The Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei is in every school’s history textbook. Every kid grows up knowing, as a first principle as indisputable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, that the Nazis were terrible, despicable people. They were the scum of the earth, pure evil, the devil incarnate. Of course, like the rest of the “history” we were brought up with, this is patent nonsense. The Nazis were people, people who found themselves on the losing side of a war and therefore the losing side of the textbook writer’s pen after democratically electing the strongest leader they could find.i The Nazis were also, lest we lose too much meaning by contracting their full name, were socialists, national socialists. Keep this full moniker in mind as I tell you a little story.
Last night, I attended a cocktail party at a friend’s place. We were told to show up after 7:30pm for an evening of Old Fashioneds, Mojitos, and Big Breezies.ii Arriving around 9:30pm with flowers for the host and a bottle of Bourbon for myself, I took a stab at fashioning myself the Old one.
Overall, the party was delightful. There was a very healthy turnout, there were just enough new faces to spice things up a bit, and the cocktail bar was a hit. After a number of very pleasant conversations,iii to no one’s surprise, I found myself stretched out in the library adjoining the living room, still within view of the main party but also quite detached.iv Still within sight of the action, I found Taleb’s Antifragile on the shelfv and began to flip through it for the umpteenth time. As this is fairly atypical party behaviour, I soon attracted a few followers, whose curiousity I satisfied by reading to them aloud, something I quite enjoy. That I read to them about the Lindy Effect rather than a children’s adventure story didn’t change the fact that my train of goslings lapped up being read to. It’d probably been a while, y’know?
Soon, because I was clearly having fun with it, we started taking turns reading. And soon after that, we graduated to reading in a variety of accented Englishes (including Irish, French, German, and Southern drawl) for an added challenge and bit of humour.
All the while, various other party attendees would pop their head into the library, note the unusual behaviour, remark “Are you guys reading at a party?” or “What are you reading?” before making their way back to the “action.” A few people stayed to listen for a minute or two, but pretty much only if they knew me personally. For someone outside my WoT to find my behaviour anything other than odd was highly unlikely. More likely than not, the seemingly “anti-social” behaviour of reading aloud in a mélange of accents would turn people around tout suite. And those who were “offended” were all too happy to shake their head in disbelief on their way out, as if anyone cared what they thought.
Incredibly, truly incredibly, one particular bald and bearded fellow seemed to find us distasteful and yet… he stayed. He was there for at least 30 minutes, basking incredulously in our ridiculousness. And though he was an uncomfortable sort of fellow, I didn’t shoo him off because I really didn’t see the harm. We were having too much fun to let this wet blanket spoil our mood. So we basically ignored the odourous weirdo.vi
In fact, I’d done such an excellent job of ignoring the dude that, that, after disbanding our reading circle and rejoining the rest of the party, when he came up to me again, I barely noticed him standing right there in front of me, his black eyes locked on their target.
“Why were you reading with these accents?” he asked/told me, quite out of the blue.
“Because I can,” I replied confidently, not quite seeing where he was going with this and thinking that he’d enjoyed the reading and possibly lacked the tact or ability necessary to articulate as much.
“No, but why were you reading like that?” he repeated, now sounding accusatory.
“Because I can,” I repeated, more firmly, in case he was slow on the uptake, which was starting to appear to be the case.
“But why did you read the book like that? With the accents?”
By now it was now clear that he was going somewhere with this unrefined line of questioning, but I had little interest in finding out where, given that this retard was outside my WoT, hadn’t introduced himself, and was now acting a fool.vii
“Because it’s fun,” I replied just as firmly.
“But why?” he continued, clearly unsure how else he could possibly phrase things so that he might get the answer he wanted. His retardation was now in full view and he was clearly starting to get all hot and bothered.
“Because it’s entertaining,” I replied, starting to get annoyed.
“No, but why were you reading with the accents? It’s not entertaining for me!” he responded, now clearly ticked off by both my previous accents and my present arrogance.
“I don’t give a shit, it was entertaining for my friends and I,” I said, hoping that this would be the end of it, given that I couldn’t care less about this fucktard and he was starting to try my patience.
“But WHY?” he now demanded, clearly offended by my, well, everything, and taking the volume of the conversation up a notch or two.
Now it was clear that the retard wasn’t going anywhere and that I’d have to deal with him, preferably cordially. Turning the tables and trying to figure where he was coming from, as you do when sizing someone up, I now noticed a subtle accent in his English, so I asked him the usual question I ask when I need a sense of a stranger’s context: “Where are you from?”
And just like that, it clicked. For both of us. At that moment, he saw that I finally understood what the fuck he was on about. I understood why he was so offended. He wasn’t hanging out in the library because he was interested in Taleb or in being read to, he wanted to steep himself in the bizarre rituals of his most hated and feared enemy: Das Juden.viii
The bald head, the beard, the tattoos, the stink, the distaste for culture. The dude was a fucking neo-Nazi.ix A real life, honest to goodness, skinhead. The only reason I hadn’t picked it up sooner was because his English was so virtually flawless that only a very few words had any hint of an accent. That, and /ignore. But now it was as clear as day that he knew that I knew that I knew that he knew.
