QUEER AND PHONY MARRIAGE-HATRED DOES NOT WIN:

There was a surge in the force last Tuesday. It was an angry surge. Now, is not a good time to be a Monkey Judge, shopping for sex toys in San Francisco.
Butt then again, with ten faggots servicing each one of their orifices, twenty four hours a day -- what Federal Monkey Judge (less-supreme-than-anyone-else) has got the time? To leave the celebration party, and go shopping?


*************************


My question is ...
where are the piles of dead Humans that the 'Queers' want to burn?


Where are the heaps of dead Human bodies that the Demos/Homos/Modos want to urinate on?


Where is the Real Human Marriage? That all 'Queers' want to kill dead, with phony laws and queered rulings from Sodomite Monkey Judges, and Queered Politicians?


Answer: Alive and Well -- Thank You Very Much. In fact, because of this attempt by the 'Queers' to kill Real Human Marriage (with Queer and Phony Marriage-Hatred) -- the Genuine Marriage of the Humans is becoming better and stronger all of the time.


Adversity breeds Strength and Character. Only fools and idiots and slaves are destroyed by the Queer Propaganda mechanism of Q&PMH.


The secondary reason for this Sodo/Modo/Demo marriage fakery (and you are about to learn about the 'ModoRat Connection'); which is to show that the 'Queers' have complete mastery over the cheating and lying Democrat/Homosexuals, and the backstabbing and feinting Homosexual/Moderates -- has already been defeated.


Everyone knows now, that the Homosexual/Democrats and the Moderate/Homosexuals are nothing more than vermin. So, their value as deceivers, twisters and perverters of the Human Species has vanished. Thus, ruining the secondary purpose of Queer and Phony Marriage-Hatred.


That does not mean that we can ease up on our Resistance to this terrible plan by the Queer Propagandists, to kill Real Marriage and trick our children into becoming 'Queers'.


NO ONE IS BORN QUEER.


QUEERS ARE MADE -- NEVER BORN!!!!


And, the odious little Devil/Moderate called 'Il Duce Branstad' knows that, as much as we do. So ... what is that butt-ugly little scumbag doing these days? Besides, being the Nasty Little Neuter Maker that it was ordered to be, by the 'Queers'?


Why -- it's pretending! It's pretending that Human Children, that were sexually abused and horribly brainwashed, and totally confused by Queer Attackers, are now the 'Queer Youth'! The Queer Youth, that according to Queer Propaganda, needs to be told by a Puppet Governor that they are now the 'Acceptable Queer Youth'. Raped, Sodomized and Brain-fornicated.


This is supposed to finally convince them, that what was done to them is acceptable and condoned by a POS Neutered Puppet, from Hell. Then, all of the Middle Managers, and all of the Demented White Females (DWC), and all of the hideous NEA Teachers, and all of the Queered Parents -- who killed the Humanity in those children to begin with -- can tell their victims that it is alright and socially acceptable to be THEIR LIVING DEAD VICTIMS!!!!


THAT grotesque event is called 'The Iowa Governor's Conference on (Victims of Queers)', and it is happening soon. With 'Il Duce Branstad' -- the Neuter Maker, in grand attendance.


http://www.thefamilyleader.com/branstad-surrenders-to-lgbtq


It is literally a Hog-Killing of already molested, programmed and raped children. Committed by 'Il Duce Branstad' -- the Neuter Maker to please all of the Queer Masters of the SQLD.


For more about this, please see the section below entitled -- 'Queer Murder Tries To Fake It Again'. Bear in mind, these attacks against our children are coming from the Abortion Monsters themselves, so it is not surprising that they are trying to queer any Human Children that they missed with abortions.


IF you can see, that all of this filth and child rape is nothing more than an attempt to extend their Bubble of Lies onto yet another horrible plan of the so-called Homosexual Agenda, by giving it a pretense of legitimacy -- AND you can see that the vile SQLD operates like a Blob of Death and Dementia, that will ooze over and smother anything that does not fight against it's hideous lies and evil intentions -- THEN you are seeing the Truth.


*************************


Donating to Humanity:
Personally, I continue my work of course. I have also just donated $200 to the Human Organization that is fighting Queer and Phony Marriage-Hatred. They are called the National Organization for Marriage, and they are trying to stop the queer "Coup d'etat" that the Homosexual/Democrats in Demo-California are trying to commit, to kill off the Humans of the Real California.


http://www.nationformarriage.org/Prop8?msource=EB120208DANT
This is the website for donations to the National Organization for Marriage, that is defending all Real Humans here in America.


