Saturday, December 31, 2011

Living in a country that lacks the certainty that comes with a state religion, I am sure you are following the useless tradition of New Years Resolutions. Do they work? The road to the future is littered with the rotting corpses of failed New Years Resolutions. Why participate in failure? Are you a stupid primate, throwing poo at the hungry leopard? Maybe it is time for you to evolve into a winner, someone who gets what he wants, obtains the choicest rewards, and dominates his world. This New Years, put some high alloy steel into your resolution by inviting Set, the Snake God into the picture.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Missionaries of Set, the Snake God

Send me your money. The Toronto sect of Set, the Snake God is not all about orgies, drugs, whores, elimination of rivals, and dark, leisurely vengeance upon rivals. There is a higher purpose to the teachings, a greater purpose, an elevating spiritual impulse that inspires creativity in our drive doing what we are all about. You feel good. You are relaxed. A deep feeling of contentment is upon you. Smile, just as crocodile smiles going about his business. The Missionaries of Set the Snake God not only exist, are many in number, are active in your community, but they are doing the good work, spreading the whispered message, and planting post hypnotic suggestions. I have been asked to reveal this to you, so that you can share in the elevation of others by sending me your money. Send me your money.

It takes money to do good things. The progressives know this, and use the tinsel constructs of their lying media to create the illusion of doing good, even as their white guilty sticky fingers go about spending your money on themselves. They lick their lips as poverty always gets worse, racism spreads, and injustice drips onto vegetarian buffets. You want to do good. Overthrowing the state, rounding up the white marxist traitors, and manning the guillotines is too slow. Why not turn to the methods of our pre Christian ancestors, in the days before Christ, before oppressive Roman Law, back when the gap between rich and poor was even smaller than in the Golden Days of Orange Ontario? The Missionaries of Set, the Snake God are working towards this. You can help them to help you to achieve your goals. And because the followers of the Sect of Set, the Snake God are all about results, here is an anecdote to convince you of the utility and truth of the statement: send your money to Fenris Badwulf.

I went out into the darkness
, the new moon was a crescent just risen, as I walked the streets of Toronto. I work in darkness say the followers of Set, the Snake God. I was walking in darkness in one of the oppressed areas of Toronto, where all the social spending goes, but where no results happen. I wanted to help. I care. There, as I walked and prayed * I fell into walking beside a young lady. She was sad and unhappy. Instead of crying she had all the body language of someone going through withdrawal from heroin. Poor sad girl, dressed mostly in black, and not fat like a baby momma. It was her birthday, she told me; her name was Jessica. I looked up to the sliver of the moon and gave thanks to Set, the Snake God. Here was an instrument for the Greater Purpose of Digestion, because Set, the Snake God likes digestion.

I wished Jessica a Happy Birthday. She smiled, on that face so unused to smiling, more used to crying (and a nose worthy of a witch, three times broken, I might add). I apologized that I had no dope to share with her, having smoked it all just previously as I lurked in the Victorian quarter near Ossington with my friend and fellow devotee of Set, the Snake God, Jack. I said that I could buy dope, if she knew where to get it. She smiled again (this was her second smile; it warmed my heart; I care). She invited me back to her place, to celebrate her birthday. I gave her money, and she bought dope.

As I sat amongst the spent needles, mysterious ashes upon the coffee table, and other assorted flotsam of the signs of capital failure of the progressive run social welfare system, I raised up a prayer to Set, the Snake God: how could I help this fallen woman where the activists had taken decades of tax dollars and failed? They had lined their pockets, twisted minds, and done jack shit. Jessica was in need; how could I turn her into a halberd * of efficiency? Jessica returned with dope: not pot, alas. I apologized: crack is bad for my hypertension: please Jessica, it is your birthday, enjoy it all. She smiled for the third time. It takes a strong soul, trained in the evil sciences, warmed by the moon of scorpio, to resist an opiate. I am motivated by my desires for the revealed objectives of the Illuminati of the Etobicoke chapter of Set, the Snake God. Opium is but asprin compared to the delights of the temple ritual; so Jessica started the hefty supply of crack; I was left to ponder how to craft her to the Greater Purpose of the Supreme, Librarian of the Universe. Fines were coming due.

Hypnosis is generally not done whilst the patient is in some form of drugged state. This practice is usually associated with evil scientists of the stripe of Fu Manchu or Doctor No. The patient has few or no defenses. The subconscious is an open banquet, a blank manuscript upon which the hypnotist can write what they want, even to the point of swapping in a different personality. But my hands were tied (figuratively; I leave those sorts of details for my evenings with Sonjia deSade), I was forced by my high moral code (The Telemarketers Code of Ethics) to help Jessica, but she was baked on crack; her subconscious mind putty for my imagination. What would Fenris Badwulf do? What did Fenris Badwulf do?

Jessica needed self esteem, empowerment, a weapon
to use against the forces arrayed against her. Her lifelong subsistence upon the leftist social welfare system had failed. She needed the power of the Emerald Eyed One, Set, the Snake God in her life. I let her tell me what she needed: a lighter that worked; some water to clear her cough from the crack smoke; someone to pay her cell phone bill. I nodded; and as Jessica phased in and out of consciousness, I took the opportunity to plant helpful suggestions in her sub consciousness. I care.

I hate people who hate. I have noticed that everyone that is worthy of hating, says bad things about me. Have you noticed that about you? Bad people are critical of you? Now Jessica shares, at a subconscious level, at the reptilian level, a burning hatred of people who hate Fenris. (I just chose that trigger word arbitrarily; I would never use my own name as a trigger for psychotic rage, heck no). A healthy person flys into a psychotic rage when they are criticized, but not Jessica, so lacking in self esteem. Her battery of rage was (is) topped up, and needs draining. Since she will not defend herself, she can defend others. What is more noble than that? And if one of her clients is a vile person, destined to live on the Winners Circle of life, who utters curses and lies about, oh, say Fenris, Jessica will soon, instantly, change into Jack the Ripper, and implement social engineering, Set, the Snake God style. Such is the good works done by the Missionaries of Set, the Snake God.

