MinnesotaSmith
Membership Revoked
Note the Opsec, prep, and JBT possible countermeasures against patriots.
http://www.rooshv.com/jake-ultra
Jake Ultra
April 30, 2018 Fiction by Roosh
“Fascist scum! Eat sh*t!” A stream of liquid shot onto Jake’s face. His eyes immediately began burning. He shut them tight and collapsed on his knees. “Get back!” the police yelled, off in the distance. Jake felt a hand on his back. “I’m going to get this stuff out, look up.” Something cool poured over his eyes. “Now try to open your eyes so I can wash it out.” Jake opened as best he could, and within a minute the burning subsided enough that he could make out an image of the man standing before him.
“Are you wearing contacts?”
“No,” Jake replied. “But it still stings.”
“It’s going to hurt for a few hours. When you get home, wash your eyes out with some milk.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Franco.” Jake stood up as Franco closed his backpack of medical supplies. He examined Jake’s eyes once more.
“They’re still pretty red. I think they’ve started using some kind of acid instead of regular pepper spray, but if you can see now you should be okay.”
“Man, I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I want to help people on our side.” There was a skirmish off to Franco’s right. A Molotov cocktail was thrown in the middle of a group, lighting a man’s pants on fire.
“Sh*t, I have to go. Take care!”
“Wait, let me buy you a drink or something.”
“DM me on Twitter. My handle is LenaDunhamRapedMe.” Franco ran off while Jake stumbled to safety.
—
Jake washed his eyes out with milk when he got home. As his vision returned to normal, his anger rose. The speaker who came to Portland that day, Julius Callaghan, wasn’t even that conservative. He supported gay marriage and didn’t much care for the traditional ideas that Jake thought was necessary to end America’s decline. If the left successfully shut down Callaghan, how could improvement ever take place?
He fired up his troll account on Twitter, ShlomoGoldsteinberg and sent a message to LenaDunhamRapedMe. After discovering that they only lived twenty minutes away from each other, they arranged to meet two days later at a local pizzeria.
Jake arrived first. He asked for a table in the back and sat facing the front door. Since being attacked, Jake was more paranoid, checking his rear often to see if anyone was following him. A few minutes later, a man with a slight beard and short black hair wearing an ironic t-shirt of an American bald eagle walked in and approached Jake’s table. He was shorter than Jake remembered, with a darker complexion that looked vaguely Mediterranean.
“How are your eyes?” Franco asked.
“They’re fine now, you really saved me. Pizza is on me tonight.” They looked through the menu and decided on a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms and olives.
“What happened after I left?”
“One guy suffered second-degree burns to his leg. The police finally broke it up after that.”
“Those mother****ers!”
Franco glanced at the table behind him, as if telling Jake to calm down. “That’s the pattern,” Franco said. “The police lay off for a while hoping that someone on the right does something stupid or violent. When that doesn’t happen, the police shut down Antifa’s violence before it becomes too obvious that they’re the ones causing all the mayhem.”
“The police and mayor set us up. I don’t believe they’re on the side of these losers.”
“Their sponsors demand it. It’s the people with power who are the problem, not Antifa.”
“What are you suggesting?” Jake wondered, sitting up. For the past two years, he had been stewing alone, reading one story after the next about censorship, political violence, and cultural degeneration. The past was not perfect, he knew, but what was happening in the United States was so depraved that he couldn’t stomach it any longer. The trigger that made him want to attend protests was seeing public libraries and schools allow transsexuals dressed in demonic costumes to read gay books to little children.
President Steel seemed to understand what was going on, but he was too much of a boomer to fix anything beyond economic problems. He cared more about meaningless sideshow victories that rallied his base for a successful re-election than solving the root of the malaise. Jake knew that something drastic had to be done to stop what was happening, but he wasn’t sure what.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Franco replied, lowering his head, “but these speaker events and rallies help them more than it helps us. The left mobilizes too quickly and their institutional allies are too entrenched. They find a way to spin everything in their favor.”
“So why did you go to the rally?”
“Honestly?” Franco paused. “For the action. My life is boring. It’s too easy. I work as a data analyst. There’s no real difficulty. For the past few years I was into PUA, but after a while I got annoyed at the amount of work it takes to be with someone I didn’t really care about. Even money doesn’t interest me. I have what I need.”
“We have no meaning in our lives because we’re connected to a civilization that’s dying,” Jake replied. “We feel all its side effects and tremors. It coughs and we cough along with it. When a civilization is healthy, we feel vigor, strength, pride, and purpose, but when the host body is dying, all of its cells are ready to give up. Philosophies like Stoicism and Taoism were made by men in dying civilizations. Marcus Aurelius wrote Meditations towards the end of the Roman Empire when it was attacked by both barbarians and plague. He tried to help men with no hope, no power.”
