "This!" Doreen said, holding the pamphlets aloft that Byron had given him - gingerly, with her index finger and thumb as if it were toxic material "Where did you get these?"
     Steve peeped one eye over the bedclothes to see what was causing the commotion. Oh Christ no! The crumpled literature he'd carelessly left among some books on the wonky table in the middle of the bedroom cum living room of the 'studio apartment'. The memory of it came back at him like a boomerang on re-entry.
     If he’d been a well practised liar, he would have said, "Oh, someone stuck them in my letterbox," but he wasn’t and so he said, "I picked them up at a meeting the other night. A mate dragged me along to it."
     "And you had no choice in the matter? He just dragged you along? What, did he drug you or hypnotise you? You were completely incapable of resistance?"     
       "No of course not. I guess I was just curious."
      "Curious! If you were so curious, why didn’t you just ask me about them. I could have told you everything you wanted to know about this crowd. What do they call themselves?" She moved her pretty face as close as her fear of contamination allowed her to the offending material. "Oh yes, the Eureka Rebels Nationalist Movement. What a ridiculous, juvenile name! A real boys' own adventure.  I could have told you, for example, that they are just neo-Nazis trying to disguise themselves as something else, and not doing a very good job at it. You only need to see their horrible posters that we spend half our time tearing down."
     "So it’s your lot that does that?"
     "Oh, so you know about that? Just been to one of their meetings, eh, out of curiosity. You bastard. You've probably put up a few of those posters yourself. If that's the case, you're no different to them - filthy racists and sexists who stand for everything else that’s hateful in this world."
     "That’s a bit harsh," Steve said, kidding himself that something might be salvaged from this looming train wreck with a touch of lightheartedness.
     "No, I haven’t even begun to get harsh." She stamped her little foot. "What else did they give you? Perhaps a swastika armband? Where have you hidden that?" she said, pushing the books about on the table as if searching for contraband. This was getting a little surreal to Steve. He half expected her to start impersonating John Cleese impersonating a Nazi, goose-stepping about the room with an index finger on her top lip.
     "What’s so funny? What are you smiling at?"
     "You.You’re funny. You’re so funny you’re a fucking joke." She reeled back as if slapped. But nothing would stop him now. Something had given way, barely felt but ominous like a distant rumble in a mine shaft. He was fed up with living a lie, pretending that an invisible no-man’s-land didn’t exist between them, tired of walking on eggshells. "I’ll tell you what else is laughable – your complete detachment from reality. You and your sugar-arsed friends living in in a world you think should exist, not the one that does exist, the world that functions according to certain laws, 'iron-clad laws' according to Adolph Hitler, and he was right about it, especially the laws of human nature which you’ll have about as much chance of changing as you would the law of gravity."
    "Adol .. Adolph Hitler," she could hardly bring herself to say the name. "So you are a Nazi!"
    "Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just open-minded, which is more than could be said about you. And yes, I've gone to the trouble of finding out what old Adolph might have actually said, this most evil man in the entire history of the universe. But you and your type are happy to remain as brainwashed as ever, feeding on a never-ending diet of propaganda to justify a war costing at least fifty million lives that shouldn’t have been fought in the first place. If Hitler hadn’t existed, the Jews would have had to invent him. 
    "You know what you lot are called don’t you?Before she’d had a chance to respond, he provided the answer: ‘watermelons – green on the outside, red inside. And you have the gall to accuse others of wearing disguises. You lot are the masters of disguise. You're red-hot socialists but don't have the guts to fly your true colours. How's the atmosphere up there on your high moral ground? Pretty thin I'd say, going by the way your brain works. You make me sick. You’re out to save the planet while our very own country gets given away right from under us and fools like you think it’s the noble thing to do."     
     By now, Doreen’s face was red and streaming with tears. Almost blinded by the tears, she was bumping into things in the process of trying to gather her possessions. Several books fell from the table to the floor. She was shaking and dropping things almost as quickly as she’d picked them up. "You’re a monster," she was almost screaming. "I feel sick".’ Certain she now had everything she’d arrived with, she headed for the door. "How could I have been so wrong about you? I never want to see you again."
     "Good for you Sweety, Go and hug a bloody tree." SLAM,went the door.


Monday, October 16, 2017


Image result for images of a chasm

American conservative, Pat Buchanan, opines that the US has never been as polarised as it presently is since the Vietnam War era, perhaps even since the Civil War. and whereas the previous confrontations comprised one main cleavage, the country is now fragmenting along multiple fault-lines.

A similar, gloomy diagnosis could be made of Australian society; it was also plunged into a national altercation by the Vietnam war, but more likely, opposing camps haven't  been at loggerheads with each other with such vituperation since the bitterly turbulent times of the conscription referenda  of 1916 and 1917. (It's interesting that back then people were given a say on whether men should be sent to their deaths in war, but now as modern serfs under a soft tyranny we are not given a say on whether the entire nation should be sent to its death by Asianisation)

The Vietnam War protests here also included an anti-conscription element but was primarily anti- war.  The ensuing polarisation that occurred here was dissimilar to that in the States where traditional/patriotic elements became enraged at the activities of the anti-war protesters. The side ranged against the protesters here was first and foremost the government and the states' police forces. Citizens who supported the war largely because they had accepted the "Domino Theory", that prophesised that if South Vietnam fell, other South East Asian nations would fall one after the other until Communism would be taking a sledg-hammer to our own front door.  Many others who weren't completely convinced about the rightness of the war, felt however they were honour-bound to meet our obligations as an ally of the US. Be that as it may, people who supported the war were not sufficiently inspired by their beliefs to return the protesters' fire. This demographic may have fumed in front of their TV sets as they beamed images of rampaging university students who formed the backbone of the protests, but their political activism was contained largely to writing vitriolic letters to the editor.

Image result for images of a chasm

The past is a different country, as was Australia. Instead of chests bursting with patriotism, Australians were simply quietly proud on their country. Rockets and waving flags were best left to the Yanks and we sniggered at their vulgarity. Australia Day then, for example, was just another holiday like Labour Day or the Queen's Birthday - a far cry from it being Americanised into the expensive multicultural circus it has become. It can't hurt to let the suckers let off a little harmless patriotic steam once a year. Far better that than let pressure build up to dreaded nationalism, which as we all know, is only a pogrom away from holocaust 2.

Possibly if Australians then had been more patriotic in the American sense during the Vietnam War era, the rowdy protesters may have had a real match on their hands. But because the opposition that chose to remain largely silent, possibly because they weren't young enough to know as much as the students, and maybe were even willing to concede that the anti-war crowd may have had a point, it was very much a one-sided affair, that is, apart from the side that won the argument - the Australian government.