It was good to see Jessica smile on her birthday
. The socialist social services sector had failed her, but I had not. I had put her on a path to renewal. A sacrifice was called for. We went out on her balcony and I pointed out the new moon, and taught her how to feel its warmth. We parted not long after. Jessica had a client to hustle, and I had to return to my house and offer incense up to the family gods of Badwulf. As a last gift, I gave Jessica a book; a simple book of astrology of the sort that girls like to read. As Jessica delighted in her good fortune I left her another gift. Something every girl needs. I waited until Jessica was distracted by hypnotic suggestion and communicated this gift to the new, latent personality that lives in Jessica's reptilian complex. Something every girl needs. A short, curved knife; made of the same steel they make straight razors with. Hidden, but a talisman of safety. Anybody messes with Jessica, they mess with the fangs of Set, the Snake God. Could be anyone. Anyone who presses the wrong switch of social justice. Anyone who patronizes crack whores, tends to break their noses, and mutters darkness about Fenris, say (I just chose that name at random; could be anyone, eh what?). Then that person will find themselves watching their intestines being used to decorate the Holiday tree.

The Missionaries of Set, the Snake God do good work, as I have exampled above. You want to help them. You care.

Send me your money.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Waiting for Santa

You meet lots of good people when you go to the rituals of Set, the Snake God. Even if they are wearing masks, the room dark, and the air is thick with the scent of incense, you get an accurate idea of character. Afterwards, at the orgy, at the food tables, or just in the meeting rooms where interest rates are set, you just say to yourself, I like these people.

My good friend, Maximinus Thrax, wants to do something about crime. Sure he pays his taxes, on his income, on goods and services, and on fees, registrations, and tolls. He pays and pays. And crime, it is still worse and worser. There is urine sloshing around on public transit, gum stuck in the banking machine slot, and after dark the darkies come to slash his tires, carve his paint, and put broken glass under his tires. The Red Star crows about how crime is down, racism is up, and how we need to pay more taxes, more taxes more often. Max has decided to do the job his taxes pay for, but the socialists cannot seem to provide against their loyal voters. Maximinus Thrax is a community activist of Set, the Snake God.

We had a good laugh in the Constrictor room of the Etobicoke sanctuary of the chapter of Set, the Snake God when Max described his plans. Like all good citizens in a state that does not have free speech, we only talk to people we trust. We plan, we prepare, we act in darkness. It works: the ability challenged activists are just that: dumb as frozen dog turd. Our crime fighting campaign has been thriving for the last lunar year, and none of the illiterates of the left have clued in. And, our little plan is making money, thanks to the Pentagram Strategy *. Which is to say, we sell the organs of those criminals that come into our clutches, and the profits from those sales serves to offset the taxes for services not delivered, and provides the service not delivered. Everyone has a smile on their face, even the pimp whose head is preserved in a jar of formaldehyde.

Maximinus Thrax has spent the last year telling all his progressive co-workers about his coin collection, vacation plans, and weepy concerns about Global Warming. He puts the boxes his expensive computer, expensive stereo, and expensive flat screen came in out in the trash. At his place of work, he is a white guilty male, sufficiently so that the office queers make passes at him at his desk, fondle his shoes in the shitter, and otherwise sexually harass him in a way that is acceptable to the two tiered justice system. He smiles his best shit eating grin when the office chatter turns to directing hatred towards Christians, white people, Canadian culture, or people with jobs. He scowls when the anecdotes about the latest racist incident, circa 1992, comes up once a month, regular as an unserviced feminists period. Those bad people: they should pay taxes for more brochures, more rules, and more rules about brochures! Yes, Maximinus Thrax is a viper in the bosom of political correctness: which is as it should be, given his politically correct belief in the non Christian cult of Set, the Snake God.

Maximinus Thrax has prepared a house to enact his beliefs about social change. He has a ceiling mounted bear trap mounted in a drop down arrangement above his front door. This is not the house he lives in; he just tells all his progressive co-workers that. This house has a basement dungeon, furnished with the latest sado-masochist equipment from the queer sado-masochist suppliers in Toronto. It is wired with cameras, and all the lights and receptacles can be controlled from his control room, built below the basement, just like the religion of peace peoples do in town. This Christmas, er, Holiday, after he put out the garbage, he drove his car to another location, stopped his Red Star subscription, went to his real residence, changed into his black combats, and stealthily re-entered the house, and retired to the control room. Who would be the first burglar?

I joined Maximinus Thrax in the control room for a weekend of social engineering. It takes the Observe and Respect * * * constabulary somewhere between two hours and never to respond to a home invasion. Plenty of time for the wife and kids to be butchered by some member of the leftist voting victims of colonialism in Africa. Assuming of course that a call is made. And in the event the burglar wants to make a call, having bumped his toe, or tripped in the shower, I suspect the constabulary would be there much quicker to protect the human rights of the victimized left wing voter. Maximinus Thrax has thought of that, and has made his house safe for criminals, so they will never, ever have to call for help, even as they are about their business of helping themselves to his property. Maximinus Thrax cares.

We sat at the monitors and sipped coffee. Jamaican coffee is about as close to Cuba as Maximinus Thrax gets. Everyone at his work, every no talent hire, every fairy cake eater, every your taxes and useless spender enthusiast knows that Max is off to Cuba for Holiday; they are ability challenged, yes? The real Maximinus Thrax is in his dark basement, behind the secret door, behind the secret door in the room of the freezers, watching his monitoring equipment, thinking about the schedule of payments from reputable human organ broker organization, thinking about taxes paid and services undelivered, thinking about having un Christian fun.

There is no need for details, is there? Christmas, er, Holiday, is the best time for break and enter crimes. Did you not get the brochure from the police station when you were in there to report your car getting keyed? They never come when you are the victim, only when the victim class is in danger of being oppressed by you, the racist. Sure as racism follows immigration, a stealthy figure appeared, seeking entry into the home of Maximinus Thrax, seeking out the coin collection, the expensive computer, the expensive flat screen, the expensive stereo. We saw him on the cameras, and he came alone. After that, well, is best left to your imagination. In a country without freedom of speech, I have to be careful who I am honest with. As long as my actions are in darkness, unseen (and my ears protected with ear plugs against the long screams), everything is white guilty goodness. Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm.

Maximinus Thrax, he cares; he works for social justice.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

The Magi and your future in the stars

The Magi were astrologers who used their knowledge of the movements (and resultant effects) of the stars to predict the future. A delegation was sent to the future King of Israel, much to the disgust of King Herod. You and I are not playing power politics like the Lord of Hosts and the House of Herod. But we can appreciate a look at the year ahead. Bringing a gift to the winning faction is always a good idea.