“God can help,” Franco said without conviction.
“Not on his own. It still has to happen through us.”
The pizza came. Jake insisted Franco take the first slice. He sensed that Franco had accepted his fate but still held on to a bubbling energy that was begging to be put to use.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Jake asked.
Franco sucked his teeth. “There’s a girl I’m seeing. She’s pretty good, but not the one.”
“Why not?”
“She slept around in order to find herself. She told me she’s been with six guys, so that means she’s been with dozens, probably. All her self-worth is tied into her sexuality. If I f*ck her good she’s happy, but when I’m not around, I suspect she gets anxious and goes to social media to get validated by thirsty betas. She has many guy ‘friends’ as well.”
“That’s a bad sign,” Jake chimed in, remembering his ex-girlfriend. He caught her cheating on him with one of her supposed friends. He hasn’t been with a woman since.
“But she’s fine for now. And you?”
“I got burned by a girl and then I kept seeing her in other girls I would meet. Maybe I should move to a smaller town.”
“Then you have to deal with the obesity.”
“Actually, the reason I asked if you had a girlfriend is because I’m ready to act in a way that a man who is tied down would find difficult.” Jake paused. “Are you white, by the way?”
“My ancestors were Italian. Why?”
“Do you believe in white genocide?”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“I think so, but I had to ask. You saw my Twitter handle so I take it you know where I stand.”
“I don’t identify too much with being white,” Franco said, “but if whites become a minority in the United States, it won’t be the United States any longer. I thought President Steel was going to put a stop to immigration, but it’s still going on, just at a lower level.”
“It’s because of the echoes.”
“The who?”
“The Jews,” Jake said plainly.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure they should get all the blame. A host would not allow a parasite to infect it when healthy. Even if we kick out all the Jews and the illegals today, the story would repeat itself a couple decades later with some other group.”
“But you have to agree that in 1965, when the immigration act was passed, whites didn’t know what the agenda of the echoes were. If we red pill whites now, and they refuse the pill and cuck themselves into oblivion, I would not be upset and agree that the sun is being set on them while shining bright on the black and brown races, but if we tell the white man he’s infected, I’m confident he will remove the parasite from his body.”
“Are you sure the host is not so weakened that he can still put up strong resistance?” Franco asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Jake didn’t wait for Franco’s answer. “Look, this is not a good place to talk. Let’s settle the bill and go in my car.” He waved the waitress over. “Pizza is on me. Thanks again for dousing my eyes out.”
After the bill was paid, Jake led Franco to his car parked outside. “Put your phone in this bag,” he said. Franco did so and Jake added his phone. He put the bag underneath the car. They got in and closed the door.
“What you’re about to tell me is certainly illegal,” Franco said, nervously.
Jake laughed. “I have no specific plan in mind, but I want to develop one.” He turned on his satellite radio to an oldies station that was playing the end of Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. “How can we fix the problems of this country?”
“That’s a hard question.” Franco crossed his hands on his lap. “There are a lot of moving parts and variables, all interfacing with each other.”
“But what is the biggest problem?”
“The government. They are either the origin of the most severe problems, like with immigration, or the enablers, like with culture. If you could magically transform government, things could be improved.”
“But we can’t just storm on Washington,” Jake said. “Any kind of armed revolt would fail.”
“A large rebel force would be needed to take Washington, but before it got strong enough, the FBI and DEA would infiltrate it thoroughly and clamp down before the decisive action. That sort of idea should be off the table since the government’s counter-intelligence apparatus is too strong. Instead of attacking the government directly, we could go after their source of power.”
“The Jews?”
“No, the people.”
Nothing really matters, anyone can see
Nothing really matters
Nothing really matters to me
Any way the wind blows
“This type of defeatism is bullshit,” Jake said, referring to the song. “It’s no accident they want everyone thinking that nothing matters and there’s no way to make a change. History is filled with men who made a difference and improved their countries.”
“Well, what’s improvement to us would be a catastrophe to a liberal, especially if those liberals are killed during our improvement.” The next song was American Pie by Don McLean.
“You get my point,” Jake conceded, not wanting Franco to get off track. “You were saying about the government’s source of power…”
“It’s from the people. If everyone in the United States said the Federal government was illegitimate, and they stopped paying taxes or following laws, the system would collapse overnight. It will never happen that all citizens remove their consent to be governed, but if 15% do, it’s the beginning of the end, especially if a small minority of that 15% are willing to use violence. The question is therefore not how to overthrow the government, but how to get at least 15% of the population to want to overthrow the government.”
“And you know how to get 15% of the population to want to overthrow the government?”
Franco smirked.
So bye, bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey ‘n rye
Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die
“Well go on.”
“What do citizens want most of all from a government?”
“Safety, security, comfort,” Jake replied.
