kkkaraoke

How Blacks and Jews Fooled the White Woman

In Uncategorized on July 19, 2016 at 8:30 pm
This is essay I was forced to read in Vegas college. I begged my teacher I didn’t want to read it. It was about a Black man who already had his Master’s Degree from prestigious University of Chicago, in my neighborhood, South Chicago.I grew up as a White wretched slave for Jews  and  she grew up 5 blocks from pampered Black Michelle Obama. Odd how this Black Brent Staples gets a top education and my husband, Vietnam Vet, Purple Heart, US Marine, spit on and urine balloons thrown at him for fighting (Jew bankers and Yellow) Communists, who hate God and all good. They pulverized my husband in Nam, they pulverized him here in USA until my Veteran commit suicide. Last words, “There is no help for the White male.” He tried to tell people how hateful and prejudice Chicago was against White males. He wrote an autobiography by hand. It was stolen. He knew he was exposing the hidden treachery executed against the White man (race.) He wrote a second. He brought it to me in Chicago for he said there are “Those” who don’t want this out. Just like my autobiography. When I picked him up at the train station and we went to church on Easter Sunday, we went back to my car and someone smashed my car window and took his second one. It is for this reason, and only recently for my own, that I have written this blog and crusaded for White Veterans and then White Rights since 2002.
When I studied this, Black Staples writes a second one for the Black brothers and accentuates how he enjoys seeing the Whites scattered like terrorized pigeons when he walks by. That is power of the territory in the jungle. He also sells it to MS magazine for the rich women who put the Blacks where they are today in the presidency. Just ask traitor Hillary Clinton, who also lived near men, for she organized (White?) students at Yale to help the 12 Black Panthers of my South Chicago, the 2nd most ruthless gang in the USA. Second only to Jew Meyer’s Lansky, Murder Inc. He got off scot-free. Two Black Panthers got off scot-free who were of those accused of murder. One was so fortunate he got into Harvard, where White males can’t. It’s only 9% White male and they have to pay full price while all the other 91% get loans, grants, preferences. Jews compose the highest at 30%. Harvard was an all White Christian theological school about God. Jews are anti-Christian or the anti-Christ who took over our country, race, world, religion. There’s also a youtube done by a Brown Mexican woman who uses this essay for a video. She is concerned about Black on Brown crime. But did you know that 37,462 Black thugs rape White women in the USA alone in one year. That’s not even South Africa, countries like Finland where one goes to prison and expelled from one’s homeland, like Henryk Hollappa for writing about the Black Somalians immigrants gang raping White Finnish women.
After the Jew passed Civil Rights Act, 1964, I lived 5 blocks from Black Michelle Obama. The Jews unleashed Black and Brown crime, terror and violence against Whites to force them to move so Jews could block-bust as Mama warned me in the early 1950’s. Jews take over the USA, block by block. White mind, body and bank account, one at a time. Until they now control the USA, White Race, religion, government, etc. These despicable Jews kept my people in Poland, (Whites) enslaved since year 1025-1945.
Here’s my essay interpreting n from a White womans’ point of view.

 Here’s part of an email sent to college teacher.I changed the names of the teachers and myself for in 2006 I was terrbily frightened to tackle these subjects of race. I was wise for 4 blacks came to kill me at my home in Vegas. During the night, there were police and barking dogs outside my home in Las Vegas. I had been not only writing openly but went on KDYN 50,000 watts of power talking about Viet Vet US Marine, suicide. His last words “No help for the White man in this country.” I’ve changed history thru this writings, performances in costumed karaoke, and visits to politicians, churches, government, etc. Afterwards, I heard on the news on radio, for the first time in history they would do a study of the suicides of wars. (all White men until just recently 400 years and beyond in Europe where Jew bankers used our White men as mere body bags or cannon fodder.) In those news headlines later, they said that the military used just the Vietnam war, and there were 200,000 suicides. All White men and will be treated like a White man’s disease. 4 times as many suicides as those that died in battle and think of the painful life they led after they got back home when Jews agitated the country against they to “pulverize” our Veterans. No one pulverized Jews. The Holocaust was a Hoax for total Jew emigration from my Poland where they used us as White slaves and bodybags since 1025-1945. Poland was their secret Jew Empire.

