Vanguard News Network

[Now complete]

The mater matrix pinches off an alumni mag three times a year. The latest issue is chock full of stubby brown goodness, like unto an ashtray at a cigar bar.

For years I was lost to fundraisers, then last fall I got a call. I told the student that the chance of Pomona receiving one wooden ha’penny from me was less than negative, but that when I became rich, I would consider setting up a scholarship for needy White males of proven mental merit. Consider it. Great brains equipped with money remains worthless if the professors profess nonsense. Just what is it Pomona professors know that’s worth paying to learn? Very little, by my experience. Glorious blue-gold SoCal afternoons, with the sun, slowly, slowly dying — these are free, and these are what I value and remember.

Pomona is an independent liberal-arts college located in Claremont, California. It was set up to be a Southern California version of an ivy league school. The founders were three-named WASPs from the East Coast, and their mentality and mission have developed, or devolved, in the same way everthing else has. We look to the future while keeping a proud toe in the past, like a properly coiffed and shell-waving Alabama beauty contestant. I extract from memory: They only are loyal to this institution who in departing bear their added riches in trust for mankind. That was graven on one of the walls near the eucalyptus trees. This site bears riches for mankind, however, as you will see, those riches were not acquired via Pomona, but in spite of her – through independent reading carried out at the opportunity cost of passing on assigned marxoid/Anglo-historical rubbish.

You don’t even have to open this square, expensive production before your lips peel back in grimace. The only positive note seems to be the lack of an article on Kabuki, a type of Japanese puppet theatre perhaps the single most boring art form on earth, and the subject of extensive features virtually every other edition. Thank god for small favors. What we do get is a cover shot — by Carlos Puma! rowrrrr — a free-gray-and-fifty-one pic of some grinny yoregrad — surrounded by roughly a dozen brown stubbies, several attempting to press their everted lips on her chin, forehead and hair. Words? “The Many Faces of Family…” Ah, I don’t need to tell you what we’re in for here. You know. Homos and houseplants; second basemen with basters; proud china-pet owners; anything but mom ‘n’ pop and their blue/blond slop. Who’s to say what’s a family? Yeah. Who’s? You and your hidebound divisive disinclusivism? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let me tell you, friend, your kind is on the way out.

This display is geared to sway and suck bucks from the sixties set. To persuade them that their peers sail successfully into the warm wild winds of worldism, and they should hop on board too. Diversity and high standards: as natural as black and blonde, moving arm in arm forward into the New Era. Pomona’s ruling ideology is WASP-faced judeobolshevism. If you want to see its dark side, you have only to pipe up that it’s based on contradictions, and cannot hold. It’s a chocolate-dipped turd: it may look, is certainly made to look, lucious and sweet on the outside, but bite in, and find out just how distasteful and septic it is within.

Let’s page through this thing and see what we find…

Inside cover: two girls graduating, being handed their diplomas by a blonde in a mortarboard. I’m just going to guess the grinning girls are nonWhites.

The letters section has an old photo of a girl being weighed and measured. She’s ill at ease. Older male letters writers are horrified at this tradition – the boys used to weigh and measure incoming freshman females. I agree on this. It is a ridiculous tradition. It is degrading and it disrespects the privacy of the girl in question. If I were male, I would not have participated, and if I were female, I would have told any boy who tried to grab me to go fuck himself. If I were a hermaprodite, I would have pretended I were a girl, and then pissed on Johnny McSophomore after making him fondle my crotch. Of course, none of these ever occurred to 99% of the idiots who beat and bewail these traditions today. Morons. No character then, no character today. Listen to this moronic jackoff:

Why didn’t we do the job 20 years earlier, why let that barbaric custom continue unchallenged? Many of us were appalled. Short-circuiting it would have been child’s play. I suppose, in those grey days of McCarthyist conformity, that was just one more thing we accepted without thinking about. — [Sparkles McDouchebag] class of ’54

Yeah, blame McCarthy for your own cowardice. Fact is, most people are useless cunts, no matter how bright. They all do what they’re told, and eagerly, gleefully join in hating and shitting on those who don’t.