Peace and Good Will to Men. Peace should last until October, 2012, when Saturn transits into Scorpio, forming a mutual reception with Pluto. War would certainly help Obama get re-elected, given that the illegal immigrant vote is going to go into districts that are already heavy with illegal immigrants, an appeal to patriotism is just what the secret chiefs of the Bolsheviks think will get them the votes they need. October 6, 2012 is the date; Mars is in Scorpio at that time too. December 28, 2012, Saturn and Pluto form a sextile; being in mutual reception something should happen rather good for those Capricorns who work in darkness and Scorpios who profit from agencies of death.

Peace and Good Will to anybody who is acceptable to political correctness. I should qualify myself, 'Men' is a bad term. Speaking of oppression, Neptune transits into Pisces on February 4, 2012. There were earthquakes, or was it a tsunami last time? In keeping with the principle of ability challenges ('dumb is smart', 'tax the worker', and 'four years of hard winter proves Global Warming'), I have lost my notes. Regardless, Neptune, known as The Earthshaker to the ancient Greeks, gets back to running the planet at that time. Pisces is the sign of Christianity, and the ruling Neptune has his trident aimed at those that persecute the Church (which is kind of funny, as real Christians, at least since the suppression of the astrologers in the wake of the reformation, should not believe such things), and if you look at the natural disasters that have been happening under his influence, you can see they are aimed right at the beating black heart of the activists. Mars is in Virgo at this time, so some disease based disaster can be added to Neptune's bag of tricks (Virgo rules disease, yes). Also, with the last of the big three generational planets finally changed sign, things will be set for the next, oh, fifteen years.

The other side of Saturn.
Before Saturn gets into the war business of Scorpio, he will finish up his business of relationships in Libra. Exalted in Libra, Saturn is keeping war at bay, but you may feel his sting in your personal relationships. Perhaps that feeling of having your ego crushed, inadequacies paraded in front of your nose, and deficiencies made apparent. This ends in October, so you have a bit more skin scraping to endure till then.

Jupiter and expansion. Transiting productive Taurus until June, Jupiter promises a certain amount of material prosperity. Search for it on an individual level, not in the economy. In June, Jupiter transits into Gemini, where he is in fall. Pencil whipping is what the gamblers call it: expect petty treachery, double charging, and new taxes from the lying lips of the progressives.

Good enough. You want the details, email me with money.

I, Sargon the Magnificent, wrote this

Friday, December 23, 2011

Pagan dispensation holiday

Keep Christ in Christmas, the white right wing extremists say. They are something bad, these people that the Human Rights commissions single out for persecution. The last few years, Christmas has been on the shit list of the left. The ability challenged activists have taken a dislike to it. You can speculate on their real reasons; the excuse is that some sect of leftist voters, tax spenders, is offended. If Christ and his pal, the Lord of Hosts, get offended, they can go crucify themselves. So, good, obedient little tax payers we are, we say Holiday instead of Christmas, and we scurry like the cowed peasants we are as we go about our working class lives, seeking the approval of the stupid, the degenerate, the corrupt; neatly summed up as the cabal of the white marxist traitors. Christmas is bad; Holiday is good.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Personal Horoscope for WS

The initial first impression you make upon people is not necessarily accurate. It may be quite some time for this error in perception to be made right. People are more likely to project onto you their wishes and errors of logic, for they assume you are soft and squishy. You are not.

You have a brilliant and ordered mind, well suited for work with logical systems of a physical or verbal nature. Communication will play a key role in your profession. Even more so, you will rise to a position of influence over people based upon what you direct your concentration upon. You will act as an intermediary between the great ideas of the age and the vulgar plebs who need to have these ideas explained to them. You will be of great influence on the truly powerful, who will come to value your judgement and insight.

You have an intense nature which is embarrassed by itself. You are caught up in an internal conflict between the tranquility of equilibrium, and the dissonance of getting there. You will be constantly confronted with the necessity of pushing others towards tranquility, and in the pushing this will disturb your tranquility. None the less, those in need of transformation will be attracted to you; whereas those who are in a state of equilibrium will tend to drift away.

You will come to have great power over large numbers of people. The secret implications of the rule of law will be your province; you can perceive the effects of shared beliefs especially towards self-undoing or raising up of the human soul. You will be the one who stands outside the ordered structure and performs works the paradoxes before the machine of process is started. The structures you design will survive for the length of the Aquarian age, which has some two thousand more years to go. Before you come into your glory, you will practice the law givers art upon lesser mortals, in smaller numbers. There will be a pattern of similarity, from smaller systems to larger, as you grow older in age and greater in wisdom.

Your friends will provide comfort for you; some will become your open rivals. Through your friends will come gifts and pleasures which are toxic. As you are a person seeking transformation, you could quite well be caught up traveling down to the underworld with some lost soul just to be considered a good companion. Some of your friends will become open enemies, and a few will make noises about being your secret rival. Your secret enemies will be in the open, for all their yammer. This is a blessing.

Your inheritance from your family will be delayed or denied. You have inherited something from your family which you do not want, which you abhor. The extent and implications of this dark inheritance you will keep secret, and in any case few others will understand the scope or nature of this 'family curse that comes with the family estates in Transylvania'. You will overcome this burden, but it will be easiest after you father passes away. One lingering effect of this is that you will either doubt your creative skills, or denigrate them as a way of punishing someone out of your past.

You have an advantage
in that you can take the omens in your everyday life. The common people you rub shoulders on you daily travels are representative of The People. You can hear the vox populi, vox dei. You can take the omens from everyday occurrences. This is a rare gift.

In business dealings
you have higher standards than the pirates and cut throats you will mix with. The villains who seek to take advantage of you find their undoing when they cross pens with you; which unfortunately means that the universe uses you as a way to thin out the numbers of telemarketers and bandits. On the other hand, you will be popular with your co-workers and will receive some real blessings from them.


A metamorphosis of your values. Major changes to occur in your financial situation. If you have nothing now, you will end up having something.

Your sense of pleasure and enjoyment is heightened. Any love relationship will have an amazing intensity. Creative or artistic abilities will be increased in depth and tempo. Your work will have a profound effect upon others.

Climax on 5 March 2012, change of direction on 11 April 2012, and another climax on 18 May 2012. Transit should be in effect starting 27 January 2012 through 2 July 2012. Starts again on 30 November 2012, climax on 29 December 2012, ends 27 January 2013. Third pass starts on 5 July 2013, climax on 21 August 2013, change of direction on 21 September 2013, another climax on 20 October 2013, and fades after 1 December 2013.

