Hey, we’re still around. Schooling, the demands of actually working for a living and the sudden onset of this thing called a “social life” have forced a re-prioritization of things in all of our lives.
Look, we’ve already made it abundantly clear why exactly we don’t go to May Day shindigs in DC anymore— but this time, we’re mature enough to admit that we missed out. May First saw the usual gaggle of non-profits doing their usual things and the local anarchists doing their own things; other places have covered this well enough without us to add our opinions. We cannot, however, let this… <i>thing</i>… go without comment. You see, there’s this piddly little hitler youth group at Towson University calling itself the White Student Union, lead by a wholly laughable creature named Matthew Heimbach. One People’s Project has profiled them quite nicely. Heimbach and his failure brigade showed up in front of the White House, and this happened:
This video by Russia Today that captures the entire incident. Fast forward to 1:14 to see Heimbach’s crappy teabagger flag get ripped off its pole and Heimbach explode in impotent, puerile rage. A bunch of nazis get their asses kicked, they lose their flags and a fun time was had by all Antifa. End of the story, right? BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE! We’ve stumbled upon an after-action report by someone named “Shotgun“– a man so utterly dispossessed of any semblance of literary ability, it is a wonder that the letters on the screen did not strangle him outright.
Shotgun is most likely Scott Terry: The guy who stood up at CPAC and talked about how great slavery was. He’s also ex-navy.
As one the comments in his post pointed out, this is quite possibly the gayest thing we’ve ever read (not that we see anything wrong with the queer community— we don’t. Highlighting the inherent hypocrisy in extremist hate groups is a grand hobby of ours). It’s also the most (Unintentionally? Intentionally but hoping no one notices?) homoerotic way of spinning “We couldn’t muster more than 8 bigots to wave a confederate flag in front of the white house. They stole our flag, ripped it up and then beat us into a formless mass of bloody pulp.”
We submitted this piece to our collective and two writing droids started sparking and emitting blue smoke. One of our human writers had this to say before his brain started melting out of his ears:
“I couldn’t finish it. I read as far as I could before I threw up in my mouth a little bit.
“There were eight of us in all, including two women (a fact that burned my Southern honor). ‘Dear God, I hope they stay protected’…”
Gwuhlb… sorry, just threw up in my mouth a little, again. I’m afraid I couldn’t get far enough to see where he does any actual reporting. I got
about four paragraphs into his pissing and moaning about his noble Southern roots and all that other balloon juice.
“ZOMG, there’s women in our group!”
Or, if you read his piece, it sounds more like this:
Let’s give this the MST3K treatment, shall we?
On Flags, Signs, Heroes, and Fist Fights
May 3, 2013
~ But God chose the foolish things of the world, to shame the wise; He chose the weak things, to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things…the things that are not, to nullify the things that are! ~
I looked out and caught a glimpse of an army of communists moving our way. Their red banners caught in the fading light and their distant chants echoed across the park. “Here they come!” I cried, and looked over at Heimbach, who gave the nod. We walked out to meet them.
“I did more crying than I’m willing to admit, really.”
The ocean of scorn he swam on,
weak and tried, used and worn,
tossed a sea of revalry
to darken the light of morn.
“To start yon heroic missive of the proud Aryan warrior’s heroic act of violently assaulting a woman in front of police and getting away with it scot-free, here’s some crappy poetry! Hey! That rhymed! SEE?! POETIC GOLDMINE”
There were eight of us in all, including two women (a fact that burned my Southern honor). “Dear God, I hope they stay protected”.
“I was going to be too busy cowering in mortal terror for my life to ensure anybody else’s safety because that bastard Heimbach decided to drag us out on this fool’s errand. ‘Join the white student union’ he said. ‘Defend white people’ he said. Here I am about to get my pasty white ass beaten because I’m singing racist songs and waving a confederate battle flag in front of a gigantic group of immigrant-rights activists on International Workers’ Day with only a few minority police to defend me. Fucking Heimbach and his god complex. Why do I get roped into these sorts of things? Where is that pompous dick? Striking poses for non-existent cameras? Like we know anyone who’s even a fraction of what Riefenstahl was.”
In saner days, when men petitioned God for their grievances instead of chanting at their fellows, women wouldn’t have felt compelled to attend these sorts of events; yet, such is our brave new democracy that the fairer sex frequently add their voices to prayer choruses in hopes of convincing mass-man to tolerate the put-upon factions of society. They, along with the men, pick up flags, draw up signs, and walk out into public to take part in a democratic liturgy.
“THERE IS NO KITCHEN HERE! WHY ARE THERE WOMENFOLK PRESENT IN YONDER BATTLEFIELD OF MANLY MALE HONOUR AND RIPPLING MALE MASCULINITY AND MUSCULAR MANLY MALENESS? WHO DEIGNED TO PERMIT YON DAMSELS TO ABDICATE THEIR FEMININE DUTIES AT THE HOMESTEAD AND SULLY THEIR DELICATE AND FRAGILE AND WEAK AND SUBMISSIVE NATURES WITH THE DUTIES OF HONORABLE MANLY STATECRAFT?!”
