Warlock

If there is to be light, there

    must also be darkness.

~ Elof II ~

Well before the 2028 presidential election, Garrett Valdison read Roswell Benedict’s plan for worldwide Libertarian Nationalism and has been delighted by the number of policies that have been implemented, and how splendidly they work.

Later, he was deeply moved by Benedict’s address to the United Nations in 2034. At that point he knew that good people have defeated the Globalists.

January 18, 2035

Lately Garrett has been thinking that there remains too much carryover from unworkable policies in the past. These things always develop a life of their own, and don’t simply disappear because better policies are put in place. Fortunately, he has an idea about how to eliminate this situation. He expresses the idea in an essay.

Over many years Garrett has created a long list of revolutionary Libertarians. He knew he would eventually find a use for it. A mass mailing of the essay will provide the finishing touches needed to the official political and economic policies. The letter reads thusly:

Attention Libertarian Warriors

Many of you know me, but pursuant to the advantages of anonymous individual resistance I shall keep my privacy.

The President’s State of the World Address to the United Nations General Assembly in 2034 has been a source of great inspiration to many of us, but there remain hordes of loud quarrelsome dirty-mouth savages almost everywhere. This hellish element reproduces at a very high rate, and offers no constructive example for their offspring, only increasing the foulness of daily life for everyone else.

Crime rates are starting to go down somewhat because Benedict’s new policies offer much better options, but among established criminals, old habits die hard.

There are still plenty of rapists, kidnappers, traffickers, child molesters, snuff porn video makers, and random murderers. Those convicted of these crimes in the past should have been executed, but instead served only short prison terms and are currently at large everywhere. There is no reason to believe that these people are not responsible for much of the ongoing crime in each category.

Ex post facto legislation is out of the question, but the fact that there was a long period of policy mistakes by government in not executing these people, does not mean that the results cannot today be reversed by vigilant patriots in the private sector.

I have an idea about how militant revolution can interact with the macabre inspiration and cool weather friskiness of the Halloween Season. I propose that on the eve of October 31, 2036, a period of killing begin that will not cease until we have purged civilization of all our enemies. This includes racial outlanders previously forced into civilized countries by the United Nations and the European Union.

Having the date so far ahead gives us time to research who lives in our midst, and precisely where. It also allows time for the acquisition of proper costume, weapons, suppressors, and ammunition.

Halloween Night

One simple method is to use a small pinch bar on a back door, enter briskly, kill the target and anyone who threatens the success at hand, then leave by any door convenient.

Some places, Hell Night, on October 30, has mischievous young thugs out vandalizing at random. For us, this would make a fine night of hunting, especially in categories we need to be rid of from an evolutionary standpoint. The problem is that it would increase police presence on true Halloween. Better to wait one day and deal strategically with adult criminals. It’s an ongoing process to cull subhumanity in general. We will be rid of them all in the end.

Always use poison bullets, darts,  or arrows. Notice the flow of pedestrian traffic, areas of shadow where accumulating bodies will not be seen until the last minute. Long distance shooters should plan in advance the best path of escape from point of ambush. Those entering residences may want to carry extra disguises and provision for cleanup in the event of spurting blood.

Be creative. Utilize all common-sense options of every kind. Never tell anyone, no matter how close, about anything that you do, before or after. Evolutionary destiny is more important than validation by consensus.

Thank you all for being Libertarians, and for reading this. Good hunting.

All Hallows

Solar Noon. Garrett performs a traditional warrior’s inspiration:

Ritual für den Tod

After tracing the Circle of White Flame to the Four Quarters,

and other standard procedures, Garrett reads aloud

Portent of Victory

“We shall ride triumphantly

through the streets in bright armor,

upon white horses, the corpses of these

impotent weakling slaves of darkness

lining the walkways at each side,

their blood running out and

filling the gutters at our feet!

