March 2, 2025

Last week subverted Congressman Barry Sonderson introduced a bill that would ban the purchase of bullets by licensed hunters in the interest of “wildlife preservation.” Today he is walking back from his single martini lunch with two secret service men.

From the opposite direction, Karl Beckmann is walking down the street with his hands in his pockets, wearing a wig and false beard. When the three targets are fifteen feet away, Karl smoothly pulls out his Walther PPK-S and shoots the Congressman between the eyes, then the two guards, so quickly that there is practically no change in target demeanor before the hole appears in each forehead.

Two women shoppers scream as Karl heads into the subway staircase entrance. Once down the stairs, Karl goes into the men’s room where he loses the wig and beard to a trash can, then comes out and walks over to the train platform, where he must wait two very long minutes before the train arrives. He gets on board and sits near the window. Just as the train starts into the darkness, Karl sees the first of the cops running down the stairs. He gets off at the next stop and walks quickly to his car. 

March 14, 2025

Hugh Bellows arrives in Baltimore, has a nice lunch down near the USS Constellation, then locates the house of Jesus Lincoln Perez, a district judge who recently acquitted one of his Negro brethren for beating and raping a young white boy, because of “probable prejudice” in the testimony of the victim and two adult witnesses who investigated, when they heard the boy’s cries for help.

Hugh waits in bushes at the corner of the judge’s house. Perez comes home at the usual time. After closing the garage door, he starts for the kitchen door. Hugh slips silently out of the bushes, and quickly up behind.

With a four-foot piece of thin, but strong, nylon rope, Hugh crosses his arms, throws the circle of rope over the judge’s head, pulls it tight with a twist, then pivots his own body, hoisting the judge off his feet, so the two men are back to back, almost as one would look with a heavy sack of laundry. The judge flails his arms and legs, but is completely helpless, and strangles within forty seconds. When all movement stops, Hugh releases his burden, then breaks the judge’s neck with his heel, just to be sure. Luckily, nobody sees any of this, so Hugh walks quickly back to his car parked next to a public garden on the adjacent block. 

March 29, 2025

Paul Donnelly believes in preventative medicine. He has faith that if people get correct information about the world, they will often make right choices.

Zachariah Rubinowitz is the principal owner and policy maker for the Unity World Media Corporation, whose portfolio includes 137 American newspapers and 14 television stations. Besides radical globalism, their stated mission is “Truth and Love Serving Justice”.

Three years ago, two Negro males in their late twenties abducted a fifteen-year-old white girl and took her to a small house for an orgy of abuse and torture on camera. They kept her awake with amphetamine for four days. They covered her with cigarette burns, 322 in all. When they were through sodomizing and raping her, they put out both her eyes with an icepick and lacerated her buttocks with red hot coat hangers. Finally, they forced her to drink a bottle of liquid drain cleaner. Then she died.

The girl was a kind and decent girl who had been planning to study pediatrics at Wesleyan University. Her parents and little brother Billy will miss her all their lives and will never understand why she was killed. The Negro males cut off her feet with a cleaver so a certain photographer could do still photos for the fetishist market. They were seen leaving the house, but were never apprehended.

Unity gave the standard Negro-on-white crime coverage to this incident on page four of their newspapers,

“Late yesterday neighbors reported seeing two unfamiliar men leaving an unoccupied vacation house. When the police arrived, they found the body of a young, thus far unidentified, woman. Police forensics reported traces of semen, and there was apparent drug involvement.

On the TV news they did the same thing just before the latest updates on the eternal wars being fought for the enrichment of their banker tribesmen.

Last year a forty-seven-year-old white man walking home from work was attacked by three Negro males, two aged nineteen, the third aged twenty. One had a knife, the other two, lengths of pipe. They picked the wrong victim this time. The white man sent all three to the hospital, each with broken limb. The Negro judge found the white victim guilty of “excessive force” quoting a recent precedent about graded martial attainment, even used in self-defense as actually constituting assault, because it gives the victim “unfair advantage.” The white victim was sentenced to four years at hard labor. The three assailants were given ninety days each at an honor farm to “contemplate the lack of wisdom in their youthful exuberance.”

