Monday, January 18, 2016

The Blackboard Jungle Monsters

The negro is not compatible with White civilization. It is an evolutionary dead-end, somewhere between ape and man with the mind of an evil child. It was never "poverty" or "racism" or "a White man locked his car door when I walked past, once" causing the pathology. It was an I.Q. hovering at a level that would be considered mentally retarded in a White, an inability to connect current actions to future outcomes, a content of character that falls well below even the most modest standards set by the rapidly dying light of society. These genetic realities laugh in the face of the appeasement, the special programs, the money and blood spilled, the "we're all equal" flat earth theory of our State Religion.

And still they come. Today we'll examine the story of a White sodomite do-gooder who decided to enter the negro nest and discover why Barkevious can't get dat larn on. The results are about as predictable as you'd expect and our feces-eating hero is sure to draw all the wrong conclusions because to do otherwise is unthinkable, a sin against Holy Mother Synagogue. Yes, the spiritually diseased crusading White pedagogue failed miserably, but hey, be sure to buy his new book from a jewish publisher! You'll feel bad for those poor skinnies, cheer our rectally-damaged identification figure and keep wandering aimlessly in the "It's just a sun-tanned White!" kosher mind-fog. All major credit cards accepted!

In 2008, Ed Boland, a well-off New Yorker who had spent 20 years as an executive at a nonprofit, had a midlife epiphany: He should leave his white-glove world, the galas at the Waldorf and drinks at the Yale Club, and go work with the city’s neediest children.

Let us leave the ideal world of anonymous sodomy behind piles of water-logged ropes and big money sinecure at some worthless cultural marxist nonprofit to enter the African Heart of Darkness. Think of it as the careerist version of "rough trade."

“The Battle for Room 314: My Year of Hope and Despair in a New York City High School” (Grand Central Publishing) is Boland’s memoir of his brief, harrowing tenure as a public school teacher, and it’s riveting.

And yet there are still a few cranks who wonder why the publishing industry is dying. Here's your chance to buy "You a yella! You yella!" the book and feel better about hypocritically mouthing the hymns of our equality cult while doing your best to isolate yourself from the rot it created.

It’s tragedy and farce, an economic and societal indictment of a system that seems broken beyond repair.

Yup, must be the "system" that failed. Over fifty years of failed negro appeasement, of endless spending and groveling, and so much more needs to be done. It never ends, it never improves. The answer is their removal.

The book is certain to be controversial. There’s something dilettante-ish, if not cynical, about a well-off, middle-aged white man stepping ever so briefly into this maelstrom of poverty, abuse, homelessness and violence and emerging with a book deal.

Good old cynical Whitey, exploiting the negro pathology for a few shekels. It's certainly no more opportunistic than "nonprofit" parasitism.

The sodomite that failed.

What Boland has to share, however, makes his motives irrelevant.

Sure, it's a cash-grab from the shrinking pool of those that can still afford to be a liberal poseur, but the amazing conclusion of "more spending needed" justifies whatever filthy lucre accumulates.

Boland opens the book with a typical morning in freshman history class.

Today we finnin to larn bout dem nigga eee-gypt-tans an sheeet.

A teenage girl named Chantay sits on top of her desk, thong peeking out of her pants, leading a ringside gossip session. Work sheets have been distributed and ignored.

The sad failure to reach the Rachet-American.

A calculator goes flying across the room, smashing into the blackboard. Two boys begin physically fighting over a computer. Two girls share an iPod, singing along. Another girl is immersed in a book called “Thug Life 2.”

Totally compatible with a classical liberal "blank slate" democracy, no doubt about that.

“Chantay,” he says, louder, “sit down immediately, or there will be serious consequences.”

If you don't do it La-ah, I'll be forced to impotently repeat the request while you continue your monkeyshines.

The classroom freezes. Then, as Boland writes, “she laughed and cocked her head up at the ceiling. Then she slid her hand down the outside of her jeans to her upper thigh, formed a long cylinder between her thumb and forefinger, and shook it . . . She looked me right in the eye and screamed, ‘SUCK MY F–KIN’ D–K, MISTER.’ ”

The raw material for a free and open society, the unlimited potential, future oceanographers, brain surgeons and rappers.

 Now available! Cheap! Signal to your friends!


This was his favored school — advertised as the last, best hope for kids who had fallen far behind — and he was thrilled to be hired. He went home to his then-boyfriend (now-husband) and celebrated over takeout pad Thai and an expensive bottle of red wine.

Just another day in a dead country.

There were 30 kids in his ninth-grade class, some as old as 17. One student, Jamal, was living in a homeless shelter with his mother; most of the other students lived in public housing. There was one white kid in the whole school.

Imagine being that lone White, surrounded by violent and moronic tar creatures. There's a story that I'd like to hear, unlike this one about the G.B.S. version of "Stand by Me.":

“It was as if Brown v. Board of Education or desegregation had never occurred,” Boland writes.

It's almost as if people prefer to live with their own kind and this condition is perfectly natural and good, but we know that's wrong because the jew said it is. Except in Israel, of course.

Two weeks in and Boland was crying in the bathroom.