Then shall begin their conversion

into ash for our fields,

and the recasting by fire

of their holy chalices and idols,

of gold under Sun,

of silver under Moon,

from icons of shame and meekness

into gleaming images of Truth.

And we shall fashion their holy places

into strongholds of voluptuousness,

their skulls will adorn the rafters

and gaze down upon us

as we enjoy our naked women

upon their holy altars.”

Then the Statement of Purpose:

“I, Ne~, in the Great Name of Yggdrasil,

do inspire all Libertarian Warriors

abroad on this night in their heroic task

of purging the Earth of evildoers.”

Then after more ritual procedure:

"In Furtherance of the New Aeon.

Love is the Law, Love Under Will.

Hail unto the Aesir and Vanir!

Hail unto the Alfar!

Hail Yggdrasil !"

  *  *  *

Delaware

7:06 P.M

A young man wearing a skull mask and carrying a thin steel baseball bat in a back holster, is approaching a little house on a small knoll facing across the tide water towards Assateague Island. A man in the house finishing his dinner, is an illegal drug dealer.

Generally Libertarians are not concerned with black-marketers who simply provide innocuous pleasure commodities that the public wants, but this dealer recruits users from playgrounds of local elementary schools. Two of the kids have died and one is brain damaged for life.

The young man sees the dealer in the dining room as he sneaks around to the back yard. He finds the kitchen door unlocked, enters quietly, but in the darkness, bumps hard against a table which moves slightly. The legs intone a loud protest as they scrape the quarry tile floor. Startled, he hides in the doorway at the far end of the kitchen. The man eating, grabs his big steak knife, jumps up, carefully enters the door at the near end of the kitchen, and turns on the lights.

The young man exits unseen into the dining room very quietly, now on carpeted floor. He crosses briskly, and hides just around the corner in the living room.

The dealer looks in the utility closet, goes back into the dining room, then through a different door that brings him into the front hall. As he comes around into the living room, he and the young man are now facing each other at a distance of eighteen feet. Holding the knife up visibly, without loudness, the dealer asks,

“What in Hell do you want?

The young man again walks briskly, pulls the bat out as he crosses, and raises it high. As the bat comes down, the dealer blocks, but the strike breaks his wrist, and the knife falls to the floor. The dealer puts up his hands defensively.

“Wait, wait…”

he pleads.

“Trick or treat,”

says the young man with a grin, as he raises the bat again and cracks the dealers skull like a walnut, then breaks every bone in his body just for good measure.

Delaware is a small state, and only one hundred twenty-seven enemies of liberty die tonight.

Pennsylvania

A mixed clientele of criminal thugs patronize the medium sized Anything Goes Bar and Grill seven nights a week. Most of them are loud and foul of mouth. The high rates of rape and assault in this vicinity accrues to these jokers, but nobody can ever prove anything, even when good people know who did what.

There is a walkway along a stream that runs behind the place. Because it connects to cross streets, it is used by the patrons regularly. On the far side of the stream a thinly wooded hillside rises steeply. Tonight there is a bright moon just rising. The cool Autumn air is invigorating, enhanced by the fine fragrance of charcoal grilling.

A young man is positioned on the hillside across from a forty-foot area of deep shadow created by eight spruce trees on the far side of the walkway. He has a .22lr caliber automatic rifle with poisoned hollow point bullets, noise suppressor, and a night scope. He is an expert marksman, who can shoot the testicle bag off of any criminal at three-hundred yards.

7:12 P.M.

Four boisterous patrons come walking. The young man recognizes them through the scope. When there is this many, to miss one could become problematical. He waits until they are thirty feet into the shadow area, then quickly shoots all four in the large target area of torso. Each falls to the ground groaning, but all die immediately from the poison. The young man sighs with satisfaction, then reloads.

7:28 P.M.

Perfecto. This time there are six noisy fellows. Now, the young rifleman feels butterflies in his stomach, but offset by exhilaration. He listens carefully as he watches their approach. Ten feet into the shadow area, one points and says,

“Look!”

