kkkaraoke

Big Pussy Lips, & Jewish female destructive Influence

Here’s another of the 10,000 pages written to the radio DJ’s, which led me to the problem of White Race Survival, and Jewish destructive influence on our race.

I speak of my White Sexual Identity, and if Whites are to have babies, it should be on the ‘highest’ intellectual sexual level.  What the DJ writes me back is “Jewish female” influence, and I think that is ‘destructive’ and even went on talk radio in Vegas ‘against’ the Jewish Gloria Steinem.  It wasn’t long that Jews bought the radio station for $24 million, fired all the DJ’s and made it impossible for me to voice my views against the take-over of non-Whites in this country.

Hi Dear DJ, Thanx for the quote “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” I think that the greatest contributions that both you and I have made were our children.  I saw a grandmother today in the elevator and she was rushing to make her annual visit to her grandchild.  Now, annual means once a year.  She looked very well dressed, probably very rich, but only allows one visit a year on the grandchild’s birthday.  I’m thinking with all that money and she doesn’t want to be around her own flesh and blood.  I think moreso as a woman, I love children.  My mother loved us so much that when my father moved to Florida she wouldn’t go with him and leave her grandchildren and children without her.  She was no example and would never make grandmother of the year.  I talked to Claire my art teacher and she was heartbroken, (you know the one with the nude men paintings).  She lost her son in a car crash when he was only 29.  That was 20 years ago.  She loved her boy so much she can’t get over him.  He left two children and the mother is in California.  The mother never brings the children to see the grandmother, and Claire is supporting her husband on her art funds, which makes ends meet but barely.  You know the starving artist.  Claire, as the grandmother, sends money, homemade goodies like cookies, cards, letters, etc.  The grandchildren never respond, only when they want more money or to tell her what they want for Christmas, etc.  This has been 20 years and Claire is hurt, because they remind her of her son, that she still adores.  I mean she’s happy don’t get me wrong.  So Claire, wrote a letter, and asked each grandchild to check the box.  (A) Yes, I want more money and gifts, but I will call once in a while, or write a thank you card. or (B) I don’t want to hear from you again.  She said that she hasn’t sent it, but will.  I did inspire her though when I went to see her last time.  She is going to do the painting of her, her husband and son, which she has been unable to up until this point.  I was so anxious to have grandchildren, but when I see the grandmother in the building that only sees the granddaughter, once a year, and Claire that never sees or hears from her grandchildren, I am very reluctant about the thought of grandchildren.  I actually told both Paul and Mikey that on Mother’s Day.  I respected my mother, as bad as she was.  I massaged her back.  I never disobeyed her, whether it was to go to the store, go help my sisters with their babies, even go borrow money for her medicine (brandy once in  awhile).  Fix her hair, whatever she asked.  It was always what I could do for her.  When I had Mikey, all the sisters avoided our house because they kept the kids from her, except for Josephine. But for some reason, I brought Mikey to see her.  She was always sober, she didn’t drink that much.  And I think either my bringing Mikey there for her to babysit, (while I went to Primal Scream Therapy) made her very happy, as if I trusted her, forgave her, and loved her.  She stopped drinking entirely, and I never again so an episode of violence, at least when I brought my boy.  She didn’t know how to love me in any other way, but she was a good grandmother.  I told my boys if they have children, I will probably never get to see them anyway, so how could it possibly matter to me in this society.  I won’t have the money to see them, so how could it matter to me.  I guess you’re pretty lucky being near your grandchildren.  My mother’s father was the most wonder grandfather ever.  I guess like the movie “Heidi”s grandfather.  Matthew Kopaczewski lived with us.  (Can you imagine in the small two bedroom house and all us wild kids, singing dancing playing instruments, playing sports).  But he wanted to be with my mother and help her and they loved each other.  Perhaps, too that’s why she drank, she couldn’t handle the loss of her father.  She cared for him in the home until he was 80, cooking for him, propping up his pillow just the way he liked it.  He didn’t want to live with any of the other 13 children, except my mother.  He would take the children in the buggy and wheel us around to get fresh air.  I have to say something funny here Dear DJ.  My mother breastfed us for 2 years and then put us on a bottle.  It was an old Pepsi bottle and put 1/2 coffee and 1/2 milk in it and put a nipple on it.  I talked to my oldest brother Bert the Polak in Florida and you never know when he’s joking or serious.  But when I told him the Pepsi 1/2 coffee/milk story, he replied.  “You think that is bad.  The older kids had beer in a bottle.  They used to live upstairs in an apartment.  And with all the babies there was crying etc. as babies do.  So my mother would take a beer bottle, put a nipple on it, and give it to the baby to quiet them down.  He said that’s why all the older ones were big beer drinkers.  