 Naturally, a lot of the twenty year old males (females were not itching then for equal opportunity to off people with the government's blessing) who were automatically entered in the macabre lottery in which was won all expenses paid trips to Vietnam, might have been looking uniquely askance at the war, but surprisingly few who were actually conscripted resisted. There was little if any of the draft card burning popular in the States.

The storm surrounding conscription during the First World War was an entirely different affair, and understandably. The British wanted more than 5,000 men a month from Australia just to help fill the holes being blown in our side's military forces. That alone gives an indication of the odds stacked against returning after being fed into the inferno of the Western front - significantly higher than against returning from the war seventy years later. The earlier war could be seen as the industrial revolution culminating in murder on an industrial scale. Western civilisation would never recover from its optimistic belief in unlimited progress being shattered by the most destructive war ever known - until the next one.

Is it any wonder passions were aroused by the proposed conscription so badly wanted by Billy Hughes's two governments - the one he was thrown out of, and the new one he formed by merging with the opposition? Two referenda were conducted asking the people's blessing for the desperately needed conscription. Curiously they would not be binding but would have given Hughes a solid mandate with which to run in the next election. The first in 1916,  and a reworded one  in 1917 were both narrowly won by the NO side

William Morris Hughes (1862-1952), by unknown photographer, 1915-23

However, the battle worsened stress fractures already present in Australian society. The already toxic smouldering between labour and capital, for example, was fanned by a fresh breeze. Instead of being killed slowly for increased profits, the workers were on the brink of being forced to the same fate only much faster but for the same reason, or so it seemed.

Another of the deepest cuts in Australian also began  to bleed. This was the centuries old hatred between Catholics and Protestants that had been transported to the Antipodes. The acrimony that existed between these two versions of Christianity is almost unimaginable today. Because of a significant overlap between Catholics and the Irish in Australia, a poisonous anti-British view prevailed amongst many. Cromwell and the much later potato famine had lodged themselves into the racial memory. Why fight for the hated English? They'd rather fight against them.

But of course all wars end eventually - even the Hundred Years War. The hatred flickers and dies down and, given enough time, usually disappear entirely. It's a tragedy that the same cannot be predicted for the animosity presently tearing Australia apart. Conveniently, the current cold civil war is most easily presented as a mounting struggle between the Left and the Right. This model unfortunately ignores the complexity of the conflict. For example, the Left is chameleon-like in its ability to shape-shift. It has gone from Socialism to Marxism then back to Socialism once the earthly body of Communism had collapsed in ruins, then on to Neo-Marxism and presently hovers in a shimmering form perhaps best described as Left-Liberal-Progressivism, sometimes meanly designated as Cultural Marxism. And to compound the problem, the Right isn't really the Right, that is, the old Right dominated by fat-gutted, cigar-chomping Capitalists and their 'elected' stooges. No, anybody with any real political consciousness, that is, the ability to see what the 'Left' is up to these days have crystalised into the 'Alt-Right'.

The Alt-Right is a reaction to the fanaticism of the Lunatic Left now that it has convincingly attained a cultural hegemony. The hubris and arrogance of the Left appear to know no bounds. It is now so our of control that people who not so long ago doubted they had a political bone in their bodies are stirring and becoming aware of something fiendish and diseased is taking hold of their country. Whether they like it or not, even if of the working class who once believed the Left was their champion, these new awakeners are being inexorably shunted to the right by the obsceneness of what the Australian Left has morphed into. Too strong? Try on for size their current obsessions: homosexual marriage which for thousands of years right up until very recently would have been  so ridiculous as to be unthinkable and if thought of at all would have been deemed a crime against nature; the Safe Schools initiative craftily disguised as an anti-bullying program but features role-playing as homosexuals and inviting boys to attend school wearing a dress; the unrelenting assault on freedom of speech. For instance, Commissar Triggs in an unguarded moment lamented the fact that families were able to indulge in uncensored discussions about the dinner table; quotas  set for hiring females in companies and government departments regardless of ability; quotas for enlisting females in the military regardless of ability and remaining stubbornly oblivious to such trifles as the US Navy having to refit its ships with laundries kinder to 'delicates' and the first US Navy's female jet pilot putting an F14A into the drink after completely missing the carrier she was aiming for. She was of course treated to a hero ... heroine's funeral. And of course, taking first prize, is world record mass immigration which is another way of saying Asianisation. Goodbye not so lucky fucking country.

What was being warned about by nationalists who were absolutely beyond the pale socially and politically over thirty years ago is all coming to pass. Talk-back radio programs now openly rail against all the sickness outlined above. But the Left, now in its unbridled arrogance and confidence, has, where it once sedately cantered, broken into a headlong gallop. The endgame appears to have arrived and it senses total victory. But now that push has come to shove, it remains to be seen how much those best described as 'traditionals' can be shoved before shoving back. If the millions of air-heads who take as gospel anything the media - the most formidable ally and co-conspirator  of the Left - tell them, are added as pawns on the Left's side, it is clear that the traditionals are vastly outnumbered.

However, if the so called same sex marriage survey has shown anything, it is the dangerously short distance the New Left has travelled from the mentality of the old Left so implicitly certain of the rightness of its cause it would brook no opposition. And so history recycles as the YES campaigners adopt guerrilla tactics in its efforts to show the NO side it is on the wrong side of history and really has no right to attempt to impede 'progress'.  The types of bitchy churlishness that has been demonstrated includes churches being graffitied, a university free food stand cum NO campaign pamphlet table destroyed, its attendants abused, a shit-storm of anger erupting because someone had the temerity to have NO written in the sky above, and supporters of the NO side abused at every turn. And all this from the side that feared a plebiscite would unleash a torrent of hatred. It has, but at the side that was predicted to cause homosexuals killing themselves like lemmings.

Well before the current sorry episode, ANTIFA, just like its American counterpart was leaving no-one in doubt as to where to fear violence erupting from in the left/right contest. Invariably, where the two sides have come into contact, it is the so self-righteous, God-is-on-our-side, rightists who have initiated violence.

All this bolshy bullshit has no doubt not gone unnoticed by the fence-sitters and and their sisters who who wonder why we can't all just get along. They can't all be  completely stupid and when realisation dawns that not taking a stand is not an option a great many, after having seen what the Left is capable of, would be extremely reluctant to alight on that side of the fence. 

Like tectonic plates grinding against each other, something has to give eventually.

