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Autobiography Draft Chapter 16: White Slavery to White Rights

In Uncategorized on November 1, 2012 at 4:29 am
Mike Duncan and Barbara Ann Nowak

July 26, 1969, Wedding Picture

Chapter 16

I tried to bury the rape deep in my mind and never think about it. It seemed it was just one more crime against me and I had to “endure” it like a saint or martyr. That wasn’t good thinking on my part for it “multiplies” the crimes against women and White Rights.  I found a job in the newspaper, you know the kind, the kind no one wants, for everyone seems to be “connected” and it’s not “what” you know, but “who” you know. And now that blacks and browns are settled into gravy government jobs they expand their presence by bringing in relatives, who might have been on welfare or back in Mexico. But those good government jobs with great benefits are no longer easily available to Whites and when one calls the capital or local government it seems that there is a maze of black, Hispanic, Jews and non-white workers to get through.

I worked at a place called Production Tool Corporation and it was owned by a Jew, Henry Brooks, and run by two other Jews, father and son, Maurey and Jerry Rehaut. I was assistant comptroller and though the Jews paid little, I did much of the work while the Jew stayed on phone all day with his wife and children; his father’s desk faced him so they were all very closely connected. I was amazed when I found out that the father had so much money that both college educations for his two grandchildren were paid for entirely when the children were only two years old. Where did the Jews possibly get that much money, I thought.

I worked there five years, and it was very depressing work which didn’t help my depressed state but at least I was “functioning” but Recovery Inc. taught to “lower one’ standards and expectations. The rich Jews hired many Polish White immigrants, worked them long hours, paid them little and deceived their vendors whose services and supplies were on credit. What was really strange was this Jewish company in USA, 1967, had a White German former Nazi boss, named Helmut Zahn, who overruled the Polish White Immigrant slave labor. Jews and Nazis? Jews know World War II was a big scam on the Whites in both Europe and America!

I was working for a company that was constantly in debt and near bankruptcy. The telephone would ring all the time with people wanting their money, but the Jew president would run out and go to his black whore that lived in the black neighborhood on 74th and Kimbark, and we’d have to answer the phones and ward off the angry creditors. I remember the shop manager, Gene Berchem, was a very good man to work for and also a White slave. Joyce Nemsick worked there and she was responsible for most of the calls where she had to ward off the vendors looking for their money due to them.

What really floored me is that one day the Jewish president of the company had a party at his home in Glencoe and it was a mansion with big black wrought iron gates for protection and two floors that had a big room with a pool table. I wondered how he could afford to keep up that gigantic house with high security like a fort that was keeping away savage Indians, like the Mormons that built the first settlement in Las Vegas.

I worked their even after marriage and was terribly upset with them for when I found out I was pregnant and nearing delivery I asked for my insurance coverage and they told me they didn’t have me covered for maternity since it was extra. They were really bastards though for they changed policies to save money right in the middle of my pregnancy and didn’t tell me. It was the only time I ever lost my temper for I saw right through them and they knew it. I told them “Fuck You, you greedy sons of bitches (and indeed I believed their Jewess mothers were bitches), and then said “I quit!” grabbed my things and left. They called me back and said there wasn’t anything they could do about me and the baby, but that they would pay whatever my husband’s insurance policy didn’t. But why did they even subject me to that in a pre-motherly condition, change insurance policies in mid pregnancy and to take advantage of me at a time like that was uncalled for, deceitful and dishonest, which I later found out was “typical” for Jews not “unusual.” Many Jews are also into insurance as even Jew Silverstein insured the World Trade Centers for “double” indemnity in case of terror, just one year before the 9/11 tragedy. Also from book, “1888: The American Jew, An Expose” by Telemachus Thomas Timayenis, said the Jews used to start fires, even far back as 1888, and over insure them and collect the money from insurance policies to make them rich!