We Southerners are at a weakness here, because, despite a lingering sense of the tragic (passed on to us in the folk wisdom of our grandparents),
“Translation: We lost and we still can’t get over it.”
and despite a healthy respect for the fallen nature of man,
“Well, white men at least. And white women in hoop skirts.”
nevertheless, at times, we’re capable of a startling sense of naivete’ towards our fellows, accompanied by a confused sense of optimism. If the sun is shining, the breeze blowing, and the sweet smells of early spring drifting through the air, how could there be evil afoot? Why usher our women off to the side when we’re only interested in rational debate and interesting conversation?
“All we were doing was waving the confederate battle flag and the flag of apartheid South Africa during a massive demonstration for immigrant rights, using confrontational language and organizing behind a guy who associates with violent white supremacists and who repeatedly makes threats about ‘armed patrols’… what could possibly go wrong?”
Who can box the shining sun,
put her to ground for everyone
to see and stare and touch her rays
till all her fires turn to grays?
“I completely lost my train of thought here, so have more shitty poetry.”
When one is in the presence of Matthew Heimbach, one is in the presence of a singularly magnanimous individual,
the likes of whom, it’s very likely, does not exist anywhere else in the world.
Who else in all of America is able to stand in the face of the demonic pressures he endures on a daily basis?
HURRGRGRGRGRGGRHHAHHABABBBBBBLLLLLLAAAAAAAGAGHHHHHHHhhhhhhh….. ok, I think that’s it… I haven’t had much else to eat today…
Our enemy uses lies and insults instead of swords and arrows, but they hurt all the more
You ever been shot in the face with a bad word? “I used to be an adventurer like you, until I took a poorly worded internet forum insult to the knee.” Mental note: Bring real swords and arrows next time.
– they’re able to rip a part families and torture a man’s psyche until all convictions are ripped away,
Yeah, damn those “FACTS.” Your parents don’t want anything to do with you because they found out you’re a conniving, race-hating, goose-stepping Oswald Mosley clones? ITS THE COMMIES FAULT AND THEIR LLLIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
leaving a husk; a burned out soul with nothing left to offer. And yet, Heimbach, never flinching, walks out to meet them.
So he’s still a burned out, empty husk of a man with no prospects and nothing to offer the world around him. No wonder you think he’s not flinching, he’s incapable of feeling human emotions. Better keep him away from the bleach.
Yes, maybe somewhere in Europe, perhaps with the Golden Dawn activists or with the French Identity movement, there is a man with similar fortitude.
But whomever would make this argument must remember that the situations in these countries are very different; the political climate is more amenable there, than here. Would their bravest dare brave the pressures of an American nationalist? We can only hope, though my naive Southern optimism does little to convince me of it.
translation: “Newsflash you stupid cocks: NAZIS DON’T LIKE BORING ORGANIZATIONS. Oh wait, DOUBLE FUCKING NEWSFLASH: THE GOLDEN DAWN IS NOT GOING TO WANT TO HANG OUT WITH US IF WE FUCKING SUCK, which by the way in case you’re an idiot and need it spelled out for you, WE FUCKING SUCK SO FAR.“
Flailing and slinging in the ocean of slime
The hero is cast down, slick with the grime,
Heaving and spitting, trapped in the mire
He moves inch by inch with disciplined time.
Oh look, more shitty poetry. Running out of steam again, eh sailor?
Having arranged ourselves in a line, to halt the progress of this 400 man army, the 8 of us stood silent, lost in our thoughts, as we watched them approach. We began exchanging jokes and humorous comments, but I suspect they were masking the sense of impending evil we all felt.
“The giant puddle of our own urine we were standing in probably gave us away. Mental note: The true aryan warrior wears Depends.”
Another funny thing about Southerners – when evil is coming, no matter how much we may feel it wrenching our guts, a stronger impulse rises in turn:
Brew moonshine? Drink antifreeze? Cook meth in motel rooms? Commit incest?
stubbornness. A stubborn resolve not to yield; a resolve to endure under the coming pressure.
“THEY GON’ GIT MAH SLIM JIMS AN’ MOUNTAIN DEW WHEN THEY PRY MUH COLD, MEATY, SAUSAGE-SHAPED FINGERS OFF OF THEM”
And endure we did. As the fading rays of sunlight disappeared behind the D.C. skyscrapers
THERE ARENT ANY SKYSCRAPERS IN DC. NOTHING IS HIGHER THAN THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT AND THE BUILDINGS CAN’T BE ANY TALLER THAN THE STREET IS WIDE. SECOND GRADERS KNOW THIS. TWO GODDAMNED SECONDS OF GOOGLING WILL TELL YOU THIS.
, the army collided with us and all hell broke loose.
“We got our asses kicked”
The tempest of blackness;
All form is lost!