Sunday, October 8, 2017


little girl: Cute little Girl Doing her homework

"Grandpa, what was it like in Australia when only white people could come and live here?"
Grandpa looks up from his newspaper, slightly startled by the question. "Honey, it was the most wonderful place on Earth." Then after a moment's reflection, he adds in a quieter voice, "compared with what it's like now." His granddaughter turns back to her writing assignment. A tiny wrinkle appearing on her forehead reflects her confusion. She loves Grandpa so much but what he has just said is in a head-on collision with what her teachers have been telling her about 'the bad old days' when Australia was ruled by something called 'the White Australia Policy' She's been told it is a very good example of 'racism' That's a new word she has learned. Although a little unsure of its meaning, she knows it is something terrible and 'racists' are very bad people. The thought of ever running into one of them frightens her.

She underlines the title of her assignment again - 'Why Couldn't They See That it was so Wrong?, - but she's stuck with what to write. As she turns up her little nose in frustration, Grandpa has lost interest in his newspaper and is staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. 'Yes,' he's thinking, 'compared with today, it was a paradise.'

A paradox, one may conclude. After all, we are constantly told that what we have today in our multicultural wonderland is, if not paradise yet, the coming paradise, as in the old Communist promise, is just around the corner. So let's try and untangle the paradox with a little cost/benefit analysis.

Firstly, this is (supposedly) what we have on the credit side of the multicultural ledger: exotic cuisine, propagandist, state or council funded multicultural fetes and celebrations .... (If any other benefits can be thought of please use the comments facility to help out.)

Now for an inventory of what has been paid for these scant benefits. Let me count the ways:

1  A seeping away of social capital  Robert Putnam is a professor of Political Science at Harvard University. Straight after marrying his wife Rosemary in 1963, he converted to her religion of Judaism. In spite of his findings, the result of comprehensive social analysis, he remains a self-described 'progressive and integrationist, as well as a convinced multiculturalist, which in itself tends to point to Multiculturalism's kinship with religion in their both being faith-based.  So what were these disturbing findings?

Perhaps uncharacteristic of an egg-head, Putnam was a keen league bowler. This was what initially nudged him toward the research into diversity and its effect on social capital he launched on. He somehow stumbled upon the fact that while the once ubiquitous bowling leagues were disappearing like washing on the clothes-line when gypsies arrived in town, bowling itself was becoming more and more popular. Talk about a paradox!

This led in 1995 to his essay, Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital appearing in the Journal of Democracy. In 2000, this was expanded into the book Collapse and Revival of American Community. To what must have been Putnam's most bitter disappointment, the original essay was an expression of an unavoidable conclusion: diversity led to diminishing social capital, most surprisingly not only between different ethic groups but also within them.  Social capital is essentially mutual trust and community spirit. Both flee as diversity moves in. People retreat from each other to the safety of their homes and TV sets.

The 2000 book appears to be a self-prescribed cure for the shock he'd experienced, in that it is centred upon his predicting a bouncing upwards after the decline. All it would take to more than remedy the collapse in social capital in spite of his theorising about two distinct types of social capital - bonding and bridging.  The first was the social cementing within ethnic groups and the latter between ethnic groups and, the two types being interconnected, tend to pull each other down. Ergo, the hoped for revival appears to be yet another element of faith, if not wishful thinking. It's unknown to this writer whether the Islamic branch of diversity was factored into Putnam's thinking. Because of the complications inherent in this, one must suspect it wasn't. It's difficult to accept the likelihood of a revival of social capital when co-inhabitants are duty bound to murder, maim and destroy the society of those not sharing their barbaric religion. All Putnam's research of course was concerned with American society but no reason whatsoever exists for it not also applying to Australia.

2  Fragmentation and the loss of social cohesion  This is of course closely related to the diminution of social capital. It is though more obvious and easier to see. Arthur Calwell was one of the last true Labor Party warhorses of working class background. With a nose that almost forced cartoonists to draw him as a parrot and a voice sounding as though it was coming out of a nose even bigger, he was, although brilliant, incapable of taking the leap into the modern media dominated era of politics - the main reason he was ditched in favour of the smug, camera-mugging Gough Whitlam as Labor Party leader who messiah-like would lead the party out of its twenty three year exile in the political desert.

 However, as a former immigration minister, he presided over the first great watershed of Australian immigration by overseeing a tidal wave of refugees from the smoking ruins in which World War 2 had left Europe. Given this was a radical change from the traditional source of immigration, it needed to be done with the greatest delicacy and consideration, hence the selection of only the best looking refugees to begin with. Calwell in his wisdom and knowing these people were not of too dissimilar stock to the native inhabitants, was confident they could eventually assimilate. And, although he succumbed to pressure and dropped the ball by allowing Jewish immigration, he was absolutely adamant this was as far as he was willing to travel on non-traditional immigration, that is, the line was drawn between Europeans, or Caucasians and the rest. Why? For starters he warned about the establishment of 'ghettos'. For this and similar sentiments ("two Wongs don't make a white"), Calwell's memory is now quarantined in the badlands of Australian history in the eyes of the New Class.

But was Calwell so wrong or had he been singularly prescient? The evidence before one's eyes should be sufficient as a decider. Not only do we have ghettos; we have areas where if discretion really is the better part of valour, it's probably not wise for a white person (Australian) to enter. The multiculturalists in their dreaminess evidently imagined a multicultural Australia which would resemble the (socially engineered) office of a government department, or in the wider world, where members of various ethnic groups all breathed in the euphoria attendant on visiting the celebratory functions of other ethnic groups, all singing I am, you are, we are all Australian. 

But naturally, these dreamers, most of whom can never allow themselves to wake up, live in a fantasy world so far removed from the real world, it might as well be on another planet. The best smelling salts for these people, if they showed any inclination at all to be woken up, would be a tour of what effectively is the logical conclusion of multiculturalism. That would be a jail where increasingly members of different ethnic groups are segregated - to prevent them from tearing each other's throats out.

3  The loss of freedom   The catch-phrase of the French Revolution was 'liberte,
egalite, fraternite' - freedom, equality, brother hood. To anyone who has taken time to scrutinise this, it is a crock. The reality is freedom OR equality. To have freedom, a natural order of inequality will arise.  To have equality, freedom needs to be suppressed - as in every disastrous communist experiment ever tried. And so it is in Australia. Our freedoms have disappeared like those clothes on the line. In order for us all to be equal in the Utopia of diversity, we have to be kept in line - one level line. And the most effective tool for achieving this? Why, affirmative action of course. How after all did that rainbow of colour appear in the aforementioned government office? (Hint: it wasn't on merit)

What if there are some ethnic groups that just can't seem to get their act together? No problem. Just keep throwing (our) money at them. If all else fails, we can just spend even more money supporting them for the rest of their lives.