“Exactly. They give the government consent to rule over them in exchange for protection to live with a feeling of freedom. If that protection is removed, especially suddenly instead of gradually, I think you’ll hit the 15%.”
“So like if a foreign country invades America and starts killing everybody?”
“No, because that would rally people to side of the government to expel the foreign invaders. It would have to be something where the lack of protection comes from government incompetence or apathy. Citizens must start seeing the government as the enemy and then rally to expel it. Think of how terrorist attacks are helpful to the government. Presidential approval ratings always go up after them. Do you remember Hurricane Lateisha?”
“Yeah, it killed like over 1,000 black people.”
“And a lot of blacks around the country were pissed, but they’re only 13% of the population. Now how about if you piss off whites, who are 60% of the population?”
A white couple walked out of the pizzeria, holding hands. Jake asked aloud, “How could I make those two hate the government enough that they would want to overthrow them?”
“They don’t make songs like this anymore,” Franco said. “It’s like ten minutes long.”
“I only listen to oldies. New music is propaganda. They put a degenerate message in the song, make it catchy as hell, and next thing you know all you want to do is pop pills and **** random people.”
“Funny, I used to listen to rap songs before going out to meet women. It would get me in the mood.”
And in the streets, the children screamed
The lovers cried and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
“I presume you know exactly how to get white people to revolt,” Jake said, hopefully.
“No, I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Jake tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, humming to the end of the song. “The other week I was watching a video about the EMP bomb, which is just a nuclear bomb that is detonated high up in the atmosphere. It doesn’t kill anyone, but it knocks out all electronics, electricity, everything. It sends a huge region right back into the stone age, and it could take years to get things back up again, but the most interesting part was that after just a few days of no electricity, the population descends into a panic of looting, theft, and pure chaos. Cannibalism is possible within only a month. Can you imagine what people would do if they had no lighting, internet, or transportation for a couple of weeks, with no hope of it coming back?
They would channel all their desperation and anger at the government for not keeping the lights on, a simple thing that even sh*thole third-world nations like Haiti can manage.” Jake stood up in his seat, his mind buzzing. “And how about if we can pin the loss of electricity on a group of people that whites already know are a problem?”
“Black people,” Franco said.
“No, because then the narrative will revert back to solely being a race issue that the media knows how to expertly control.”
“Definitely not the Muslims,” Franco added. “If it looks like Islamic terrorism, that will just rally whites to the government.”
There was a long silence. “The Mexicans!” Jake said. Whites voted for Steel because they want stronger border control with Mexico. If those immigrants were shown to be the cause of a drastic and sudden decrease in their standard of living, they’d lose their shit.”
“Like in a false flag attack?” Franco asked.
“Yes. We take out the electricity in several white cities and make it seem like Mexican gangs are doing it. The whites will wake up, and then we count the days until the government is finished.” The next song was Dust In The Wind by Kansas.
“How do we take out electricity?”
“We fire on transformers. It can’t be that hard. It’s not like they’re heavily guarded.”
“And how do we frame the Mexicans?”
“That will be harder,” Jake replied, tightening his mouth. “We could pin it on the drug gang MS-13. They’re so mad at Steel’s deportations that they decided to retaliate against white cities.”
“The problem is that even if we leave empty tequila bottles everywhere, the government won’t share the evidence, and the media won’t report on it. You remember what they did in Reno with that mass shooting?”
“Dude, we don’t need the government or media to spread our narrative. We take the pictures ourselves and forward it to journalist e-celebs on Twitter. They’ll publish it in a second, and maybe Truth Report will feature it. We only need to plant the seed that Mexicans and MS-13 hate whites and that the government is allowing it to happen.”
“Technically, MS-13 are El Salvadoran,” Franco corrected.
“Sure, whatever. F*ck, I think this would actually work. Target four Midwestern cities, take out their electricity, feed a MS-13 revenge narrative to the internet, and watch the government respond with incompetence. A huge increase in whites will resent the government for not protecting them. They’ll start to resist.”
“It’s a nice fantasy.” Franco nodded his head.
Jake ducked his head under Franco’s field of vision. “What do you mean, fantasy? We can do it.” Franco’s eyes opened wide.
Same old song, just a drop of water
In an endless sea
All we do crumbles to the ground
Though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Jake turned off the radio. “First of all,” he started, “I’m not a Fed. Shit, I can give you my social security number if you want, and I can show you what I do for work. Second, if not us, then who? How many times have you seen someone on Twitter posting ‘Make it stop’ to the newest travesty? If there is a God, He doesn’t make it stop directly but gives power to us to do what needs to be done.”
“We might get caught,” Franco countered.