First article’s got a far too close up pic of some Paki prof, Pakis being the its and essences of brown stubbies. He’s interviewed by larval Michael Bernstein (’08) about his work relieving on survivors of some massive earthquake that played Wack-a-paki with distraught semi-doogas in 2005. Please go back there and stay there, Mr. Professor of Economics.

There’s a blurb on the animals and plants in Pomona. Let’s face it, this is a tiny carveout suburb, around which some increasingly nasty mexiniggeria fondulates, specifically the town of Pomona itself, which has always been nigger central, until the shitskins began pushing them out. Pomona has more than 3,700 trees. Who counted? Why? Who cares? Why? The only remarkable aspect of the flora at Pomona are the eucalyptus trees. These are the ones koala bears live in and feed on; they have bark that peels in long strips, giving them the appearance of being outfit in camouflage. They’re just dirty trees from Australia, from another view. They pollute like geese. There I go again, saying trees pollute, just like Ronny Ray-gun, exactly the sort of thing the stupid liberals populating Pomona like to laugh at.

Pomona brags on its three kinds of ivy, but I can tell you that most of it is dusty, dirty, and just plain nasty, and full of webs with frighteningly large funnels. I had to wrestle many a truculent spider for the return of foul balls, back in the day. It seldom rains down there, and of course it’s never winter, so the nasties escape hibernian check. You walk down the sidewalk after dark, you’ll see plenty of roaches running around under the streetlamps; and where there’s ivy, there are always rats. Funny these don’t make the list of fauna. Why do we ignore four- and six-legged vermin, yet celebrate two-?

There’s a notice that one Elizabeth Armintrout, or Elizabeth “Libby” Gates Armintrout, ’86, has joined the PC board of trustees. I recall the name (I’m ’88) but only vaguely the girl, appears she’s related to that Gates, as she’s from that neck of the woods. She’s also president of The Lakeside School, which I believe Bill Gates attended. She’s your classic WASP in appearance, pale, washed out blue-blonde, almost half-albino. These WASPs appear frailer than they are. They appear weak, but are not weak. By the same token, they appear reasonable and solicitous, but tend toward moral insanity. They tend to exhibit religious fanaticism, usually manifesting itself in a political form. That means, hating people like me and outlets such as VNN that tell you the truth about race, because it conflicts with their religious attempts to alchemize niggers and like vermin into humans. Their very words tell the prick’t they’re off. Here’s some classic WASPery:

In a 2004 foreward for Star Palate, a celebrity cookbook to benefit breast and ovarian cancer research, she wrote, “Whether we’re opening our homes to friends for entertainment or caring for someone who is unwell, we extend ourselves to nourish others.

This is the modern version of ‘noblesse oblige.’ Imagine how warped and dangerous you have to be to see yourself unembarrassed in print as ‘nourishing’ others. You dig on this dryblonde’s dug you might get powdered milk if you’re lucky. This Armintrout is the type that has 0.2 kids, and is fecund with nothing but fanaticism, however mildly and tastefully it is expressed.

Conceive, if you can, the mentality behind the self-conception in I’m a nourisher. In my relations with others, I nourish them. This is of a piece with Barbara Bush’s not letting Iraqi body bags cloud her “beautiful mind.” The fact that this poisonous, laughable noblesse oblige is baseless, indeed positively dangerous — that it fucks up the world — doesn’t matter to the fucker. Only that she feels good about her nourishing self. She’s good. She nourishes others, she doesn’t mind conceding. True helpfulness begins in self-examination which ends truly and only in self-disgust, the root of all anti-evil. All great men know this. Dim missies never do. I wonder if any of this type has written a book titled: The Nourishing Self. If not, I bet one will. Well it might sell. Anglo’zed Americunts never tire of seeing themselves the helpful exemplars to an undeserving world. Yeck and wretch, but step lively, or the nasty nourishing juggernaut will run you down. The wattful among you may catch the callback to the ‘continuing to nourish a climate of opposition to bigotry,’ as expressed by the jew explaining their brilliant policy in opening our borders to the sewer world.

The only way to make my utter disdain and yes, hatred, of this type plainer is by contrasting it with the better type, my type. This type recognizes that human beings are inherently digusting, offensive, unappetizing to others, and so does what it can not to nourish others, but to make itself ever so slightly less obnoxious to them. Except for the canting, cunting WASPS and the jews they “nourish” for; — they are the aggressors, and need to be checked by their betters.

