A Shock to the System
by Elizabeth Bennett
June 17, 2002
"For Jews and many Whites, 'politics' is back-slapping, gregarious fake smiles, rubbing shoulders. Historically for the Germanic, politics is killing." -Alex Linder, Vanguard News Network
"The Anglo-Saxon is slow to anger, but when angry, he is unrelentingly vicious." -anonymous
"The 'squeaky wheel gets the grease'-- until the squeaking gets so damn annoying, you rip it off and burn it: that's what finally happened to the jews under Hitler." -anonymous
"A Shock to the System" is one of my top-10 favorite movies. It's the dark-humored tale of an Anglo-Saxon who finally just snaps and starts murdering Jews and their enablers: parasitical, fuzzy-minded Goyim. He uses every ounce of intellect, technical resourcefulness, tight-lipped patience and charm to get off scot-free-- and a whole lot richer-- from vigilante killings. It deals with the most important issues in contemporary society, distills them into essentials and puts them under a magnifying glass.
Michael Caine is Graham Marshall: a tall, stately, fiftyish Corporate Atlas-- a powerhouse of controlled aggression who methodically murders those who stand in his way. As sensitive, articulate and understated as he is competent, brisk and aggressive-- Caine hits every note perfectly, lending an introspective psychology study to this fast-paced thriller.
In the beginning, Marshall stoops slightly, looking tired and beaten. The System has got him following all the rules, playing ball, thinking inside the box, swallowing shit ('touchy-feely' psychological warfare) from inferiors, and returning only leashed, icy courtesy.
Marshall's wife Leslie is a parasite latched securely onto him with bloodsucking jaws; a woman with a nagging nasal voice who patronizingly calls him "Grahaaam!" and "Mr. McFuddlehead!" Like most females, in her deluded simpleton-egoism she believes doing laundry, coffee-talk, calling the caterer and 'shopping!!' are as tough as her husband's job: running a fortune-500 marketing organization. Tiny-brained, illogical, mentally out-to-lunch-- this dieting twerp has convinced herself that her husband can't measure up to her clutter of flow-blue china and bric-a-brac. Symbols of her uselessness include hours on a stair-stepper that keeps her skinny going nowhere-- and two spoiled, kinky-haired black poodles named "Cathy" and "Jason" who occupy the center of the household, in lieu of children.
Leslie's mothering chirp is directed at her man instead of the kids she never had, echoing through the house as her defective stair-stepper shorts out the power for the ump-teenth time: "Now, don't use the quiet voice, Grahaaam, it's just as bad as yelling."
"FUCK!" he roars, trudging down to the fuse box with a flashlight.
"It's not the machine's fault." She recites irrelevant truisms with the clever superiority of an idiot.
"He had always fancied himself a sorcerer. But now, in his own house, there were constant failures of power. And if a sorcerer's house isn't his castle-- what is it?"
Eventually, something takes Marshall past the breaking-point and he goes over the edge. The promotion he's earned with decades of hard work goes to an unqualified newcomer: a sadistic, young, incompetent Jew.
"You didn't get it Graham. You're not the one."
"You're fucking kidding me! Those assholes!! Who got it, George? Who's the new head?"
"Benham."
Across the office, through several panes of glass, is Bob Benham: A short, stocky, vulgar Ost Jude with course, greasy black hair standing up off his head. A sneering smile and crude jokes just one level above "American Pie" potty humor. He leans back in a leather chair, his stubby feet on his desk, smoking a cigar in celebration. A fakey-friendly slap for every back and a glib spew to drown out every rational idea. A scheming, lying, odious, poisonous pest.
"I forgive you for failing, Grahaaam," Leslie chirps.
"That's when he realized she was a witch, and for his own survival, he was going to have to get rid of her spell."
Ass-kissing on the part of stupid goyim has already begun. "Amy, has the big bad Bobby got a coupla minutes for me?" babbles an eager-beaver little man to Benham's secretary.
"Bob the 'Bob-man.' The Big Bad Bobster... Bobby-Boy... Bobby 'Baby...' Bippety... Bobbety... BOOM." Graham muses quietly. "Got a light?" the Bob-Man sneers, brazenly jutting a freshly-cut, unlit cigar up toward Graham Marshall's face.
"Benham was your superior, wasn't he?" the police inspector would say later, after Benham's violent death in an "accident."
"No. He was my boss," Marshall corrects him without missing a beat, in his clipped British accent.
A tight, brilliant script provides dozens of vignettes, contrasting Anglo Saxon refinement with the crude little Ost Jude.
"We'll kiss your ass in hopes you'll mistake it for affection," Benham laughs as he asks Graham out to lunch.
"How degrading for you," Marshall says without emotion.
"This isn't exactly comfortable for me. I know you wanted that job," Benham crows, rubbing his victim's nose in defeat under the guise of a tasteless joke: "If we were rival princes I could just have you killed. Nya-ha-ha."