“And what’s the alternative? Watching it get worse year after year, waiting like cowards for someone else to do what we should be doing right now? And so what if we get caught? In a few years, you won’t be free anyway. Already you can’t say what you think. If you ever have children, they won’t remain yours. Either your wife takes them away with authority of the state or you’ll be labeled a child abuser if you don’t let you son wear makeup and be molested by trannies. So you’ll lose your entertainment and your freedom to be a coward… big deal.”
“I don’t know.”
“We won’t get caught. We won’t be like the idiots who do rallies and put a target on our backs.”
“I have a family,” Franco protested.
“Okay, tell me about your family.”
“I have parents and a sister.”
“Let me guess, your parents are concerned about your far-right views, and would be the first to forsake you if you ever get written up in the media, and your sister is lost, riding the cock carousel because she thinks it make her feel empowered, no offense.” Franco looked down.
Jake continued, “I’m estranged from my father. He watches too much news on TV and now they have his mind. My mom thinks I’m some kind of misogynist because I dared to tell her that I won’t marry a whore, and my brother is married to a fat pig that controls his life. I love them because they’re blood, but… I feel like they were taken away from me.”
“How will cutting out the power in these cities help with that?”
“It’ll force their hand. Right now whites are coasting along from the past success of their ancestors, but when the conflict comes, they’ll be forced to see the liberal faggots on one hand, pozzed out to the max with whatever mystery meat they’re jamming into the blue states, and the so-called racist white man on the other, who shows that he actually cares about the future of this country. If our blood chooses poz and disowns us then so be it, but let’s push them towards a decision instead of just allowing them to ride the social justice meme because they think it makes them a good person.”
“This is crazy. My brain is trying to come up with objections, but other than the fear of going to jail, I don’t know what to say.”
“I could tell you wanted to take action. You went to Julius’ event as a medic to make a difference for those who wanted to fight back. You made a difference for me, and probably saved my eyesight. Now together we can do what you did at that event, times ten-thousand. Deep down, you know it’s worth trying. We’ll structure the plan to lower the chances of getting caught, and won’t go through with it unless you’re absolutely sure the risk is at a minimum. And you have less to lose than you think. The wheel of history is turning.” Jake made large circular motions with his right hand, almost hitting Franco in the face. “Either we get crushed by it or steer its direction ourselves. It’s obvious that no one else will do it.”
“And you’re not a Fed?” Franco asked.
“Bro, if I was a Fed, I would organize a ‘free speech’ rally at a liberal university, tell our guys to bring ‘self-defense’ weapons, and make sure the media knows the exact time and place. Though Feds sometimes do snag lone-wolf terrorists. They give them the bomb-making materials and then stop the plot at the last…” Jake paused. “I probably shouldn’t have said that last bit!” He laughed and playfully slapped Franco’s arm.
“I want to see everything. Your birth certificate, your apartment, your resume…”
“Whatever you want. Shit, you can even call my previous employers. I’m just an IT guy, doing freelance work right now. I’ll even show you my most recent credit reports.”
“Do you have guns?”
“I have three rifles and a handgun. And you?”
“I have a rifle, but my aim isn’t so great.”
Jake took a deep breath, humming on the exhale. “We’ve gone over a lot for one night. Meeting you was important. You helped me connect some dots. Let’s meet again in a few days.”
“We can meet at your apartment next time so I can check your details. Even though I’m going forward with this, I have the right to withdraw at any time.”
“Of course. Unless you’re 100% sold on the plan, you don’t have to do it. Oh and one more thing… don’t tell anyone about this, especially your girlfriend. Plans like this can only get foiled if we start telling those close to us.”
They shook hands. Jake then retrieved the bag under the car and handed off Franco’s phone before saying goodbye.
Alone, neither man could conduct an operation of this scale, but together there was a synergy that made what they were about to do seem reasonable. It was clear why the elites were so hellbent on shutting down events that were hardly organized, especially the worldwide meetups of masculinity writer Burt Babak, who almost got killed when trying to set up happy hours for his followers.
Jake went to bed that night wondering if being helped by Franco was destined. Getting maced in the eyes is a small price to pay if it leads to meeting someone who can help you change the world.
—
Things progressed over the next few weeks. Franco was dutiful in checking Jake’s information, confirming that he had no criminal background or affiliations with the government. They began researching electrical substations and discovered that it was trivial to take them offline. All they had to do was shoot through cheap wire fencing at the big transformer blocks and keep shooting until the power of that station went out. They learned that a group had successfully done this several years back, and promisingly, they weren’t caught, because the station didn’t even have surveillance cameras at the time.