While this is going on, another, more profound transit will occur, but this will fade in as the other fades out.

A test of your strength and energy with which you have attached yourself to the world.

You will be forced into action, and force others into action. External events will challenge you; and you will act as a focal point for transformation of the collective. You will use ruthless methods, or advocate these methods, in order to overcome forces overstepping their bounds. You will be the voice, the source of ideas and inspiration in the struggle of the many against tyranny. Your ideas will have great influence and effect.

This transit starts around April 2012: you will get a hint of what the future bodes that month, although on 11 April 2012 the storm clouds on the horizon will disperse. This is a warning for you to make preparations. Do not think it gone, for it will return 8 January 2013, climax on 7 February 2013, and end (for the first trial) on 31 March 2013. Subsequently, a change of direction in April 2013, followed by a climax on 22 June 2013, and fade after 2 August 2013. The final transit of this will start on 7 November 2013, climax on 11 December 2013, and finally fade after 9 January 2014. There might be some sort of wreckage to be cleaned up starting 5 August 2014, with a change in direction 23 September 2014, and a final ending after 9 November 2014.

Dates for transits are fading in and fading out are approximate, give or take a few days. Climax dates are specific.

I, Sargon the Magnificent, wrote this.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

The Office Farter

It was like walking into a wall. Oxygen was removed from the atmosphere. Suffocation, but without that pleasant sexual feeling. Aaaargh. I had walked into the stench cloud of the office farter. I made a silent prayer to Set, the Snake God: Please, don't make me an Hors d'oeuvre today. I staggered, my eyes watering back out of the room. My exposed facial hair was threatening to singe. E Gads, the cloying reak of colon contents and death scented room freshener stuck to my nose like dog poo on a progressives sandal. I retreated to my office to clear my respiratory system.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Die, main stream media, die

Who reads Macleans magazine anymore? Is it still published? If I want to know what all the leftists are thinking, I will go read Dr.Dawg * . The daily angst about Harper, so effective that it has driven the great blue meanie from minority government to majority; the weekly issue of the month; and the fresh smell of white guilt that you only find elsewhere in one of those condom equipped stalls in a gay bar in Toronto. Dr.Dawg is free to read; Macleans costs money, and is dead. So, I was shocked to see a reference to it * in one of my daily reads, but the news was good. Well, not really. The editorial staff of the Red Star has not been burnt alive at Dundas Square for blasphemy, but there is the crisp smell of burning birch and cedar in the air.

Monday, December 5, 2011

The Snows of Madness, Kyoto edition

You may be filled with glee at the sinking of the Kyoto treaty, but for our politically correct betters, it is as if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have been saddled up, their horses filled with oats, and fresh sabres, sharpened, issued. You can carve up the ranks of the activists into sub species: the cynical parasites whose purses and man bags are stuffed with laundered green government money; the ruthless ladder climbers whose forked tongues are wrapped around the throbbing shaft of white guilt to the end of career advancement; and the deluded slurpers of white guilt who actually believe the sticky stuff they are gurgling down is as good for them as the moaning fellow giving it to them says.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Jedburgh raid Jedburgh dead

My father, a veteran of the Second World War, told me about the Jedburghs. It was a day much like today, but I was outside, and we were cleaning the barn. My Dad always listened to classical music, much like the stuff played by the wartime BBC. Certain tunes would bring back memories for the old man, and on that day, a Sunday in the overcast fall in Ontario, he talked about times past, set in the last Great War. My Dad was not a Jed, but did give them some training in Shanghai police methods in those months before June 6, 1944. Until the internet came along, there was not much information out there about them * .

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Stop Harper

There is no question within the ranks of the ability challenged activists that the outrage that is, uh, that hard done by redskin settlement up there somewhere around James Bay, is hard done by. Those evil Harperites. Big meanies. And then again, the ability challenged activists do not mix with the common folk, those plumbers, carpenters, electricians, and dry wall professionals. You know, the working class. Harper hears their whispers.

Harper is setting the lefties up for a fall.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Sleeping Sword

Once upon a time, back in the days before Global Warming, before the ever widening gap between rich and poor was large enough to notice (O Happy Days!), before there was class distinctions, everybody lived a happy and carefree life of vegetarian plenty and One world of Gaia's children's abundance. But then is not now, now is it.

Back then, everybody agreed about everything. Which makes sense because everybody was really a close or sort of close relative. There were not too many people, they all grew up together, they shared their values. Do you disagree with this? Back then, there were social problems as well. Everyone agreed that there were crimes, and what the punishments for the crimes should be. Murder was bad, everyone agreed; murderers were killed, which was good, everyone agreed. Because everyone was like minded on the bad and the good, anyone could and did execute murderers. There were some issues with strength, ability, and opportunity of weapons, but we can leave that to the historians. Back then, they agreed on what was good, what was bad, and how to deal with it. So, if two young men went up to an isolated farm house, murdered the farmer and his wife (incidently stealing his few coins of money out of an old coffee jar) that would be agreed to be bad, the penalty would be agreed to by common understanding, and most anyone could carry it out (they had to; the state apparatus for such things had not yet been invented, which is my next point, but I am not there yet); and if the two young men came back the next day to where the lifeless bodies of the farmer and his wife were starting to swell with rot in the heat, and they found the little daughter of the pair crying beside their bodies; if they took the five cents the little girl had (offered up to buy her life), and locked her inside the house and burnt it down, then all would be in agreement about who was bad, and what should be done to them. In fact, if you did not hang them, there is something wrong with you. But that was then, and this is now.

This is, in a non-academic way, a description of the social contract. Everyone agrees on what is bad, what is good, and what to do about it. As society became better, progressive, it was agreed that designated others would specialize and carry out specialized functions: cops would arrest the evil, judges would decide what crimes they had committed, and hangmen would hang them if the criminals had committed and offense that everyone agreed was worth hanging for. Everyone was happy; some would throw a coin into a pot to pay the cop, the judge, and the hangman. Justice was swift, as we all know it should be.