While I worked there, I met my husband and father of my two sons, Michael Duncan, who lived right around the corner from me when we moved to 7730 South Marquette Chicago. We at the Holiday Lounge nicknamed the “Combat Lounge” on 95th and Ewing for there would be many race riot fights there although I didn’t realize it at the time. Mike asked to take me out afterwards, and was shocked for he really paid attention to the two friends I was with dancing with them and ignoring me. He was with his buddy, “The Nose,” Greg Simon, who was in wheel chair and paraplegic from Viet Nam, but could get around with that chair as if he still had his legs and it never prevented him from doing anything he put his mind to.

He took me to meet his Dad, who was nicknamed “Mr. D” short for Mr. Duncan, and who was the “cool” father that all the guys used to love to be with. I was eager to please my new beau, and whipped up a gourmet Italian spaghetti casserole to take to them since I knew Mike didn’t have a mother. It was said that she commit suicide. Although later when Mike and I talked before he died, we thought it might have been murder by his Dad for the mother was suffering from a colostomy, and in the ‘50’s it was the most painful of all diseases. His father told me that he would come home from work and she would be swollen for her poop couldn’t pass out after the doctors removed most of her bowel. So he would have to put her into bathtub and jump on her stomach. The feces would fly out everywhere and she was in constant and in great pain. It may have been a mercy killing, or it may have been a suicide for her family that works on ancestry has it recorded as that. She was supposed to be a very beautiful, blonde Lithuanian-American woman. And his cousin told me this true story about his mother.

Back in Lithuania, around the turn of the century his grandmother was sort of royalty, like a Princess. She fell in love with a commoner and married from love which was not in accord with royal policy. He was an artist and had a craving for gambling. One day, he got into a gambling game where the stakes were so high, that when he lost, he lost the entire castle, the jewels, the household furnishings, the gold, everything the royal couple owned! (I’d like to comment that although I don’t know who set up the gambling game, I do know from studying Jews that many Whites warn our people not to gamble with Jews.)

The couple was desperate and begged the new owner to let them live on the property as (White) slaves in the shack, which the gambler winner agreed to. They then began their life as servants in the castle, which they once ruled in luxury. It didn’t affect their relationship, for they had two sons, who they raised there. But then when the sons were teenagers, war broke out, and the Russians came during the night and literally took the oldest teen off to war. It was understood that in those days, there was a very slim chance that the teen would ever return. So the parents decided to flee the country for the safety and life of the other son and made it to America, where they settled in Edgewood, Illinois as farmers. It was there that the son had four daughters and Mike’s mother was one of them. When Mike and I were married, we’d visit that farm, which I truly enjoyed, and when it was sold, we received $10,000.00 as his mother’s share of the farm.

Back in Chicago, at Mr. D’s apartment at 2815 E. 76th Street, he asked me about my folks. I told him my Daddy’s name was Joe Novak, (for most of us were pronouncing it the “English” way and not Polish of “Nowak.”)

He looked stunned and said “you don’t mean, Lil’ Joe Novak, at McGill Weinsheimer’s?”

And I was equally stunned for it was an unusual name for a printing company and said “Yes, my Daddy still works there but it changed names.”

He then relayed a strange story to me saying that he remembers the day I was born for he was the chauffeur for the President of the company. He used to pick up Daddy once in a while and he knew of all the domestic violence but Daddy was sure that Mama would be healed of this malady. He said that one day Daddy came to his car and had a cigar in his hand for him. Daddy told him that he had just become a father, for the 8th time, and he was rejoicing. Mr. D said that he told Daddy he had a son just a few years older and why don’t they make an oath for the little ones to be married someday. And they both laughed.

But it was no longer a “laughing matter,” for Mr. D found this a strange coincidence, and I think right on the spot, he was determined to follow this fate and encourage his son to marry me. Mike and I didn’t date during our year’s courtship, and even during our 16 year marriage never went to dinner or a restaurant, not even McDonald’s. I didn’t mind for I loved to cook and bake for him and make him happy.