While nibbling on the plan here and there, they improved their shooting by rotating among several gun ranges in the Portland exurbs. At a distance of 100 yards, Jake was a far better shot, but Franco improved enough to where he could hit the target at least half of the time. It was clear that Jake would be the primary shooter and Franco would handle the ammo, serve as the lookout, and assist if there was a gun malfunction.
http://www.rooshv.com/jake-ultra
Jake Ultra
April 30, 2018 Fiction by Roosh
“Fascist scum! Eat sh*t!” A stream of liquid shot onto Jake’s face. His eyes immediately began burning. He shut them tight and collapsed on his knees. “Get back!” the police yelled, off in the distance. Jake felt a hand on his back. “I’m going to get this stuff out, look up.” Something cool poured over his eyes. “Now try to open your eyes so I can wash it out.” Jake opened as best he could, and within a minute the burning subsided enough that he could make out an image of the man standing before him.
“Are you wearing contacts?”
“No,” Jake replied. “But it still stings.”
“It’s going to hurt for a few hours. When you get home, wash your eyes out with some milk.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Franco.” Jake stood up as Franco closed his backpack of medical supplies. He examined Jake’s eyes once more.
“They’re still pretty red. I think they’ve started using some kind of acid instead of regular pepper spray, but if you can see now you should be okay.”
“Man, I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I want to help people on our side.” There was a skirmish off to Franco’s right. A Molotov cocktail was thrown in the middle of a group, lighting a man’s pants on fire.
“Sh*t, I have to go. Take care!”
“Wait, let me buy you a drink or something.”
“DM me on Twitter. My handle is LenaDunhamRapedMe.” Franco ran off while Jake stumbled to safety.
—
Jake washed his eyes out with milk when he got home. As his vision returned to normal, his anger rose. The speaker who came to Portland that day, Julius Callaghan, wasn’t even that conservative. He supported gay marriage and didn’t much care for the traditional ideas that Jake thought was necessary to end America’s decline. If the left successfully shut down Callaghan, how could improvement ever take place?
He fired up his troll account on Twitter, ShlomoGoldsteinberg and sent a message to LenaDunhamRapedMe. After discovering that they only lived twenty minutes away from each other, they arranged to meet two days later at a local pizzeria.
Jake arrived first. He asked for a table in the back and sat facing the front door. Since being attacked, Jake was more paranoid, checking his rear often to see if anyone was following him. A few minutes later, a man with a slight beard and short black hair wearing an ironic t-shirt of an American bald eagle walked in and approached Jake’s table. He was shorter than Jake remembered, with a darker complexion that looked vaguely Mediterranean.
“How are your eyes?” Franco asked.
“They’re fine now, you really saved me. Pizza is on me tonight.” They looked through the menu and decided on a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms and olives.
“What happened after I left?”
“One guy suffered second-degree burns to his leg. The police finally broke it up after that.”
“Those mother****ers!”
Franco glanced at the table behind him, as if telling Jake to calm down. “That’s the pattern,” Franco said. “The police lay off for a while hoping that someone on the right does something stupid or violent. When that doesn’t happen, the police shut down Antifa’s violence before it becomes too obvious that they’re the ones causing all the mayhem.”
“The police and mayor set us up. I don’t believe they’re on the side of these losers.”
“Their sponsors demand it. It’s the people with power who are the problem, not Antifa.”
“What are you suggesting?” Jake wondered, sitting up. For the past two years, he had been stewing alone, reading one story after the next about censorship, political violence, and cultural degeneration. The past was not perfect, he knew, but what was happening in the United States was so depraved that he couldn’t stomach it any longer. The trigger that made him want to attend protests was seeing public libraries and schools allow transsexuals dressed in demonic costumes to read gay books to little children.
President Steel seemed to understand what was going on, but he was too much of a boomer to fix anything beyond economic problems. He cared more about meaningless sideshow victories that rallied his base for a successful re-election than solving the root of the malaise. Jake knew that something drastic had to be done to stop what was happening, but he wasn’t sure what.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Franco replied, lowering his head, “but these speaker events and rallies help them more than it helps us. The left mobilizes too quickly and their institutional allies are too entrenched. They find a way to spin everything in their favor.”
“So why did you go to the rally?”
“Honestly?” Franco paused. “For the action. My life is boring. It’s too easy. I work as a data analyst. There’s no real difficulty. For the past few years I was into PUA, but after a while I got annoyed at the amount of work it takes to be with someone I didn’t really care about. Even money doesn’t interest me. I have what I need.”
“We have no meaning in our lives because we’re connected to a civilization that’s dying,” Jake replied. “We feel all its side effects and tremors. It coughs and we cough along with it. When a civilization is healthy, we feel vigor, strength, pride, and purpose, but when the host body is dying, all of its cells are ready to give up. Philosophies like Stoicism and Taoism were made by men in dying civilizations. Marcus Aurelius wrote Meditations towards the end of the Roman Empire when it was attacked by both barbarians and plague. He tried to help men with no hope, no power.”
“God can help,” Franco said without conviction.