Hi! My name is Elizabethy “Libby” Gates Armintrout. What do I do? I nourish. Yeah. Many are called, few are chosen. I’m a soup kitchen in a blouse. The ladels scooping from my beautiful mind feed millions. Look on my works, ye haters, and despair…

Flipping over, we come across, mirabile dictu, racial pride! White pride? No. “Latino pride.” It will not be the last appearance of brown pride in this issue… We read that Pomona was named one of the nation’s “10 best colleges for Latinos” by Hispanic Magazine, out of Miami. We learn that this school of 1500+ is 11 percent “Latino.” At least three times higher percentage than the years I attended. Why this article is titled “Latino Pride” isn’t clear, but that ‘Latino’ is something worth taking pride in is self-evident and unproblematic to the white editor, Mark Wood.

What are the top ten colleges for Whites?

Flip, flip, flip… article on video games…boring… flip…good lord….a student wearing an outrageous shirt. Right on her budding tits are depictions of Goering, Himmler, Goebbels, and, yes, Hitler at the three-a.m. stage of partying. “Shirts & Hens (Pomona’s mascot is the sagehen) / The Nazi Party”…it’s all in good fun, you understand. The ideologues at whose feet more than 100,000,000 corpses can be laid just partied a littler harder than most. All in good fun. Oh yeah, remember to remember the Holocaust, and vote Quimby.

There’s an article on KSPC, the campus radio station, its origins and development. “Relegated to the lower bandwidths at the far left of the FM dial, small college stations created a culture of ‘underground’ radio that focused on the avant garde and esoteric, often providing a platform for points of view that ran counter to the McCarthyism and Cold War paranoia of the era.” That’s two mentions of McCarthyism and we’re only eight pages in. Those fearing communism and its hundred-million corpses need to doff their paranoia and don their party gear.

“Station manager Tracy Westen ’62 won national awards and raised a few eyebrows when he and his KSPC crew produced a documentary series on a national trend toward right-wing demagoguery — its centerpiece an exclusive interview with and exposé of American Nazi Party leader George Lincoln Rockwell.” Nice example of the hypocrisy of the WASP/liberal. He’ll do any dirty thing that’s profitable, he just wraps it up so it pleases his conscience. He’s nourishing opposition to bigotry – and making a buck.

Flip again…a feature on students and their spaces. Whatever. Students featured are: jew, white male normal, gook female, white female, mexigook (best guess), white male – lifting weights, wearing Pabst Blue Ribbon shirt with sleeves cut out.

Then we’re to the cover story. Martha Evans ’57 is the granma amid the duskies. She had a bunch of kids, adopted a bunch more, drove her husband away. We are lectured by writer Rachel Stewart Johnson ’96: “Once upon a time, American families were all of the type enshrined by Norman Rockwell in his paintings – a mom, a dad and two children…blah, blah, blah…”there is no typical American family.” A family is any collection of more than one people combining its genitals in shapes beyond geometry, producing offspring more frightening than the snakes growing out of the potatoes you forgot under the sink last winter.

“Where other people were afraid to go, I would tend to go,” self-congratulates multi-mother Martha. This self-satisfaction is inescapable among Po-people. False humility, moral preening, that weak tea the WASP passes for funny. What a repugnant culture. It is the antithesis of all that is harsh, clear, strong, true and beautiful. It is thin, vicious, hypocritical, and smug by contrast.

“A first-generation American with a Norwegian mother and an Irish father, Evans possesses the fair skin, light hair and Lutheran religion typical of her ancestry — all traits well removed from the Mexican roots shared by the majority of her brood.” Mexicans are simply weeds. Go to a beach dominated by Mexicans and drive up and down it. Look at them. Do they appear to be human in the same sense Whites are? No, they don’t. They aren’t. They are inferior, and to celebrate humans’ promiscuos mingling with them is to celebrate the inferior and defective.

