MALTHUSIAN MELODY 1
Chapter 1
Let me share something real helpful right off the bat. If you want to be able to kill your enemies,
start off practicing with a real dumbass that doesn’t see it coming. That’s what I did with my brother in
law. Shot the fucker right in that
disgusting little Santa Claus belly of his, right in front of my sister and her
kids. I didn’t even feel bad about it,
either. That’s a long story, and of
course I’ll get to it. The point is, you
need to get over the fright of the first time, and that ain’t going to happen
in a more dangerous life and death situation where you are evenly matched. You go for the easy kill first, the
assassination rather than the duel, so to speak, and your mind now has a frame
of reference that cuts down on the stress and jitters that can kill you
normally. Almost no situation is ever as
bad as the anticipation of it, as we all know.
So do yourself a favor and ease into something as difficult as killing a
fellow human being. After that, it is
easy and perhaps even fun.
I’m Matt Smith. Matt, as in “what do you call a paraplegic in
front of the door”. Yep, I heard that
one a bunch of times. Smith, well, we
all can’t have cool last names. This is
my story, which I’m writing down the first winter after the collapse of
civilization. I’ve got a battery good
for years yet, so the computer is one thing I’m keeping going. And lots of printing paper and ink
cartridges. After the word processor is
toast, that will pretty much be it for my writing. Fuck all of you if you think I’m doing this
by longhand and ball point pen. I’m
doing future generations a favor by chronicling the blow by blow of The End, as
that seems to be one thing that always seems to be missing after a crash. Then, eight hundred years later, a bunch of
fuckwit dumbass douche bags are just bumping around in the dark, holding their
scrote sacks guessing about everything. So, I’m trying to record for prosperity,
here. Let everyone know the why of it
all. Not that all the same mistakes
won’t be made again. They will. But nobody can say someone didn’t try to
issue a warning about repeating mistakes.
99% of the population will blindly be willingly lead into the crapstorm,
so I’m writing for the 1% that will heed and prepare and strengthen the gene
pool. But that doesn’t mean I’m ruining
my eyes writing by candlelight ( I know, an old wives tale, but it sure feels
like you are screwing up your vision doing it ) and a feather and inkwell. Once the modern implements wear out, my tale
is done. I’m doing this as a hobby, not
a profession. No reason to kill myself.
The modern conveniences are
also what allows almost everyone to be literate ( although, reading James
Patterson, that monkey molesting twat of a hack, does not count ), so I’m sure
I won’t be the only one writing for the ages.
So, to be different, and hope my heirs ( hopefully, the prodigy of my
union with wives drug by their hair unwillingly from raided villages ) will
perhaps see some publishing royalties if civilization is partially restored (
yea, RIGHT! ), I’m making this both about civilization taking a big flush, and
all about me, my personal life and experiences, and a history leading up to
both. Hey, fuck you. Read it or not. Chances are good this manuscript will go up
in flames after my domicile is attacked and burned. So I’m writing for me. You can enjoy it if you wish.
If not, again, piss off. I could pretend to be high class and high
faluten and be a big cheese and talk in two bit words, but as you will soon
see, I’m an uncouth foul mouthed cretin with beer budget tastes and under no
illusions my writing will ever be more than the mutterings of a savage. I did mention I killed my first helpless
victim just for practice, right? Don’t
worry, I’ll get to it. I got a LOT of
ink and paper, and a lot of time. I
could go out in the snow and try to fuck with someone, but now is the time to
lay low and let the big Die Off happen.
Oh, yeah, I say “fuck” a lot. I
can’t imagine there will be any Politically Correct fucktards left to read
this, so I can’t see it matters much.
Fuck those PC pukes. Fecal
smeared cheese dingus motherfuckers, trying to sell the Fudge Packing Lifestyle
like it was desirable. Sorry, I like
gals, and the Entry Portal is in the front.
Sick whores.