I am going to continue to donate whatever I can to their efforts, because I realize just how important it is to stop this Queer Attempt to gain control of the political apparatus of every state in America.


In the queer world of DemoTopia, and the Ninth Circuit Monkey Court (of only three less-supreme-than-anyone-else ASSH***S!) ...

[[ one of which doesn't want to be an asshole any more ]]


Human votes do not count. Only Queer Approved and Monkey Sanctioned votes and lies, and political tricks and monkey payoffs count.


Hence, the shakeout is -- Demo-California has Monkey Judges and Democrap/Homosexuals -- the Real California has Truth and Nature, and all of the Human Virtues.


I am VERY PROUD of the Humans of the Real California -- for fighting the 'Queers', and the Monkey Judge Scum.


As you may have noticed, I do not care what any Monkey Judge Scumbag of any description says about Marriage. Not anywhere. Not anyway. Not anyhow. Now, or forever.


Marriage is totally, and simply, the 'Human Joining' of One Man and One Woman. Period.


For more information about this matter, please read the section below entitled 'Three Monkey Assholes In A Box -- And One Wants Out:'


-----


Another thing that can be done, about the dilemma here in Iowa, is to gather signatures on the right petitions. Petitions are like slaps in the face to Political Prostitutes. Petitions tell Political Whores that they must not spread their venereal diseases where the Petitions direct them not to.


http://click.icptrack.com/icp/relay.php?r=10762941&msgid=217644&act=ICYY&c=820603&destination=http://www.thefamilyleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Marriage_Petition20121.pdf
This is the PDF printable version.


When completed as much as you can, send it to Let Us Vote Iowa --
1100 N. Hickory Blvd, Ste. 107, Pleasant Hill, IA 50327 ● fax 515-263-3498 ● email info@ifpc.org


*************************


There is Good News -- and Congratulations to Rick Santorum for his primary wins in Colorado, Minnesota , and Missouri.


Now, my question is -- is there room enough in the Heart of President Rick Santorum, for a Vice-President Newt Gingrich?


Get the message.


It is US -- against the RATS.


http://www.newsmax.com/Newsfront/Minnesota-Colorado-Caucuses-Missouri/2012/02/07/id/428753?s=al&promo_code=E1FE-1


We must hope and pray that this combination of Rick Santorum and Newt Gingrich -- 'Drowns The Rat' in Ron Paul's proverbial Swamp of Politics. The last thing any Human wants is the Queer Approved Mitt (the Rat) Romney to be a Presidential Candidate. I would not even allow that Rat to be a toilet bowl cleaner for a Human Presidential Candidate!!!!


After that, it is on to the Presidency. Even a toilet bowl could beat 'HObama the Super Queer', in the 2012 elections.


But, not a toilet bowl cleaner.


*************************


Queer Murder Tries To Fake It Again:


This is a message from Bob Vander Plaats -- President of The Family Leader is Des Moines, Iowa. It was sent to the Real Humans of Iowa, and I am repeating it to All Humans everywhere. It warns of the upcoming Queer Attempt (with ModoRat approval) to seriously pervert and injure all of Iowa with the Queer's Disease.


-----


Do you approve of:

1)  a conference that supports immoral, pre-marital sexual behavior among Iowa students? 

2)  the Governor of Iowa lending his title to a conference which promotes LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning) issues to students?

On March 8th, there is a conference called the Iowa Governor's Conference on LGBTQ Youth.  According to its conference website, the mission is to:
a)  engage and educate students, educators, parents, community leaders, youth-serving professionals, policy makers, and others concerned about issues relevant to the LGBTQ community. 

b)  encourage networking and activism to inspire our communities to promote diversity, equality, and social justice. 

The conference website also mentions the goals of eliminating bullying in Iowa schools and creating leadership opportunities for LGBTQ youth. 

As a former teacher, coach, and high school principal, I completely agree that no students should be bullied, including gay students.  However, we are troubled that this conference appears to push an LGBTQ agenda, noting there is very little mention of the bullying of other students (i.e. have acne, are overweight, disabled, etc.).   

The FAMiLY LEADER is particularly distrubed by several factors related to the conference:

        1)  Exhibitors at the Governor's Conference are allowed to distribute condoms and/or safe sex kits to conference attendees, half of whom are students. 