They cautiously approach and look down at the bodies. One man looks around and yells,

“Run!”

The young man shoots all six, and there is still plenty of shadow left. Time for some cheese crackers and a spicy beef stick.

During the remainder of the evening the young warrior kills seventh more lowlifes, including three early birds returning from the bar in the opposite direction.

In Pennsylvania, three hundred eighty-one enemies of liberty die on this night.

New Jersey

A well-educated young patriot has done some research and compiled a list of eight active Globalists in his area. There are three crooked bankers, two human traffickers, and three corporate sheisters. Over several months, he has abducted and killed all of them, put the bodies in long plastic garbage bags, and into his giant sized freezer in his cellar.

The reasons for this strange methodology is to sew discord in the Globalist community by making it appear that the individuals are all still alive, under duress, and therefore a security risk. He augments this with anonymous phone calls and mail to key individuals.

The young patriot’s plan has been to bury the frozen corpses six feet deep in his next door neighbor’s vegetable garden late in the afternoon on Halloween, then after a fine dinner of roast duck, to celebrate with pumpkin spice eggnog.

This year the neighbors will be in California from October 24 to November 6. They notified the young man and asked him to keep an eye out for anyone nosing around their house. They do the same for him when he is away.

October 27, 2036   

The young man rakes the winter mulch off the garden, and begins to dig a four by six hole foot in the middle. There is plenty of garden surface for the displaced soil to be spread out thinly without getting any on the lawn. A tall hedge gives maximum privacy from the street, but today the mailman scares the young man badly as he comes briskly around the corner of the house,

“What you plantin’ there, Mr. Funderburke?”

he barks. The young man understands the movie reference, and laughs as he looks up.

“Registered letter. I need someone to sign the receipt before I can put it in the door slot”

he says, holding out the receipt with a pen.

“No problem.”

says the young man and signs.

Over the next three days he finishes the hole without further interruption, but tomorrow comes the dangerous part.

October 31   2:20 P.M.

The young patriot takes the first body from the freezer, carries it awkwardly up through the bulkhead, and places it lengthwise on his wheelbarrow. He has to go only seventy-eight feet, then pushes it off into the hole. He jumps down, removes the plastic bag without looking overmuch at the freeze dried degeneracy. Such a memory might spoil a man’s dinner.

One at a time, he puts the other seven bodies in the hole. After the last one, just as he comes up out of the hole, he is startled by a loud,

“Boo!”

He whirls to see a neighbor kid with his head poking through the hedge grinning at him,

“You scared me. How long you been there?”

“Maybe ten seconds. Why so deep?”

the kid asks pointing at the hole.

“Had to fix an underground drain pipe. Also works well for potatoes in the spring. What are you planning to wear tonight?”

“My mother bought me a mask with two faces, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and rented an old fashioned suit. I gotta go home for dinner. See yah later.”

”Have fun. See yah!”

says the patriot.

It will start to get dark soon. He works quickly, puts four bags of quicklime on the bodies, fills in the hole, tamping down the soil as he goes, then carefully replaces the mulch. Good job. It looks exactly the same as it did before he started. Tomorrow he will wash the inside of the freezer and remove the plastic garbage bags a few miles away to a dumpster.

The patriot washes his hands, starts the stuffed dusk in the oven, then shaves and showers.

8:11

Roast Duck L’orange, with a tall flagon of ice cold pumpkin spice eggnog. A fine day of work.

New Jersey waxes proud with a death toll of 1,252 enemies of liberty on this night.

Georgia

In a rural setting, there is a charming old house owned by a big corporation. The designated use is rest and relaxation. In actuality, the house is used by Globalist pedophiles for all kinds of depraved activity. The place is given an eerie quality by all the trees draped with long beards of Spanish Moss, especially in the private area behind the house.