So, now I look out at society.
Everyone I know agrees on what is bad and what is good and what to do about it. Drowning your wife and children in a car is bad, we all agree. Kidnapping two strangers and raping, torturing, and murdering them, is bad. But I do not see much effort on the part of the people me and mine pay to do stuff about it do stuff about it. It is glossed over with the excuse that these murderers have a different culture. Their ancestors were harshly dealt with in the past. Excuses, excuses. Me and mine, we can accept this. As long as the guy drowning his wife and kids is not drowning my wife and kids; as long as the people being kidnapped, raped, and murdered are far away. Until then, thanks to not knowing about this stuff (thanks to the secret agreements among non-ability hired media personalities), thanks to ignorance, the social contract is still on.

As you may have guessed, the social contract is getting a bit worn. For the last few decades most have wrapped their lips around the white guilt dispenser of the progressives and swallowed. Bad people are good because their grand daddy was hard done by. Good people are bad because their grand daddy had a mule and a pig. As long as this did not actually touch people, it was ok. After all, the people squirting out this white guilt are smart people, whom we respect; they speak nice using fancy words; they have class; and it only cost us a few coins; you could feel better knowing that this five cents on your gallon of gas was helping the useless, the lazy, and the shoplifting public urinators stay away from your useful, hard working, and safe homes, neighborhoods, and communities. One begins to suspect the hired agents supposed to carry out the public will are more thieves than servants, that the practice of law has become an excuse to delay the public will in exchange for fees, and that the bad people of society are being coddled because they are co-opted into manipulation of the electoral system. Somehow the system looks to be run by thieves, using murderers as enforcers. But this belief does not touch everybody, only some. They can adapt by moving away. They can stop paying the thieves guild of government by embracing the black market. They can talk quietly among themselves, but not openly, because we have no freedom of speech.

The tipping point.
I still do not like murderers, and everyone I know agrees. The murderers that our hired staff tell us are really victims of us, not killers of you; that our hired staff sends to live closer to us than themselves, do not bother most people. But lately, there are too many coins taken from the ever decreasing number of people with coins; and the murderers that walk the streets are walking too close to where we live, and certainly around where we work. The people running things are starting to look like thieves themselves. And since the social contract is breaking down, things will revert back to the days when thieves got their hands cut off before being burnt alive as interest on stolen money. This is not just me talking, it is just the way things always are. Tell me it is not so.

My morning post is done. I can go stand on my porch and have my first cup of tea of the day. I can watch the welfare people slouch by, spitting on the sidewalk. I can watch people make rolling stops, drive drunk, and talk on their cell phones when they drive with their knees. It is all good; and will be so until it is all bad. The servants raised up as masters do not see a thing coming. I guess their eyes are gummed shut with white guilt.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Hope for Gifts

It must be Christmas, er, Holiday. I am starting to get those expensively designed appeals for my after tax money in the form of charity giving. Big glossy pictures of smiling kids. For only a small fee, you can buy their village a water pump, plant a mango tree, or give them a goat. They will never again need a handout. I would link to the website, but that would give the activists who lurk on this site an excuse to denounce me so that they could get a fat informants bonus check. You have a brain: I am sure you got the same thick booklet of Hope for Gifts. I have gotten three so far. Don't you read your junk mail?

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Unbalanced Coverage

I keep checking the Red Star for balanced coverage of this domestic disturbance in Syria. They keep picking on Syria, and its democratically elected leader, Assad. I keep hoping to find a balanced view in the media. How about an interview with the Syrian ambassador? He must be easy enough to find, even for one of the technological illiterates called journalists. Isn't he in the phone book? Arrange an interview? How about the United Nations? Isn't Syria running the Human Rights Commission there? Doesn't Barb Hall have them on speed dial? Maybe at one of their evening Alinsky meetings Barb can pass over a message. Why does the main stream media hate Syria? They were good friends before.

Sunday Sermon

Those men in black, men with religion, are frightening to those without. (The man pictured here is an actor portraying Thomas Cromwell, chancellor of King Henry the Eighth). I do not see very many men of religion around these days. On the street where I live, nobody but me goes to church, to services. Instead they sleep in, rise around ten, and perform chores for the Missus. For the welfare people in the welfare house down the street, Sunday is still a special day: they get up around noon. So where are all those dreadful Christians our atheist elites keep warning us about? The church I go to is one of two of my denomination in the City of Toronto. We are easily outnumbered by safe injection sites, designated prostitute walks, rainbow flag bath houses, and state funded gang banger transition centers. I see no Christian peril on those few hours of the day when it is safe to walk the streets. Instead I am left with the realization that the media is using the specter of Christianity to scare the faithless majority into paying taxes, indulgence in distracting pleasures of the flesh, and keeping off the streets just long enough to be safe, but not long enough to not go to work.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Those fellow Canadians

Who do you know? You have friends, family, co-workers. If you work in sales, you have customers. This may be a secret to you, but salesmen despise their customers. They are rude, condescending, and play games with your livelihood. But other than that special case, the people you know, you like. What about the strangers in your life, the ones you only see once. People on the bus, say; or people who drive past on the commute. In public transit, people avoid eye contact. Our socialist social services sector has decreed that the insane should walk among us; our politicians, who never mix with the creatures they have sent to publicly urinate on transit, carry unregistered weapons, and hate our skin.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Hear no evil, See no evil, Collect no pension

Oh dear, the economic prosperity brought about by progressive policies, social engineering, and fairy cake logic is starting to impact on the holders of the invisible knapsack of white privilege * . The slurpers of white guilt must be happy. Do put aside your cares and wipe your sticky lips for a moment. Savor that smell of redistribution of wealth from the rich to the poor. Other people call it other things, but those other people can be shouted down if they do not use the right, er, left sort of words to describe the situation. Do read the article. Form your own opinions. And utter the words and statements approved of by the progressives; in a nation without free speech you should only share your opinions with people you trust.

Wrap your mouth around this. People who collect pensions are a segment of society in decline. The increasing others are people variously dependent on the state, or the living day to day class of lost souls who wish they were dependent on the state but are disadvantaged by having all their limbs, lack of enthusiasm to put their hand into a punch press, or of the wrong sort of skin color to meet a quota. So, you can safely assume that the Have Pensions are steadily getting overtaken by No Have Pensions. You may also assume that the No Have Pensions do not much like the Have Pensions. If you are progressive, you can also gloat that the Have Pensions tend to have milky skins, and that all of the non milky imports (especially the 2012 voting citizen wave) will not much like the white racists they find here. The muddy waters will not much like the clear water upstream, so to speak. Which is to say that the number of voters willing to seize, tax, or dumb down pensions is on the rise. What you got now ain't what you gonna get. Fo'shizzle'dizzle. I have not touched on economic crisis, the tendency of leftist infiltrated pension funds to invest based on emotions (carbon credit backed equity? polar bear friendly shoes?) rather than, uh, reason. You can research that yourself.

