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    Hello there…..its me again…….Don Laird

    Oft have I said, and say once more…….

    The Zyklon-B is being stockpiled can by murderous can.

    Brick by grotesque brick the ovens are being rebuilt.

    The crematoria yawn languid, cavernous yawns, hungry once again.

    The cattle-trains creak and groan, restless and impatient, eager for their second wind.

    The storm clouds of blind, fanatic hatred block the sun, lay shadows across the land, dust devils dance along streets, mothers call their children in; once again, madness has come to call.

    Mass murder and genocide, the darkest and maddest of debutantes, stand impatiently on our doorsteps awaiting the invitation to dine and dance, once again, at Hell’s Banquet, awaiting invitation wrought from rhetoric, invitation borne on the mitigation provided by suicidal ignorance and dull-witted amnesia.

    The Human Race, we are nothing if not predictable, we are nothing if not blind, and this as the Jew sat in Berlin’s cafe’s, oblivious to the storm clouds that rolled and boiled on the horizon. So too the Jew today, haughtily, hastily crosses his legs, snaps his newspaper and bids the waiter bring another cappuccino, and all while that which seeks to dine on his bones licks its lips and patiently waits.

    Does the Jerusalem Post have any more stupid questions?? Any more stupid questions to ask before the skies across Europe darken with the foul and oily smoke that will pour from crematoria chimneys, the final reward paid little girls, boys and their butchered parents.

    Ahhhh yes, history, ever the faithful servant of Mankind, repeats itself once again.

    Here are a few paragraphs from an essay I wrote called “Of Doctorates and Duplicity”, I wrote this essay in response to Western academia’s sickening and culpatory fascination with all things terroristic.

    To quote:

    I find quite remarkable the willingness of sneering academia, these lovers of Middle Eastern psychopathy, these enlightened educators of our children, to sit in campus coffee shops engaged in self-important tete’a’tete, wrapped in shemaghs: the preferred couture of terrorists. To wear with pride the fashion affectations of those who whisper a murderous lie into the ears of the lonely, the unloved, the dull witted and the easily impressed… to celebrate those who turn wombs into arms factories…. the same monsters who wrap explosives around children and set them alight in marketplaces…the batterers of women who assure the bruised and bloodied their agony satisfies and maintains the delicate balance of Islamic sensibility…. the very same ones who lurk in doorways watching their handiwork from a distance as, in the twinkling of an eye, in a blinding flash of light, peace and quiet become chaos and death, the slaughtered borne away on rivers of blood…..oh how immersed in culture they must feel, how empowered and enriched, these academics who admire murderers.

    It is easy to be brave when privilege, comfort and ease are your constant companions. How far away from the killing fields the enlightened and educated are, how far away from the stench of burning hair, human skin and fat. How removed they are from the agony of tens of thousands who perish to satisfy political agenda. How tolerant they are to turn a blind eye to mass murder and genocide, how we marvel at the colors their cowardice and complicit delusions weave into the coat of multiculturalism. What diversity they bring to institutions of higher learning with their ignorance of a murderous political ideology that comes wrapped in the robes of religious propriety.

    Were it my choice, the next mass grave of “the cleansed” that was discovered, and only God knows how many of those are waiting to be discovered, I would empty faculty lounges across North America, hand them all shovels, and let them wade through a sea of miserable putrefied flesh. I would let them catalogue little girls whose last moments on this earth were an agony of rape, the same girls who, throats cut, lay rotting beside their mothers. Then let them catalogue the mothers. The mothers whose agony, in being forced to witness the manner of the daughters’ departure, screams horrified volumes. The mothers, in whose ears rang the mocking laughter of their children’s killers as they too suffered rape, torture and murder.

    I would force these professors, so enamored with all things fanatical, to pour the mortal coil of butchered men and boys into bags and buckets….I would let them wretch and choke and vomit as, clinging to their last vestiges of sanity, they begged to be turned away from these places of horror and madness. Then let them return to the quiet sanctuary of democratic Western civilization, let them return to the manicured sprawl upon which sit their hallowed halls of enlightenment and education. Let them return to campus coffee shops where, over fancy cups of coffee, they can tell me to my face of the depth of their new understanding of the words, “tolerance and diversity”.

    End quote.

    Well kiddies, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, perhaps the time for trivial pursuits, for newspapers and cappuccino has drawn to a close, perhaps the time has come to tend to more pressing matters.

    Food for thought.

    Regards, Don Laird
    Dogtown Bastard
    Alberta, Canada

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