The Best Room

I went to Carnton.   And listened to a load of slanted rubbish that passes for history.  From an historian with “bribed and threatened” writ upon the face.  From this purchased mouth issued a signature that had been forced down my throat at universities.  So I know it well.  American history has gone to hell.

Just like General Cleburne said it would.

The tour guide’s definition of “the Best Room,” was cursory.  As were many other points along the tour.  They downplayed what should have been salient – like the sizeable brick slave quarters and other items of proof to the contrary of their hate propaganda.  Not a peep about the sardonic tennis courts built two feet from Mrs. McGavock's Confederate Cemetery.  They were sure to rub everybody’s nose into the blood-stained floors.

They omit what they find damaging to their smear campaign.  Kind of like the swimming pool at Auschwitz that nobody is supposed to see.

Expect no tokenism or commie correctitude from me.   Just a straight shot.  Preferably to the forehead.

“The Best Room” is a formal sitting room in country halls.  “In my Father’s house are many mansions.”   A mansion is a very nice house.  Nicer than most.  So let us toast. 

Here’s to the palatial estate.  To manors and manners.  And to the families who lived there.  Here’s to the grand old home-place.  To the sprawling manse.  The Celtic castle.  And German schloss.  Château-villa on a lake.  Diodati.

The enemy within is a spy, traitor, usurper, and economic rapist.  He is a debaucher of youth.  Just take a walk through any mall and look at teen fashions.  I personify him as St. John did.   Taking poetic license, I call him Mr. 9:11 in reference to St. John the Divine’s Chapter 9, Verse 11 of The Book of Revelation.  Abaddon.  Apollion.  The Destroyer of all that is right and good.    Mr. 9:11 can be defined as today’s burrowed-in bolshevik bastard.  He is international.  Seemingly ubiquitous but makes up a small percentage of the world population. 

That is why Mr. 9:11 is presently devising ways to kill millions of people who might suddenly revolt and wipe him off the map (preferably by the gibbet).  If you have doubts, look into the night sky with telephoto lenses.  See for yourself.

During my walk through Internet search engines, not a word about “the best room.”  Why not Mr. 9:11?  Is it because what goes on in a Best Room is not something you want us to value?

Manor houses and the Aristocracy who inhabited them are hated by Mister 9:11.

He abhors natural leaders, virtuous ladies and their gentle-men, fairness and decency, justice, honour, character and the Godly personages to whom these virtues belong.

Mister 9:11 is the architect of the French Revolution, the Bolshevik Revolution and the Cuban Revolution.  He devised the Vietnam War (stop Communism?  What the hell for…).  Heroin requires a smoke-screen.  And what a smoke-screen it was.  Ever see so many body bags and dog tags?  What’s that you say?  A great loss of life?  Mr. 9:11 is the architect of “9/11.”  I do not believe that is a co-incidence. 

I believe the chips fell that way so “you guys” won’t have trouble remembering who Mr. 9:11 is.

Of course Mr. 9:11 would advance existentialism.  He wants you to think and believe that things happen by chance.  He wants you to go to Las Vegas (lost wages) and gamble.  He wants you to believe in Lady Luck.  He wants you to live by the seat of your trousers – not by the Law of God. 

In my Old South there were many mansions.  I’m sitting not far from the site of one right now.  Just a green hill overlooking the Nile.  Sans the hippo and the crocodile. 

Many mansions were burned to the ground as fine as Althorp.  Lac Leman is represented here.  The Jura, aye, our grade is steeper.   And our horse is a keeper.  Mr. 9:11 dare not modify him genetically.  Who then would win his races?  Gambling fool.

Yeah, I got your Field Places.

Call them Mattapany.  Beechwood.  Carnton.  Mount Vernon.  The Hermitage.  Monticello.  Let them represent and speak for a multitude of others lain to ashes by the federal terrorism of 1861.

In these mansions I see a Best Room.  A room that has been snuffed out of text like John Kennedy was snuffed out of government. 

That is because it was in this room where people did what they seldom do today.  They sat and enjoyed each other’s company in lofty ways.  Read aloud in the Queen's English to the delight of listeners rapt.  Aye post-modern rabble, I say, from their libraries of good books.  They made respectable eye contact during the craft of polite conversation.  It is a talent.  Like good writing or making music.  In the Best Room, one called on his wife or daughter to sit at the piano and touch a cathedral ceiling with her song. 

Glorious and genuine things happened in the Best Room.  People were amused, educated, courted and entertained there.  What did not happen there is what happens today damn-near everywhere: 

idiot-box-television, idle gossip, smut, mindless video games, FaceBook bullshit, Twitter-Twaddle, AOL wife-swapping and spiritual filth like a rotting corpse.  I too see through your white-washed sepulcher, Apollion.

