More on Fred
by Alex Linder
27 August 2004
Any writer who calls himself "crazy" isn't. It's a marketing strategy slash offputting form of vanity. With all respect to Wilde, 'nuts' is a pose more irritating than 'natural.' Boy, nobody but that crazy ol' nekkid Fred'll say sech, hyuk-yuk-yuk.
Few observe the line as toefully as self-certified loonies. They always know where the line is, and they never cross it, like a child walking along the edge of the ocean, giggling and leap-squealing when the tide rushes near his feet. Cute in kid, cloying in adult. Especially in adult posing as forbidden-truth teller.
It's not just Freddie. Jim Goad slaps his girlfriend a couple times, makes a feral career of it. But, having collected and brilliantly arrayed data refuting the jews' Founding Lie that race-doesn't-exist/matter, he retreats to the safety of marxism when explanation times comes. Yes, working-class unity is the real solution to the race-ills described in Redneck Manifesto. Yawn. How jew-friendly. How safe. How badly the world needs an excellent writer such as Goad naming the jew, its interests, and the hypocritical and goy-endangering ways it pursues them. Same with Reed. The poor whitefish is already cut to sticks; when turn your razor on the jewfish, pardon me, 'Goliath grouper,' hard boys?
In every other case but jews, cracked-cracker Fred punctures, pops, succinctly sums and dismisses. With jews, he reads off the sheet, like every other flopsweaty bribepol/scribepol. He slicks the reader with his cornponey style. Like even the esteemed Florence King, like loopy drunk white-trash comedian Brett Butler, he finds...down-homey virtue in those New York jewboys -- you know, the ones who mock their praisers' foxworthy relatives around the clock in their media. Better a sharp stick in the eye than this sauxthron soft shtik. Ein Herz für Hymie? Yag! Barf! Vomit! You circumspect kooks, you men of measured misanthropy -- you need soul canals.
This little-bit-loco is a middle-class marketing meme, see hear it everywhere. We're all wild -- and safe! Great taste at budget prices! Ice cream without cows. Think country: David Lee Murphy's recent hit chorus: I might be a little bit crazy, but it keeps me from going insane. Or "alternative's" Liz Phair: just your average ordinary everyday sane psycho. We're all "special." We all stick out. We're all 'edgy.' We're all not like the rest of us. A little bit sharper. A little bit ahead of the curve. Or maybe just little bits. Of pinchy hotos and and pinched loaves all compact, we're.
We AmeriKwans are like Clinton's jabbing finger that's actually a thumb...and not really jabbing...in fact barely extending over the parapet of clenched fist. We're everything and its opposite. We'll go down on you in a theater...if the lights are off...and nobody's in the audience. Oh yes, jagged little placebos, we're; candy coated, so our tummies don't rumble. Let's face it, fellow 'Kwans. We're we're mass men, to say ass men; a bunch of queafing cunts. The trill of disdain is in the air, that we should hang ourselves in shame.
Every other "on" column Fred rides one of his hobbyhorses:
- race incompatibility
- dumbed-down America
- evil feminism
- media manipulation.
Each of these traces to one and the same Semitic cause; Fred sticks, safely, to symptoms. Unified field theory - above Fred's pay grade. Him just a humble stickyboony tech-writer, mil-writer, world-traveler, deep-divin' cave-splunkin, mex-spunkin' down-home pandit of goober.
"So far and no farther," the conservative motto. Prudence always - and what could be more prudent than going along to get along - i.e., cowardice? True words garner no jew's checks, as the poet says.
Fred gets mail from people who, after years of VNN, know and name the disease. Fred feels sleep coming on. He checks his pulse and finds his own self tired, weary. Bed-said-Fred. No Hant this! More like a shrieksome Haint.
He shifts uncomfortably. How to make this mail stop? He'll write a column. He'll affect to discuss jews and whether or not they form a collective pursuing interests, and whether or not those interests figure in the production of the social symptoms he describes and dislikes, and whether those interests are opposed to Aryans'.
But of course Fred does none of this. All of a sudden Fred-on-jews can't see the big picture. From McGyver to McGoo in the blink of an eye. Suddenly Fred, that sentence diagrammer, that proud son of mathematician, reduces to anecdotard. Early onset Schmaltzheimer's, he's developed! Violins cue sweet-sourly as Fred dines with pleasant yid, smacks tenny balls sportily with Zi-b'nai. Fred's Siltyjism:
1) jews control tv, papers and Congress and are driving Aryans to genocide.
2) Fred once discussed albino platypuses with Hiram Whingelstein over French Onion soup at La Brasserie.
3) people who criticize jews are kooks.
Call it Hyman's Razor: when it comes to jews and their curious behavior, the most complex, convoluted and statistically unlikely explanation -- as long as it completely 100% and totally exonerates them -- must be assumed until proven otherwise, which of course would be a hate crime. Special logic for special people, you know.
In case you haven't realized it over the last four years, I don't like jews. I perceive and study them pernicious, invidious, malicious, sick-vicious and several dozen other nadjectives. I say we snuff them down to the last Stinkowitz, piss on their trough grave, and live in peace and middle-class unlocked-door White harmony till the sun burns out. What say you, White niggers mein?
All Fredl's focus in his curious latest is on how he feels about yids and their observers; on his own experience, not on the facts. Facts, after all, can be looked up. Claims can be researched. Arguments weighed. Reporter Fred knows this. But Reporter Fred follows The Template. The Template dictates that factual accuracy about jews and their motives is Hate. Hate is illegal. Well, not quite yet. But it should be.
A letter-writer emails Fred a letter denouncing his evasions, eviscerations and evacuations. Fred responds like a controlled media "reporter" writing about a White flier distribution. He focuses on the motive of the sender. He avoids the facts adduced by his respondent. He fills his column with non sequitur after anecdote after reductio ad absurdum after logical fallacy. He throws in just enough you've-a-point to make it appear he's being fair and addressing the arguments. Our Fred's got mad cover-up skillz. But he isn't.
To read conservative writers like Fred is like listening to men who sound sane, but turn out to be crazy. Like a rat trying to reach the end of the cage by running madly on a wheel, rather than stepping down, and crawling over to the food -- when the pellets can be clearly seen and smelled through the rungs! I mean, we have open borders for a reason, right? But to read conservatives writing about immigration, you would swear it is a force of nature, rather than an intended result. Conservatives exist to provide pat, safe answers to lull the unthinking. It never ceases to amaze how easily satisfied most people are. No matter what the subject, the conservative always ends on the implicit "Amen" that no matter how bad things actually are, the government intends to do the right thing, it just isn't listening to the wise conservatives yet. And the conservative adult-children nod off to sleep. The idea of inherently incompatible interests is too adult for femmed-out demos, too masculine, too cold. "Mommy, where did all the Mexicans come from? "The stork brought them." "Well then, who let the monkeys out of their cages?" "The circus is in town."