"It's not easy to kill someone and get away with it," Marshall says impassively.
"Instead I thought it would be good if we could get together this weekend... We'll do a little sailing, a lot of eating, and find the time to discuss the new order of things." Benham sticks out his stomach and pulls up his pants. The Jew's game of "team-building" over the weekend robs Marshall of his privacy and alone-time (foreign to the Jew). It forces Graham Marshall to rub noses and socialize with someone who stinks, who is totally repellant to him. It's all natural for the Jew. Every second of the forced intimacy is torture for Marshall.
"Cuts along at a jolly clip, doesn't she?" Benham crows, tooting his own horn about his boat, in front of Graham, who doesn't have one.
"She jolly well does... By golly," Graham grinds out in a monotone, his face hard.
The Jew has himself a White girlfriend-- a red-haired whore named Tara. Noise Pollution: During the sailing trip, the Jew and his girlfriend have noisy sex, replete with the loud female yelps, fake pants, and spring popping, typical of desensitized, rough circumcised sex. The next morning Tara sidles up to Graham, touching his arm in whorelike invitation. After he fixes the gas pilot light in the boat, she says, "Thank you, kind sir." She smiles, but her teeth look like fangs.
Graham's best friend, another marginalized white male, has been forced into early retirement. At his retirement "celebration party," the two blonde men sit on the stairs, apart from the drunken, jazzed-up office crowd. "Don't get stepped on!" jokes a black man running down the steps. A garish life-size cardboard cutout of the retired guy supports a gob of party balloons. "'We could be more efficient with such-and-such a program'-- it's all code, Graham, for mass-firings and low quality... replaced by young Turks... City's getting to be like Calcutta. I can remember when New York used to be a pleasure... You're not safe Old Friend, not safe... You're only safe in your own office."
The next day, Graham no longer has his own office, with the privacy to think and get things done. A Gen-X Asian computer boy with a ponytail is sitting at a second desk, heaped in clutter, jammed in front of the door. The Asian boy and the computer are to be Graham's replacement.
Graham decides to fight to survive, and undergoes transformation into criminality and redemption. Like Neo in "The Matrix," he steps outside The System that is so weighted against him, and all its mind-numbing, instinct-killing rules and restraints. He experiences the liberation in heavy metal lyrics from Tool's Lateralus.
Black and white is all I see, in my infancy
Red and yellow then came to me, reaching out to me
Push the envelope; watch it bend!
...It only takes a little longer to catch a total asshole
Perhaps I should just play god, and shoot you right now
I'm so tired of waiting
Tired of waiting
After he kills his first deserving victim, Marshall analyzes himself from a distance, as a third-party observer: "Had he really killed a man? He wanted to run away from himself-- as if he'd split into two pieces: himself, and the murderer! He must be in shock-- this rush-- this adrenaline-- this fear, oh Christ, the fear!"
With Marshall's wife and worst enemies are out of the way, he's free to feel truly alive. "The world was now his oyster-- and he was going to pry it open." He falls in love with a much younger woman from the office, who shares his values and was attracted to him all along: Stella Anderson (Elizabeth McGovern). She compares the zombies in the office to Pod People from the movie "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers," and Benham to the parastical alien doing their thinking for them. "Benham treats people like styrofoam, instead of human beings," she says sarcastically.
"Every sorcerer needs an apprentice," Marshall says of his quick-thinking ladylove, Stella.
When he gets rid of his wife and mortgaged house, and dumps the kinky-haired black poodles by the side of the road, Marshall sets up housekeeping in a spacious, gorgeous penthouse: hardwood floors, minimalist leather furniture; the only clutter being his weight-lifting equipment. He pours from a well engineered coffee machine, and raises his plain black mug in a toast to newfound individualism and excellence. "Thank you, Dear. This is rrrreally grrrreat coffee," he growls to himself.
Graham is no longer stooping and tired-- as he strides into the office, the new Head of Marketing. "You, you and you panic; the rest of you, stay calm." After a house-cleaning of mass-firings, he gravely tells his boss, the CEO: "I'm afraid there's still a lot of fat that must be cut from this company."
The CEO is amazed. "I had you pegged," he says, as one of the old-guard, "hold-the-fort boys."
Graham laughs loudly, mirthlessly, grinning broadly. Too bad for that poor, platitude-spouting, diversity-loving CEO: he just wouldn't let go of his corner office... and his private plane was so prone to accidents...
"A Shock to the System" is so blatantly anti-Jew, intelligent, and politically incorrect, you'd better add it to your personal library before the censors buy the rights to it, so they can stop producing it. This priceless gem is available from Amazon.com, both new and used:
Here and here.
Enjoy a refreshing shock to your system.
Yours,
Elizabeth Bennett
ELIZABETH BENNETT
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