Main Identity

From:      Ivory Jenkins<i3jenkins@gmail.com>

To:          <sheila_mcnaulty@ivy.edu>

Sent:       Sunday, September 24, 2006 11:22 AM

Subject:     Staples

Dear Ms. McNaulty:

I just read the article by Staples, “Just Walk On By”. The article didn’t frighten me the first time, but it scared the hell out of me the second time, as a White woman. I don’t know the purpose of it, but since I’m writing an autobiography called “White Poor”, I wanted to send my ideas to the educational system. If you don’t think this is important, you can delete. I will save for my autobiography.

I’m only going to give you 14 examples of violence (there are more) that happened to my immediate family, and me by minorities, in South Chicago. I want to get along with all cultures, and actually sing music by the Mexican girl Selena, complete with a costume made with my own white hands to promote Hispanic music, and Tina Turner, the same for Black music. There seems to be a double standard: one for Whites and another the Jews and all the other races. Do they know anything about my Polish music or history, as I know about theirs?

  1. My three brothers were severely beaten up by a bunch of Black gang members in broad daylight.
  2. While driving through a ghetto neighborhood busy street, a Black standing in front of tavern, a flung a bottle at my car window while I was driving and nearly killed me when I almost lost control of the steering wheel.
  3. Three gang members like the Black Panthers of South Chicago, attacked my poor old White mother and robbed her purse with mere White pennies. She fought them both off.
  4. Daddy was mugged by Blacks while riding to work on the Chicago “L”. He lived the rest of his working and traveling days in terror — Just what Jews want!
  5. My brother, Danny’s bike he made from old parts including a car steering wheel was stolen. He later saw a Brown Mexican boy riding it and stopped him. The police came and my brother’s initials were carved under the seat, DJ, Danny Jenkins, so when police came the bike was given back to my brother. Nothing was done to the boy that stole it.
  1. After my sister brought three Black friends to our White home, they robbed our entire house was robbed.
  1. When my brother, Pete the Polak, moved to Miami when the Jews decided they wanted it as their “vacationland and playground” he had to keep moving for with each home he bought for the Jewish real estate block-busting also plagued his area as in Chicago.
  2. When I grew up in South Chicago, it was the Brown Mexican boys were enticing and furnishing illegal drugs, Kool-Aid with Ripple and even polystyrene glue to the young White Polish girls as early as 11 years old! They, like the Jews, always go after the prettiest, most talented and outgoing of the females, who should be thinking about keeping themselves healthy for breeding, not a White drunken sex slave for Brown Mexicans!
  3. A Black thug with loaded gun came to kill me hiding in my tool shed.

I won’t bring this up in class. I couldn’t stand the pain, not do I want to disrupt it in any way.  I need to learn. That is why I’m there.

Thanx, Barbie Nowak

How could I endure all this “diversity” when I thought I would be the one to “die” with all their “versity.” It was wrong for me to see all the Jewish racial advertising on the hall walls with posters of Black History, Mexican (Brown) Mixers, Jewish organizations, etc., but not a single word, poster, book, or even staff member that would “think” the word “White” let alone speak it or have a poster for White Rallies.

Where was White History in the college? The Black Student Administration woman told me there was no such thing. I asked if there were any White courses in Harvard perhaps, after all they are ahead of everything. She researched and there were none in the entire United States. That was ten years ago. I think there are a few White rallies around the United States and not sure if any in Europe, Australia, South Africa and other places where Whites live.

I remember clearly the day that I was fed up. The assignment was called “Who’s Irish?” and written by a Yellow Chinese Communist grandmother whose daughter marries an Irish-American. The White Irish arespecial people and I identify with them for they had large families too, and they were discriminated against when they first came here. So when I read the essay from hell (they were all the same) the Yellow Grandmother beats the granddaughter with a stick because she won’t put her clothes back on. Furthermore, the Chinese woman wrote against her Irish son-in-law for he didn’t have a job nor did his brothers. How could they when the jobs are given to Jews first, Yellows, Browns and Blacks. Also, the Jews damaged the White man intentionally. The essay just slammed the White Irish and I considered it a “hate crime.”

I was upset with the essay knocking down the White Irish without a solution for it, that the next day I got to school before the teacher and turned to the class and told them that if they are White, they must realize these 25 essays are praising the non-Whites, even Jewish homosexuals and lesbians, and knocking down the Whites. Myra, the Jewess, must have told the teacher or they have cameras hidden, for when the teacher came to school the next day she said in so many words, she’d have to kick out anyone says that they know something the rest of the class doesn’t. It was too absurd and insane for words. We “all” know something others don’t, or at least we should. Look how much is on the Internet and how many billions of people there are. Does she want us only to know what our Jewish masters “allow”  is genocidal to mind, spirit and body?

