Laughter: The Final Frontier
by Mark Moran
When I first sat down at the keyboard to express my long dormant sense of
racial awareness I swear to you, my hands shook. It wasn’t like palsy for
God’s sake, but it was perceptible. I was doing something verboten in my
neck of the woods. I was expressing my honest, unabridged, politically
incorrect thoughts and putting them out there for all of the world to see. I
never really thought that any of it would be worth posting on the sites that
I had selected because I wasn’t approaching things from the typical angle.
I’m not the type that you would normally associate with the White
Nationalist movement. I don’t own any swastika armbands, have never
conspired to blow up a synagogue, don’t scream racial epithets (that is
unless I slam my finger in the car door and even then it’s all mixed up with
every other expletive I can think of) and rarely, except on those occasions
when I find myself in the fields looking for arrowheads, am I ever alone.
Being a sour loner seems to be the zenith of White National behavior insomuch as the media would have you believe. As much as I respect Dr. William
Pierce, I think he would do us all a great favor if he left the mountains and
took up residence in someplace like Tribeca or West Hollywood. Imagine what
his weekly radio addresses would sound like if they were to emanate from the
belly of the beast. His recent broadcast about Philadelphia, being as fine
an example of his writing as I have yet read, proves the point for me. It's
The problem we have, as a movement, is the perception of others. They don’t
realize how many well-adjusted, functional, happily married, socially
engaged, civic-minded, well-to-do Patriots are out here, working at this
with passion and intensity. We’re not in this movement for opprobrium, but
we’re willing to accept it because this is important, it’s necessary, and
it’s predicated on the Truth. I am willing to consider Utopian fantasies,
but I am not willing to die for them and I believe that most everyone in
this movement would agree with me. If I am going to risk everything, it has
to be based on reason and hard facts rather than happy-happy, joy-joy. That
doesn't mean I can't use that approach though.
I have spent the better part of the last two decades humoring people, not
upsetting them. To engage in such behavior strikes me as contradictory to my
nature, and yet…
And yet, it seems like this is what I was meant for. I have been forged in
an environment of conflicting messages and I am sick and tired of being told
to acknowledge nonsense as if it were truth. I don’t want to play along when
people use sophism as if it were reason, claiming that “we’re all the same”
or “we’re all equal” and then begging for millions of dollars to help
“improve test scores for the children” or “offer affordable housing” to
those who are obviously not even in the ballpark of equal and never will
be. I’ve had it with surly Blacks and their endless demands for the hard-earned resources of those who actually participate in the American dream
instead of sucking off it like it was a Dinka tit. I’m sick of a press so
slanted that no one mentions it when Israeli spy teams canvass DEA and BATF
offices from one end of this country to the other and then get free airfare
back to Tel Aviv. I’ve reached the end of my rope with fags, that’s right, I
said fags, who threaten legal action against such honorable institutions as
the Boy Scouts of America if they aren’t given full access to young boys on
overnight campouts. I’m ready to vomit whenever I hear about another fat-assed feminist trying to shove her way into a position that ought to be
filled with a physically fit man who isn’t going to sue because he can’t meet
the minimum physical requirements of the job.
I mean who the hell is running the store these days? Are there any adults
left or have they all gone home, wherever that might be?
One thing for sure, you can’t win over the ones we need on our side with
vitriol. It may be an incentive to those who are already committed to the
cause, but to the ones milling around the edges, it sounds so doomsday, so
Spartan and unappealing. I look at my own experience and use it as a model
for future endeavors at recruiting. Despite the fact that I was aware of
what was going on, the institutional degradation of our schools and the
erosion of our military for example, there was little effect on me
personally. When there was, I dealt with it using humor.
When female soldiers started to show up at Ft. Bragg when I was a young
paratrooper, it was a post-wide joke. They couldn’t hack the morning runs
and P.T., never mind the field maneuvers. These women were the clerk and
jerks of the 18th Airborne Corps, not the combat MOSs, but they were forced
on us, shoehorned into place by female senators who couldn’t imagine, after
watching "Private Benjamin," why women couldn’t be paratroopers too. So in
they came, dragging ass and whining about every detail of military life and
wearing our revered berets like Parisians. I’ll never forget the morning we
were told that we could no longer sing cadence while we ran down Bastogne
because there was a female officer who was “offended” by the language. Think
about it. Here we were practicing and training to murder people on command,
to jump into enemy territory with 90-pound rucksacks, rifles and grenades,
to place mines, to kill someone with a helmet if need be, and some thin-skinned female who would never engage anything more dangerous than a photocopier was calling the shots for eighteen thousand men. Just like that. They show up and tradition departs.
Who will ever forget those endearing lyrics that used to accompany our
battalion as we shuffled down the street sweating beer from every pore and
farting on the run, “If I die on the Russian front, bury me in a Russian cunt. Sound off! Bring
it on down! One, Two, Three, Four- One, Two, Three, Four!”
Now I wouldn’t use language like that around kids, but on a six-mile run at
six a.m., deep in the heart of America’s Guard of Honor? Who wouldn’t?
We learned quickly that these “soldiers” were there for political purposes
only. To keep your jump status and your extra pay that went along with it,
you had to jump at least once a month. If you were in an infantry company,
you jumped a couple of times a month anyway, so it was never an issue. It
was the REMF’s (Rear Echelon Mother Fuckers) that needed “special”
treatment. We’d be laying around on the edge of Green Ramp waiting for the
C-130s to fire up and out would come two or three female soldiers waddling
under the weight of their parachute and reserve. They never jumped with a
rucksack, never carried a rifle in its bulky carrier, and never were
attached to the weesie bags that often weighed up to 200 pounds. All that
was required of them was that they wear their LBE, a harness-and-belt
combination that held canteens and ammo pouches, (although with no rifle,
the ammo pouches struck me as superfluous) their parachute and a reserve.