And I'm sorry snowflakes in the remote possibility you're looking in, but we once had the freedom to insult each other - yes I know, OMG how did we possibly survive without the assistance of the hurt feelings police to call on? Now, one must be far more circumspect in casting aspersions. There's a lot to consider. There's the Human Rights Commission; there's the law against inciting racial hatred - this one's very elastic - and there's probably soon to be a law against expressions of 'homophopia'. Doubting the holocaust? Get it off your chest while you still can.

4  Unprecedented crime and violence  There was once customary among Australian men to settle their differences with their fists. It's probably difficult for many now to believe but kicking was considered cowardly and to kick a man when he was down was simply not on and the offender would be liable to a quick intervention. Now, where once a punch would be thrown, a knife is thrust - it's the 'go-to'. Hardly a day goes by when someone isn't knifed and, slightly less frequently, killed. This wasn't even a problem when we had refugees pouring in from the devastation of six years of European war, or even after taking in those fleeing the collapse of South Vietnam. However, it definitely became a problem after taking in another batch of people from a war-torn area, but this time people with a singularly insular and violent mentality.

Who remembers the Anglo-Saxon bikie? Who knows? Perhaps he's not extinct - simply on the endangered species list. He was essentially what Australians used to call a "no-hoper" - carrying a connotation of one not making the cut socially but basically harmless. How times have changed since his displacement by an imported breed definitely not harmless. Gangsterism and highly organised crime was the new bikie's stocks in trade. Coincidentally, in an attempt to curtail the violent crime of members of this new breed, a special police branch was formed dedicated to the investigation of crimes committed by members of a specific ethnic group. Called the Middle Eastern Crime Squad, this was unprecedented in the history of Australian crime.

Although not entirely free of the fear of rape, Australian women would once not have to worry about being raped by men who would claim they didn't know it was wrong to rape, or to be raped as part of the plan of attack in the war against infidels. And if a woman became a rape victim, it would have been impossible to be actually found to be the culprit. That's changed. To quote a certain Sheik Hilali who in 2006, but with his unbalanced mind snagged somewhere in the seventh century, said, "If you take out uncovered meat and place it on the street ... and the cats come to eat it ... whose fault is it, the cats' or the uncovered meat?" Such a gentleman.

5  City centres looking like no-go areas  For someone who has never thought of himself as anything other than Australian, from a long line of Australians, it is an absolute outrage to be subjected to the feeling he is in a foreign country when strolling through the streets of his home city.

6  The end of Australian Democracy  This was surreptitiously engineered by a little something called a bipartisan policy. If Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are in lock step on an issue as important as the racial transformation of our country, it is glaringly obvious that the people get no say in the matter, no matter how many times they obediently plod to the polling booths or who they vote for, especially, as Bob Hawke once admitted, the media had been brought in on the act. Even with the might of the media poisoning people's minds day and night, every survey that's ever been done has shown convincingly that the majority is against both mass immigration and multiculturalism. So it's not hard to work out why they were never allowed a say. If they had been, we'd still be looking like the kids in Grandpa's old school photos - all white.

 We've been betrayed, sold out. We're well within our rights to tear up the social contract. We never signed on for this. 

7  Stagnating wages, soaring housing costs  Adjusted for inflation, wages were higher years ago without the competition from cheap imported labour. And beggaring belief, the Australian Council of Trade Unions is a willing accomplice in the multicultural/mass immigration crime of the millennium.
The old unionists who fought for every improved condition and every extra crumb from the banquet table must be gyrating in their graves. The second part of the double whammy is of course the obscene amounts being asked for houses and flats. A great many of the new comers pushing up the price of housing don't even deign to live here; they simply send their money to live here. This of course suits governments, the real estate racket and the building industry but what do the plebs get out of it apart form cities becoming unlivable?

This is by no means the end of the list - it seems to go on like a country road. However, even with a truncated list, it's obvious we've paid a massive price, and for what? What exactly did we get in return apart from the usual crap about restaurants and fireworks on Chinese New Year unless you're like Putnam who just likes "a more interesting place in which to live." Speaking of the Chinese, a curse originating with them and as deadly as an Aboriginal witch-doctor the pointing his bone at someone gullible enough  to believe it means his demise, is, "may you live in interesting times".

Grandpa may have been exaggerating a  little, even idealising the past by likening it to a paradise, but by Christ it was several orders of magnitude better than the hell we are only just entering.


Tuesday, October 3, 2017


stock photo of interracial couple - hands together - JPG

"Intermarriage is worse than holocaust." So said Golda Meir, former prime minister of Israel, that is, until someone else said she didn't say it. Whatever. But given the circumstantial evidence - the chorus of Jewish voices singing exactly the same song, it is more than likely that it was said by the lady in question. Try this on for size: "If you or one of your friends are on the verge of intermarriage, we plead with you, do not allow a temporary infatuation to ruin your life, the lives of your dear children and help to destroy our cherished and beloved Jewish people." This was an advertisment in the Jewish Chronicle, December 1989.  How about this gem from the same publication, same period, written by Jeffry Kwinter: "A Jew is someone from Jewish stock. No-one can make a gentile Jewish. We must retain our own exclusivity in order to survive and not be infiltrated by outsiders." No shortage exists of these types of statements but the point need not be laboured. It's assumed that the general drift here is appreciated.

The sentiments being expressed can't be argued with because they are self-evidently true. How else could a unique race have remained a nation through more than two thousand years of the diapora? This "race", more correctly, is essentially a combination of two distinct groupings: the hugely predominant Ashkenazi converts with a Sephardi side serving, with only the latter being the element who put the Semite into anti-Semite. Cemented together by a religion which is more an ideology, the two ingredients, plus an admixture of "outsiders" who've slipped under the radar, think as a race. How could one fail to be impressed by this kind of tenacity and single mindedness? Only one problem though. Why is this world class ethnocentricity accepted as wholesome and necessary by Jews while at the same time foisting what they know to be a ruinous poison, that is, tsunami-like infiltration and resulting miscegenation on the West - Western Christendom - and being foremost in creating an environment in which those who aren't quite enthused about being air-brushed out of existence would in earlier times be burnt as heretics, "racists" being the new witches?

foto of interracial couple - Couple laying on a beach - JPG

In an earlier post, the breath-taking hypocricy of Jews - the crowning glory of "chutzpa" - was touched on, as well as the mechanism making it possible. The Jewish dual morality is the escape clause. Briefly, one moral code ensures fair dealing and justice between Jews themselves. Very handily, a second moral code informs how Jews deal, with gentiles. This basically allows Jews to do to others which is forbidden to do to each other. One of the earliest godsends of this arrangement (pun intended) was that, being one of the three religions supposedly with common roots, and prohibition against usury existing amongst all three, the only difference was that with Jews the prohibition wasn't extended to non-Jews. Talk about manna from heaven! This was the golden loop-hole from which ulitmately grew fractional reserve banking - basically money created from thin air. This is the point at which those who only wanted to know where the phenomenal power of the Jews came from can stop reading.