That part is true.  Anyway, even the therapies I went to were to be a better wife, and mother.  I know in my heart of hearts that I did the very, very best especially since I had such a struggle.  But those qualities aren’t going to waste.  I cook for myself.  I went to the organic fruit stand and bought 25 pounds of tomatoes.  Not two pounds.  I put them in boiling water to get the skin off and froze them, so I’ll have fresh organic tomatoes for the next few weeks.  I went to the meat packing house where they slaughter the cows there, (and I thought I was lucky to get fresh chickens that were slaughtered on the premises.)  The rib steaks were that fresh.  Of course they have the “bone” which I love to suck on as I let may babies do when they were younger.  I also got pineapple.  Here is a little sexy thing I’ll tell you.  Well, my book talks about the senses.  And the smell of the sexual parts is very erotic.  But if one drinks, drugs, or even what one eats can make a different in the smell down there.  I heard that pineapple makes it smell fragrant.  So I got a fresh pineapple so I can be “sweet” smelling down there.  Since I don’t drink, smoke take drugs, it should be nice.  Can i tell you something else.  Well, the women in Hollywood like to have big lips.  They go to the doctor to make their lips larger with injections of collagen.  Like the Black people I guess.  I put lip liner on to give a full lip effect and it is one of the best things an older woman can do for her face.  But, Dear DJ, my lips on my pussy are big.  I used to be embarassed when I was younger.  When I would wear a bathing suit or whatever, especially if it was tight, I’d look in the mirror and could see the outline and how my pussy lips would curve it.  Well, I’m not ashamed anymore.  I bought a pink knit two piece jogging suit with capri shorter pants.  And my pussy is hanging down as the fabric tightens in my pussy, leaving the lips to show through the fabric.  I wasn’t going to buy it, but it was a great sale and I’m not going to be ashamed by my big pussy lips, I think they are kind of cute.  One other thing about my Kegel excercises which are going quite well. According to my book, the top fantasy is about having sex with superstars.  When one gets older though, it is more about the President or First Lady, I kid you not, or superheroes.  Well, I’m not fantasizing about the President although fantasies stay fantasies, but still.  But superheroes, now that is another story.  So I put on the music I have that has 60 old tv shows. Well, the music from the tv show “Superman” is on it  and I played it in the background.  You know the words from tv, “faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, Look up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Superman.  Yes, it’s Superman, strange visitor from another planet, who came to earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men, Superman, who can change the course of mighty rivers and bend steel in his bare hands.  And who disguised as Clark Kent a mild-mannered newspaper reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper fights a never ending battle for Truth, Justice and the American Way. (and the music plays and plays on).  So in my fantasy I’m making love with Superman. Well, it starts that these villains kidnap me and tie me down, and Superman comes to the rescue, but he makes love to me while I’m tied down.  By book says a little bondage isn’t bad.  And even though the villains slipped Superman “kryptonite” that only takes away his flying powers, his strong arms, etc.  Kryptonite actually strengthens his lovemaking abilities.  (My book though is totally about natural sex and strengthening, no Viagra etc.)  When I had the vibrator in me I used the Kegel excercise and I could feel my muscles gripping the vibrator and at the end when I push out it actually pushes the vibrator out, so those muscles are there and are getting tighter, gently though.  I’m holding as long a 5 seconds.  But yesterday, I played an Elvis song and pretended Elvis was in me and held the Kegel excercise for the entire song, which probably was 3 minutes.  So my pussy is going to the “Super Strong”.  Perhaps, we can call her “Super Pussy” with her big, lucious, juicy lips, “sweet smelling” and tight vice like muscles.  I hope you have a smile on your face and it arouses you and yet makes you laugh.  Seriously, they teach these excercises for childbirth now. I wish I knew about it when I had my babies.  Both deliveries were unbearable.  Yes, I was a very quiet wife and mother and daughter and granddaughter. You may find that hard to believe.  And somehow we have lost those qualities in life.   I’m making this wonderful Boiled crab with fresh pineapple slices, I have all these domestic qualities, and I feel like I’m wasting them on myself.  I love to share, and do things for others and have spent my whole life as such.  It does say in my book though to get other people to do favors for me.  I’m used to doing so much for others, that now I ask others to do things for me also.  It really encourages them to love and they feel actually feel good about it and will feel better about what they did for me that what I did for them. Well, I will go to Karaoke today, after I finish my cave woman costume, with the real bones (which I sanded and painted) for props.  Tomorrow I will watch the children in the children’s room at church.  They are like my grandchildren, since I don’t have any and I treasure that hour with them.  Hope, dearheart, all is well with you.  Barbie