Living nearby, a group of eight young Libertarian warriors have discovered a great advantage to themselves in using bows with poison arrows. They practice twice a week and are expert archers.

Recently one of these fellows conceived a splendid idea for tonight’s purge. It will involve his shapely girlfriend. She agrees.

8:14 P.M.

Fourteen Globalists inside the house are enjoying a fine holiday dinner, but there will be no pedophilia tonight because of possible interruptions by Trick-or-Treaters.

As they eat, a curvaceous young naked woman comes strolling into the well-lighted area behind the house, fully visible from the long dining room picture window. She looks very fetching and cute with a shaggy grey scarf of Spanish Moss draped around her beautiful neck and shoulders.

The eaters spot her. Thirteen of them scramble to the back door and go outside. One is a bit more careful, however, grabs a double barrel shotgun, goes out the front door, and starts to circle around to the back, stopping for a quick pee in bushes next to the house…

The Globalists surround the girl and begin asking her questions to ascertain their possible options in this impromptu situation,

“You here alone, honey?”

“You wish!”

she laughs.

Seven young archers surrounding the lawn come out from hiding with arrows in place, keeping enough distance to draw and shoot a second arrow.

Finally, the chap with the shotgun clears the corner of the house. Emboldened by drink, he walks right out into the circle and says,

“Don’t you pranksters worry. I’ve only got two shots. I’m just going to escort the girl inside, and call the police, unless one of you have a cellphone and would like to expedite…”

An arrow emerging through the throat from behind stops him in mid-sentence.

In five seconds, the warriors cut down the remaining Globalists. The girl gets dressed, and they leave.

An hour later, Trick-or-Treaters, ring the front doorbell to no avail, sneak around behind the house, find the bodies, and freak out.

“Holy shit!”

says one.

The kids want no involvement in this macabre business and leave. When they are well away from the scene, they phone the police.

In the state of Georgia, 502 enemies of liberty meet their doom on this night.

Connecticut

Two years ago:

A thirty-year-old antique dealer buys out the contents of a house just to get the few good items. Amidst the non-furniture chattel is an unusual cane with a red marbled glass ball at the top. The minute he sees it, the dealer thinks of it as resembling a scepter in context of the warrior god, Mars. He will not sell this piece, and adds it to his collection.

All Hallows Eve 2036   8:16 P.M.

Dressed to the hilt, the antiquarian goes out on the town. He feels very sprightly tonight, almost like Jack Palance in his portrayal of Mr. Hyde wenching in Cheapside.

In an alley next to a department store there is a big blue dumpster. Adjacent to this are three crack-head thugs suffering from delusions of equality. The biggest one speaks to the dealer in booming scary voice:

“Hey Motherfucker, what you dressed as?”

“First of all, Sir, let me assure you that I wouldn’t fuck your mother with a plastic dink.”

The big man’s rage doubles when the his two companions guffaw at the dealer’s apt reply. He rushes the dealer who deftly gooses him in the nuts, with his cane.The man curtsies, then the dealer splits his skull. Perfect strike. No blood on the cane.

The two companions feel motivated to action, but nonetheless freeze, when the dealer pulls out his 7 mm Walther PPK with suppressor, and smiles warmly,

“Please, be good fellows and put your loud companion into the dumpster. We can’t have him blocking the sidewalk. after all.”

They pick up the poor fellow and have a very bad time of it lifting him so high, but finally clear the top. The body falls in with a loud empty dumpster thud. The dealer looks pleased.

“Thank you. Good job. Now please join him in the dumpster. The privacy will give you a little time to think about what you can do to avoid any involvement with the police in this matter.”

Both faces reflect their perception of the logic in the dealer’s remark. They climb up to the edge and ease themselves down into their new home. The dealer jumps up, careful of his suit, sits on the edge, looks down at the two fellows, and says,

“Happy Halloween!”

then shoots each of them between the eyes.