Now, before you get all
pissed, storming off to pray to whatever God you kneel to, there won’t be any
graphic sex scenes in here. I have my
standards. That stuff is fun, but it
should be private. So, if your kids
already swear like gimp sailors with a half eaten away genital region from some
exotic Asiatic skin disease, no worry about them being offended here. Just uncouth, not obscene. And I think uncouth serves a purpose right
about now. Every civilization in decline
exhibit’s the same degeneracy and moral limpness. Women’s Lib, gay rights, that sort of thing (
some even claim every one has their version of Hippies, but I wonder if that
wasn’t the writers prejudice, his square ass crew cut self unable to get some
free love ). I’m just trying to right
that imbalance by going out of my way to one eighty degree the old “modern
progressive” lifestyles. So I’ll be
making fun of old people, women, minorities and the like. But I’ll tell you my reasoning, too. A teachable moment, you are welcome very
much.
Oh, and there will be all
kinds of twisting and turning and back and forth. Not a linear tale, but jumping all
around. Like the movie “Pulp
Fiction”. Stupid jagbags got all confused
when the story mixed past and present and one character with another. You know, like they write books. This was considered avant-garde in Holly
Weird. Talk about lowest common
denominator in entertainment. And don’t
think I don’t know what you are all going to do, either. You read the cool parts, the explosions and
gun battles with clouds of lead spraying about, then get bored with all the
rebuilding and restructuring of society, because, hey, let’s face it, the
origins of the mating rituals of a foreign tribe is pretty much boring to most
people compared to a war, so if this was a linear progression you would only
follow the beginning and never get into the meat of the story. Hence, a non-linear story line to keep the
rubes studying. Suckers.
Now, just so you don’t think
I’m some kind of evil twisted bastard, getting my jollies setting kittens on
fire ( I love cats, and should I ever attain the level of warlord who inhabits
an evil lair, I shall have lap cats I can pet as I plan diabolical world
domination schemes. I would never harm
one of the beasts ) or scorching ants with a magnifying glass-notice the
underlying theme of destruction by fire, I want to make it clear that my
brother in law is a pretty noticeable waste of sperm. As in, the best part of that sumbitch ran
down his mama’s leg. Sharing our planets
oxygen with this douche is an affront to Mother Nature. It wasn’t like he beat on my sister. Not that she didn’t deserve it, five kids and
each one from a different father and please don’t take this wrong because I’m
not a hater about skin color ( I have friends of all different color
schemes. It is the persons tribe, not
his skin, that I like or dislike ), but two were from Blacks of the worthless
ghetto variety. I think she just did
that to piss off mom and dad, but the joke was on her because they both died in
a car wreck before the little half breeds were spawned so now she drags along a
couple of kids that are like a neon sign on her forehead screaming “I fuck
Negros”. Pardon my French.
A few notes for any future
historian. If you read anything from the
19th century, all you come across are justifications as to why
Blacks are worthless and deserve persecution.
If you read anything from the late 20th or early 21st
century, you only read about how special and deserving but persecuted Blacks
are. If you get a Black from Jamaica or
Brazil, they are just like Whites from the same culture. One burns in the sun worse, being the only
difference. But if you take an American
Black, who was raised in the ghetto ( slums ) culture, you get a person at the
end of a long line of people who refused to assimilate into White culture. Not that you could blame them. But the point is, being two different tribes,
both alien to each other, both hate each other.
Whites don’t hate Blacks because of skin color, and Blacks don’t hate
Whites because of a history of oppression.
They just each hate tribes different than theirs. Most just don’t realize that is the
reason. So, please excuse any future
references here disparaging Blacks, either by me or others. It isn’t racism, it is xenophobia. Which is a perfectly valid survival
mechanism.
So, hating a skank bitch
because she breed outside her tribe is a valid avoidance mechanism. You start absolving that kind of
behavior-mixing the blood between tribes, which can of course sometimes be
based on race, although not always- and soon you are asking for a genocide to
right the problem come a collapse.