Given that Jews make no secret of their loathing and terror of miscegenation, it is obvious they know well  its destructiveness of nations - nations in the true sense, and even nations in the modern sense which means, especially in the West, not much more than geographical descriptions. Therefore, when they champion mass immigration and multiculturalism for the West, but shy away from it themselves like vampires trying to evade sunshine, they are in no doubt about the fate of countries being drip-fed these poisons. To the Western mind, this seems egregious hypocrisy, but not to the distantly removed Jewish mentality. A semblance at least of understanding of this mentality could be achieved by appreciating that every event, every action, re-action and consequence at all affecting the Jews is seen through a prism, and that prism could be labeled "is it good for the Jews?" This is the only test, the only criterior for deciding what is morally good - no dicking around with such formulaes as "the greatest good for the greatest numbers".  Seen in this way it's possible that no contradiction at all exists in Jewish minds between no mixing for Jews and mega-mixing for whites because they are both good for the Jews. The former will protect the Jewish nation while the latter will destroy white nations, or Christian nations as the Jews see them, and which have been feared and despised by Jews for the last two thousand years.

stock photo of interracial couple - Interracial family sitting together at home on couch - JPG

Of course Jews haven't explicitly called for miscegenation in the West; they've simply engineered the situation conducive to it: mass immigration of radically different races into the homelands of whites. Nature of course take care of the rest, particularly given the lack of discrimination inherent in the male libido. It's the people who don't understand this, for example, who lean toward the theory that no funny business took place between Neanderthals and Cro Magnon man, and who would probably shudder at the thought of Neanderthal ghosts still walking among us.

In Australia, for instance, the process of miscegenation is well advanced, a veritable perfect storm of miscegenation occurring: the complementarity between  white men and brown South East Asian women. Australian men, traumatised by feminism and intimidated by orders for the perfect man being placed by not so perfect women on dating sites, are finding what once was plentiful in white women. With ultra feminine women who are not stridently assertive, their confusion and sense of loss is being assuaged. Conversely, the women they are discovering are themselves looking or men who are men and not prospective door-mats. Colour is of course no problem here as the majority of men have been thoroughly indoctrinated with the leftist point of view on race, that is, that no such thing exists - and Asian women who, on the contrary,  are exquisitely race conscious, see the production of offspring a lighter colour than themselves as a definite plus. After all it is no accident that skin whiteneing products are flying off the shelves in the darker parts of Asia. It doesn't hurt either that the prospective white husband has a lot more earning power than men back in the home country, where, in addition, is exactly where they might be headed on failing to snare a husband here.

With the Chinese flooding into Australia, the situation is a little different. When speaking of Chinese, it is usually the Han who constitute the overwhelming majority of the Chinese population being referred to.Being equipped with surfeit of racial pride (that is, "racism" when applied to whites) and clannishness, these are less inclined to intermarriage. This shouldn't be surprising given that they are descendants of those who once populated the Middle Kingdom, meaning the very centre of the world. It was a unique hubris that caused the decline of the Middle Kingdom. Believing they had attained social, cultural and political perfection, any change whatsoever could only be viewed as a retrograde step and thus eschewed and so they stagnated and ossified. This of course gave Europeans an opportunity to overtake and then subject the Chinese to more than a century of humiliating conquest and colonisation. This is not forgotten by these erstwhile defeated people as they rapidly go about repositioning themselves at the centre of the world.

Some uncanny similarities exist between the Chinese and Jews. Foremost is the love of money and devotion to its accumulation. Material success and its resulting power are positioned highly in the value sytems of the two people. Similar to the Jews never ceasing to be Jews no matter where they live, the Chinese never stop being Chinese regardless of changing religious or spiritual values or length of exile from the homeland. This characteristic of the Chinese should be reason alone for authorities (if they were really serious about the national interest as they are alway carping on about in their typical lying manner) to be deeply concerned about the onrush of Chinese immigration. A fifth collumn grows like Topsy and in the event of any disagreement or conflict with China, prizes need not be handed out for guessing on which side "our" Chinese will be.

The Chinese taboo against intermarriage (with inferiors) appears to be relaxing. The sprouting of Chinese-Australian children will be slower than South East Asian-Australian children, but then again the Chinese are well on their way to becoming a towering majority among Asians in Australia so it can be expected that one day Chinese-Australians will be a signifiant bi-racial minority - behind a pure Chinese majority.

The supreme irony in all this is that, to the eventual disappointment of the idiot, liberal-minded, egalitarian stooges lusting for "a Eurasian Australia" as a dead but not missed Australian Governor General once did, a racial hierarchy will remain in place. As amply demonstrated in countries such as India, Brazil, Argentina and other South American barely succeeding states, lightness of skin, just like cream, will always rise to the top. But as the stooges are wondering what went wrong, their handlers will be wailing no more. Because things will pan out in other white countries just as they will here, the one major road block to Jews fulfilling their destiny of "becoming a light unto nations" will be out of the way. The peak of human achievement that could only be attained by whites and then shared with the rest of the world will be well on its way to existing only in  old computer files named "lost civilisations". People will wonder about these people such as people do now about the Indian Aryans, the Sumerians, the Greeks and the Romans. And no-one will be visiting the stars.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

FICTION (more or less)


  Motion blurred view of night driving through the city - Stock Image

    Steve unfolded one of the leaflets and began skimming over the words: 

   "There are vipers in your nest striking out at ordinary, innocent girls simply because they are Australian and not Muslim. You may already know this. The Muslim community is after all very tight-knit. If you have any knowledge at all of who is responsible for the series of gang-rapes on white women over a period of months and in all probability being committed by the same pack of vile criminals and have not come forward with this information, you are almost as morally deficient as the perpetrators themselves. If you in any way shield or protect these cowards, then you are not only in the wrong morally, but also guilty in the eyes of the law of being accomplices after the fact.