All in all, you can ask your Ouiji board who is going to scoop your pension first: the gub'mint, as a way to level the playing field and find funds to pay for (insert cause here: my favorite is housing for the homeless); the angry always poor never workers as a way to keep themselves in entitlements (beer, cumin, and wide screen televisions from ages 25 to 80); the activists as a way to impress their bum buddies with the elasticity of their mouths over the truths of white privilege (girth and depth and liquid volume). Pension collectors are under attack, culturally, electorally, and financially. Best you check out the black market: it's good for a tax free income, but also a way to hide your assets from redistribution. The media sure as Che sells T-shirts will not explore this issue, you dirty rich white racist pension collecting scum.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Brownshirt Nation

Those wonderful activists, ability challenged and flamboyantly flying the flag of the Fruit Salad Nation of diversity, seem to have a monopoly on demonstrations, occupations, and riots. Failing to show up for the riot is the criticism leveled by some *, and, alas, it makes sense. Here in Canada we know that the bitch in the room gets the credit card, which is why the anchor of Confederation, Quebec, gets to slow down the ship of state, keep it close to the rocks, and maroon it in shallow waters; the sails which propel the ship (let us call them have provinces, say) only get attention when they threaten to rip. The call has come for more ripping. If you want to get the benefits of a bitch, be a bitch. If you do not want your scriptures mocked, do as the Religion of Peace does. The next time someone dips your rosary in urine, cut off his head. This calls for some head still attached to the neck thinking.

What does the word riot mean to you? While it is inevitable that the Red Star versus White Star riots are inevitable, I suspect that the timing is rather important. We are still burdened with the slow think advocates of the main stream media. They have a habit of taking most about anything (including the something the brighter ones can make up and not get caught at doing) into propaganda to support more taxes, more often. Sending in the brownshirts, while satisfying on a 'I lost my house to fifty percent taxation while the heroin addict down the street gets an in ground pool' level, as long as the Bolshevik-JournoLista media has control of the brain washing machine that is media, the unwashed proletarians (call them 'independents') will do as they are told to do. The proles are not motivated by reason; they never have. Their current nausea at the main stream media is more a subconscious rejection of the elites; it is not conscious. The Bolshevik-JournoLista elites control the media; the proles emote as they are told. So, why bother? Extinction of the state media is the final solution; but then again, none of this is in anyone's hands. The riots are coming. Stay away from crowds.

The lone wolf. Those lone wolves are out there. It does not matter what they actually believe, or how many thousands of pages they put into their manifesto, after they cook off, the diversity of state media will spin their bloody actions into a criticism of whatever is they do not like at the moment. If Andrew Berwick cooked off today, it would be because he was an advocate of the Keystone pipeline. Tomorrow, a critic of abortion. When the Obama voting N-people do their weekly raids into tax payer country, it is ignored. It is inevitable that some hypertensive yob, packing heat, spare mags, and cloudy judgement, will cut down some of the fatherless N-people. Then the riots will start, the politically correct police will do nothing but observe and respect. The proles will get a'feared. Then your Riots will start. This is inevitable, as surely as Obama will vacation twice a month. Why advocate the inevitable? Better to keep a full tank of gas in your escape vehicle; some camping gear, and scout for places of refuge. Let the urban tax payers who vote Red-Orange-Green suffer the consequences of their sticky diet of white guilt. They will anyway.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

What, me remember?

O the spectacle worthy of the dead Romans that is the forked tongued progressives making wonder of the glorious dead. For days now they have openly worn plastic poppies upon their plastic souls. Now it is passed, they can shed their fashionable false skin and return true to their false nature. Not the red poppy; the red star. Our Canadian military men are only welcome in our tax spender cities and suburbs one day a year. I ask you, when are the many military men ever welcome in their uniforms on other times of the year? Did you count the multitude in downtown Toronto wearing poppies? Away from the bread and circus state media, I only counted one in twenty. I forgot it was Remembrance Day. In my youth, everybody wore them. It was more like Halloween for all the few wearing those red badges. What?, I said when I was reminded after the sun had set, What, me remember?

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Horoscope for the full moon of November 10, 2011

Today is the day of the full moon. Big deal, the doubters amongst you will smirk. Indeed, astrology is mocked, ignored by research and the scientists guild. I presume they are too busy whoring after Global Warming money in a way reminiscent of the pre-Reformation * clergy after Indulgence * coin. Such progressive minds, seeing consensus, even as they live far away from the squalid hives * they have created and ignore. This full moon is in the sign of Taurus, a place pleasing to the Moon. It opposes the Sun in Scorpio. Off the cuff, it is good for the mob of humanity, bringing the warrior Scorpion down upon the heads of those that vex them. False clerics, usurpers, and robber barons are exposed, in public places, like farm fields or gibbets. Vengeful Scorpio is distracted from their personal pleasures of lusts, gluttony, and earthly gain to attend the peoples business. How will this affect you?

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Activist versus Activist

Teachers are in the vanguard of our progressive struggle to socially re-engineer society into a form free of racism, sexism, and classism *. There are a whole bunch of isms that I, evil white male that I am, I cannot keep up. My invisible potato masher of white privilege prevents me from making the liver and lima bean salad of diversity, I guess. Anyway, the ability to identify bad isms and correct the mind of youth is in the care of our teaching profession. They are selected by criteria free of the taint of ability, trained in things other than teaching methods, and hired by the cherry pickers method to fill slots based on skin color, gender, and sexual orientation parallel to the thrust lines of progressive emotion. So, I vomit when I read in the Red Star that some of our teachers are racists *. Do read the article.

As an evil white man, I will, in all due respect to the suppression of freedom of speech, not say anything in a public forum. In private, sure. Here, no. Instead I will just laugh.

For further study, try this article where feminist denounces feminist * . Do read the comments, and tremble progressive and bourgeois feminists. The Red revolution eats its children, er, aborts them in the fourth trimester.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Fat Bastard Socialism

I was shocked to see the state media uproar over a hockey announcer being offered an honorary degree at Canada's token military university, RMC *. I was astounded to learn that some of the faculty at RMC were offended, fat bastard socialist style, at such a controversial figure as a television commentator would be given a degree. Faculty at a military college? Activists? Fat bastard socialists?