Just as the dealer comes out of the alley, a young couple come walking along, look at him, and the girl says,

“Sir, did you hear gunshots a minute ago?”

Pointing to the far end of the alley,

“It was only backfiring. A seedy looking chap going by just now in an old car, needs to get his carbonates adjusted.”

The couple seems satisfied. The dealer goes off down the street and dispatches twelve more subhumans during the course of the evening.

In the state of Connecticut, 1,049 enemies of liberty die on this night.

Massachusetts 

Salem

Every Samhain, a group of Witches make pilgrimage to Proctor’s Ledge, site of the hangings carried out in connection with the Witch persecution of 1692.

As in any community today, there are in Salem, a good many young thugs struggling with sexual identity, who like to insult, assault, and rape randomly. Here, because of historical president, the victims are usually Witches.

Every Samhain there is also a small band of these thugs who have found a place from which they can watch, make hooting noises, and shout insults at those who visit Proctor’s Ledge. It’s just far enough away so that they can escape any warriors who would break rank, catch them up, and punish their immaturity. This foulnrss has gone on too long. Tonight, it will be very different.

8:18 P.M.

The usual five thugs arrive in one car and park in the usual spot, but tonight there is someone waiting. Just as the right front car door opens, a young warrior comes walking briskly up with an automatic pistol, and darts all five thugs, who immediately pass out.

The warrior pushes the driver to the center of the front seat, gets into the car, and drives to a secluded place far away on the other side of town. There are six ropes with hangman’s nooses tied to a huge tree limb. There is a long portable bench underneath.

The young man drags each of the thugs over to the bench, lowers the ropes, puts the nooses around their necks, and hoists them into up into position without strangulation. Just as he finishes, the first of them awakens. Eight minutes pass before they are all awake.

The young warrior has positioned himself upwind from the thugs and says,

“Now is your time to hang. Good night to Ye!”

He pulls the bench out from under, and well clear. The hanging men prance briefly. Their bladders and bowels release as they pass over. The warrior watches until he is sure they have all passed. Then he leaves, dropping the bench back at the venue from which he borrowed it.

In Massachusetts 2,812 enemies of liberty die on this might.

Maryland

Living near Washington D.C., there are politicians of every variety. A certain forty-two-year-old patriot is especially concerned with Globalist traitors who are using mass immigration to transform the United States into a third world country.

One hundred and thirty-six of these internal enemies of America, with consorts, are having a dinner and costume ball tonight. The venue is perfect: just a kitchen, dining, ballroom complex, one story, air tight.

2:16 P.M.

The patriot parks his pickup on a side street to the right of the building. He is disguised as a trash collector, picking up one day early. The security officer believes his story about holiday rescheduling. He goes down to the cellar, examines the central air duct system, unlocks a widow hidden by thick evergreens outside, puts the trash into bags, takes it outside, and walks around the corner to a public dumpster.

Now he walks back to his truck, puts a large canister of poison gas, labeled as propane, on a dolly, and when the coast is clear, scoots it over into the evergreens, opens the window, and lowers himself, then the canister, into the cellar. He conceals the canister inside the main air duct, rigged up with a radio contorted release valve, so that the gas will enter the system whenever he decides to activate it from outside.

Just as he starts to come out of the bushes, two suits with brief cases, stop to chat near his truck. They blabber about the stock market for seven long minutes while the patriot grows more and more impatient. Finally, they walk away in diriment directions.

Back home eating dinner, the patriot thrills to the idea of the festive occasion tonight. The gas is odorless and makes people suddenly drowsy. They will die within three minutes of sinking to the floor. He thinks to himself,

“It’s too late this year, but if I ever do this again, it would be fun to attend the function as a scuba diver with my own oxygen supply, so I can watch the action.”

7:48 P.M.

The patriot parks his car near the venue, slips on a simple black hooded robe, with a cool gauze skull mask, then sits on a park bench just down the street.

8:24 P.M.