LOL. What's the matter, no little holes cut between the stalls for you to put your erection in?

Kids were tossing $110 textbooks out the window. 

Keep paying those taxes, working Whites. The money goes to great causes.

Here among the kids who couldn’t name continents or oceans, who scrawled, “Mr. Boland is a f—-t” on chalkboards

Well, you got that one right, at least.

Boland came to actively loathe most of the student body. He ­resented “their poverty, their ­ignorance, their arrogance. ­Everything I was hoping, at first, to change.”

It's almost as if exposure to reality is causing the Crime Think, rather than it being a product of "ignorance" or "racism."

A lifelong liberal, Boland began to feel uncomfortable with his thinking. “We can’t just explain away someone’s horrible behavior because they have had a tough ­upbringing,” he argued back. “It doesn’t do them — or us — any good.”

I wonder how many "lifelong liberals" would remain if every White person had to live in a negro area for six months. 

Then there was Jesús Alvarez, boyfriend of Chantay and, as Boland writes, “a perfect s- -t.” Jesús would stroll by Boland’s classroom and shout, “Bolan’, who you ballin’? It ain’t no chick.”
 
Time for some of that natural conservatism from the la-teen-oh invader. We'll get this foreign scumbag to vote for Jeb Bush, don't worry.

“Step down, all y’all n- - -as, or I’ll stab you in your neck,” Valentina said. “Don’t get me tight, bitches.”

We need a lot more of this in Idaho.

“You can’t fool me,” he told her. “I can tell from just that one sheet of paper that you have a very fine mind.”

Your idea of neck-stabbing was far superior intellectually to the usual "I gut you nigga" from your fellow night terrors.

For that, he received an official complaint of sexual harassment, filed by one Valentina. She claimed Boland said, “You are mighty fine, you turn me on, and I can tell you like fooling around.”

It's not exactly "the bad kid was reformed and now has a future thanks to my heroism" but in today's U.S.S.A. a bathhouse patron being accused of wanting to build an oil derrick is the closest thing to a happy ending you're going to get.


To sodomite, with love.

3 comments:

  1. My father taught me from a young age that packs of negroes and Negrotown were to be avoided but I never knew exactly why. For some time, from my 20's on up, I fell into the state religion of 'they're just like us' only they've never been given a fair shot. It wasn't until I got much older that I started doing research and coming to blogs like this one that my eyes were truly opened and everything fell into place. I learned why blacks have no business in a white country. But it's too late. We are stuck until the complete collapse of society at the hands of negroes.
    I salute you for keeping this blog going, keeping the truth out there.

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  2. I couldn't agree more Mr. Nuffin. I always wish I could provide some substantive and insightful comments, but A.J.'s writing is so good and vision so clear that I feel inadequate even writing on the same page.

    This particular installment was so hilarious that I drew the attention of several negroes sitting around me on the train when it caused me to laugh out loud. Imagine their surprise were they to read the source of my amusement (of course, this assumes some degree of literacy, and thus perhaps assumes too much).

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  3. I can actually speak "ebonic" having lived in the jungle of South Jamaica, N.Y. during college. This experience cured me of liberal notions of race. Blacks in a white community or institutions behave far differently as long as the are a small majority. They become more like a group of baboons or monkeys when in the majority. When I first moved in, the ratchet females were friendly (perhaps they were independents--the pimp on my block drove a VW with Rolls front end and sold his wares for as little as $10 a throw) until I told them I had no money. Then all I got was sullen looks and lip slapping. I was held up at gunpoint, used as a human shield and black gangs often chased me for blocks trying to steal my expensive 10-speed (my only means of transport.) My wife had similar experiences. In integrated school she could not even go to the bathroom because of the dangerous "sheboons that lurked there. We've spent a trillion dollars on negroes since 1964 and I say it's hopeless. We've gotten blamed for slavery (largely a profit-making enterprise for Sephardic Jews and Moslems), over 100,000 murders of whites, 200,000+ rapes of white women, uncountable assaults, robberies and burglaries, and a parasite population of black (bastard) thugs growing exponentially. There have been no positives from the so-called "War on Poverty"--even for blacks, who lost their real middle class with the end of segregation and got a replacement class of do-nothing government employment and welfare. And then there's so-called "affirmative action." Millions of whites have been denied educational opportunities or employment as a result. And even worse, millions of whites have had to carry incompetent black coworkers and supervisors. My late father-in-law was acting supervisor in the USPS--his lard-ass female black supervisor did nothing but got high pay while he did all the work for regular postal wages.

    As someone with a biology background, I must say that the argument that there is little genetic difference does not hunt. The difference between a real ape and a negro is only about 100 base pairs. Even a common shrew is not that different genetically from a large mammal. Blacks have much higher testosterone levels--both males and females. This causes their cranial sutures to close up sooner for an average cranial capacity that is 10% lower than the average Caucasian. I think that (especially with mulattoes) the brain's attempt to grow causes violent outbursts due to cranial pressure and that this is exacerbated by high T. It's probably no accident that blacks formed few complex civilizations and that black tribes like the Masai rely on cliterodectomy to curb the violent nature of the females and make them more domesticated. (Shockley expressed some of these ideas.)

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