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Horoscope for the week of November 6, 2011

At long last, Neptune goes direct. It moves forward towards the sign it rules, Pisces. This is not that important, as most things Pisces occur in the subconscious; things just happen, so to speak. However, as this is the transition century into the Age of Aquarius, this is also the first time that Neptune (the ruler of the previous age, the Age of Pisces) gets a kick at the can after running things for two thousand years. Which is to say, this is a transit of settling accounts, a very Pisces thing to do. Instead of the usual hundred year window, there are two thousand years of accounting to be made to the heavenly powers that keep track of such things. You may correctly assume that aberrant Pisces energies will get put in check by the new Emperor in Supreme City; and healthy Pisces energies will get to focus on the matter at hand, and not get pulled into politics. Reformers will appear, and have their effects correctly localized; Heretics and Frauds will be put down more by the internet than by Inquisitors; and Skeptics will be challenged by new technology and innovations. This sea change occurs on the tenth of November, and the transit makes its official debut on February 4th of 2012.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Hear no Evil, See no Evil, Collect No Pension

The Greek Socialist Leader, what's his name, sure is in the papers a lot lately. He is a great guy. He is a socialist. And when you read that he is a bad guy, they do not mention he is a socialist. You can be a Fat Bastard, you can be a socialist, but never at the same time. It is a law of Global Warming science. And no mention of how this will affect your pension. Pensions are guaranteed, so why worry?

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Luncheon with the Misanthrope

I was having lunch with the Misanthrope when the news of the Greek referendum came in. One of my loyal readers had texted me, gloating, his expectation of some cunning on the part of the cunning Greeks vindicated. I shared the news with the Misanthrope. We were eating in a black market establishment here in London Ontario. This place does not collect taxes, nor does it pay them. The foodstuffs come direct from the farm, untouched by incompetent government inspectors. But that is a story for another post. Instead, I wish to share with you the opinions of the Misanthrope.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Horoscope for the week of Halloween, 2011

Halloween falls in the time of year ruled by Scorpio. For some reason, this festival designed to appease the dead spirits who roam the earth has been turned into a commercial sales event, good for merchants of liquor, lust driven primates of all genders, and crafty flea merchants flogging knick knackery at 800 percent markups. Well, it is Scorpio, after all.

Some teach that those who die with revenge on their minds become ghosts. Their spirits roam the earth, making mischief. The greater the injustice they have endured, the greater their ability to torment the criminal, the cruel, or the casual tyrant who sent them off this mortal coil. However, the principle of Equilibrium kicks in at this, and for some of our ghostly souls, they seek more vengeance than is justified, they blame the wrong person, and they have turned their faces from the light. All religions teach that there is an external agency (of some sort) that rights wrongs; Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. So, by definition, these wandering ghosts have one ectoplasmic foot in the wrong, even as they seek the right. The Druids, in their pagan way, sought to appease their chaotic evil varying by chaotic good effects by way of a festival, which has come down to us as Halloween.

Scorpio is a deadly serious sign. In our present times, with Christianity under prosecution by leftist elites, the doors closed by the Piscean age mystics are now being re-opened. You can dress this up according to your tastes and fashion. The djinn put away by Solomon are being released by virtue of Solomon's faith being reviled, say. Or that the reality map of people who embrace pagan belief includes all aspects of pagan belief, especially the stuff they haven't bothered to learn about. You can get all gushy and mushy about Gaia, but Gaia worship comes with her association with three wars in heaven, the generation of races of monsters, and uprisings of alliances of war gods wielding weapons of supernatural power. Where will you be when Gaia goes to war? Are you one of the monsters, hunted by Jove's thunderbolts? Are you one of the soldiers in the army of Mars, swallowed by the Hydra, burnt by Dragons, or poisoned by snakes? So, how you celebrate Halloween is important. If you do not embrace the resurrected pagan beliefs, then you will be effected by those that do. They will be carried along by the scripts and demands of the collective subconscious. It might be best to stay out of their way. For those that have abandoned the better teachings of the Piscean age, you will find yourself drafted into the tossing storms of the Aquarian. Either way, you should prepare.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Civilis not Spartacus

Do you remember high school? In my time, the dumbing down process was just starting. An arts degree from the University of Toronto meant you were talented, an elite. Not like now.

One aspect of the dumbing down
was the instructor cultivating favor by not actually teaching. The hard stuff, like math, or grammar, or whatever, was quietly ignored while the teacher told enlightening stories. I learnt more about this technique during my time teaching in a private school. I actually got a chance to look at the curriculum, old and new. When I inspected the requirements for my old grade 13 studies, it was not difficult to see that vast swathes of material had been ignored, despite Ministry of Education direction. Ho ho ho. Imagine that. In the gaps were filed anecdotes about the great heroes of Bolshevism, guys like Spartacus * .

Glorious Comrade Spartacus. What a great guy. He led a rebellion against the one percent, the evil Roman Empire. Back then, the Roman Empire was an evil construct of capitalism, unlike now, when it is a glorious example of making multi-culturalism work. Back then, one of the criticisms of the empire was their absurd notion that a mix of cultures would get along; Red social theory, as taught in Ontario High Schools in the seventies, was that the ideal state had only one culture. Gauls, Celts, Semites, and Romans just could not co-exist in a state, in the revealed wisdom of the time. A mixture of cultures was so much oil and water, an excuse for the evil capitalists to exploit the working classes along cultural lines. Hence the noble rebellion of Spartacus. And any Red teacher talking about Spartacus always lead to the wonderful Spartacist uprising * . Being a natural student of history, and quite unaware of how my education was being stolen from me by my subversive (but well pensioned) teachers, I enjoyed these hours of historical dissertation given in a diversity of non-history classes.

The Red Front instructors never talked about Civilis * * , though. These people rebelled against Rome, too. But the Batavians were not slaves. No, they were the elite of the Roman, the Julio-Claudian army. I guess their story did not fit the fiction the socialists were trying to paint. This being a story of an ability group doing the Galt thing and shrugging. The Romans, being great crushers of men, crushed the rebellion. You can read the details yourself and form your own opinion. You are not a bored student, and there are more interesting ways to teach mathematics now a days, like African Dance, or lurid anecdotes about Lesbian sexual practices which you can participate in when you advance in the ranks of the people's party.