    We realise that the great majority of Muslims living in Australia are men and women of good faith who would not condone the horrendous crimes committed against these women – rapes of the most vile, brutal and savage kind intended to humiliate and degrade. We know that most in the Muslim community are grateful for the opportunity of a new life Australia has provided and would be aghast at the way some amongst you are repaying this kindness. We know how you would feel if those being attacked were your own sisters, daughters, wives and mothers. We know that you are capable of feeling some of that pain even though experienced by women not of your own and not of your faith.

     However, we are unfortunately  forced to surmise that those responsible for these crimes would have great difficulty in keeping such a terrible secret and that there must be those amongst you with whom it has been shared. For how long this knowledge can be hidden is difficult to know, but what is known is that the longer it is contained, the more it will fester, poison and sicken, and even more terrible is that as long as this information is withheld, more women will suffer these life-shattering outrages.

     We of course now all live in a multicultural society and Australian multiculturalism is a great success story admired and envied throughout the world. Therefore, there is hardly a single soul who would like to see it damaged in any way. This is the reason the police and the media have stepped very lightly in the investigation of these crimes. To not do so risks tearing the fabric of multiculturalism, besmirching the honour of an entire ethnic group and providing ammunition to those few amongst us who do not want to see Australian multiculturalism continue to succeed.

 The authorities are only too keenly aware of the delicacy of this situation. The police especially are in an almost impossible position. On one hand they are being told to solve these crimes as swiftly as possible. On the other hand, they know how easily they can bring down upon themselves accusations of ethnic profiling. Given past experiences, they are understandably scared of being labelled racists. They are under the strain of being pulled in diametrically opposite directions.

     Make no mistake, however, the monsters responsible for these crimes will eventually be caught, tried and imprisoned for many years. This is inevitable.

     Serious questions will though asked. People will want to know why the perpetrators were not apprehended sooner. Were they protected and if so, by whom? Why were the police so reluctant to act? Why was such critical information withheld from the public? Was the shielding of an entire ethnic group more important than protecting women from heinous attacks? Is one ethnic group considered more important and worthy of protection than others? Why did the members of the ethic group from which the criminals haled refuse to help?

     It is not difficult to see how the delicate balance of multiculturalism could be affected and harmony destroyed. Neither is it difficult to predict the anger that may build and eventually explode in a backlash that could end who knows where.

     If you are one of the decent, peaceful Muslims of which we know number in the hundreds of thousands now living in Australia and are grateful to be living in such a prosperous and wonderful land, and wish to continue to be accepted as valued citizens with valuable contributions to make to the greater good, we beseech you, if you have even a fragment of knowledge regarding who is responsible for these crimes, to please come forward.

"You want me to deliver these where?"

"Just around a few suburbs in the Bankstown area," Byron said. Being the self-appointed president and treasurer of the Eureka Rebels Nationalist Movement, it was only fitting that he would merely direct the troops while then remaining at HQ to answer phone calls and co-ordinate.

"So it'll be like a kind of a suicide mission?"

"Come on, there's no need to be so dramatic. The pamphlets you will be delivering have been toned down. The pamphlets going out in the other areas are much more hard hitting."

"Glad I won't be delivering those."

"You worry too much, when there's nothing to worry about. Kiwi and Boxhead will be going with you. You'll be going in Kiwi's car. He told me he's just got a new one. In the remote possibility of any trouble, they both know how to handle themselves. You should've seen Boxhead go before he went half blind."

"Well what good is he now?"

"Look, if you're going to be so negative about it ..."

"Forget it. Just give me the rest of the bloody leaflets."

The moon, an illuminated glob of blue-vein cheese, shone happily on the three men as they emerged from a side door of the of the hulking old house and walked the length of the lane beside it to where it met a narrow street at the back of the house. A lingering smell of  barbecue reached out from the the backyard on the other side of the fence. Kiwi led the other two to a jet-black Series 5 BMW wedged between a Volkswagen beetle and a grimy Holden ute.     


     Boxhead and Kiwi sat in the front seats that seemed to have been moulded to their bodies while Steve slid across the leather of the back seat. He wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea to put the two in the front into the same team. Not too much love seemed to be lost between the two big alpha males.

     "Nice set of wheels,’ Steve said. ‘Looks brand new."

     "Yeah, I think it is," Kiwi replied, turning the ignition key. The car made a sound like and English gentleman’s muffled cough and then settled down to silky smooth purring. "I only knocked it off the day before yesterday."


     "Don’t worry. I won’t have it long. I’ll probably be trading it in next week. Look how these pricks have boxed me in will you? Oh well, no worries." With that, he leaned around over the seat and reversed the BMW into the car behind with a crunching sound. He then put it into drive and nudged the car in front. He repeated this manouvre until he had created enough space to easily exit the parking spot.

     "Did you have to?" Boxhead asked.

     "It was their own fault, whoever was stupid enough to park that close."


     With the city’s peak hour long since expanded several hours on both sides, it took them almost forty five minutes to be inside of what they’d come to consider enemy territory. The first square Byron had marked on their map took in a large chunk of the suburb of Campsie which Steve knew had once been just another friendly patch of Australian suburbia almost indistinguishable from any other across a homogeneous nation. It saddened him now as he watched the complete alienness of it sliding by. They found a parking space in Beamish Street, the main drag, divied  up the leaflets and headed up the street to the northern most side street on the western side in the texta-marked box.


     Steve was beginning to get some idea of what a postman’s life was like. It wasn’t the enjoyable stroll he thought it would be, but then again the posties didn’t deliver letters in the dark. It was a struggle to find some letter boxes with the lack of light and overgrown foliage conspiring against him. A lot were so ridiculously low he already had premonitions of a crook back. On some of the fancy-arse letterboxes, just finding the slot was like solving a puzzle. However, houses greatly predominated so that they weren’t held up too much by the huge banks of letterboxes standing outside the fortress-like apartment blocks of some of the other areas. But even so, more of these blocks appeared on his and Boxhead's side of the street, resulting in their losing sight of Kiwi who was able to work more swiftly on the other side of the street.


One and a half hours had elapsed before Steve and Boxhead were back in sight of the car.

What kept yous?’ Kiwi was leaning on the BMW as rakishly as a gangster trying to get himself noticed.

     ‘OK, let’s get in the car,’ was Boxhead’s curt reply.

      With the engine running almost inaudibly, Kiwi continued in what he thought was a humourous vein. ‘You know, I’ve been watching some of these muzzy shielas walking by in their black curtains with the slots in them and every time I see one I start wondering if I’ve forgotten to post a letter.’ His laughter at his own lame joke grated on both his passengers.