Slammed up against this cover story is one about a Marilyn Filley (’88), and her struggle to raise her autistic son. He’s blond. It’s a tragic story – autism has become widespread for unknown reasons, and we wish Filley and family well, but the point here is: Have you noticed how often white males are associated with defects social and physical? Stories like this invariably feature white males. All the ‘wonderful’ diversity disappears when it’s autism or wetting the bed or some other unpleasantry. Of course, there is nothing accidental about it. The intent is to associate the two, as the inverse of the ubiquitous black-blonde pairing. Whatever can be done to raise the prestige of coloreds and lower the prestige of white males will be faithfully executed in the WASP-faced judeomedia, where blond hair is the new black hat.

The third family profile is two grinning lesbians and their son. The well named Marcia Hams, (’69!), is one of them, and she and her little brewer were apparently the first to take advantage of the Massachusetts law enshrining the fiction that women can marry women. Hams became a machinist’s apprentice. She served on committees. She barked for rights. Obeying her urges, she induced an elmer to part with his Very Special glue. “It’s the world that has the problem, not us.” You go, lesbos. Apparently the happy three are poster children for the fagfolk brigades, and all this happy lapping, we are assured, is indistinguishable from progress.

The fourth and final menage involves a female rabbi, a river otter, and a marsupial to be named later.

I’m kidding. Maybe. Or maybe it’s a woman gazing off three-quarters, clutching a framed photo of the dead drunk she called son. She went to Pomona. He went, briefly, to Chico State. His wannabe Greek buddies forced a bottle of brandy in him, sent him downstairs to sleep it off, where he went that extra mile and expired.

Well, that’s what you get when you set up monkey houses like Chico State and pretend they’re colleges.

So, for those keeping score, that’s one dead white male, one defective and one “normal” with two moms. And a whole lot of happy, mostly healthy adopted coloreds. This mess is family.

Only those while males receive fair treatment who subordinate themselves to an obscene ordering of things in which everything female and colored is superior but just might, if we’re super polite and grovelly, condescend to drop a scooby snack somewhere near us on the floor.

PCT offers a high-end version of the sitcom/ad staple: the male as doofus, goofball, in need of instruction and consciousness raising from his morally and intellectually and culturally superior woman. Again, this shit can be laid directly at the foot of the WASP and his ridiculous Christian-Victorian culture.

Women? Good for fucking, for producing kids. You won’t find one in a thousand with something to say. That’s the truth. As for their being morally superior, anyone who puts women on a pedestal for that is an unobservant fool. Women are more vicious, less intelligent, and in almost every way less impressive than men. To wrap them in cloth like the Muslims do is going too far, but to put them on pedestals and worship them is every bit as ridiculous, and far more dangerous. If you hate our modern culture, not only do you hate jews, you hate women acting on their un-male-mediated devices. Where women rule, there is no freedom, no true taste, just mediocrity and conformity as far as the eye can see. This is why women are favored in today’s world – and why men are encouraged to become women. Women don’t challenge the power structure, they aren’t built for it. They’re built to conform, no matter who’s setting the pattern or calling the shots. Very, very, very few women understand this. For all their ability to spot motives and emotions in personal interviews, they’re completely blind to the way their sex is manipulated through Nike commercials, Title IX, and the whole girl power garbage. It must be emphasized, though, that women and their role in any society is nothing but a function and reflection of the state of the male. Women can only do what men allow and encourage them to. They are not capable of initiating things on their own outside established patterns. Women today are used as part of a system in which one set of males arranges to dominate another. The nigger or the sandler gets the blonde; the blonde spends her family’s pent up billions to aid the little niggers in Africa – these are different aspects of the same zirconium. Women dominating an institution is an unmistakeable sign that the golden age has passed. Five IQ points dumber than men, women nevertheless receive the majority of the degrees. Do you think that is by accident? Then you fail to think at all.

You can’t start being carefully Correct too early, otherwise you’ll get Afro-nagged for wearing a stars-n-bars stickpin when you were twelve. From article about kids and parents communicating via new e-means: [The parent] “says she is amazed by what some people will post online, but Tom’s blog doesn’t contain any surprises. Her son says that’s his intention. “I know it’s a public record so anything I post there has to be appropriate reading for my mom, my future children, my future employers, maybe even my future constituents.” Is that the voice of maturity, or is that the Scared-Correct major in rabbitry?