All but the cries of anguished, raving, lunatics…
JESUS CHRIST HOW MUCH SHITTY POETRY CAN YOU WRITE?! You’re not even approaching the quality of William Peirce (whose Turner Diaries was so badly written it was physically painful to attempt to read, but we digress)
My friend Shane Long, of the Maryland League of the South, attended Heimbach’s counter-protest, and brought with him a confederate battle flag. No more offensive sign could have been found with which to oppose the unwashed animals descending on us. In one symbol, all of the heroism, righteousness, and universal good ever accomplished by Christendom, all of our art, all of our beauty, is boiled into a concentrated form of light, which the heathens cannot bear to look upon.
“Hey, look, all we’re saying is that you sub-human non-whites need to be owned like pieces of farm machinery. How dare you be offended!”
We clashed with the protestors, and some of them attacked Shane. They had to get that flag. In a flurry of fists and violence, I lost sight of both Shane and the flag, but a moment later, amidst the leering, screaming crowd, I saw the symbol rise up. Shane lifted it proudly through the muck. He still held it! Our line remained unbroken!
Torn in half, and no mention of Heimbach being caught completely unprepared and unawares when HIS flag was ripped right off its flagpole. Nice selective editing, you glue-huffing fool.
A party of 8, had stopped the army dead in its tracks.
The cloud of filth, swirls and cries
with untimely form its devil belies,
when up from the black, a sunbeam catches,
A symbol of hope, rising from blackness…
Delusional, much? Not even the greek fascist assholes can live up to the “300” image– and eight neckbeards are the pinnacle of the white race? Hitler wouldn’t use you even for his backup bedpan division.
They rushed Shane again, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw them lighting the battle flag on fire. They grabbed it and pulled it into their throng. But, Shane didn’t let go – he followed them in, fists swinging, and giving off a frightful cry! Yes, dear readers, the infamous and feared rebel yell was heard in Washington D.C. this day; let the devil take note!
It sounded like this: “OH GOD OH GOD PLEASE NO THAT COST ME MY WEEKS ALLOWANCE OH MERCY OH PLEASE NO I USED MY DADS CREDIT CARD HES GONNA BE SO MAD”
Forced to the ground by armed police, Shane fell back, and the crowd dispersed, with the battle flag unfortunately out of his possession. His efforts, though, made a hole in the crowd large enough for me to see a small patch of red and blue underneath their filthy sneakers. I dove for it, blocking the wild punches and kicks as best I could, and striking back with all the rage of an awakened Saxon (I knocked a fat, blaspheming jewess to the ground, a fact which I’d normally be ashamed of, but on this occasion, it gave a great deal of satisfaction).
“I squealed like a stuck pig and tried to save my Made-In-China sheet of nylon, and my I BEAT UP A WOMAN AND I AM PROUD OF IT. HOW YOU LIKE MY SOUTHERN HONOR NOW, HUH!? THATS HOW WE DO IN THE SOUTH! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWW”
I was quickly swamped, and began taking hits from all sides.
“Hey! All I was doing was BEATING A WOMAN– how could you get offended by that? Filthy savages! Women are made to be beaten! Says so in the bible!”
Just then, I felt a hand grab my shoulder and pull me out of the crowd. It was Matthew Heimbach! We stood, shoulder to shoulder, fighting off this army, until we too were grabbed by the police and forced back. I looked down and, in my hand (and somewhat to my surprise) I held the Battle Flag. Burned, soiled, but still ours!
“I felt a patriotic surge in the front of my pants. Normally I have to pay someone in downtown Greenville for this, but I was getting this one for free!”
I handed it off to Heimbach, as a police officer yanked me to the side. Heimbach unfolded it. I managed to shake clear of the ruckus, and grabbed the other side of the flag. We held it aloft, together, and at the tops of our voices, began to sing an old, familiar cadence…
“Ohhhhh I…wish I was in the land of cotton … old times there are not forgotten, look away…. look away…look away…Dixieland…”
“Hey, I know what’s going to smooth this situation over! Let’s sing an old racist battle song while they’re tearing our flags up, setting them on fire, tying them to bicycles and riding away with them!”
Shane was on the ground, being restrained by the police, but we looked over and noticed that even he, in his incapacitated state, was singing along with us!
“In Dixie land I’ll take my stand…I’ll live and die, in Dixie!!”
What’s the verse about getting your asses kicked in the heart of the Union?
Thus was the South, and the conservative cause acquitted “
The guilty charges of slavery, genocide and being incredibly poor losers still stand, though.
– with song and bitter defiance. “
That’s your legal strategy? If you were an attorney in traffic court, your client would have been lucky to escape with the death penalty.
The army was scattered and defeated. We left in high spirits. (Shane, we were assured by the police, would not be charged with any crime, and was to be released at a strategic and safe time and location). So, after re-gaining Shane into our company, we retired to celebrate our victory.
“Hopelessly outnumbered, out-strategized and beaten into a bloody pulp with one of our flags being pulled apart like fresh bread and used to sop up the oil on one of our enemies’ bikes, but I got to violently assault a woman in front of cops and completely get away with it, so it was a COMPLETE AND TOTAL VICTORY!”