Can you learn from history? I do, but anything not politically correct, is best kept for yourself, only to be shared with people you trust. You can learn, for example, that the Spartacist uprising was triggered when an arch-socialist was let go from his job * . Socialists do not go easily; the pinkos respond poorly to pink slips. You can predict that the fall of the CBC will not be without excitement. You can learn, for example, that oppression of those that do (to wit, the Batavians, who provided these elite troops for the Julio-Claudians) leads to revolt. Real revolt, not the occupy the parks and complain about the racist domination of condom colors by white centered choices. Read and compare, contrast the early red impulse to the later, uh, counter revolutionary. Enjoy.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

The Morning Post

I have never been so calm and peaceful as I am right now. It is a peaceful morning in the City of Light, Toronto. The perfect blessings of diversity rain down like the forgotten snow we used to have before Global Warming made winter go away forever. I have my morning coffee, my croissant, my warm chow delivered by the thoughtful people of Meals on Wheels (they just started to deliver meals to my address, morning and night, and no amount of calling and e-mailing can get them to stop). I open my unpaid for copy of the Red Star (it just started up some months ago; it will not be stopped either: it gives something for the advertisers to pay for, I guess), expecting another lurid story about some queer teen who has shot himself in the face. Not today, thank any god but Christ. But my thoughts turn to gun control. Not that I have a gun, or anything. No, I do not collect guns. I collect mortars.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Activist versus Activist

The great Red Star arrives on my front porch every day. It carries with it the voice and the presence of the progressive movement. Some long departed tenant pays for the subscription; I get to throw it out with the recycling. Today is Sunday. I will not talk of my religious practices: I might offend someone, which is an indirect way of saying that I am a Christian. I get better results when I say that I proselytize for Set, the Snake God. There, this morning, on a day somewhat special for those somewhat spiritual, was an article concerning a baby born prematurely. I closed my mouth as I considered reading the article: this must be an attempt to get me to slurp down white guilt, abortion flavor.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

The Sleeping Sword

I watched on state television the on the street survey of typical Hyphenated-Canadians opinions about the murder of tyrant Colonel Q. Imagine that, the man on the street, when interviewed by the Red press, does not give a hork of spit for the Geneva conventions. Who cares? When asked, it is because Colonel Q was not a popular guy. Just like popular President Zero can have American citizens assassinated, whereas unpopular President W cannot even have non-citizens tortured to save the lives of other citizens. The citizen assassinated, the citizen in question is not a popular guy, so the establishment can ignore that due process stuff delineated on that mere scrap of paper*, the Constitution. Being popular or unpopular is important, one concludes. If some other president of a stamp other than the popular President Zero had had a citizen bumped off, there would be hell to pay in the Red press, kinda like the fuss over the torture thing. Hmmm. For the astute citizen of the current era, an understanding of this popularity thing is important. Your life could be snuffed out because of it, right, er, left?

Friday, October 21, 2011

A Victims Perspective

Take your sorry capitalist ass down to the Occupy Toronto encampment. Step past the outstretched hands asking for a handout, and keep clear of materials that may carry bedbugs. There in the Solvent Fanciers Congress you will find Moe-Moe, victim of the greedy one percent that ruin the lives of the ninety-nine.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The end of the world as we know it

Just check out this link * . It contains a partial run down of the unspoken epidemic of 'youth' crime across this continent. As anyone familiar with Youtube * , you know that 'youth' crime is disproportionately unreported by the JournoLista media * *, and there are now websites popping up that just address the issue *. And, thanks to a Court decision here in racist shithole Canada, I can only just now link to sites that would probably upset the white guilt slurper elites. So what? Ten thousand days of spending have not solved the problems of 'youth' crime; hundreds of thousands of souls are holding down pension generating jobs, banking sick days, and voting to preserve the status quo. It is not going to change any time soon. I guess.

Watching Television

Can the Americans make a war movie that is not a progressive PCP * inspired version of Vietnam? I wonder.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

The end of the world as we know it

I took advantage of an opportunity to travel throughout Ontario these last few months. Ontario is rotten with political correctness. Global warming is a common belief that springs easily to lips of the second generation flower children; progressive thought is the new Dutch Elm disease *.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

The One Percent

It is a cold dreary day in Toronto this Sunday, October 16, 2011. All the cool kids are heading out to the protest, all ninety nine percent of them. This past summer I hung out with the one percent, the market capitalists, the M.C. Being only one percent of the population, they are hard to find. The first one I caught up with was making a few bucks selling stuff at one of those festivals so popular in rural Ontario. It was eight o'clock in the morning. He had three tables in front of him; he was selling kitsch. The fair closes at ten pm; his thirteen hour day was just beginning.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Joy of Dumping

The Subversive Consumer * * has moved past his anger, you will be relieved to know. Like all intelligent creatures, he adapts. And having once been filled with rage over having to pay twice for socialist social services, then having to endure the half efforts of the half witted socialists delivering them, now he smiles; not the shit eating smile of the citizens of a socialist state enduring double charging for half delivered services, but the smile of a man celebrating the transformation of expense into revenue. The Subversive Consumer dumps his garbage (which is free); and now, his neighbors pay him to carry off their trash. I am leaving out some details, but I will explain ...

Monday, October 10, 2011

The Broken Wand

Obama will win re-election easily. It is not difficult to conceive. It has happened before, too.

Split the right. Split the vote.

(1) Ross Perot * .

(2) The fateful election of 1860 * . The Democrat vote splits between Breckenridge and Douglas. Lincoln wins; civil war starts.

Variants include having a toxic candidate that whores after the center. You have seen these sorts of con-servatives before. They never get elected. After a few decades, the bolshevik press wipes the feces from their lying lips and wraps their forked tongue around how respected the con-servative guy was. After all, Trotsky would never have been elected otherwise.

Simple. Obama wins re-election for 2014. He might not have the Senate and Congress, but then again, a lot of them will be RINO's anyway. You can run as Tea Party, then sell out for a job in human resources in Chicago.

In the aftermath, when the John Galts of this world lose faith in the political process, what then? You can study the historical record for precedents.
In a country without free speech, there is not much more I can say. In a country where it is OK to say Muslims Only in your real estate listings, where a segregated school for N-people is funded by the state (and the school Mosque, funded by the same people), where asking your restaurant staff to wash their hands after having a bowel movement is going to get you a fine, well, I would say watch for action because the silence is deafenin

Ten trillion dollars, ten thousand days have not solved the social problems that afflict us; they will be solved in a night.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.
xpd Mitchieville