A friend, who found this column in a recent issue of the Cleveland
Plain Dealer, sent it to me — knowing how much I’d like it.  I’m passing
it along to you for that same reason.

Dear DJ
xo

Inciteful insight
05/01/03

At first, I thought the teacher hovering near my desk in the newsroom was

taking pictures of the unmitigated mess she had just stumbled upon.

Great, I thought. I’ve become a cautionary tale.

But then I saw her lean in and focus her camera on the bumper sticker

hanging to the right of my computer, and I couldn’t help but smile.

I should be used to this by now.

Her young students, all of them girls in plaid jumpers, giggled in a huddle

as I approached their teacher, who was snapping away. I touched her elbow,

and immediately she turned toward me and grinned.

“I love this quote,” she said. “I wanted to photograph it so that I could

hang it on our bulletin board.”

She pointed to her fourth-graders. “It’s a great one for them.”

It’s a great one for all of us:

“Well-behaved women rarely make history.”

The quote from historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich has attracted a lot of

attention in the three years it has hung on my cubicle wall.

Men sometimes smile, sometimes snicker. Some men, particularly those with

daughters, stare at it with thoughtful faces. Others aren’t so impressed.

One man visiting my desk read the quote aloud, frowned, and then pointed to

a photo of my friend with her newborn baby. “That’s how women make history,”

he huffed, then walked away.

Women, though, usually have an aha response. They stop, read it once

silently, then repeat it aloud as their eyes widen in recognition.

Some pull out a pen to write it down. Others want to talk about what it

means to them.

These are usually long conversations. Women have a lot to say about the

rules of conduct for our gender.

Most of us women over 30 were raised to be well-behaved. First and foremost,

we were to be ladies: Sit with your knees together, your hands on your lap

and your lips pursed tight against even the whisper of profanity. We knew

how to set a table, baste a bird and greet the man of the house with a drink

and the newspaper after a long day at work.

The more subtle lessons of good behavior, the ones guiding us in our

discourse with men, were the most disabling. Words of etiquette were code

for know your place. Considerate meant deferential. Respectful was obedient.

Polite was silent.

“No one likes a know-it-all,” we were told. And so we acted as if we knew

nothing at all.

Hardly a recipe for success today – or any other time, for that matter.

Think of the few women who forged their way onto the pages of American

history and were reviled for having done so: birth-control activist Margaret

Sanger, suffragist Elizabeth Cady Stanton, labor organizer Emma Goldman,

feminists Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan. Not a good girl among them. They

insisted on being heard. They refused to be silent. And they were vilified.

The women of our history books are the few we know about. The quiet acts of

rebellion by so many other women are unrecorded, unrecognized: The

plantation owners’ wives who defied their husbands and taught slaves to

read; the midwives who safely delivered other women’s babies into the world;

the homemakers who quietly stitched their life stories into quilts made from

the scraps of their families’ worn-out clothes. As my friend Karen often

tells her three children, “Anonymous was a woman.”