“Not on his own. It still has to happen through us.”
The pizza came. Jake insisted Franco take the first slice. He sensed that Franco had accepted his fate but still held on to a bubbling energy that was begging to be put to use.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Jake asked.
Franco sucked his teeth. “There’s a girl I’m seeing. She’s pretty good, but not the one.”
“Why not?”
“She slept around in order to find herself. She told me she’s been with six guys, so that means she’s been with dozens, probably. All her self-worth is tied into her sexuality. If I f*ck her good she’s happy, but when I’m not around, I suspect she gets anxious and goes to social media to get validated by thirsty betas. She has many guy ‘friends’ as well.”
“That’s a bad sign,” Jake chimed in, remembering his ex-girlfriend. He caught her cheating on him with one of her supposed friends. He hasn’t been with a woman since.
“But she’s fine for now. And you?”
“I got burned by a girl and then I kept seeing her in other girls I would meet. Maybe I should move to a smaller town.”
“Then you have to deal with the obesity.”
“Actually, the reason I asked if you had a girlfriend is because I’m ready to act in a way that a man who is tied down would find difficult.” Jake paused. “Are you white, by the way?”
“My ancestors were Italian. Why?”
“Do you believe in white genocide?”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“I think so, but I had to ask. You saw my Twitter handle so I take it you know where I stand.”
“I don’t identify too much with being white,” Franco said, “but if whites become a minority in the United States, it won’t be the United States any longer. I thought President Steel was going to put a stop to immigration, but it’s still going on, just at a lower level.”
“It’s because of the echoes.”
“The who?”
“The Jews,” Jake said plainly.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure they should get all the blame. A host would not allow a parasite to infect it when healthy. Even if we kick out all the Jews and the illegals today, the story would repeat itself a couple decades later with some other group.”
“But you have to agree that in 1965, when the immigration act was passed, whites didn’t know what the agenda of the echoes were. If we red pill whites now, and they refuse the pill and cuck themselves into oblivion, I would not be upset and agree that the sun is being set on them while shining bright on the black and brown races, but if we tell the white man he’s infected, I’m confident he will remove the parasite from his body.”
“Are you sure the host is not so weakened that he can still put up strong resistance?” Franco asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Jake didn’t wait for Franco’s answer. “Look, this is not a good place to talk. Let’s settle the bill and go in my car.” He waved the waitress over. “Pizza is on me. Thanks again for dousing my eyes out.”
After the bill was paid, Jake led Franco to his car parked outside. “Put your phone in this bag,” he said. Franco did so and Jake added his phone. He put the bag underneath the car. They got in and closed the door.
“What you’re about to tell me is certainly illegal,” Franco said, nervously.
Jake laughed. “I have no specific plan in mind, but I want to develop one.” He turned on his satellite radio to an oldies station that was playing the end of Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. “How can we fix the problems of this country?”
“That’s a hard question.” Franco crossed his hands on his lap. “There are a lot of moving parts and variables, all interfacing with each other.”
“But what is the biggest problem?”
“The government. They are either the origin of the most severe problems, like with immigration, or the enablers, like with culture. If you could magically transform government, things could be improved.”
“But we can’t just storm on Washington,” Jake said. “Any kind of armed revolt would fail.”
“A large rebel force would be needed to take Washington, but before it got strong enough, the FBI and DEA would infiltrate it thoroughly and clamp down before the decisive action. That sort of idea should be off the table since the government’s counter-intelligence apparatus is too strong. Instead of attacking the government directly, we could go after their source of power.”
“The Jews?”
“No, the people.”
Nothing really matters, anyone can see
Nothing really matters
Nothing really matters to me
Any way the wind blows
“This type of defeatism is bullshit,” Jake said, referring to the song. “It’s no accident they want everyone thinking that nothing matters and there’s no way to make a change. History is filled with men who made a difference and improved their countries.”
“Well, what’s improvement to us would be a catastrophe to a liberal, especially if those liberals are killed during our improvement.” The next song was American Pie by Don McLean.
“You get my point,” Jake conceded, not wanting Franco to get off track. “You were saying about the government’s source of power…”
“It’s from the people. If everyone in the United States said the Federal government was illegitimate, and they stopped paying taxes or following laws, the system would collapse overnight. It will never happen that all citizens remove their consent to be governed, but if 15% do, it’s the beginning of the end, especially if a small minority of that 15% are willing to use violence. The question is therefore not how to overthrow the government, but how to get at least 15% of the population to want to overthrow the government.”
“And you know how to get 15% of the population to want to overthrow the government?”
Franco smirked.
So bye, bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey ‘n rye
Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die
“Well go on.”
“What do citizens want most of all from a government?”
“Safety, security, comfort,” Jake replied.