They would vomit the minute the aircraft took off, and they would always get
the door position, a spot usually reserved for guys who had done something
especially noteworthy. We mocked them, not because they were women, but
because they were such God-awful pussies about the whole thing. I actually
watched these “paratroopers” cry like babies because of their discomfort and
struggle under the greatly reduced loads they were allowed to fob off as if
it were equal to what the men carried. Pathetic.
We allow this creeping feminization of the Western World, this constant
erosion of what once were standards into something labeled standards, when
we all know that it is nothing of the sort. Despite all the programs and
policies and laws and rhetoric we wind up smack dab in the middle of the
same old double standards that were there in the beginning.
It’s called Nature.
There is no amount of money in the world that will ever raise the test
scores of Blacks in this country to the level of achievement that Whites
routinely attain in schools. That is unless you deliberately dumb down the
material, demoralize the Whites and inflate the scores of the Blacks. There
is no legislation that will ever allow women to develop the upper body
strength of a man and no law to enact that will equalize any other disparity
between humans that exist as an integral part of Nature, unless you erode
and accommodate and inflate and outright lie about it. Everyone knows that,
but no one will admit it because it is part of our nature to be
accommodating. We may not want to lose our civilization and our Race, but
more than that, we don’t want to make anyone feel bad about himself.
Do you see the conundrum?
It's as if we are living in a real life version of "Harrison Bergeron."
I have an idea.
Let’s take a different approach, just for shits and giggles.
Let’s take the one strength we have that hasn’t been hunted down, skinned
and gutted and turn it back on our oppressors.
Let’s be funny.
Think about that. Whenever you make someone laugh, he lets down his
defenses. Believe me. I have seen some of the most beautiful, unobtainable
women on earth, throw themselves at comics who looked like the southbound
end of a northbound dog, simply because they were able to make them laugh. I
have been in the midst of an audience of the meanest, most unhappy Blacks I
have ever encountered (female, feminists, Philadelphians, union members,
schoolteachers) and told jokes using the word ‘nigger’to gales of laughter.
I can’t explain it, but I can tell you that it happened and that, to me,
exposes a chink in the armor.
Imagine if you will, passing out leaflets, not in the dark, but in the light
of day while laying down a funny spiel to the passers-by. Think about how
many people you can reach if when you write your next letter to the editor,
not in dismay or outrage, but tongue firmly implanted in cheek. I do it all
the time and I get results. People call me on the phone early in the morning
when a letter appears in the paper. I have never heard anyone complain,
although I know they’re out there. Sometimes they write replies to my
letters, which is even better, because it allows me the opportunity to
respond. The one thing I can always count on is the fact that whatever I say
will be attacked, not based on facts or truth, but on warm, fuzzy feelings.
Nothing is more susceptible to dismemberment than warm fuzzies.
To show you what I mean, below are a few samples of recent letters to the
editor that have made the pages of major papers.
To the Editor,
A recent article concerning the effects of the shotgun slaying of “a
limousine driver” on the shooter, Jayson Williams, brought tears to my eyes.
To try and hold this man accountable for shooting his “limousine driver” and
trying to cover it up by making the shooting look like a suicide is a
miscarriage of justice. After all, according to his wife, he is “very sad”
about what happened and has been “more pensive than usual.”
Think of his pain. Think of how this will impact other late night parties at
his mansion, and how he will have to live with the fact that he may never
again be able to play “quick draw” with unarmed servants in the future.
Enough is enough.
Can’t we all just get along?
To the Editor,
Karen Bojar, President of the Philadelphia chapter of the National
Organization of Women recently wrote a scathing attack against “off-hand
comments”, suggesting that such phrases as, “Handsome and personable, the
young Casey was probably a good choice to woo female politicos” were at the
root of Pennsylvania’s dismal record in electing women to political office.
If ever there was an example of why we ought to repeal the 19th amendment,
it was Ms. Bojar’s comments.
The fact that women, like Ms. Bojar, are so thoroughly devastated by simple
comments offers evidence enough of why women are not taken seriously in the
Whiney, shrill and sexless women turn voters off, both male and female. It
never ceases to amaze me how virulent feminist diatribes always point out
the weakness inherent in egalitarian, gender-bender fantasies.
In the words of a male politician, “If you can’t take the heat, get out of
Or back into it, your choice.
To the Editor,
Several months ago I wrote a letter pointing out that homosexual males
serving as Boy Scout Troop leaders sounded like a bad idea.
I won’t remind you what the respondents to my letters suggested or what the
tone of the disagreements sounded like. Use your imagination.
Today I read (although not in this newspaper) that a Boy Scout Troop leader
in New York City by the name of Gerald Schwartz (Jew) has just been charged
with multiple counts of rape and sexual abuse against, that’s right, the Boy
Scouts he led.
So, one more time, why is it that homosexuals in the Boy Scouts are
advantageous to their young charges? I seem to have forgotten the compelling
arguments gay advocates beat me up with last time.
Anyone? (Insert the sound of crickets chirping here). Anyone?
See how easy it is? I took on a Black, a feminist, a Jew and homos and hit
the mark on all four.
Now let’s go out there and make ‘em laugh.