There must be a very good dinner promised here tonight, because they all came on time. Since the main influx, nobody has arrived for the past eighteen minutes. The entrance is closed because of the cold Autumn air.

The building heat is thermostatically controlled, and happens to be off at this moment. The patriot activates the valve. Gas begins to fill the main duct. Four minutes later, the heat comes back on. The accumulated gas surges through the ducts into the entire building.

Within eight minutes the guests begin to drop like flies. There is none of the usual coughing or agonized strangulation. The entire business is very peaceful, sort of an eternal slumber party for Globalist parasites.

In the state of Maryland 1,862 enemies of liberty die on this night.

South Carolina

Every Halloween night for the past four years, a band of five violent good-for-nothings have come out of the swamps, utilizing a system of tourist paths and cat walks for the last leg of their journey. Then then spend the entire night terrorizing good people in quiet neighborhoods.

They love to beat up trick-or-treaters of any age or gender, to tough-talk girls, putting out a cigar on the cheek of the pretty ones. They take special delight in poking teenage boys in the nuts with a walking stick.

Last year they tied one boy up, cinctured off his spuds with rawhide thongs, and left him by the side of the road. Two young girls found him just in time. The proof of this lay in the fact that when the girls untied his balls first, the young fellow got a boner. This year, the father of this embarrassed boy has figured out a good way to set things right.

2:18 P.M.

There is a twenty foot tar pit adjacent to the system of paths created for the tourists. The boy’s father visits with a plain hammer. By moving two small signs just a few feet, the path is directed right into the tar pit. Doing this takes him only ten minutes. To protect good people, he also changes the sign near the parking lot to make it seem like the pathway is closed to tourists for repairs. He goes home, rakes the yard, and enjoys a good meatloaf dinner.

8:26

The father is back, now hiding in a thicket near the path. He can hear the thugs coming from a long way off. As they approach he sees beams from the flashlights they will use to follow the catwalk and paths. When the last of them has passed, he waits a few seconds until they approach the first of the misdirecting signs. Then he comes up onto the catwalk and yells,

“We got you bastards now!”

then fires a blast from his shotgun.

The scoundrels run so fast they don’t even notice that they have been taken off path and run right into the tar. The father waits until they sink down a foot or two, then strolls up to the edge of the tar pit, wearing a mining helmet with flashlight attached. He chuckles, 

“Well now! Seems like you redneck turd suckers have got yourselves into quite a bit trouble very early in the evening this year. In case you’re wondering, what we are witnessing here is called the tar baby effect.”

The thugs yell obscenities as they struggle desperately to get out of the tar, but it doesn’t help at all. They just keep singing.

The father also brought his machete. Originally he had planned to cut off their heads one at a time, just to see the looks on the remaining faces, but realized that the entire business will appear to be an act of God if he just lets them sink. He makes a good many threatening gestures with the machete, however, for sport.

Slowly now they sink. The deeper they go, the more contrite they become. Their name calling gives way to heartfelt apology, pleas, and promises. Just as they reach the point where only their heads are above the tar, the father looks all around at the woods frantically, and exclaims,

“Oh boy! There are no sticks long enough. I had planned to pull you boys out at the last minute just to teach you a lesson, but I waited too long. It’s just too late. I’m so sorry.

“I expect you’ll be meeting Satan soon. I’m confident that he’ll be having a little fun with your testicles from time to time, the way you did with my son last year. Farewell.”

In the state of South Carolina, 912 enemies of liberty die on this night.

New Hampshire

Yesterday, there was an early snowstorm in the White Mountains. A group of four Socialist movie actors and their consorts are climbing up to Tuckerman’s Ravine to go skiing as a prelude to a big Halloween party at the Mount Washington Hotel tonight.

2:20 P.M.

French Canadian girls in bikinis, sunning themselves on the lunch rocks, are watching as a young fellow dressed in black with a skull face mitten, experiments freestyle with a long pike for balance instead of ski poles.

