Para Oh, pity the poor street-walker, pity the poor child-molester, but it could be worse, they could be Senators.
Para This deals with madness. My madness versus the White-man's primordial, self-destructive madness. And is dedicated to all our naive friends who somehow still hold the belief that there is a political answer.
Para "Save a place for me," sings Colon Powell. He's not singing about my White children.
Para Also, the new Sec. of Education knows and talks only of the needs of the hoods in the hood. He don't know or seem to care jack- squat about my children.
Para Bush keeps saying "...every child," a code phrase for blacks and others of color. He wants America to be like Mexican Texas.
Para Texas sucks!
Para Theres a black from BETV telling blacks to "think black, buy black, hire only black."
Para There is no end to it and there is no one who dares speak-out for me and my precious White babies. However, there is a litmus test that makes so-called Christians cower and makes saprophytes of weak white politicians.
Para White philosophies, liberties, heritage and culture lie putridly rotting and are being openly devoured on a sacrificial altar by a new and hungrier strain of bacillus.
Para And I'm mad! No. I'm not just appalled. I'm not just mad. I'm maniacally mad!
Para Sam Clemens, you told Pudd'n-head Floyd, "When angry, count four; when very angry swear." What sort of counsel is this?
Para And you Shakespeare, you lying bastard, you said there was a noble anger, "Touch me with noble anger," you said in Lear. They ain't no such thing as a noble anger! There is only an overwhelming madness, an unrelenting, omnipresent madness. How dare ye, giving noble title to this damnable, would-be, dame.
Para Oh brothers and sisters, I done sinned, the Jesse-sin, again! I've had the same mistress for years and she served me well. Her name was "Humor" and she was beautiful. Ahh, but lately, I've been bed-hopping like a civil rights leader and I've taken-up with a strumpet named, Anger, and she's bad ugly. Oh, woe is me! And that ain't all, she gave me the MWD, mad writer's disease.
Para Can you see it, dear hearts? Old Jim, and his new love watching the TV. Me in my hip-boots, I always wear hip-boots when watching the boob, and Miss Anger pointing-out every anti-White word and deed. Wait a minute, the Hate Whitey Caucus is walking out of the House of Representatives. No Gertrude, I didn't call them house niggers. The house niggers were the whites who sat there and clapped for 'um!
Para Pusillanimous politicians, polecats, poltroons, begorra, they are pusipolicatroons! (pus-i-pol-i-ca-troon), n.
Para Ohhh no, there's Al Gore kissing Maxine Waters! You gotta be a devout pusipolicatroon to kiss Maxine!
Para Oh, looky looky, here comes the Senate Judiciary Committee! Why is all of 'um gots a black sitting right behind 'um? Is this bad theater or what? Even Alabama's Jef Sessions done got him a token black. Little Jef learnt his lesson almost two decades ago when some of these same rapscallions denied him a judgeship because of his racism. Since then he don't even talk to folks like me and he quit running-off into a corner with the Counsel of Conservative Citizens whispering "nigger, nigger, nigger."
Para No, no, he is now a real, genuine pusipolicatroon!
Para Hey, there's Strom Thurman, our old Dixiecrat darling. Who could forget the young Strom? I hear him as clearly as if it were yesterday; "I don't understand what these people are complaining about, why, our niggers is better-off than most anybody's niggers.
"They got washing machines and some of 'um even got televisions."
Para Now, old Strom, the New South Strom, sits there looking like he was the one who kissed Maxine. You've come a long way, Stromey baby.
Para Sometimes I doze-off when I watch C-span. I dream dreams and see visions. There was a time when I dreamed of pretty girls, sailboats, sandy beaches, and Chevis Regal Scotch, but not now.