“Exactly. They give the government consent to rule over them in exchange for protection to live with a feeling of freedom. If that protection is removed, especially suddenly instead of gradually, I think you’ll hit the 15%.”
“So like if a foreign country invades America and starts killing everybody?”
“No, because that would rally people to side of the government to expel the foreign invaders. It would have to be something where the lack of protection comes from government incompetence or apathy. Citizens must start seeing the government as the enemy and then rally to expel it. Think of how terrorist attacks are helpful to the government. Presidential approval ratings always go up after them. Do you remember Hurricane Lateisha?”
“Yeah, it killed like over 1,000 black people.”
“And a lot of blacks around the country were pissed, but they’re only 13% of the population. Now how about if you piss off whites, who are 60% of the population?”
A white couple walked out of the pizzeria, holding hands. Jake asked aloud, “How could I make those two hate the government enough that they would want to overthrow them?”
“They don’t make songs like this anymore,” Franco said. “It’s like ten minutes long.”
“I only listen to oldies. New music is propaganda. They put a degenerate message in the song, make it catchy as hell, and next thing you know all you want to do is pop pills and **** random people.”
“Funny, I used to listen to rap songs before going out to meet women. It would get me in the mood.”
And in the streets, the children screamed
The lovers cried and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
“I presume you know exactly how to get white people to revolt,” Jake said, hopefully.
“No, I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Jake tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, humming to the end of the song. “The other week I was watching a video about the EMP bomb, which is just a nuclear bomb that is detonated high up in the atmosphere. It doesn’t kill anyone, but it knocks out all electronics, electricity, everything. It sends a huge region right back into the stone age, and it could take years to get things back up again, but the most interesting part was that after just a few days of no electricity, the population descends into a panic of looting, theft, and pure chaos. Cannibalism is possible within only a month. Can you imagine what people would do if they had no lighting, internet, or transportation for a couple of weeks, with no hope of it coming back?
They would channel all their desperation and anger at the government for not keeping the lights on, a simple thing that even sh*thole third-world nations like Haiti can manage.” Jake stood up in his seat, his mind buzzing. “And how about if we can pin the loss of electricity on a group of people that whites already know are a problem?”
“Black people,” Franco said.
“No, because then the narrative will revert back to solely being a race issue that the media knows how to expertly control.”
“Definitely not the Muslims,” Franco added. “If it looks like Islamic terrorism, that will just rally whites to the government.”
There was a long silence. “The Mexicans!” Jake said. Whites voted for Steel because they want stronger border control with Mexico. If those immigrants were shown to be the cause of a drastic and sudden decrease in their standard of living, they’d lose their shit.”
“Like in a false flag attack?” Franco asked.
“Yes. We take out the electricity in several white cities and make it seem like Mexican gangs are doing it. The whites will wake up, and then we count the days until the government is finished.” The next song was Dust In The Wind by Kansas.
“How do we take out electricity?”
“We fire on transformers. It can’t be that hard. It’s not like they’re heavily guarded.”
“And how do we frame the Mexicans?”
“That will be harder,” Jake replied, tightening his mouth. “We could pin it on the drug gang MS-13. They’re so mad at Steel’s deportations that they decided to retaliate against white cities.”
“The problem is that even if we leave empty tequila bottles everywhere, the government won’t share the evidence, and the media won’t report on it. You remember what they did in Reno with that mass shooting?”
“Dude, we don’t need the government or media to spread our narrative. We take the pictures ourselves and forward it to journalist e-celebs on Twitter. They’ll publish it in a second, and maybe Truth Report will feature it. We only need to plant the seed that Mexicans and MS-13 hate whites and that the government is allowing it to happen.”
“Technically, MS-13 are El Salvadoran,” Franco corrected.
“Sure, whatever. F*ck, I think this would actually work. Target four Midwestern cities, take out their electricity, feed a MS-13 revenge narrative to the internet, and watch the government respond with incompetence. A huge increase in whites will resent the government for not protecting them. They’ll start to resist.”
“It’s a nice fantasy.” Franco nodded his head.
Jake ducked his head under Franco’s field of vision. “What do you mean, fantasy? We can do it.” Franco’s eyes opened wide.
Same old song, just a drop of water
In an endless sea
All we do crumbles to the ground
Though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Jake turned off the radio. “First of all,” he started, “I’m not a Fed. Shit, I can give you my social security number if you want, and I can show you what I do for work. Second, if not us, then who? How many times have you seen someone on Twitter posting ‘Make it stop’ to the newest travesty? If there is a God, He doesn’t make it stop directly but gives power to us to do what needs to be done.”
“We might get caught,” Franco countered.