Unity jumped on this one like a robin on ladybugs. Rubinowitz personally called for beefed up legislation against “the brutal” teachings” of martial arts academies everywhere, and a separate bill for the stiffening of penalties against “white racism.” The harangue was front page for weeks. The TV put it to a special primetime half hour segment format, with guest speakers every night for two months.

In studying just these two examples, Paul understands how the past several decades of controlled journalism have produced the vast numbers of self-haters that he encounters on a daily basis. For every spirited Caucasian in America there are ten thousand matrix pawns being drawn in by the globalist money masters.

Every time you politely question the accuracy of the media coverage, the bosses label you a “hater” and trot out their phony “holocaust” routine to intimidate you into silence. Truth and decency don’t work with these people. They are intelligent cognitively, but retarded morally. The predatory bankers and subverted media bosses are the clearest threat to mankind in all of human history. We can save our race and civilization only by killing them all. Best get started immediately.

7:15 P.M. Paul is sitting patiently in his car outside the Unity building in Newark. Zach Rubinowitz, with others has been attending a late meeting with dinner. At last the boss is approaching his car alone. Paul gets out of his car parked only twenty feet away, and walks briskly to the enemy. Rubinowitz sees him and reaches into his pocket for his pepper spray, nut not in time. Paul grabs the enemy neck with both hands, and with thumbs on center, pushes up, and snaps the spinal connection with one mighty thrust. The enemy falls lifeless.

Paul heads back to his hotel for a fine meal of salmon and spinach. There’s nothing like a good meal after a job well done.

March 31, 2025

Walter Durrant is enjoying marmalade on sourdough toast when he sees a news broadcast about a special gathering of irate citizens in Salt Lake City, dedicated to stopping the kind of “white racism” that defeated the African invasion of Montana. They are to meet in a small school building at the north edge of the city at 8:00 A.M. on April 1.

“Leave right now” says Walter to himself. He gathers what he needs, drives all day, and arrives in time for a very late supper before retiring. The next morning, he is delighted when he drives past the venue, and parks near a diner two blocks down the street.

After a quick breakfast, he asks for the key key to the outside men’s room, goes out, grabs a bedroll pack from his car. With the pack strap slung over his shoulder, he leaves on foot. There is an automatic pistol in his coat, and in the pack, an automatic rifle, two canisters of poison gas, and two police locks.

It’s a cold day and his leg is acting up, so he stops behind a big tree, supports himself with one hand on the trunk, and, lifting each leg high, flexes his knee joints. It looks like ballet exercises, but works like a reset button.

It’s 8:23 already and the last of the group of nineteen citizens are arriving. Walter walks right in, just as though he were a part of it. He sees the security, a state police officer. Walter pulls his pistol. disarms the officer, and shuts the outside door. He is in great luck, because there is a small kitchen to the side with tiny windows ten feet off the floor, and only one door. He addresses the crowd,

“Ladies and gentlemen, I represent a patriotic organization of, like yourselves, concerned local citizens. Frankly we are appalled that you actually consider resistance to globalist tyranny as being white racism. Committee members are on the way for a teaching seminar and plan to address each of you on the subject of your patriotism, or lack thereof. I’m sure, at very least, that you will find this to be intellectually stimulating. In the meantime, I must invite you to wait with me here in the kitchen, where you can contemplate the rationale for what you believe in preparation for the seminar. Please step along now…”

The police officer looks more than worried. Walter ushers him in ahead of the others and keeps a close watch on everyone. Once they are all in the room, Walter stands just outside the doorway, sets down his pack, and as he opens it, says,

“I have something here to aid the entire process, and I must tell you now that your teaching committee consists only of angels.”