The trio, now held together by the uniformity of housing on both sides of the streets, were completing the last box marked on the pages of the Gregory’s and the three of them were willing to admit they were pretty well knackered. ‘Takes it out of you more than you’d think,’ Kiwi observed as they were heading back toward the where the car was parked.

They were now in, Lakemba, the epicentre of the of the Muslim displacement of Australians and  resembled a neighbourhood somewhere in the Middle East. As they turned into the main street where the car was parked, they began slipping the last of the pamphlets under the doors of businesses. The light flooding the street was a welcome relief from the gloom they’d been working in. Many people were still out and about; it was late Thursday night shopping. The car was only about the length of a cricket pitch up ahead when Kiwi thrust the last pamphlet toward a Muslim woman walking by who reflexively accepted it. Her surprise, like any other emotion she may have felt, was concealed by her burka.


     Suddenly, loud yelling came from somewhere behind them accompanied by footfalls thumping as fast as a drum roll. Steve turned to see a group of men running toward them. A gold chain around the neck and nestled in the exposed black chest hair of the leader glinted in the streetlight. He was waving one of the pamphlets above him and gripped a baseball bat half way along the shaft in his other hand. It was difficult to see exactly how many were running behind him but one thing was obvious: the infidels were outnumbered. People were scattering. Steve wanted to run, but he couldn’t. Both Boxhead and Kiwi had turned to face them, Boxhead even taking a pace toward them. Adrenalin was coursing through Steve’s body but the switch had to be thrown from flight to fight.


The leader of the group flung the pamphlet in the air and it fluttered behind him as he took the bat in both hands at the skinny end and drew it into a back-swing, still running fast and about two metres from Boxhead. As he slowed and aimed the bat at Boxhead’s bald, shining head, Boxhead calmly thrust his left leg out in a straight front kick to the man’s testicles and tipped his full weight behind it, adroitly stepping to his right to avoid the bat that was  arcing toward him. The man groaned and doubled up. Skinhead then grabbed him by the hair and shirt and, aided by the man’s own momentum, flung him into the rear of a parked car. His head put a slight dent in the car beside a rear lamp and the bat rolled and clattered along the pavement. Another man who’d been close behind the one just fallen and incensed at the treatment of his comrade began waving a knife toward Boxhead’s guts. So intent was he on evening the score he’d lost awareness of Kiwi who crashed a right hand into the side of the man’s head.


 The stricken man looked comical as he staggered and held out both arms as if about to take a dance partner. Boxhead brought him down with a roundhouse kick to the side of his knee. He buckled and landed on his behind on the pavement. He was still insensible as Boxhead kicked the knife from his hand, sending it skidding under a parked car while Kiwi shielded him from two other attackers racing toward them. Steve joined the fray by running at one of them and driving a shoulder into his solar plexus. Kiwi wrestled with the other while Steve prepared to take on the man recovering from the shoulder charge. And then a blow came seemingly from nowhere pounding into the side of his head. It wasn’t exactly pain he felt; it was more a jarring shock that robbed him of his senses and had him seeing the stars he’d always thought were either mythical or the stuff of cartoons. It was like waking from a dream. He was half dreaming; half knowing urgently he had to wake up. He shook his head to try to urge the return to full consciousness. He was almost there when another blow smashed into the corner of his mouth sending him staggering backward. A knife was pointed toward him, coming at him with the certainty of a train on a track. It mesmerised him. And then a dull thud and a crack sounded, the man screamed and the knife rattled onto the concrete. Boxhead had retrieved the baseball bat and brought it down full force on the man’s knife arm. Nursing the arm and grimacing in pain, he retreated as Boxhead continued to threatened him.


Yelling ‘fucking Australian shit,’ was the best rearguard action he could produce. But he grinned on seeing a mate had gotten behind Boxead and now had him in a choke-hold causing him to writhe violently, desperately trying to break loose. Emboldened, Broken-arm now rushed forward, kicking at Boxhead who was using the bat toward him off as well as beating over his shoulders with it at his other tormentor. Steve in the meantime, with most of the cotton wool now out of his head, used his old rugby skills to tackle another knife wielder and knock the wind out of him. He pinned the hand holding the knife to the pavement and with a knee on his chest to restrict his movement he used his other hand to rain hammer-blows on his arm until he released his grip on the knife. But not finished yet, he managed to bring a knee up under Steve’s ribcage. He was smaller than Steve and scrawny but seemed to have the strength of a madman. He rolled Steve just enough to get him off him and with a death grip on each other they got to their feet and began trading blows. Steve was punching hard enough to drop most men but his adversary was absorbing the punishment, more intent on punching back than defending himself. A looping right hand caught Steve in the lower lip and blood began to gush.


On the other side of the pavement, Kiwi was withstanding an attack by an experienced knife fighter, exhibiting the skills he'd acquired before deserting from the NZ army. He had his forearms crossed in front of his face and was lashing out with his feet. The man though was deftly avoiding the kicks and was interspersing wild slashing with deadly thrusts. With each thrust, Kiwi either pulled his midsection back or moved sideways, allowing an escape from the needle-sharp tip. The slashing though was taking its toll. Blood was beginning to run down his arms from several gashes. He knew he was losing but the sight and smell of the blood maddened him. Even before the momentum of a thrust had been expended, he stepped to his left, placing himself almost side on at an angle to his attacker, drew his right leg back and exploded a smashing round-house kick into his abdomen. The man’s eye bulged and he doubled over. With both his hands gripping the back of the man’s neck he brought his knee up into his face.  With blood pouring from a broken nose, the stricken man reeled backwards and fell on his back, striking his head on the concrete. 

 Knife with blood. Stock Photography

     Now with the knife in his own hand, Kiwi straddled the prone figure with his knees and with both hands lifted the knife high above his head to plunge it into the man’s heart. ‘No,’ Steve roared and sprung just in time to grab the knife hand just before it descended. Steve’s own opponent was rolling on the ground groaning. Still in fear of a murder being committed, Steve continued holding Kiwi’s wrist and twisting it until he let go of the knife. Undeterred, Kiwi began pounding the man’s face with his fists, the two men’s blood becoming mixed as the claret running from Kiwi’s arms sprayed onto the man’s bloodied face.

     ‘Stop it! You’ll fucking kill him,’ Steve shouted. It was only then that a measure of sanity began displacing Kiwi’s bloodlust. He got up off the man who rolled and began crawling on his hands and knees in a slow motion escape. The target he now presented was just too tempting for Kiwi who drove several full-force kicks into his ribcage before he made a strange sighing sound, rolled and fell on his side where he stayed still.