“And what’s the alternative? Watching it get worse year after year, waiting like cowards for someone else to do what we should be doing right now? And so what if we get caught? In a few years, you won’t be free anyway. Already you can’t say what you think. If you ever have children, they won’t remain yours. Either your wife takes them away with authority of the state or you’ll be labeled a child abuser if you don’t let you son wear makeup and be molested by trannies. So you’ll lose your entertainment and your freedom to be a coward… big deal.”
“I don’t know.”
“We won’t get caught. We won’t be like the idiots who do rallies and put a target on our backs.”
“I have a family,” Franco protested.
“Okay, tell me about your family.”
“I have parents and a sister.”
“Let me guess, your parents are concerned about your far-right views, and would be the first to forsake you if you ever get written up in the media, and your sister is lost, riding the cock carousel because she thinks it make her feel empowered, no offense.” Franco looked down.
Jake continued, “I’m estranged from my father. He watches too much news on TV and now they have his mind. My mom thinks I’m some kind of misogynist because I dared to tell her that I won’t marry a whore, and my brother is married to a fat pig that controls his life. I love them because they’re blood, but… I feel like they were taken away from me.”
“How will cutting out the power in these cities help with that?”
“It’ll force their hand. Right now whites are coasting along from the past success of their ancestors, but when the conflict comes, they’ll be forced to see the liberal faggots on one hand, pozzed out to the max with whatever mystery meat they’re jamming into the blue states, and the so-called racist white man on the other, who shows that he actually cares about the future of this country. If our blood chooses poz and disowns us then so be it, but let’s push them towards a decision instead of just allowing them to ride the social justice meme because they think it makes them a good person.”
“This is crazy. My brain is trying to come up with objections, but other than the fear of going to jail, I don’t know what to say.”
“I could tell you wanted to take action. You went to Julius’ event as a medic to make a difference for those who wanted to fight back. You made a difference for me, and probably saved my eyesight. Now together we can do what you did at that event, times ten-thousand. Deep down, you know it’s worth trying. We’ll structure the plan to lower the chances of getting caught, and won’t go through with it unless you’re absolutely sure the risk is at a minimum. And you have less to lose than you think. The wheel of history is turning.” Jake made large circular motions with his right hand, almost hitting Franco in the face. “Either we get crushed by it or steer its direction ourselves. It’s obvious that no one else will do it.”
“And you’re not a Fed?” Franco asked.
“Bro, if I was a Fed, I would organize a ‘free speech’ rally at a liberal university, tell our guys to bring ‘self-defense’ weapons, and make sure the media knows the exact time and place. Though Feds sometimes do snag lone-wolf terrorists. They give them the bomb-making materials and then stop the plot at the last…” Jake paused. “I probably shouldn’t have said that last bit!” He laughed and playfully slapped Franco’s arm.
“I want to see everything. Your birth certificate, your apartment, your resume…”
“Whatever you want. Shit, you can even call my previous employers. I’m just an IT guy, doing freelance work right now. I’ll even show you my most recent credit reports.”
“Do you have guns?”
“I have three rifles and a handgun. And you?”
“I have a rifle, but my aim isn’t so great.”
Jake took a deep breath, humming on the exhale. “We’ve gone over a lot for one night. Meeting you was important. You helped me connect some dots. Let’s meet again in a few days.”
“We can meet at your apartment next time so I can check your details. Even though I’m going forward with this, I have the right to withdraw at any time.”
“Of course. Unless you’re 100% sold on the plan, you don’t have to do it. Oh and one more thing… don’t tell anyone about this, especially your girlfriend. Plans like this can only get foiled if we start telling those close to us.”
They shook hands. Jake then retrieved the bag under the car and handed off Franco’s phone before saying goodbye.
Alone, neither man could conduct an operation of this scale, but together there was a synergy that made what they were about to do seem reasonable. It was clear why the elites were so hellbent on shutting down events that were hardly organized, especially the worldwide meetups of masculinity writer Burt Babak, who almost got killed when trying to set up happy hours for his followers.
Jake went to bed that night wondering if being helped by Franco was destined. Getting maced in the eyes is a small price to pay if it leads to meeting someone who can help you change the world.
—
Things progressed over the next few weeks. Franco was dutiful in checking Jake’s information, confirming that he had no criminal background or affiliations with the government. They began researching electrical substations and discovered that it was trivial to take them offline. All they had to do was shoot through cheap wire fencing at the big transformer blocks and keep shooting until the power of that station went out. They learned that a group had successfully done this several years back, and promisingly, they weren’t caught, because the station didn’t even have surveillance cameras at the time.
While nibbling on the plan here and there, they improved their shooting by rotating among several gun ranges in the Portland exurbs. At a distance of 100 yards, Jake was a far better shot, but Franco improved enough to where he could hit the target at least half of the time. It was clear that Jake would be the primary shooter and Franco would handle the ammo, serve as the lookout, and assist if there was a gun malfunction.