Stylin'

Yeah, you're bad. Wearing combat boots that Belleville Boot company has manufactured by commie slaves whose heart ain't in their work. I just pulled a pair of desert super-lights out of a box. The right boot is one inch wider than the left boot. Flip the tongue over and it reads, "Made in China."

While you dupes are getting your legs blown off on bucket bombs, your nation is being economically raped by the jews -- who started this war in the 1st dam place. They call it "out-sourcing." Let us not forget the leech-like suck of their income/sales/property taxes taxes and more taxes. Their 40% interest loans to the poor. And their foreclosure campaign to dispossess the working class of a life's earnings.

Yeah, you're stylin' in your Chinese boots there buddy. Keep on losing limbs for Israel. They care about you and your momma. Why don't you get your butt home and help us fix what's wrong with this place.

Hurt

This article from Press TV corroborates what I have gleaned from sources in the field.

Our military men who witnessed and participated in the slaughter are now waking to the burden of their crimes. Psychologically left holding the bag, they feel the hurt of "this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you" -- hurt. The mental burden of the assassin. The gut-pang of guilt that gnaws at mercenaries. The clanking chain of Jacob Marley.

That moment when you gun somebody down who never offended you. That moment when you squeeze off the rounds into an assigned target. Or fire a missile into somebody's house from your computer keyboard. That's the one.

That moment will haunt you until the day you die. http://www.presstv.ir/detail/204441.html

Pity the Fool

Lew Puller, Jr. went through this "can do/feel good/snazzy" after losing his legs to a booby-trapped howitzer shell. He came back from the Nam a fragment. And got on with his life. For twenty years or so. Took up a law practice. Big fancy desk at the Pentagon. The whole "poster-boy" nine yards. But inside he suffered gravely.

Right now this kid is riding high on flash-bulb fever. I've seen a lot of Marines like him. I want him to be "okay" as the Jewish shrinks always say. I want him to have quality of life for the remainder of his days. Because I love those boys. And know their sacrifice.

They trusted their corporate government to be glorious ideology. They believed CNN and what they were told by their recruiters. They believed the stuff we got in boot camp. They trusted their leadership. They are always young and march on assigned enemies with 100% blind faith.

Marines are like Rottweilers. They trust their handlers. And give their all to defend and protect. They charge on command at what they believe is an enemy. Pity the fool who betrays their allegiance. Pity the fool who rapes their youth on a false-flag battlefield. Pity the man behind the curtain who planned 9/11 and sent this boy to make war on people who never offended us.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/10/beyond-the-battlefield-part-1-tyler-southern_n_999329.html?icid=maing-grid7%7Cmain5%7Cdl1%7Csec3_lnk1%7C103027

Bobby Sherman

Bobby Sherman is a man I respect. Somebody who didn't let the Hollywood tiger-beat machine wreck his life. The all-American boy next door who was not ashamed to be decent.

Odd little bite and all, a fine fellow. Sixty-eight years of age and still as vital and fetching as ever. Working a profession that nobody can poke fun at. He delivered a baby in the street one day. When you need 'um you need 'um -- these bearers of Caduceus. You break a leg. You slice an artery. Who do you call?

911.

Wikipedia doesn't want you to remember Bobby Sherman. But they can't deny his celebrity. So they do what they can to bury him by writing a short, lackluster piece with no photography. They better not post a picture of him. Good looks are dangerous in so many ways.

When good looks belong to River Phoenix, Corey's Haim or Feldman, it's all good. But when a clean-living fellow hits the spot light, their sinister agenda is foiled. Because now impressionable youth will seek to emulate a good boy instead of the cocaine-snorting hedonist.

By advancing wholesome role models, America would take centuries to defile. Think of how hard a time the porn kings in Hollywood would have trammeling teenage girls to "star" in their next action movie.

Those creepy goth rockers, the Sisters of Mercy, had a contagious hook where they hinted at John F. Kennedy in a motorcade. They called him a motherf**ker. Flash-in-the-pan bitches.

The last thing the Jews want is to advance a beautiful face behind whose sky blue eyes teem the virtues of Western Culture. Bobby Sherman gave pubescent girls something wholesome to adore. Something to stay wholesome for.

Unlike Marilyn Manson, Trent Reznor and KISS, Bobby Sherman did not require heavy make-up, lurid gimmicks, platform shoes nor Goth getup to find his way onto the bedroom walls of America. His lyrics didn't suggest kinky-freaky nor lavish hedonism. Sherman just asked if Julie would still love him after summer break.

I didn't learn till recently how good a man he is. And how respectable a boy he was. Nice to know that the fast lane never seduced him. What a squeaky clean image. No wonder the Wikipedia doesn't want young people to know about him. He might set an example for them. Imagine that.

Young people imitate those whom they admire. Therefore, Bobby Sherman and Jeffrey Hunter must be buried. Because they can't be smeared. Sherman, like Hunter, could serve as a modern bolshevik nightmare. No wonder Wikipedia keeps them on the down-low. If they studded Bobby Sherman's little write-up with photographs, girls would go gaa-gaa. Both Sherman and Hunter would enjoy a tidal wave of resurgent celebrity.

