Douglas Mercer
September 22 2024
In the old days everyone knew of the intrinsic mastery of the White race and it was why every negro who possibly could tried to pass as White and in the pecking order of the dark scum the man who was “high yella” was a king---sure it was akin to being the thinnest kid at fast camp but beggars can’t be choosers, you know? After all being a nigger is nothing to boast about that’s for sure. Who after all would take is at as a mark in their favor to be counted among such a lazy, shiftless and indolent lot? Who would go out of their way to point out that they are in the number of a people with no accomplishments to their name, and are of such low intelligence? What sane person would get up on their soap box and scream that they belong to a race known far and wide for its serial criminality, and its repugnant physiognomy, not to mention it appalling body odor? Such a thing beggars belief but in our sordid times a lot of things beggar belief so I suppose we should not be surprised.
“Singer Janet Jackson apologized through a representative for claiming Vice President Kamala Harris, who is Black, is not Black. She’s not Black, said Jackson, in an interview with The Guardian newspaper published Saturday (September 21 2024). That’s what I heard. That she’s Indian. Her father’s white. That’s what I was told. I mean, I haven’t watched the news in a few days. I was told that they discovered her father was white.”
The singer’s brother, in addition to having odd beliefs that it was best to remain forever in the latency period and a distressing attraction to the underage, among other assorted surely psychotic features, made an outright fetish of being White; one can by sympathetic to that wish, as being a member of a race which holds up their rapists who were hung as global martyrs can’t be something which builds a positive self-image. The fact that he took sandpaper to his insipid black skin may have indeed been going too far, but the basic desire is totally understandable. The singer herself is a no account individual who’s claim to fame is that in order to boost her sagging career she exposed herself in public, America being such a degraded place that such action titillated the public for years and as such has gone down in the lore of the country; surely when she dies this will be the lead in her obituary; it’s nothing to put on one’s headstone but when you have no talent and are a total and unremitting hack and everything you have is due to a marketing blitz by Jew businessman you have to take what you can get. Now stories are out that she is “taking back control” and that her contributions (such as they are) to the American Songbook are finally being recognized. But if Rhythm Nation (“with music by our side to break the color lines”) is part of the American Songbook the less America it. Yet one does have to pity the poor nonentity for being confused about the genetic makeup of the mystery meat mongrel and race throwback; her father comes from the Caribbean where under White tutelage a witch’s brew and hornet’s nest called a global gang bang occurred, and positively Lovecraftian mélanges of race stew emerged from the contact between the reds, the blacks,
all of them misshapen. The dark slimy creatures that have emerged from this pestilent and unholy cannibal’s pot confirms the old adage that one has to keep them separated; cats and dogs living together is one thing but a man has to draw a limit, they don’t after all call it the pale for nothing.
“Harris, of course, is not half-white and is very much Black. Her father is Donald Harris, a Jamaican-American economist who was the first Black scholar to receive a tenured position at Stanford’s economics department.
They found the one spook who got himself some of that edu-ma-cation though you can be sure he got slipped up the greasy pole of the cushy life on the basis of his blackness and had he risen or fallen on the merits of his own steam he would have been teaching algebra at a night school in Alabama and doubling as the janitor. They tout the big pictures of him with his “nigger fro” back in the 1970s showing that he is down with his people and was not averse to chastising the White race as the Simon Legrees of history, and probably did not want Whitey to go to the moon as some soul sister once got bitten by rat in an apartment complex grown rickety by the fact that the pickaninnies could not maintain the upkeep; they say this brother applied post Keynesian theories to “development economics” and there is the tip off; development economics is a code words for trying to aid “low income countries” and low income countries is a euphuism for places where the dark skinned rule; the White skinned ruled there once and things were flourishing; but then Jews got the White skinned to feel guilty so we left and now the places are the moral equivalent of rank outhouses that have not been aired out in months; and lo those many years later a low grade creature such as Donald Harris can get in on the act of transferring money from Whites to the atavistic negros in far off lands, an enterprise (if one can call it that) which soon morphed into the so called reparations movement, a movement which has dispensed with the niceties of justifying the cash grants on the basis of “economic theory” and just dumps it in the bank accounts of the cotton pickers there to be squandered by the fuzzy headed misfits. And, it turns out, on closer inspection, that Kamala Harris’ father is a little White, as her father’s wizened grandmother once told him she had in her family tree a White man named Hamilton Brown who on a cursory examination is seen to have planted in Jamaica an outpost of a religion dedicated to the oversold fable of a dead Jewish Sky God which only goes to show that when mass hallucination and chronic confusion reigns just about anything can happen. We assume on spec that whatever speck of knowledge was present in the brain of Donald Harris was due to this Hamilton Brown, and it is his genes alone that made him capable of not drinking malt liquor in the Palo Alto faculty lounge while it is the dark lineage which was responsible for the fro and the consent whining about his betters.
“Harris, who graduated from leading historically Black university Howard, has frequently spoken about her Black identity in politics. She also once joked, when asked if she’d ever smoked marijuana, Half my family’s from Jamaica, are you kidding me? She is also Indian. Her late mother, Shyamala Gopalan, a medical scientist who worked at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, was originally from Chennai.”
Yes the black man be known far and wide for being partial to the spliff, it is a drug which jives totally with their worldview which goes don’t do today what you can do tomorrow or, better, don’t do anything at all, and get the White man to fund you. And we must say calling any black university “leading” puts us in mind of that one kid at the fat camp who is only more or less obese, the competition in that area not being what you call totally stringent as lecturing on that darkie who supposedly invented peanut butter and how John Brown is the one White man who might be somewhat alright does not pass muster as an “academy.” And being Indian is no great shakes either, these are not the Aryans of old as can be seen from one photograph of the mother who looks like a low browed ape might have slipped into her family tree somewhere; Harris herself owes her rise to having fornicated with another flat faced nigger named Willie Brown who was once the most powerful man in California, having learned that the mother’s milk of politics is being a jive talking nigger who dressed up as a slick talking nigger; and as we go from depraved depth to depraved depth in the place that was once our homeland we have new respect for the decent White folk who once kept the color line at the point of a gun, knowing that once that line was breached all there was was chaos and dark night; this of course is coupled with a rededicated enmity to all the traitors who facilitated the abdication of the White man from the stage of world history, and the literary cretins who made “black like me” something devoutly to be wished for; no, America has always had a race problem, the race problem being the niggers; and the uneasy living side by side with them was no rose garden but at least the worst of the depredation were kept somewhat at bay when the niggers were relegated to their side of the track, there to live in squalor and wallowing pig like disgustingness; and when the niggers, like everyone in the world even today, really wanted to be White, and to be high yella was a mark of some distinction, something to write home to mother about, the mother being a nappy haired servant whose own mother once slipped into the master’ bed. And don’t think we don’t take that White man to task, not on moral grounds, but just as a plain matter of bad taste.