“You’re one of those numbered guys,” he said.x
Completely unfazed, I just smiled back at him. Daring him to be even more bold.xi
At this point, the volume of our tête-à-tête reached the point where other people were starting to notice, and naturally being interested in keeping the party amicable, eager to involve themselves as well. We were in the middle of a crowd of 20+ so there were plenty of bodies to separate us. Sure enough, the host took the skinhead while the some random chick I’d never met stood between us facing me. Uninterested in ruining a perfectly fine cotton dress shirt on his worthless, socialistoid blood, I made no effort to narrow the increasing gap between us.
Ze German, named Marcus,xii was ushered to the front door by the host, but not before giving me the fingerxiii and muttering a few more slurs under his breath. A few of my more protective and chippier friends came up to me for a breakdown of the altercation. After recounting the “numbered guy” line, it was all I could do to calm my crew down and prevent them from making an example of this fuck. Canadians aren’t at all used to that kind of flagrant “discrimination” and my friends were all too ready take him outside. As far as I was concerned, this derp, tough though he thought he was, observant though he thought he was, was as harmless as he was worthless and ignorant, and if nothing else served as an indicator of the world’s thirst for another war.xiv
Needless to say, last night was a lesson is socialism and the kind of strong retards needed to feed it and keep it running.
Perhaps most importantly, last night demonstrated socialism’s need for its retards to be fairly astute at picking out the strong individuals in the crowd and attacking them, quarantining their nonconformist behaviour lest it go viral and infect perfectly good drones. Marcus’ ability to pick me out, given that he didn’t know my name,xv didn’t look at my cock,xvi and that I wasn’t wearing a Mogen David around my neck, might seem more impressive than it is. But since you weren’t actually at the party, you wouldn’t know (unless I told you) that there wasn’t a single person there who came close to standing out as much as I did, what with my fitted white dress shirt, double-man-bun, easy conversation with everyone there, and unrivalled self-assurance.xvii Regardless of what he thought, Marcus’ “Joo-dar” wasn’t picking up on the religious institution of my upbringing,xviii he was picking up on my ear for languages, culture, and individualism. These characteristics, at least as far as the stereotype goes, are highly correlated with those of The Tribe, but so are athletic skills with teh blacks. Of course, there are still white men who can jump, and saying that literacy, linguistic ability, and swagger make one “Jewish” is like saying that owning a book makes one an author.
What Marcus accomplished last night, for all the world to see, was to demonstrate why socialism is such a fucking toxic plague upon mankind and why it’s so antithetical to all that’s good in the world. This is precisely why the only world worth living in is one where socialism has been wiped off the fucking map. This is precisely why we won’t let off the gasxix until this is a reality. This should be nothing new, Hayek warned us of the pitfalls of socialism 70 years ago and Nietzsche did the same a half-century before that, to say nothing of the countless voices before both of them. Yet we allow socialism to live, especially here in Canada. As if history never fucking happened.
Pieces of shit like Marcus surely had some value in the past, as recently as the 20th century even, but in computer times – with Bitcoin, WoT, and PGP – Marcus is every bit as fucking useless as a dildo on a Kalashnikov.xx
Thank Hashem for that.
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- Not that any amount of gelt or any number of Geländewagens can allow us to forgive the Germans, for forgiveness is both logically impossible and morally untenable. [↩]
- I’m still not sure what a Big Breezy is. [↩]
- There’s nothing better than reconnecting with friends in the fall. The summer always blurs by in an endless stream of vacations and other sporadic commitments. It isn’t until September, when school is back in session, the leaves are turning yellow, and people are grasping at the last few days of summer before Edmonton’s winter regains its chokehold, that you can actually get everyone together for an evening of conversation. [↩]
- Seen here, at centre, with the rest of the Library Club.
- Always a good sign, wouldn’t you say? [↩]
- The equivalent of /ignore [wet blanket]. [↩]
- How did the French, who gave us the shitball of “progressive equality” and its descendent, consumerism, also have such powerfully distilled wisdom embedded in their language as to the idiocy of the masses? Foule, from which we derive “fool” in English, means “the crowd” or “the mob.” [↩]
- It’s quite clear that he’d never spent so much time in the company of people of such upbringing and refinement, and that it was probably a big night for him. [↩]
- I now wonder why this branch of socialists prefers the Greek “neo” to the Latin “novum.” Hmm. [↩]
- I don’t think he meant that I was an accountant or mathematician, more like a Kabbalist or concentration camper. [↩]
- Being raised Jewish, you’d be an idiot not to expect to encounter a few strong retards in your life. While I’d never met a skinhead before, it’s not like I expected him to be all Canadianized and polite and shit. It’s been 70 years since WWII. A single generation is enough to see ancient retard fears resurface, 2-3 pretty much guarantees it. [↩]
- Marcus’ last name is something like “Louwe” though I can’t nail it down more precisely yet. His wife is Barbara Murray. [↩]
- O noes! Not Das Finger! (Yup, same word) [↩]
- The economy is haywire pretty much everywhere but Alberta, retards are getting restless, and it’s just about time to find some scapegoats again. Because, hey, why not? Gotta do something! [↩]
- Which is Ukrainian anyways. [↩]
- Which is uncircumcised anyways. [↩]
- It’s not every night that I’m on fire like I was last night. Last night I was smokin’. [↩]
- I’m just as content to be in a Mosque or Church as a Synagogue. I really don’t give a shit. I’m a cvasi-Spinozist anyways. [↩]
- That is, the pedal, not that other gas. Though I won’t rule the other gas out just yet. Gotta stay open-minded, y’know. [↩]
- via Trilema. [↩]