Mike talked to me somewhat about his tour in the Communist infested jungles of Viet Nam. He told me that when the government drafted him to fight in the Viet Nam war which was mandatory or prison, he told me that they were not fighting Vietnamese but yellow Chinese Communists for one could tell the difference in the structure of the dead enemy’s bodies. And it surprised him for they lied and he was beginning to enter a different reality than the secure one he left behind in Chicago. Before Mike went to Viet Nam to fight the enemy, his Lithuanian uncle gave him a holy picture painted on metal. His uncle chided him with “You never know, Deacon Duncan, when you will need God in the foxholes.” I have purchased a holy picture like this and the description reads that when Lithuania was ruled by a Communist government, art and Christianity were both suffering from oppression. The Communists were in the midst of murdering or starving to death, 100,000,000 white Christian and God-loving people from 1917 to 1967, from the Russian Jewish Communist Revolution to the Chinese Revolution which killed perhaps another hundred million yellow people. The holy picture that saved Mike’s life is similar to this type of Jesus with his white lambs and sheep entering through the gate.

When Mike got to Viet Nam, he not only defended the Asian jungle people who were relying on his unit for protection, but was chummy with them. They served him dinners which consisted of river rat, snakes and rice but he was so lonely for a home-cooked meal instead of rations that he ate whatever the gooks put in front of him.

One day in 1967, his platoon was overrun by the Asian Communist enemy; he fought valiantly. Suddenly, the bullets and grenades went off everywhere and one exploded his testicle!  But miraculously, by God’s Divine Love watching over Mike Duncan, the metalized holy painting setting in his front utility belt saved his penis, the other testicle, the rest of his groin and his very life.  I can hear his uncle’s words again: “Deacon Duncan, you never know when you will need God in the foxholes.”

His other injuries included malaria fever, hookworms, bullet wound, shrapnel, Agent Orange poison damage to his brain and nervous system, Shell Shock Syndrome, screaming nightmares, excessive drinking, illegal drugging and excessive legal pills, heavy  smoking, constant caffeine, all the latter used as foreign agents to incite him to kill.  When he returned from duty, he was fighting in brawls, womanizing and excessive gambling. This behavior he engaged in at Viet Nam seemed to be “perks” or “rewards,” for the Marines to kill the enemy. He didn’t go to Viet Nam that way, but that is how he returned. Not to a hero’s welcome either, but to agony, shame, scorn.

It’s not as if I married “Prince Charming!” And yet we never argued in 16 years! I was leading a sober spiritual life and dealt with him with patience, love, understanding, hard work, even slavery, and began to show him a better life. I had two tee shirts made up for us. His said “Master” and mine said “Slave.” It wasn’t slavery-it was “Love.” The more I slaved for him the more he responded with accomplishing the ideas that came to me to make our home a little love nest.

Mike was called the “Deacon,” for he would go downtown, get on a soapbox and preach in jest to the people on Rush Street as if they needed redeeming. His other Jewish friend was called “The Pipe,” and the third was “The Nose.” Mike’s friends became my friends. Well Deacon asked me to a party, and I wasn’t used to socializing very much but was eager to go. But something strange happened. During the party, Mike disappeared and “the Nose” came over to me in his wheel chair and said, “Barbara Ann”, let’s talk privately, so we swung to a quiet spot in the apartment. He told me that Mike was in the bathroom and his ex-girlfriend dragged him in there in an effort to win him back. She had apparently sent him a Dear John letter while my husband was fighting the Communists in Viet Nam, and Nose further said that she was screwing his friend back home. The only one I knew of his friends that didn’t go to Viet Nam was the Jew that was called “The Pipe.” It seemed the Jew got a gravy job in Alabama in the mandatory draft, and worked in an office, and with the skills the government taught him was able to get into business and became very successful millionaire it seems for him and his two sons.   The Jew is the only still alive today of all the guys that hung around and not only alive but he and his sons are millionaires thanks to the US government!

Nose was very concerned about Mike and asked me to crash in the bathroom and break it up for he knew Mike loved me and wanted to marry me. So I obeyed and when I saw them standing and caressing each other in the bathroom I took the nearby can of old-fashioned Babo Cleanser and drenched her with the powdered cleaner, walked out and left the party. As I passed a restaurant I stopped for some eggs only to find that Mike had followed me and lifted me up from the stool and literally carried me back to his car, not only begging my forgiveness, but asking me to get engaged to him as his wife. My dear brother or sister, was I shocked! Oh, what a night to remember.