 Boxhead, with his wild swings behind him with the bat had backed a winner with a strike to the head of the man who was trying to choke him. Stunned, he released his grip, allowing Boxhead to concentrate on the man who was kicking him. The first unhindered swing broke the man’s other arm, but the satisfaction of this caused him to lose awareness of the man still behind him. Rubbing his head where the bat had caught him, this man stepped forward and drove the sole of his boot into the back of Boxhead’s knee, dropping him to the same knee. Then he drove the same boot-sole into the back of his neck. Boxhead’s coke-bottle-bottom glasses shot from his head. But before the man could deliver another kick, both Steve and Kiwi were on him. Steve had him in a full nelson while Kiwi drove a left into his stomach, a right uppercut to his chin that caused his eyes to roll back and then a vicious left hook to the side of his head. Steve flung him to the ground. Then Kiwi began putting his RM Williams boots to what he thought was good use by stomping on the man’s head.

‘No that’s enough,’ Steve said. ‘Christ, you’ve really got the killer instinct haven’t you?’ Kiwi took that as a compliment. Then, apart from some groaning and the sound of heavy breathing, all was quiet. The leader of the attackers, now with an egg-sized bump on his forehead was still snoozing between two parked cars. The man with the two broken arms had disappeared, the man who should have been dead was supporting himself by leaning his back against a shop window smearing blood against it, both his and Kiwi’s, and the fifth lay comatose on the footpath, blood running ominously from both ears.


The comparative silence was only a brief interlude though. From somewhere not far away came a strange, urgent female warbling, alternating rapidly between frequencies – high, low, high, low. ‘What in Christ’s name is that?’ Boxhead asked. Steve had heard the sound in India: ululating. He’d only heard it in a celebratory context but in this instance it was a  battle cry. Some sort of disturbance was happening on the other side of the street, further down. Men were running – many men. Tyres screeched as cars braked to avoid hitting some of them blindly attempting to cross the road in heavy traffic.

     ‘Let’s go,’ Steve cried. ‘Come on; we’ve got to get out of here.’ Kiwi was already running, digging in his pocket for the car keys. Steve wasn’t far behind him.


‘Steve, wait!’ It was Boxhead’s voice with a touch of desperation in it. ‘I can’t find my glasses. Help me.’ Steve understood instantly; he would be as blind as an eyeless spud. He turned to see him in a stance of abject helplessness, arms outstretched at his sides, palms turned upwards. Steve rushed back to look for the glasses. There they were in the gutter. One lens was cracked and an arm was missing but they would restore his sight. He picked them up and thrust put them into the hand of the blind man. Almost imperceptibly but becoming more perceptive by the second was the hee haw hee haw of sirens. 


‘Here!’ he said, handing them to Boxhead who held them on his head and both started running. The blood-lusting mob was now only metres behind them. Kiwi was already in the car with the engine running. Then the car rocked as the two desperadoes jumped in with him. ‘Lock the doors. Lock the fucking doors,’ Steve cried. Only a sliver of time passed between the clicking of the doors and the pounding on all side windows. A bearded crazed brute of a man lying across the bonnet, fierce eyes locked with Kiwi's, was trying to smash the windscreen with the side of his fist. The the car was being rocked violently by men on both sides. 


Motion-blurred image of a black sedan driving through Manhattan in New York at night. - Stock Image

     ‘For fuck’s sake, go, get us out of here!’ Boxhead cried. Kiwi stamped on the accelerator and pulled the wheel wildly to the right at the same time. The man trying to smash the windscreen was thrown to the roadway. The bonnet of a taxi travelling in the same direction suddenly dropped like a giant had pressed down on it and its tyres shrieked and smoked with the acrid smell of burning rubber. The car’s momentum was almost spent but not enough. It crashed loudly, metallically into the rear door of the Beamer, pushing its opposite rear fender into the car that had been parked in front of it. The noise of plastic parts shattering into shrapnel added to the cacophony. The car containing the three fugitives lurched wildly into a lucky gap in oncoming traffic before Kiwi could wrestle it back onto the correct side of the road, still fish-tailing.


 Steve looked through the rear window to see the fast receding figure of the man who’d been flung onto the roadway getting to his feet just inches in front of the stalled taxi. I'll bet his his pants are full of shit, Steve thought. The Beamer leapt at the chance to do what it was made for. Before many seconds had ticked by it was doing ninety along a suburban main street. Luckily, several millimetres of space still existed between the belted in fenders and the rear tires.  A half  K ahead red and blue flashing lights were rushing toward them.


"Slow down for Christ’s sake," Boxhead yelled. "You don’t think they might get suspicious seeing a car heading away from a crime scene at this speed?" Kiwi glared at him but braked sharply down to legal speed just before a police car, an ambulance and another police car hurtled past them, with enough combined hee hawing to hurt eardrums. Kiwi then right-turned the car sedately into a side street, then after five minutes made another right, so that they were travelling in the opposite direction as they’d been on the main street but a good distance away from it. The tension, the adrenaline, the blood-lust was draining.


"Pull over," Boxhead commanded, his glasses at a comical angle across his face.

"Why?" Kiwi asked, immediate umbrage in his voice.

"Why? Take a look at yourself. You're bleeding like a stuck pig. If we don't stop it somehow, you're going to pass out and put us into a telegraph pole." Kiwi pulled pulled the car over on the wrong side of the road where cars were less densely parked and did as he'd been advised. For the first time he noticed the patterns formed by the scarlet riverlets running down his forearms from ugly, glistening gashes, soaking his shirt and pants and pooling on the seat between his legs.

 "Yeah, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit crook."


 Steve leaned over into the space between the front seats and said, "do you think it was our newsletters they took exception to?" 


A man walking his Jack Russel under a street light beside a high end sedan with both rear fenders stove in was baffled when, unable to resist looking in through the open front window, saw three men, one of them covered in blood, roaring with laughter. Kiwi, becoming aware of the man's eyes on him, stopped laughing for long enough to wipe a tear from his eye with a bloody finger and look at the man and then down at the dog.

"Them Jack Russell's are crazy," he said to the man.


"You're still bleeding," the man heard someone else in the car say, and as the raucous and seemingly uncontrollable laughter re-erupted inside the car, he resumed his walk. Slowly shaking his head, he thought, Jack Russel's are crazy? 







       Of course Steve was not going to mention his attendance at the meeting to Doreen. It would be the romantic equivalent to clif...