I t is this silent majority of women who speak to Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. A

mother of five, she built her career as have so many women – course work

wedged into a busy family life, studying when the kids were at school or

asleep in their beds. She was hired for her first full-time faculty position

at the University of New Hampshire when she was 42.

Now a grandmother, Ulrich is at Harvard University, a widely recognized

feminist scholar, a MacArthur Fellow and the author of several books, one of

which won the Pulitzer Prize for history.

She is also, of course, the woman whose cautionary reminder about

well-behaved women adorns thousands of bumper stickers, coffee mugs, buttons

and T-shirts.

My work took me recently to the Harvard campus, and I jumped at the chance

to meet the woman whose six simple words relentlessly prod me to poke the

bear of convention. In an e-mail to Ulrich, I told her how many have

responded to the bumper sticker on my desk and told her I’d like to learn

more about the woman behind the quote.

Ulrich responded the next day. Turns out, she is writing a book about the

vast appeal and marketing of her quotation.

“I have been puzzled, pleased, and entranced by the many uses to which this

quotation has been put and have a small collection of T-shirts and stories

about it,” she wrote. “It would be fun to compare notes.”

And it was. For a half-hour or so, we met in her dimly lit office and talked

about her quotation, which originally appeared in a slightly different form

in a scholarly article in the 1970s titled, “Vertuous Women Found: New

England Ministerial Literature, 1668-1735.”

Puritan women, she wrote, “prayed secretly, read the Bible through at least

once a year, and went to hear the minister preach even when it snowed.

Hoping for an eternal crown, they never asked to be remembered on earth. And

they haven’t been. Well-behaved women seldom make history.”

Ulrich credits Jill Portugal, founder of http://www.onean grygirl.net, for coming

up with the idea of marketing the quotation on T-shirts, mugs and bumper

stickers. Portugal was 23 when she started her company in 1996. She found

Ulrich’s quote in a book of women’s quotations – by then the word seldom had

been changed to rarely – and asked Ulrich’s permission to use it. Ulrich

agreed.

“I didn’t think anything would come of it,” said Ulrich, laughing.

The T-shirt was Portugal’s biggest seller that year. It still is. “I sell at

least 2,000 a year,” she said. “I think it’s like safe feminism. It appeals

to reverends. Mothers want it for their babies’ onesies. It’s not

in-your-face, but it’s definitely a message of empowerment for women.”

Ulrich agrees. “It really matters to feel you have an identity that extends

beyond your lifetime,” she said. “It’s just a crime that girls and women do

not have a sense of their own history.”

Still, she is surprised at the quote’s continued popularity. “There’ve been

hundreds of sightings of it. It’s on mugs and tote bags, it’s been a

crazy-quilt project. My favorite is the woman who painted the quote on her

car and then covered it with names of women who didn’t behave well.”

Ulrich’s quote was still fresh in my mind the following weekend when I

visited Swarthmore College, where I had brunch with a group of young women

from 19 to 22. They were an opinionated lot, and boisterously so. They

criticized the layout of the dining hall and brainstormed other designs,

discussed one woman’s thesis on the Constitution’s intent regarding slavery

and needled one another about their choices in cereal, men and literature.

When I mentioned Ulrich’s quotation, they laughed in recognition of what was

already their battle cry.

“My mother has that quote,” one of them chirped.

While my generation of women elbowed our way into the world, these women

will fly at full wingspan. Emily, for example, plans to work as a bilingual

union organizer on Wall Street, where thousands of workers, most of them

immigrants, labor in office cafeterias without benefits or a living wage.

When I asked her if she found it sometimes difficult working in such a

male-dominated field, she politely corrected my initial assumption. “There

are all kinds of women doing this kind of work,” she said, smiling. “In

fact, we’re particularly good at it.”

I looked at the young, confident faces of Emily and her friends and felt a

twinge of envy for their certainty, their utter defiance in the face of

anyone who would dare try to clip their wings. What would I be like now, I

wondered, if I had been more like them 20 years ago, if I hadn’t been

grounded by the weight of so much good behavior?

Such moments of regret are fleeting.

Clipped wings can grow, I’ve learned. We can fly at any age and any stage of

life. And if we catch the wind just right, we can even soar, high above all

those well-behaved women still stuck on the ground.

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