We both needed each other not just casually, but desperately, he needed me as his comfort, shield from a cruel world that treated the Veteran’s with spite, degradation and rejection, and I needed him as the daughter of slaves for Jews, that now preferred all the other races, including Jews over a good White woman’s rights. I remember clearly his unusual marriage proposal. He called me up at work and simply said, “Ask your boss for a two-week vacation so we can drive to Las Vegas and get married. Obediently, I got up, went to the president’ office and repeated verbatim what my future husband asked me to do.

He and I were actually going to go to California for our honeymoon. He bought a new yellow and black 1969 Camaro, with a four on the floor, and a souped-up engine as we used to call it. We drove down Route 66 from Chicago and when we got to Las Vegas and went to one of the famous wedding chapels, I had to enter through a big cut out heart, and couldn’t bring my foot to walk through. I asked him quietly, “Can we get married back in Chicago; I’d like to have a big Polish wedding.” He agreed, and we never made it to California, but stayed the rest of our vacation in Las Vegas.

I planned that big Polish wedding at a Veteran’s of Foreign War post on Hoxie Avenue. Mama and Daddy bought my wedding gown, which was French Lace on satin, similar to what Kate Middleton that married Prince William of England wore recently. Since I hadn’t attended any social functions because our family was ostracized due to Mama’s occasional drinking and violence, this party meant a lot to me. I ordered Polish cooks that were Mama’s friends, got a good Polka band, although I couldn’t afford Lil’ Wally the Polka King who had been inducted to the first Polka Hall of Fame in 1967, and I invited about 200 people. Our immediate family alone might call for those many people. I knew everyone wouldn’t show up for we were the Nowak’s were the people and family one could easily dismiss from one’s to-do list.

Daddy asked me for enough invitations for 200 more people to attend from his job. He had worked for the Jews for about 20 years and was not only the “man with the golden hands” but he got along with everyone on the job so well. I realized that Daddy mustn’t have realized that the Jews just probably regarded him as just another employee, if anything; he was probably on the lower end of the totem pole in society than even the black janitors who could only sweep with a broom. I could never figure out how the black janitor where I worked could drive as fancy a black Cadillac as the Jewish bosses. I discovered he had five black children, all collecting welfare, especially since the Civil Rights Act which gave them preference. He sold drugs on the side, and even the Jew’s own young son even overdosed on them and died. It was hushed but word still got around. Plus the black janitor, who could not fix the electrical, plumbing, gardening, painting, construction like Daddy did, also earned minimum wage. Daddy was toothless; the black janitor had his pearly white teeth with gold in the front for fillings.

I remember our wedding day, July 26, 1969, clearly. I was pretty frightened for I was very shy and didn’t like being the center of attention. I’m sure when people see me in karaoke now, they will never believe it, but it was true. I didn’t think I could make it down the aisle of St. Bride’s Church but thought I could hang on to Daddy’s arm which he held me up. It wasn’t easy for me to take those steps for the only memory I had of marriage was a husband beating one, domestic violence and poverty. When we got to the front of the church, Mike and I knelt down and we prayed the Mass. My cousin, Margie, was my only maid of honor, and the Nose, was best man, in his mighty wheelchair.

But as the priest started to read the vows to us, I heard a scream which echoed through the church walls and trembled the very statues of the beloved (White) saints that surrounded us. I turned around to see what was happening, and it was Mama weeping and sobbing uncontrollably. I never saw her show emotion for me and just thought she hated me or didn’t want me, but it truly wasn’t the case. She was moved beyond words, even beyond mere tears and I shared her grief and fears. She didn’t want me to marry him for she called him a “Good Time Charlie, Card shark, Whoremaster, Bastard.” And he did drink too much, smoke too much, gambled too much, womanized, took drugs, but all these he got freely in order to kill in Viet Nam.