As he opens the valves and tosses in the canisters, he winks and says,

Have a blessed day!”

He closes the door and has a police lock in place, just as the doorknob turning begins. The calling out stops within what seems like an eternal minute and forty-three seconds. Walter locks the outside door as he leaves.

Now he heads back to the diner, visits the men’s room, returns the key inside, and drives home. He listens to his car radio, but doesn’t hear any report. The committee people are not discovered until five and a half hours later.

April 5, 2025

Daryl Johnson came to Hartford Connecticut last month to see what he would need to obliterate a narrow three story government building for “diversity studies” to eliminate “undue European cultural influence” in America, in other words, the obliteration of the Caucasian race via breed-up-to-be-trendy propaganda. The group members are mostly Jews and “disenfranchised” Negros, the few Caucasians being the usual assortment of sex perverts and twits. The total membership is one hundred and thirty-nine, and they are having a monthly meeting tonight at 8:00 P.M. on the third floor.

Daryl’s first disappointment was when he saw no cover anywhere around the building, no bushes, trees, or substructures of any kind. The second problem was the two-officer security desk at the entry door, no chance to wander in casually and plant a bomb in the men’s room. He finally decided on using a mortar. He will bracket the shots by floor, one for the top, one for the middle, with two at ground level. If there is a basement, this will make a nice pit for all the flaming rubble.

Daryl parks in a public garage. then walks two blocks to a small park. He seems to wander into a big cluster of bushes as if to answer nature’s call, then sets up the small, but powerful, mortar very quickly. He can actually see the top story of the building from here, and can set the coordinates by windage.

8:32 P.M. The meeting is well underway, and the last latecomers are in. Daryl sets the mortar for the first shot, fires, then does the next three with utmost speed and precision.

The building falls beautifully, almost as though imploded. The enemies are now just a foul smoldering memory. The mortar is one of the quiet new gas injection models. As Daryl exits the bushes, a young couple looking toward the building turn and give him a quizzical look. Daryl says with a winning grin,

“My apologies, a few too many snappers at dinner, I suspect.”

The girl giggles. The man looks mildly amused, but both are still concerned about the heavy explosions three blocks over.

Daryl points to the rising cloud of smoke in the distance, and says,

“Sounded like bombs. Must be Arabs.”

The couple nod in affirmation.

Daryl walks briskly back to the garage as the commotion starts, and is out on the highway heading home within five minutes.

April 11, 2025

John Mosely approaches the fifty story sky scraper, well dressed, with a large briefcase. He looks like an attorney.

Once inside, John takes the elevator to the second floor and visits men’s room after men’s room. On each visit he flushes a one-inch round pellet down one of the toilets. Within ten seconds of being in contact with water, as they reach basement level. each of these pellets would like to suddenly swell to the size of a rock hard basketball, and would, if they weren’t in a soil pipe of less diameter. As it is they cause s very sturdy blockage that cannot be removed by any normal means, including a roto-rooter. The net result is that every toilet above the basement will be in a state of overflow every time they are flushed, putting the entire building out of business for weeks, because of the cleanup.

This is a big building with forty-eight floors of toilets above. As John heads to the elevator, the backups are already starting. He decides it might be less noticeable to take the service staircase to the street. As he gets to the ground floor, a large Negro security officer is starting up, and says,

“”Jus’ where you think you goin’ Muthafucka?”

John has the cool confidence common to large, very strong men and says,

“Hey, Shit-for-Brains, I wouldn’t fuck your mother with someone else’s dink.”

The Negro is outraged and reaches for his pistol. John grabs the gun arm, with his other hand pockets the pistol, and pitches the Negro easily over the staircase railing, down to the sub-basement floor. The seventy-foot fall breaks the entire rib cage on impact. Together the rib bones render the lungs little more than a piece of limp Swiss cheese. The poor fellow is gone in seconds.

John straightens his tie as he emerges from the service door into the alley. No one sees him. He stops for coffee and pecan pie on the way back to his car.