It was directed at me I wrote a long letter to President Bush, the state Board of Education and the head of the college about what was going on at this “mental asylum” I was in. I used to always sit in front, but went to back of class for they had sufficiently broken down, my love and joy of learning, not the hate they were spewing out. A few days later, a White male teacher showed up and our female teacher told the college students not to worry; he wasn’t there to observe the students, but to watch how she was conducting class.

There was a three-day seminar at the large main auditorium. It was for Communist Jew, Arthur Miller, I knew wrote play “Death of a Salesman.” I figured it must be really important for the school to pay taxes to put this extravaganza on, plus charge $80  is a lot of money for students. According to my research on Arthur Miller, he married Marilyn Monroe just to use as a weapon against the judges and lawyers to win them over so he would be acquitted. Miller and Marilyn would take the legal people to lunch (or perhaps sex, for Marilyn once said, “I can’t wait to get rich so I don’t have to suck another Jewish cock in my life!”

Miller won the case as Jews always do, and when he used Marilyn for his purposes as the illegal immigrant used my sister for citizenship, he treated her with disgust, convinced her to see a Jewish psychiatrist, his friend, then counseled her to get a divorce. Jews have sly ways they exert on Whites. Perhaps she had to screw him too! And to think all the money she made, her furs, diamonds, jewels, home, car, insurance money, all went back to the Jews after her death!

It didn’t stop there for a Gong Show type of talent show was advertised and I did Madonna, complete with self-made Gautier cones but sang “ Like a Surgeon” by Weird Al. In it, he talks of “Organ transplants” are on my mind. So I bought six different animal organs for occasionally I cook or bake them and eat them for they are nutritious. I learned that from the book on breastfeeding I read back in 1972.

I set up a long table with big White signs that said “Organ Transplants” then listed each one such as: Liver, Kidney, Brain, Testicle, Lips and Heart. And at the end of my singing and dancing and playing with the bloody fresh meat kept in cooler until then, I took a piece of liver, held it over my head and took a bite. The audience of all races were cheering and on their feet. It was “teaching” them as well as entertaining. The prize was $100 towards books and since the Blacks, Browns, Jews, Yellows, etc. know how to work the American welfare system, much of their needs were met freely and generously, but not mine.

I sat up front after I performed. The school was filming it. Suddenly, a Black man with his face painted White as a clown, start running through the aisles with the $100.00 prize. He intentionally came up to me in the front row and in front of the entire auditorium, looked right at me and handed me the $100.00 as if I won. I was thrilled for the moment, for I was living in poverty and needed that book money badly. But to my utter horror and dismay, as I reached my hand out, he waited until I was ready to grab it and he forcefully pulled it from my hands and took the $100 to a Black woman was in the contest. No one even paid any attention to her performance in the audience so it was fixed by the all Black Student Administration staff- a staff of Black racists!

After school the next day, I happened to see the Black administrator I was dealing in arranging my performance for the show. She was standing in the empty hall when I told her of the incident. I talked to her in acalm manner about what the Black man dressed as a clown did to me. She looked at me and said, “You’re lying. That never happened!” So now they are driving me crazy, making me think I’m imagining things. “This” is what one gets when one is creative and different in the USA and lives in a non-White favored country. No wonder China is #1 superpower for we tangle ourselves with messes like this. They not only “smarter and richer” than the Whites in the USA but all pulling together as one Yellow Race!

I further told her it was all on video tape, but suddenly, about ten other blacks came from all different directions to stand behind her and back her up and agree that it never happened . . . all ganging up on me and arguing at the same time.

Finally, out of the Student’s Administration office the Black man, was dressed as clown with White face, came out without costume. He asked what was going on, but the other ten Blacks ganged up on me didn’t have a chance to clue him in. And when I told him what he did about the $100 prize money, before the Blacks could put words into his mouth, he told the whole Black school gang that gets paid with White tax dollars, that indeed, he did play a trick on me. And of course, what do the Jews and Blacks do when Whites are miserable? They laugh their asses off. And I was the laughing stock of the entire hallway . . . and nowhere to turn to.

When you think of loneliness, you can’t imagine what it is like to feel as if you are the only one in the world that is getting these thoughts and truths. My life should have been a “joy” not a litany of agonies. Even now I question myself daily. It is our White human condition and will happen to you if you take a path to White Rights. It might be easier now than for it was for me just starting out. I am especially grateful for whose shoulders I stand on.