One of the actors and his girlfriend have climbed further up and are way above the basin. Now they ski down fast and go sailing over the edge. The young fellow dressed in black, quickly skis down a short distance, adjusting his position to the newly calculated landing point, stops as if to rest, and thrusts the pike deep into the snow at a slight uphill angle.

At the last instant, as the actor perceives his fate, he bellows angrily, and is impaled like a Vienna sausage on a long toothpick. His girlfriend, slightly behind, is distracted just enough to land the wrong way, tumble a considerable distance, and break both legs in the process.

Only the bikini girls notice the young man in black at the bottom of the bowl, skiing off into the woods where he hid his poles.

8:28

The remaining six in the actor group are sad for their friends, but attend the party anyway, hoping to cheer themselves up by drinking plenty of Wild Turkey Bourbon with Baboosic Farms Cider.

As they sit sipping and talking, they are mesmerized by the flickering candlelight in four scary looking Jack ‘O Lanterns on the sideboard next to them. What they don’t notice is a young man dressed in black with a skull mask thirty feet away, watching them.

After a while, one of them slumps forward, and within a span of ninety seconds the other five follow. A chap with his wife at the next table notices, points, and remarks with innocent good humor,

“Holy Cow, I wonder what they’re drinking.”

The six are noticeably cold to the touch by the time concern for their lack of activity, and more to the point, their bladder and bowl release, come to the attention of management.

In the state of New Hampshire 1,623 enemies of liberty die on this night.

Virginia

A middle-aged man that lives in town, loves to rape and beat up younger women. These adventures are dangerous, however. He doesn’t want to push his luck, so finds other ways to practice technique in between times.

Years ago he read a novel with a character who found erotic release using smoked hams. This gives him an idea. One day he sees a certain farmer shopping in town, goes quickly out to the the farm, enters the smokehouse, and cuts a hole in one of the big hams. Now he gets naked, swaggers around talking bossy to the ham, gets a boner, and really goes to town on her.  Then he plugs the hole with meet so he can use the same ham again.

A young girl, sister of one of his victims, sees the man in various circumstances, figures out that he is the rapist, and one day follows him to the smokehouse. Watching his entire routine through the window, she gets a strange idea. She hides at a distance, and waits until the ham-master leaves.

For protection, she carries in her car glove compartment, a spring loaded spike weapon that looks like a ballpoint pen. She locates the ham, removes the meat from the hole, uses a long screw driver to make a narrower hole beyond the initial one, carefully inserts the spike pen, and conceals it with a firm plug of meat. Then she puts the rest of the meat back in the outer hole, and leaves.

On Halloween Day, the rapist gets the urge, and visits the smokehouse. The girl watches as he starts humping. He gives a good hard thrust. The pressure drives the pen device backward effectively pressing the button on the top of the pen. The spike releases and goes right up the rapist’s pee hole, a full six inches.

The poor fellow screams in agony. She pities him, goes right into the smoke house, and chops off his head with the farmer’s axe.

8:30 P.M.

The farmer visits the smokehouse to padlock the door against tricksters, finds the rapist’s body, takes it to the river, and dumps it in. No need to complicate life unnecessarily.

In the state of Virginia, 1.839 enemies of liberty die on this night.

New York

There are still plenty of wealthy Globalists in Manhattan corporations. They work tirelessly to bring low I.Q. savages into the United States for cheap labor, and the longer term goal of destroying the European race and culture. Every Wednesday night eight of these rotters meet for a fine long gourmet dinner at a fancy restaurant downtown.

In downtown Manhattan, there is a beautiful tall Northern Chinese girt working at a posh department store. She wears long slinky dresses with slits on each side, so she can give certain men a peek at her beautiful legs. Her claw fingernails, eye makeup, and stylish pageboy haircut give her a modern, but very Witchy appearance.