Seems the administration commissioned this article about ‘heliparents’ who are overly attentive to their student’s problems. Back off, parents. The irony they see is the baby-boomers who overthrew in loco parentis back in the sixites now hang and hover. Dean Bruce Poch doesn’t like that. He’s the guy who not only signed the letter with the other deans and president denouncing me, but wrote his own separate letter, with extra curses. He would later write an article re admissions stating overtly that Pomona discrimates against Whites, describing them as bigots who aren’t open-minded enough to benefit from a Pomona education. Golf clap for Dean Wurmpoke, everybody…

The real point is that the parents don’t care about what the kids are studying. They care about grades, and that the value of the name they’re buying stays high. What kind of flesh goes in the sausage, eh, it can be so much jagdwurst for all they care. College, like most things in life, is a scam. Call it.

Next up, oh, you’re gonna love this one, is ‘lactivist’ — how cute! — “Lorig Charkoudian.” Her activism consists of badgering Starbucks to let her play sow in whichever portion of their cafe she pleases. Activism = whining. Activism = selfishness. Activism = demanding others accommodate themselves to you. Activism = making oneself a public nuisance. Stupid broad.

A month later, she would be occupying a chair across from CNN’s Anderson Cooper. But on that day at the coffee shop, she was just another tired suburban mom…

Get it? Rosa Parks all over again. Like badly reproduced copies of a fake original. Liberalism has become a caricature of itself, and itself when original was wholly fraudulent. No need to journ to Oberammergau for passion plays, there’s one running at a latte barn next door…

Asked to cover her tit with a towel, this bitch gets uppity, demands her money back. Races home, hops on the ‘Net. “Maryland law, Chardoukian discovered…protects a mother’s right to breastfeed at private businesses…” Wow. You have the “right” to breastfeed your kid, but not to send your kid to a public school free of niggers. That’s liberalism for you, straining at gnats, gulping camels. Valiantly combating corporate oppression by turning over huge new swaths of human interaction to ZOG busybodies. Women have the right never to be made uncomfortable, under any circumstances, no matter what difficulties that imposes on others. This too is “civil rights.”

Next up are the two graduatin’ girls referred to at the beginning. They are, suhprise suhprise, twin Mexicans, graduated top of their class at Napa high. Now they’re attending colleges 3,000 miles apart. Where’s the story here? Does someone care? Not three paragraphs in:

The twins had decided to make a statement during the ceremony. As Jazmin crossed the stage to accept her diploma, she unfolded a black-and-white banner reading Orgullo Latino — “Latino Pride.” Lizbeth followed right behind her with a Mexican flag.

There’s even a picture. Not to mention they were presidents of the “Hispanic Club.” I must say there’s something odd about these girls. The one attending Bowdoin looks far more jewish than Mexican. She’s teamed up with other rugby-playing girls to form a scrum of deliciousness.

Flip, flip, flip. What have we here? Oy, a near-prize-winning essay, itz. What prize? “The Elie Wiesel Prize in Ethics”! Another good example of jewish humor, assocating Jerry Lee “Great Balls o’ Fire” Lewis, I mean, Elie P. “Great Geysers o’ Blood” Wiesel with ethics. You could charge for juxtaposition like that. The essay is Correctly boring in predictable ways, so we’ll draw a veil over it.

So much agitslop and we’ve only slogged 40 of the 66. Flip, we must. Like madmen, or agitated lactrishas bent on bending nut-juicers to their fiery will.

Finally one decent thing, which we’ll disembed from its Up, Up with Disableds context. The Italian term sprezzatura – making the hard look easy. Nice and useful term. You will hardly be surpised to learn that this term emerges from a discussion of a stuttering dean overcoming his obstacle to read the names of graduating seniors. It never ends. The invention or discovery of new classes of oppressed is the vocation and avocation of the left. Could anything be less interesting or more destructive – once the lib solution is applied?

Next is the books section, with an article by Hugo Martin (’87), a Mexican plucked from our newsroom to intern at the L.A. Times, and apparently still there, twenty years later. It’s a great time to be Mexican. No need to chop the ‘ez’ off your name. I always enjoy the list of books published by graduates, although they’re usually highly specialized. The name you might recognize is Crichtonlike Douglas Preston (’78), out with Tyrannosaur Canyon. There’s also a book by a Laura Kalman (’74) about student activism at Yale in the sixties. There’s a sidebar on Reimagining Jezebel. Is there any historical woman, fictional or flesh, who hasn’t been resuscitated and repurposed by some kike ideo-puppeteer? Turns out Jezebel was no whore but an “astute leader.” Like so many women, she was “self-possessed” and “rational.”