We all went later to the hall and partied, ate Polish ethnic food, Polish Sausage and Sauerkraut the favorite, and I later found out in ancestry study of his, that mother was Polish-Lithuanian. But something was wrong. There were too many empty chairs and empty tables as in a song of the same name in famous play “Les Miserables” “The Misery.” Out of all the invitations sent to Daddy’s company, where he worked for Jews, no one showed up. I think it hurt worse than all of Mama’s beatings, for I once learned when I was leader in the Quality Movement it is your “job” that defines you not even your home life for most of one’s waking hours are spent in hours related to work. He thought even though he was paid little, he was well liked. And now he finds that he was paid little, overworked, treated badly, and wasn’t liked, perhaps even despised by Jews who only saw Daddy as a “beast of burden.”  It hardened him, and immediately after the wedding Daddy filed for “early” Social Security at 62 and quit the Jews. It was a hardship for Mama and Daddy to now live on “less” than he was even making for the Kykes. I only call them that because it was the Jews that labeled us “dumb Polaks” so the world would never take us seriously if anyone should ever find out how they enslaved us in Poland and now here in USA. We can’t have two sets of laws: one for Jews and their non-White ilk, and another for Whites.

Mike and I got along well. Mike liked to move a lot from restlessness after the war so we first lived in Calumet City, then 2320 Hickory Lane, Lansing, Illinois, 1969 White Oak, in Whiting, Indiana and soon moved again and bought a home at 22489 Yates in Sauk Village, Illinois the only place we could get a Veteran’s loan. It was the poorest suburb of Illinois. We made the best of it, and along with his regular employment at RR Donnelly publishing, he worked evenings at Plywood Minnesota and learned about rehabbing. We then worked together to rehab the home.

I couldn’t get pregnant, but enjoyed the rest and felt the security of a strong man, like my US Marine husband. Since I was still very quiet, “vow of silence,” which trained my vocal chords and brain not to talk, even though I was not going to become a nun, it worked in the marriage for we never had an argument until the end 16 years later. Right about the same time my Mama and Daddy started to physically fight.

I’ll never forget the time he called me at work and asked me to take a vacation for he wanted to play “Viet Nam.” That was a scary request, for I saw his box of black and white pictures with the Chinese Communist dead bodies, which I eventually put into an album for him detailing his experience in Viet Nam and not being ashamed of his heroics as the rest of the country was protesting under Jewish incitement. The Viet Nam vacation turned out that we lived in the woods, making our own meals over a fire. Mike would get  sticks or wood he chopped down with his axe, and not having electricity, toilets, hot running water or even phones since cell phones hadn’t been invented.

It was one of the first times I got to spend lengthy times outdoors, and it encouraged me to give u the Chicago urban scene, for more of nature. I took lessons at Rich East High School in Park Forest for organic gardening and Mike rototilled the yard and put in our first veggie garden in 1971. It wasn’t long before we had the biggest, juiciest Beefsteak tomatoes you ever tasted. I began canning and freezing and once, just once, I brought Mama to help me with the preparation of the tomatoes for canning, and we canned 50 quarts of the best Beefsteak tomatoes you ever tasted. Now my Italian Spaghetti was the best in the world!   I went on to buy grapes at the local vineyards, and canned hot peppers. I gave away so much produce to the neighbors, that I would even watch for the corn to ripen to milky stage, have the water boiling, and rush to pick the corn and cook it within minutes for that is when it is sweetest. I used to take plates of that steaming corn, with melted butter and salt for the people nearby. Then one day, the Chicago Heights Star newspaper came to my home to take pictures of the garden and get an interview with me. But I didn’t want the publicity for myself but asked them to interview my husband and get his pictures, not mine. For all the pictures I’ve posed for in costumed karaoke, I never wanted to be on camera.

I wanted to have a baby by this time, even though I had fears about my past, and my husband’s addictions. But his friends were like us and all having babies. So I was thrilled when I realized that I was pregnant and because I wasn’t as nervous as I was with the false pregnancies welcomed the child eagerly. I did have terrible morning sickness as it seemed my body was rejecting the baby. I recall my sister who was married to alcoholic had the same problems, whereas the sisters that married casual drinkers didn’t have that.