I kept singing my costumed karaoke for it lets off steam. As I always say, “it is good for stress and good for motivation.” When I was just about to give up, and just go back to work, and forget the White veteran’s rights, the White race, and just let the Jews continue to steamroll us, I would just sing perhaps three of four karaoke songs and just “Let go.”

Fate had different intentions for me. I found a single radio station on the Internet called in Memphis that was also concerned about White Rights. Can you imagine I have an Internet Wi Fi radio that can get 10,000 radio stations around the world, (Russia, Poland and Austria where my White ancestry is) and not a single radio station that broadcasts dealing with White Rights only. It’s hard to believe considering our Rights have been replaced by Jews’ and non-White Rights only.

I found other Internet White sites and enjoyed them all. I learned so much and really admired that they stuck with it over the course of many years despite the Herculean obstacles. But I thought silently, “Why do Whites have to hide to talk about these problems or try to come up with solutions? How many have left the pro-White because the Jews and government put up such obstacles and declare pro-Whites as evil. Jews successfully used reverse mind psychology. The truism is “Jewish Supremacism” not “White Supremacism.” Whites are Jewish slaves!

Brent Staples,
Just Walk on By
My first victim was a woman
white, well dressed, probably in her early twenties.
I came upon her late one
evening on a deserted street in Hyde Park, a relatively affluent neighborhood in an otherwise mean,
impoverished
section of Chicago.
As I swung onto the avenue behind her, there seemed to be a discreet, uninflammatory distance
between us. Not so. She cast back a worried glance. To her, the youngish black man
a broad six feet two inches
with a beard and
billowing hair, both hands shoved into the pockets of a bulky military jacket
seemed menacingly
close. After a few more quick glimpses, she picked up her pace and was soon running in earnest. Within seconds she
disappeared into a cross street.
That was more than a decade ago. I was 23 years old, a graduate student newly arrived at the University of
Chicago. It was in the echo of that terrified woman’s footfalls that I first began to know the unwieldy inheritance I’d
come into
the ability to alte
r public space in ugly ways. It was clear that she thought herself the quarry of a
mugger, a rapist, or worse.
Suffering a bout of insomnia, however, I was stalking sleep, not defenseless wayfarers.
As a softy who is scarcely able to take a knife to
raw
chicken
let alone hold it to a person’s throat
I was
surprised, embarrassed, and dismayed all at once.
Her flight made me feel like an accomplice in tyranny. It also
made it clear that I was indistinguishable from the muggers who occasionally seeped into
the area from the
surrounding ghetto. That first encounter, and those that followed signified that a vast unnerving gulf lay between
nighttime pedestrians
particularly women
and me.
And I soon gathered that being perceived as dangerous is a
hazard in itse
lf.
I only needed to turn a corner into a dicey situation, or crowd some frightened, armed person in a
foyer somewhere, or make an errant move after being pulled over by a policeman. Where fear and weapons meet
and they often do in urban America
there is
always the possibility of death.
In that first year, my first away from my hometown, I was to become thoroughly familiar with the language
of fear. At dark, shadowy intersections in Chicago, I could cross in front of a car stopped at a traffic
light and elicit
the
thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk
of the driver
black, white, male, or female
hammering down the door locks. On
less traveled streets after dark, I grew accustomed to but never comfortable with people who crossed to the other side
of the stre
et rather than pass me. Then there were the standard unpleasantries with police, doormen, bouncers, cab
drivers, and others whose business it is to screen out troublesome individuals
before
there is any nastiness.
I moved to New York nearly tw
o years ago and I have remained an avid night walker. In central Manhattan,
the near
constant crowd cover minimizes tense one
on
one street encounters. Elsewhere
visiting friends in SoHo,
where sidewalks are narrow and tightly spaced buildings shut out the
sky
things can get very taut indeed.
Black men have a firm place in New York mugging literature. Norman Podhoretz in his famed (or infamous)
1963 essay, “My Negro Problem
and Ours,” recalls growing up in terror of black males; they were “tough
er than
we were, more ruthless,” he writes
and as an adult on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, he continues, he cannot
constrain his nervousness when he meets black men on certain streets.
Similarly, a decade later, the essayist and
novelist Edward Hoagl
and extols a New York where once “Negro bitterness bore down mainly on other Negroes.”
Where some see mere panhandlers, Hoagland sees “a mugger who is clearly screwing up his nerve to do more than
just ask for money.”
But Hoagland has “the New Yorker’s q
uickhunch posture for broken
field maneuvering,” and
the bad guy swerves away.
I often witness that “hunch posture,” from women after dark on the warrenlike streets of Brooklyn where I