Since Bobby Sherman is far from dead yet and not on drugs, the bitches in Hollywood know better than to fabricate a "biography" for the big screen. If they told it like it is, it would strike fear into every black heart on their team. The last thing they want to propagate is decency.

So hip-hip for Bobby. Here's the link to a pivotal radio interview. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=829619

The reason I didn't know about him until recently is because during Sherman's hey day, I was too mesmerized by David Cassidy to notice anyone else. Teen idols are like bubblegum. Everybody has a favourite brand.

Some girls were in love with Leif Garrett. Heroin got the best of him, tight pants and all. David Cassidy turned to alcohol. I'm sure the list of ship-wrecks is a long one.

Come I today to sing the praises of Bobby Sherman. I wish I had sung them decades ago. Julie Julie Julie, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsMONykezJM

Dyn-O-Mat

It occurred to me that there have been several droughts over the last few years. Along with "earthquakes in divers places," these dry spells kill off a lot of illiterate, unskilled people. Note the present "drought-famine" in Africa for which the faceless middle man is collecting heart-string donations.

Of apparent strategically-fortuitous droughts, here are just a few: China, Somalia, India, Australia, USA, Korea.

The drought in Australia was heralded as the doom of the Outback on American TV. They blamed it on global warming. I saw a program exhibiting close-ups of wild horse foals dying of thirst in Australia. Zoom shot of their little muzzles taking last breaths. Only one kind of videographer shoots footage like that.

Some guy in Florida patented a polymer powder and sold it to the "chem-trail-spraying" government and their mercenaries. I hope Mr. Dyn-O-Mat feels good about himself. I have seen his invention at work in the storm clouds around here. They evaporate in seconds before my eyes. Same thing happens on Doppler radar if you need more proof. http://www.anomalies-unlimited.com/Chemtrails/Dyn-O-Gel.html

Oslo, the Crux

http://www.youtube.com/user/o1OpTiMuS1o#p/u/6/3C8gnRdA92Q

Multi-culturalism is just another made-up Jewish word for multi-racialism. Which amounts to what happens to three-flavour ice cream when you whisk it all together.

It becomes a myucky shade of -- ? -- And you can't taste the flavours anymore.

http://racetraitor.org/

Case in point for Mister Race Traitor: how is it that you can spend two grand for a pure breed puppy (a few million for a pure breed horse), and yet you can't give away a mongrel pup at Wal-Mart? Hey Mister Race Traitor, why is it that they are exterminating millions of mongrel puppies at the pound? Is it because people desire mystery mutts along with their predictable behaviours and aptitudes?

What do you think Mister Race Traitor would do with a human equivalent in the future? Think "global" slave plantation with Mister Race Traitor and Company at the top, calling shots.

Mr. Race Traitor et al. admonish their children to only mix blood with others of their breed. Mind you, it is their creed. Yet they push "multi-culturalism" for everybody else. Why do you suppose?

The Scandinavians, Germans, Dutch, Swiss, English, Scottish, Irish, Welch, Spanish, Italian... (to name only a few) are of a breed. They come with distinct cultures. And deserve the right to preserve them.

Norway was getting fed up with having multi-culturalism shoved down their throats. Also they are getting riled about what the Jews are doing in Palestine. The whole literate world is getting riled with the rape of Palestine by terrorist Israeli Jews. Particularly moved are the young who wake from TV-trances. Their unison sentiment threatens to become a roaring lion.

So the Mossad hit squad has their work cut out for them (intimidation mission-wise). I believe that Israel was involved in the Oslo bombing and perhaps also the shootings. Too many dead bodies for one shooter it seems to me. It has the same "feel" to it as the Virginia Tech (Cho) killings and a subsequent rash of others that followed in the USA. One thing you'll never see them publish is the ballistics. Oh hell no.

Besides, the Jewish media has already been caught in their first fabrications concerning the accused Norwegian man. The stuff they posted on facebook about him was blatant rubbish. Alternative media is all over it. Busted yet again. You lying jackals.

Public records are easily falsified today. Less and less is on paper. Why do you think there is a hard push for "going paperless?" All a geek has to do now is change a few words in a database. The sky is the limit for the lies they put in public records. Been there. Seen that. By the direction of his high-paying handlers, a hacker enjoys full government benefits. Because only with government approval can they do what I have seen.

I believe that the voluminous text posted on Facebook that was attributed to Eric Harris (Columbine shootings) was written by a much older boy. It did not read like callow bravado. But carried a sinister gloat factor, wielding sentences beyond the polish of a high school kid. But I digress.

Note how they superimposed junk text on top of the expose in this news release: http://cofcc.org/2011/07/norwegian-killer-facebook-hoax/