In 1972, I wanted to breastfeed, and thank God, found the book “The Art of Breastfeeding from La Leche International, and began to read about the health and well-being of both child and mother. I had already quit smoking (it took five tries for nicotine is more addictive than heroin and it was Jews that brainwashed us on that, especially Jew Freud’s nephew, Eddie Bernays and his campaign to get all White women to smoke for Jewish women didn’t. They only sell us those products.)  I realized that whatever I took in my system was that much stronger on the embryo, perhaps 1000 times. I didn’t drink anyway for I had an aversion to it. But I remember clearly the day I was at a party in rich Lake Forest where his Viet Nam Veteran buddy lived and the party was loaded with alcohol and illegal drugs. Since women can have alcohol fetal syndrome babies as many White Russians are afflicted with, I didn’t drink at all, yet people kept trying to fill my hand with a drink for we have been conditioned that 100% of people at parties much drink. If I sat quietly, with my hands folded, many people would come up to me and even try to put a drink in my hand. How did Whites ever mold our reality into something like this? I was more frightened when my husband asked me to join the others in the large bathroom and take cocaine. For I knew that would be deadly to me for my psyche was very fragile but the poor little baby in my womb. Even though I was pressured I never gave it. My only concern was for the little innocent baby already moving in my womb by now that depended on me for it’s very existence. And I answered the call of Nature to my highest ability. In fact, I was the “perfect” Hitler woman that he wanted to change the degenerative society the Jews converted Germany into. I didn’t drink, smoke, take drugs, had the big vegetable garden, and treated my husband with respect. Also, since my mother had more than eight children, she would have received the highest medal from the Nazis, “The Mother’s Cross,” because even then the Germans knew our White race was going extinct and also Whites desperately needed not just “babies” but “healthy” babies with “character!” I found out from research on the White Race that Hitler wanted his men to not smoke, drink, drug, gamble or womanize. Hitler never cheated on Eva Braun. If Mama and Daddy had that instead of what they had as slaves for Jews there never would have been one battle. Also, since Mama begged Daddy to “stand up to the Jews,” Mama would have the entire German government and treasury backing her up. Daddy’s salary would meet the large family we had and instead of Black Michelle Obama getting all the best of education and privileges on Euclid Avenue were we both lived, Hitler wanted the children of large White families to have the best of benefits, especially special education for the smartest.

I went into labor on March 17, 1973, right during the TV show, “All in the Family” which showed Archie Bunker as a White bigot on a Jewish Racist show, bashing Whites and elevating blacks and even Jews as the end of the series showed Archie adopting a Jewish girl. Here’s a clip from Wikipedia: “White Bigots? When Jew Norman Lear wanted to officially break down the White Race he did it through White Archie bunker who was cast as a  White fool, but also a double whammy for it really knocked down “Michael” or “Meathead”  who was a “Dumb Polak.” Jews gave us that label and it still sticks with us today despite “Civil Rights” which was only for Jews, blacks and browns. I thought of this for in my memoirs I went into labor at 7 pm Saturday as my husband watched “All in the Family.” I had started to vacuum and clean like crazy, and I understand that is the human’s version of what bird’s go through in getting a nest ready. Note Jews never use anyway derogatory words towards themselves because they are our Kings and Queens. So they don’t use “Kyke” or “Sheenie with a Beanie.” Not only that the show ends with his total love for Jews…. anything new?…… as he adopts a “poor little Jewish girl.” It is sickening how they pulled this off. I met Carol O’Connor when he came up to me on the Chicago movie set of “Return to Me.” I never dreamed that trying to preserve the White Race would be the crisis of my very weighted life.

From Wiki: Archie Bunker’s own ethnicity is never explicitly stated, other than the fact that he is a WASP. (Archie’s character voice was created by a mix of accents Carroll O’Connor heard while studying acting in New York City. Although an Anglo-Saxon ancestry might suggest he is of English origin, Archie mocks the British and refers to England as a “fag country,” because of their English accents. He also refers to Germans as “Krauts”, the Irish as “Micks”, the Japanese as “Japs”, the Italians as “Dagos”, the Chinese as “Chinks”, Polish persons as “Polak” and Hispanics or Latinos as “Spics.” He often uses the word “colored” in reference to African-Americans.” Jew Norman Lear used this show to break White Race, and eventually elevate the other races as being “superior” to the stupid and bungling character of Bunker. It ends with Archie loving the Jews so much, he adopts a Jewish girl and lives happily ever after…. a Jewish fairytale of the White male being replaced by a Jewess who controls purse strings of her husband and eventually destroys the White male once and for all. Later in 1977, even the Jewish talk show host, Michael Savage, who screams at about 10,000,000 White men each week, wrote the book “The Death of the White Male,” which I have a copy of.