live. They seem to set their faces on neutral and, with the
ir purse straps strung across their chests bandolier style,
they forge ahead as though bracing themselves against being talked.
I understand, of course, that the danger they
perceive is not a hallucination. Women are particularly vulnerable to street viol
ence, and young black males are
drastically overrepresented among the perpetrators of that violence. Yet these truths are no solace against the kind of
alienation that comes of being ever the suspect, against being set apart, a fearsome entity with whom pe
destrians
avoid making eye contact.
It is not altogether clear to me how I reached the ripe old age of 22 without being conscious of the lethality
nighttime pedestrians attributed to me. Perhaps it was because in Chester, Pennsylvania, the smal
l, angry industrial
town where I came of age in the 1960s, I was scarcely noticeable against a backdrop of gang warfare, street knifings,
and murders. I grew up one of the good boys, had perhaps a half
dozen first fights. In retrospect, my shyness of
comba
t has clear sources.
Many things go into the making of a young thug. One of those things is the consummation of the male
romance with the power to intimidate. An infant discovers that random flailings send the baby bottle flying out of the
crib
and crashing to the floor. Delighted, the joyful babe repeats those motions again and again, seeking to duplicate
the feat. Just so, I recall the points at which some of my boyhood friends were finally seduced by the perception of
themselves as tough guys
. When a mark cowered and surrendered his money without resistance, myth and reality
merged
and paid off. It is, after all, only manly to embrace the power to frighten and intimidate. We, as men, are
not supposed to give an inch of our lane on the highway;
w are to seize the fighter’s edge in work and in play and
even in love; we are to be valiant in the face of hostile forces.
Unfortunately, poor and powerless young men seem to take all this nonsense literally. As a boy, I saw
countless tough g
uys locked away; I have since buried several, too. They were babies, really
a teenage cousin, a
brother of 22, a childhood friend in his mid
twenties
all gone down in episodes of bravado played out in the streets.
I came to doubt the virtues of intimidatio
n early on. I chose, perhaps even unconsciously, to remain a shadow
timid, but a survivor.
The fearsomeness mistakenly attributed to me in public places often has a perilous flavor. The most
frightening of these confusions occurred in the late
1970s and early 1980s when I worked as a journalist in Chicago.
One day, rushing into the office of a magazine I was writing for with a deadline story in hand, I was mistaken for a
burglar. The office manager called security and, with an ad hoc posse pursu
ed me through the labyrinthine halls,
nearly to my editor’s door. I had no way of proving who I was. I could only move briskly toward the company of
someone who knew me.
Another time I was on assignment for a local paper and killing time before
an interview. I entered a jewelry
store on the city’s affluent Near North Side.
The proprietor excused herself and returned with an enormous red
Doberman pinscher straining at the end of a leash. She stood, the dog extended toward me, silent to my questi
ons,
her eyes bulging nearly out of her head. I took a cursory look around, nodded, and bade her good night. Relatively
speaking, however, I never fared as badly as another black male journalist. He went to nearby Waukegan, Illinois, a
couple of summers ag
o to work on a story about a murderer who was born there. Mistaking the reporter for the
killer, police hauled him from his car at gunpoint and but for his press credentials would probably have tried to book
him. Such episodes are not uncommon. Black men t
rade talks like this all the time.
In “My Negro Problem
And Ours,”
Podhoretz writes that the hatred he feels for blacks makes itself known
to him through a variety of avenues
one being taken for a criminal. Not to do so would surely have led t
o
madness
via that special “paranoid touchiness” that so annoyed Podhoretz at the time he wrote the essay.
I began to take precautions to make myself less threatening. I move about with care, particularly late in the
evening. I give a wide bert
h to nervous people on subway platforms during the wee hours, particularly when I have
exchanged business clothes for jeans. If I happened to be entering a building behind some people who appear
skittish, I may walk by, letting them clear the lobby before
I return, so as not to seem to be following them. I have
been calm and extremely congenial on those rare occasions when I’ve been pulled over by the police.
And on late
evening constitutionals along streets less traveled by, I employ what has p
roved to be an
excellent tension
reducing measure: I whistle melodies from Beethoven and Vivaldi and the more popular classical
composers. Even steely New Yorkers hunching toward nighttime destinations seem to relax and occasionally they
even join in the t
une. Virtually everybody seems to sense that a mugger wouldn’t be warbling bright, sunny
selections from Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
. It is my equivalent to the cowbell that hikers wear when they know they are
in bear country.

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