        2)  The FAQ section of the Governor's Conference website notes that special bathroom instructions are provided saying "transgender friendly restrooms will be available for the gender any individual identifies with".  Parents can only conclude that their teenage daughter may well be sharing a restroom with a male who "identifies" as a female.  

        3)  Governor Branstad approves of the conference and lends his full support of the mission of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and "questioning" agenda through his high praise and the lending of his official title, "Governor", to the conference.  On January 18th, an individual in his administration told The FAMiLY LEADER he was pulling his name from the conference, but he has since changed his stance.

        4)  Taxpayer dollars are indirectly paying for this conference.  Sponsors of the conference include the Iowa Association of School Boards (IASB) and we conclude that your taxpayer dollars are indirectly being used since school districts use taxpayer money for ISBA dues (over $10,000 per year for large districts). 

The FAMiLY LEADER opposes bullying of any type, including gay students.  However, The FAMiLY LEADER does not support LGBTQ behavior or sexual behavior outside of a one man, one woman marriage.  We believe that a conference of this nature approves, promotes, and accelerates LGBTQ behavior among students resulting in the continued advancement of the left-wing homosexual agenda. 


For the family, 

Bob Vander Plaats
President & CEO, The FAMiLY LEADER


-----

[[ By the way -- what does the Q stand for? QUAP?! ]]


Quilled?!


As in -- Queer Killed?


*************************


Three Monkey Assholes In A Box -- And One Wants Out:


This is a message from Brian Brown of the NOM (National Organization for Marriage), which I have repeated here. It explains the foulness and twisted evil intentions of all Monkey Judges (for hire) everywhere.


-----


Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Dear Markel,
Yesterday's ruling from the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco was truly astonishing: Proposition 8—and by implication the marriage laws at the federal level and in 43 states—is unconstitutional.
Even while pretending their ruling was a “narrow” decision, these judges effectively decreed themselves to be the supreme overlords of the people, invalidating the votes of over 7 million Californians and declaring that they, the vaunted elite in black robes and cloaked with lifetime tenure, will decide what marriage means in California and the nation.
I don't know about you but my blood is boiling!
Not only must our founding fathers be rolling over in their graves with the preposterous notion that marriage is unconstitutional, but the ruling is an affront to the millions of Americans—the vast majority of the nation—who recognize that man does not have the right to redefine marriage. After all, how can federal judges redefine something that man didn't create?
If there is any good news, it's this: the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals is the most overturned court in the nation, and the author of the marriage opinion, Stephen Reinhardt, is the most overturned judge in the country. And even this court, the most liberal in the land, couldn't muster a unanimous ruling—the court was sharply split in a 2-1 ruling. It's almost as if even they couldn't deliver the ruling with a straight face.
We have to fight this outrageous ruling! Will you help us now?

America is supposed to be a nation where the rule of law prevails. Until this case yesterday, no federal appeals court had ever declared that marriage is unconstitutional. To justify its outrageous opinion, the Ninth Circuit had to totally ignore binding U.S. Supreme Court precedent that state laws like Proposition 8 defining marriage as the union of one man and one woman do not violate the US Constitution.
The two judges who formed the majority opinion dismissed this precedent with a mere mention in a footnote because it inconveniences their radical judicial activism.
The judicial overlords on the Ninth Circuit have come to the amazing conclusion that once a court has imposed same-sex marriage on a state—as the California Supreme Court did in 2008 in a hotly-contested 4-3 ruling—the voters of that state are powerless to do anything about it. Maybe these activist judges think they are above the law, but we don't!
In America, the people are sovereign, not elitist federal judges with their Hollywood values and lifetime tenure. Nobody is above the law, and it's time we reminded them of that fact!


Let me be clear—I am upset about this decision, but it is not unexpected. In fact, I have been expecting this since the very first Prop 8 hearing in the San Francisco courtroom of Judge Vaughn Walker. From the very beginning, Walker's bias against Prop 8 was evident. Ruling after ruling went against us, despite the evidence and legal precedents. Three times the backers of Prop 8 had to appeal Walker's orders, once all the way to the US Supreme Court where they won a key reversal.
Make no mistake about it—yesterday's ruling will also be reversed by the Supreme Court. I believe that God will stand by those who stand by His design for marriage. We have to do our part to get the case to the Supreme Court, where we can win the ultimate victory to preserve Prop 8 and traditional marriage across the land.
Your donation is tax-deductible and will be kept confidential. Whether you can give $10,000, $1,000, $100 or $10, we need your help today! Every penny you give will go directly toward the Prop 8 legal expenses.
Will you help us?