I had a sponsor in La Leche breastfeeding meetings, Carolyn Tsikoris, who warned me that the hospital will do everything they can to try to stop you from nursing. There is big money to be made from baby bottles, baby formula, sugar followed by 22 drugs, baby cereal, baby food in jars, vitamins, for baby formula is so weak, and with all these product$, the White species was totally brainwashed for in truth, the two tits that women wear on their chest they could have gotten free all the mother’s milk the baby needed, the” only perfect food for humans!” But very few women were breastfeeding it was so thoroughly wiped out of our minds, and if you see a resurgence of breastfeeding today, I not only was a pioneer with its comeback, but used my cleavage in performing karaoke to really advertise it in emails to media, performances, dress and conversation.

The birth of my baby was not “my” experience but I was a product of hospital and doctor’s rules. The doctor came in and broke my bag so he could get out of their quickly. Today it is worse, for the doctors are treating childbirth as a disease where a woman goes through surgery called Caesarian, to have the baby removed. If we are having sickly babies, perhaps this is one of the causes, for it takes heavy drugs to induce the mother and the amount for the mother would be 20 times more than the infant coming out of the womb can handle. The baby already develops a strong need for medicine and drugs, just as baby formula was a prescription and drug for Jewish doctor’s wives and their ilk, so they didn’t have to spend time with baby just collect their husband’s money.

After the birth, I laid there for what seemed like days. Other than my husband, no one came to see me or call me. And I called no one. I became extremely uncomfortable as time passed. And at one point, I could feel the nerves on my nipples exploding and the few little hairs on my nipple standing upright as if they were screaming. I called the nurse and told her and asked her why I don’t have my baby. In those days, it was the hospital nurses that owned the baby for usually women took that job that couldn’t have children and they played as if the babies were theirs not the mothers. I objected for the baby came out of “my” womb not the hospitals, nurses, government or Jews which seem to control our children now.

The nurse finally strolled in with a baby s hours later, and by this time I was nearly delirious with pain not just in breasts but my entire body. She parked it by my bed and toddled out. I got up and went to the basket, not even sure what to do but all I could think of was that at last I had my own baby with the man that I loved and more than that who rescued me and seemed like a Messiah or savior. I already named the baby “Jr.” in honor of his daddy. I wondered if the baby looked like him or me, for my husband was very good looking, with milky white skin, very tall and well-built and light hair and to be a little intimate a very beautiful penis!  I reached down into the basket for the baby was still hidden from view, and in my drugged state I thought I was having hallucinations and had lost my mind finally. The baby was as black as coal!

I never thought the hospital could make a mistake, nor could I believe that they would do this “intentionally” to aggressively discourage me as a breastfeeding pioneer for their $$$ advantage. I nearly picked the baby up to nurse for I thought it was “my husband” who had black blood and never told me for he was wild. Finally, I once again, broke my vow of silence, and asked the nurse to return to my room. I confronted her with, “Are you sure this is my baby?” pointing to the black baby in the bassinet to which she replied unaffected “Oh, I guess I made a mistake!” It was then and there I lost trust in doctors as if the doctor’s rape wasn’t enough.  Yet I would have nursed a set of 8 piglets as the mother sow would do to her young with her nipples I was so engorged. The nurse asked me if I wanted the hospital to give my White son baby formula since I was now in no shape to nurse and had to go under cold showers for hours just to bring the swelling down. I didn’t take their bullshit and demanded by own baby for it was “mine” not “theirs” to nurse as soon as the intense pain and swelling went down. I foiled them again.

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