Hence, you can kind of guess the worthless mouth breather my sister
would tend to attract. One who is a lazy
bastard. A lying bastard. A shifty, drop-a-dime type. Kind of like those little fuckers who want to
grow up to be cops, join the Explorer Program ( junior pigs ). They go into a retail business, the guys who
look like they have no hair on their dicks and faces full of pimples from
eating deep fried Twinkies, and try to buy a pack of cigarettes. Someone’s grandma, not making it on Social Security
because she has had her rectum yanked out or something and has huge medical
bills, has to work to make ends meet, like paying rent and buying colonoscopy
bags. So Junior Cocksucker does his
sting operation, busts her if she doesn’t ask for identification ( well, slinks
outside to narc her out to real cops ), she ends up with a five hundred dollar
fine, but making minimum wage. They
won’t fire her, because they don’t care how many times she gets busted-she pays
the fine. If she holds up the line, goes
too slow, asking everyone for ID, they find another reason to fire her ( which,
let‘s face it, they decided to do after the first accidental whiff of that bag
). All so some little cunt who wants to
make his chops with the kings sheriff brown shirts gets his “in” to the
organization later after getting some college and going to the Police
Academy. He probably later works for
Vice in a big city department so he can fuck people over, lord over them, get
free drugs and screw prostitutes for free.
That is the kind of little scumbag I’m talking about.
Actually, I’d rather deal with
a cop like that, than my brother in law.
Doug, that’s the creepy little shit, he is crack smoking skinny, looking
as pasty as a Nordic Negro ( White boys who dress and talk ghetto ), plays
video games all day and when it is his turn to talk, you can literally smell
the wheels grind as he struggles to comprehend and respond. Which, of course, means he graduated from
High School. Doug is one stupid
fucktard. What does my sister see in
him? Well, there is the size thirteen
shoes. I mean, you know she is one of
those gals that puts out on a whim, desperately casting about for a sugar
daddy. Her cooch is probably so
stretched out from use, that plus four kids being popped out ( Doug produced
the fifth one ), shit be flopping around in the wind, whistling, any poor
bastard who wants to chance his junk exploding upon entry from a venereal
disease has to strap a two by four on his ass to keep from falling in. She wants to feel anything during sex, she
needs a guy who is unnaturally hung.
Plus, she wants to keep spawning more kids, the cash machine bringing in
more Food Stamps and Section Eight free housing and other federal goodies, she
needs a guy to plant his seed in her.
You can’t match up a small weenkie and a giant twat and expect too much,
procreation wise. You ever try slopping
around in an extra large wet hole? No
friction. And, even if all that is not a
reason, Doug the hung stallion, he does bring in Food Stamps on his own. You know how easy it is to sell those
bastards? Even with the new electronic
debit cards ( which were pushed instead of the paper currency, incidentally, by
the banks wanting a transaction fee every time it was used ), you buy cases of
soda, sell at a discount to a guy who sells at a discount to a Habeeb store.
END PART ONE OF TWO*
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"White boys who dress and talk ghetto"
ReplyDeleteJust to bring you up to speed James, they're called "wiggers" :D
I've used Wiggers before. I was trying to term a new slang.
DeleteGotta be honest, I'm stealing the term "Nordic Negroes". That's just too damn funny
DeleteIt is a much nicer way of saying it than using a modified N Bomb.
DeleteProsperity is what you get when your crop is really good several years in a row, and your children grow up chubby.
ReplyDeletePosterity is something you don't enjoy at all, since you are dead by then.
Just an edit. Door Matt sounds like a fun guy. Practical, with good hair.
pdxr13
You don't happen to remember about what section that is in, do you? I should change that. Read through it several times without it registering.
DeleteParagraph: I’m Matt Smith. ......So, I’m trying to record for prosperity, here. ... No reason to kill myself. End paragraph.
DeleteYou should see the funny stuff that ends up in monthly newsletters of fraternal .org's run by post-literate but pre-WordPerfect (1982?) boomers. The old people are fragile and can't work more than an hour straight but at least they got a decent 8th grade education (better than a modern lit BA). A few 40-something auto-didacts sneak in while avoiding real jobs.
pdxr13
Thanks for the help, much appreciated.
DeleteWas DM's first kill hapless, or helpless? Just trying to get the imaging right.
ReplyDeletepdxr13
I was thinking Helpless, although, again, yours is better.
Delete"Junior Cop-sucker", not Cocksucker, although that might also be the case.
ReplyDeletepdxr13
That's funnier than mine.
Delete