West Tyrone Ógra Shinn Féin 'not deterred'

by -iosaf Fri Apr 13, 2007 18:28

disguise! change the wooly caps. Look over your shoulder every time you go to the shop and check you're not being followed by a screwdriver wiedling skinhead. I'm always amazed that the generally thick as bottled shite / cryptosporidium C18 fash type shows such a propensity for recognition of the enemy . Can you imagine it?

no?

Oh go on then. I'll deploy my magical powers of description to help you picture the scene.

Little Adolf (his user name on the chat site) is at home not much to do, feeling frustrated because he doesn't have enough money to qualify for a credit card thus can't buy his own SS dagger on hte internet & has to make do with a Dixie Confederate cap which he got off a stall at the back of the only hate gig he's ever managed to go to - & well to be honest didn't really enjoy. (being a clumsy sod he bumped into a chap from the rival hammer & skins lot at the bar and spillt his can of lager & still has 5 stitches on his face as a consequence). He's sworn more than once his allegiance to the 4th reich by pricking his thumb with a disposable razor that he will maintain the purity of his race - & so since he lives in Bradford is a bit short on people to hang out with. What can he do? All evening he's re-arranged his flags pinned to the wall, admired his photos, had a wank or three & still can't convince himself that Eva Braun was really that nice looking every time his sphincter begins to clench for some reason he thinks about the cute girl at the end of the terrace who though she speaks fluent Bradfordian like him had a granny from Amritsar.
He feels dirty, unworthy, insecure in the struggle. He considers melting down his collection of tin crusader knight models and trying to make a pipe bomb from bangers for the umpteenth time.... or a SS dagger... At last before his little ego crashes down - he realises what he must do.

He logs onto the site - and memorises photos of people with short hair and long hair from Tyrone, London, Glasgow, Barcelona, New York & once he's sure he'd spot 100 reds, fenians, jews, queers or darkies in a crowd can finally take off his boots (which are beginning to pinch now - he's still a growing lad) and arrange his white laces in the sign of the swastika, does his last round of press-ups and sit-ups (an ubermensch must be fit at all times) and gets into bed. Just as he's drifting off he feels that coil in his loins tighten again - & the image of his neighbour as she turns the corner out of sight of her parents' house and takes off her veil to reveal that sexy made over face comes to his inner eye.

Oh well. Tomorrow he'll move on to memorising addresses. this will stand him in good stead should he ever try and get a job. The only job. Private security guard. Since he robbed that little old lady for the boot money - he's not getting into the pigs.


Remember your security & take sensible precautions.
Neither overestimate nor underestimate those who want to think you are their enemy.