Most normal men who meet this woman’s gaze begin to bone up immediately. One handsome young Libertarian chap even ventured that she could increase the amount and frequency of deposits as receptionist at a sperm bank.

Last month, this fellow approached her with a proposition that he would pay her five thousand dollars to masquerade as his date, out to dinner at a fine restaurant, and invite eight men to an upscale party on Halloween Night.

She asked,

“Why not just ask them yourself?”

He replied,

“Business strategy. There are many competing options for Halloween Night. You make a much better lure than the prospect of having to listen to a long sales pitch from me.”

The following Wednesday night:

The young Libertarian is wearing a deep burgundy tuxedo. The Chinese Witch is wearing a black dress with black nail polish. She has a small silver broach of a spider pinned to her dress.

They enter the restaurant and enjoy Maine lobster and small potatoes, with artichoke hearts in butter. They have chilled green Catawba grape juice to wash it down.

The Globalists are seated about twenty-five feet away. The young Libertarian knows three of them from business, and catches the eye of one, who waves him to come over. The young man rises and escorts the Witch to the table.

After quick introductions, the Witch says.

“My, what a nice group of men, and so handsome! I wonder if you all would like to come to a very exclusive fashion industry party on Halloween Night. Most of the top models in New York will be there.”

One says he must check his schedule, but the others accept immediately. She gives each of them a pass card, with time and place.

Then she and the young Libertarian beg off to return to their own table for a private evening together.

October 31   8:36 P.M.

All of the guests have arrived at the party. Now in unison, eight costumed people casually situate themselves adjacent to each of the Globalist men, and precisely at the same exact moment, using pens, give each of them a lethal subcutaneous injection of potassium chloride, then walk briskly out of the venue, and head in different directions to other parties of preference.

In New York State as a whole, 3,062 enemies of liberty die on this night.

North Carolina

2:28 P.M.

Two young men dressed as municipal workers stand admiring a large group of trees at the far end of a public park. They are planning some very special Halloween decorations for the community. With extension poles they drape the branches of seven trees with long strands of orange lights, at a height of twenty-five feet. They test the lights, then leave. The final decoration will be completed tonight.

4:02 P.M.

Driving a windowless van, dressed like detectives with fake wallet badges, the two young men knock on the door of a serial rapist who has for many years managed to get acquitted every time he has been arrested. He comes right out onto the porch. They show the badges. The annoyed rapist growls,

“The Heat, in plain clothes this time! What you colonizers want with me, Mo Fu ?”

The young men draw their pistols. One says,

“That will be quite enough of your cool jazzy back mouth, Dirt Bag. You are again suspected of rape and will come to police headquarters immediately for questioning.”

The rapist frowns, and starts back into the house. One of the young men deftly puts handcuffs on him. They take him to the van. Inside they stun-gun him to the floor, gag him, and tie his legs. Then they go to the next house on their list, then the next.

When they have seven criminals in the van, they return to the park to complete the decorating. One at a time the young men coerce each of the criminals to get out of the van and participate in their project.

8:40 P.M.

Now the van is empty and parked on a nearby side street. The first trick-or-treaters are beginning to cut through at the other end of the park. Proud of their project, the young men turn on the orange lights, go back to the van, and drive to one of their houses for hamburgers, and to watch the TV news bulletins.

Four trick-or-treaters see the beautiful lights, approach the cluster of trees, looking up totally awed by the macabre splendor of Halloween. One little girl says,  

“Wow, they look sooo real.”

An adult standing behind them notices the expertly tied nooses, wet trousers, and prevailing smell.

“Kids, please don’t be afraid. I’m going to call the police. I’m afraid these poor men are real.”

The little girl streams, but remains fascinated..

Within three minutes, the police arrive. After viewing all the bodies, one of them says to his partner,

“Looks like someone has done this community one hell of a big favor.”

The other grins,

“Yes, and saved us a good deal of work. Vigilantes, when they do it right, are the best damned people in America!”