Here’s something interesting. The bushyites, ever fearful, made an appearance on campus to question a Venezuelan prof. “After praising my academic credentials, they indicated they were there to gather information about Venezuelans in Southern California,” just like they were the ADL or something. The bushies are as paranoid as jews, and in many cases, of course, are jews. They think everyone is out to get them, so better get them first! “Over and over they asked if anyone from the Venezuelan government or embassy had tried to influence my views on Venezuelan politics and relations with the U.S. (the answer is no)…” Ah, the scared little Anglo-men, always scurrying, always sniffing. Look what a mess they’ve made of a once-nice country. Look where their subordination of American interests to Britain and Israel has led us. “They simply wanted to develop a profile of the community and any Venezuelans in the area.” That’s all. (The prof in question is Miguel Tinker Salas.) Them being the L.A. County Sheriff in conjunction with the FBI Joint Task Force on Terrorism (JTTF).

The final feature shows a proud mixed-race couple, white male and Asian female. Greg “Grace” Stanat (’87) relates the story of his post-nuptial Wanderjahr. Greg’s come a long way from lead singer of Bung Ramen. He’s a world traveler. Observing gorillas in Africa, marrying Asians in AmeriKwa, hobnobbing with saffronics in Pieroneistan. “Cambodia is resplendent with memories for the eye. This one is for the heart.” What about the nose, Greg? What about the nose?

Last and quite possibly least there’s Emily Arnold-Fernandez (’99), “Advocate for the Dispossessed,” if you can bear it. She’s a suspiciously light-blue-eyed, light-haired girl who is fresh into Georgetown Law, between whose sessions she tends to the administrative needs of the improperly papered. She helps them navigate confusions until they’re safely set up in your neighborhood. “Her first client — a Liberian youth whose parents disappeared during fighting and civil unrest in his country — now lives in Connecticut thanks largely to the research and advocacy Arnold-Fernandez provided…” Thanks, sweety! Will you pick up the bill for the rape swabs when the little monkey turns twelve?

If you ever wonder how clowns like those who produce and promote the Arnold-Fernandezes of the world justify their actions, rest assured they never pause to ponder. Theirs the life of accusations and self-flattery, never a shadow doth cross. There are those who heed desperate Connecticut’s cries for Libyan orphans. And there are those who don’t care.

“The Cairo experience had a dramatic impact on her and served as a catalyst for the work she does today: Arnold-Fernandez heads up a nonprofit organization that aims to provide free legal aid to the world’s most embattled refugees as they struggle for legal rights in the countries to which they flee.” Translation: she helps facilitate the invasion Raspail describes in Camp of the Saints. How can those with nothing be dispossessed? Only those who possess something can lose it. Those would be Whites. Such as the Whites who owned property and led lives in Rhodesia and South Africa. Do you think they receive legal aid from A-F’s nonprofit?

“Her ambitious foray into the field of refugee rights…” – so invading your neighborhood is their “right.” Everything’s a right with Po-people. Fighting for rights is what they do. Spreading hate is what you do when you fight back. “Because of her outstanding public service [helping niggers invade Connecticut], Pomona has chosen Arnold-Fernandez to receive the Inspirational Young Alumni Award for 2005-6.” Aren’t you inspired?

In class notes I see that my old feminist-jew editor has “finally met my nice Jewish boy!” At last, a prince among the putzim. 1.2 to follow…

Well, our little journey is through, at least for the spring. It was Pomona, but it could have been 100 other institutions – same ups same downs. The orthodoxy is pure, its brow untroubled. Reality only intrudes to remind the Povoids to redouble, to rededicate their efforts to worldism. Beneath the shiny, happy surface lurk monsters. When you marry an Asian, your kid is a gook. That means something. When you deposit a Libyan in Hartford, you’ve turned a little corner of America into Africa. That means something. When you unfurl your Latino pride, when find your nice jewish boy, but you deny us our Whiteness, maybe, just maybe, you bite off more than you can chew.