Para Yesterday, I had a demented dream of the Confirmation Hearings and it went like this;
A funny thing happened, on the way to the fiery furnace. Nebucadnezza had his band playing at full volume. There was Ms. Maxine Waters on harp, Ms. Sheila Jackson Lee on the flute, Charlie Schumer on the sackbut, Teddy Kennedy psaltery, and an accompaniment of skillet-licking preachers and crotch- licking lesbos adding to the din.
Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego and Ashcroft was on they way to the fiery furnace. The mean old Chaldeans had come from everywhere to testify against 'um. But these four, immovable in their convictions, faithful in they friendships, refused to bow-down and kowtow to these propagandist of politically correct worship.
But wait! For some unfathomable reason Ashcroft separated himself from the others and told old king Nebe that they could work together.
Bless God and Daniel, them flames got hot and hotter, and as they did, Ashcroft became more malleable and moldable.
The heat was so great, brothers and sisters, that it done burnt the Bob Jones out-of that son of a bitch! Why, it even scorched his pro-life profile and incinerated the second amendment slap-out of his blistered brain.
I awoke just in time to hear Senator Sessions say; "Some folks don't believe John Ashcroft can set aside his beliefs and enforce the law, but he can."
ParaSweet Lord, I really wanted to like the man, John Ashcroft, he looks so much like Red Rider. Back in the forty's I'd take me dime to the Bug-house (Fairview) theater on Memorial Drive and watch Red Rider and his faithful companion, Little Beaver. They slept under the cotton- wood trees and rode into town endowed with unwavering convictions of what was right and what was wrong. Begorra, you could depend on Red!
Para Why, it would have been unthinkable for him to side with the bad guys and turn around and shoot Beaver. I knew Red Rider and Ashcroft ain't no Red Rider. He's just another pusipolicatroon!
Para I'm a'waiting for a cock to crow three times and I hope they televise it.
Para Well fellow sufferers, this article is already too long, but in order to give full expression to my madness I must tell you about Caesar and George Wallace.
Para George Wallace, our great White hope, sat on the steps of the State House and cried real tears after losing the governor's race to James Patterson, a starch segregationist. He sobbed-out one clear statement;
"Nobody will ever out-nigger me, again."Para Well, well, swing pendulum swing! This vulgar term is still alive and well, however, it now has the diametrical, opposite meaning. We see it and hear it all the live-long-day. A White pusipolicatroon who wishes to get into or remain in government must hate his Whiteness, abhor his culture, accurse his ancestors and say to the world, as George Wallace later said to the New South Democrats;
"I may be White but inside, my heart's as black as any of ya'lls."Para Wallace "out-niggered" them all. From his orchestrated stand in the school house door to his last tear of repentance, he out niggered them all. He was,after all, a pusipolicatroon.
And finally, there was Caesar.
Para Some of you ding-bats have said, "Bush would never do what Gore has done." Well, let us look at one of the world's greatest politicians, perhaps, you will change your mind about the limits of pusipolicatroonism.
Para Caesar the politician, on the road to the Senate, and at the tender age of fourteen, got the Jupiter religion. Friends of his Uncle Marius arranged for him to be made a priest of the Sacred College of Jupiter. He hated it but suffered through it because it put god on his resume.
Para The doors began to open and he obtained an appointment as an officer and aide-de-camp to Marcus Thermus in Asia (Asia Minor). Then came his first mission.
Para The Romans laid siege to Mytilene on the isle of Lesbo and they were in dire need of ships. Caesar was dispatched to Bithynia to persuade King Nicomedes to make his fleet available to the Romans.
Para Caesar the religious man, later the distinguished Senator, got them ships, but at a price. Nicomedes was queer and offered a quid pro quo deal.
Para Caesar the politician sailed away a little queer himself and awfully sore.
Para But he did whatever it took to get what he wanted.
Para When I look at this mangy, scabby, disgusting bunch of parliamentary whores that we call our Senate, I can't help but think of old Caesar, one of the first pusipolicatroons.
Para I'm still mad!
Para Quem Jupiter vult perdere, dementat prius.
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