http://www.nationformarriage.org/Prop8?msource=EB120208DANT


The legal costs of defending Proposition 8 exceed $10 million. NOM has contributed hundreds of thousands directly, and helped raise additional funds, but we must do more. It's going to cost several hundred thousand dollars just to ask the Supreme Court to take this case.
NOM is committed to raising $100,000 in the next week to support the defense of Proposition 8. But we can't do it without you. We're stretched incredibly thin with marriage fights in Congress and in numerous states—New Hampshire, Rhode Island, New Jersey, New York, Minnesota, Maryland and Washington state. It's almost overwhelming.
But we must step up and make sure that the outstanding legal team fighting for Prop 8 and traditional marriage across the country have the resources to win the battle. We are counting on you to help us help preserve marriage as God Himself designed it—the union of one man and one woman.
Together, we will prevail. Please help us right now.
Faithfully,


Brian S. Brown
Executive Director
NOM Education Fund


P.S. Please do not delay. We need the funds right away to fund an immediate appeal to the United States Supreme Court. We have 7 days to raise as much money as we can. WE CAN WIN THIS FIGHT! But only if you stand with us.
Please stand by us in this fight by making an urgent, online, tax-deductible gift to the NOM Legal Defense Fund today.


[[ We have 7 days to raise as much money as we can. ]]


[[ The Supremacist Monkey Judge tactic is obvious. Bleed the Humans of money, until they give up and die. They forget who makes the money on this planet. ]]


*************************


The Godless Air Farce:


Still think that this is all just harmless mischief by the Demos/Modos/Sodos?


Look at what the Queer and Armed Fart-Forces of Heinrich 'Himmler' Reid are doing now.


http://www.afa.net/Detail.aspx?id=2147517133
This is programming, and not-too-subtle brainwashing -- to prepare the Killer Queers (of the Queer and Armed Fart-Forces) for the day when they will be ordered to attack and commit WAR against the American Humans, who are God's Warriors against the Satanic and Queer Lying-Dead. Look at it! Read it!


It is 'Idiot Programming'!


For Killer Idiots! In the Queer and Armed Fart-Forces of Heinrich 'Himmler' Reid. And, of course, in the service of the Super Queer -- Magnificent Pervert -- It's Repugnancy -- HObama The First, and Last.


That is -- HO as in 'Assh***'.


That is -- bama; as in 'Ala-bama'.


'HObama', for short.


Like a short Queer Beer.


*************************


Finally, I am seeing articles that are trying to paint the Republican Voter Base as being 20% in favor of HObama, because of the 'infighting' amongst the Republican Party Candidates. The data on which such articles are based, is meant to make it look as though the Republican Party is committing self-destruction.


The opposite is the Truth. What those polls are counting, are the Moderate/Homosexuals who are very disappointed that their Pet Punk -- Mitt (the Rat) Romney -- is not walking away with the Republican Primaries. And, their Pet Punk is (in some cases) making statements that are supposed to be pleasing to Conservatives. The polls are counting disappointed Perverts, that have deliberately infiltrated the Republican Party to begin with, in order to turn it Queer. They are failing at their terrible mission of Invasion and Division. The Real Conservatives are coming back strong, and the ModoRat Invaders in the Republican Party do not like that.


Nothing could be more obvious.


*************************


Markel Peters
http://www.voices-of-iowa.blogspot.com


Please donate to this effort if you can.
http://www.nationformarriage.org/Prop8?msource=EB120208DANT

GO THE OTHER WAY:

This IS a blogsite. A somewhat personal expression. It should contain personal experiences. So ... no one say after this, that I denied you my personal thoughts.


I just experienced this dream, and it was quite impressive to me at the time. It was a dream filled to overflowing, and being within it was like being inside a bubbling paint can; with all sorts of colors and items flowing out of it and over the rim, to disappear from my sight. And yet, as you will learn, there was very much left in the paint can with me, to occupy my attention.


I will try to account for the central theme of it, as best as I can remember.


*************************


Before I begin, I would like to tell those two SQLD analysts (and their uncle's monkeys) that this was truly a dream. It was not dreamed as a commentary, nor is it a commentary disguised as a dream. My dreams often explore the Truth. It is not written as an attempt to reveal more about the SQLD. If the dream did so, that it what it did. I am literally writing what happened. Nothing more.


*************************


Consider the Man. Consider the Audience. Consider the Dream.


*************************


It began with music. A song which slowly faded into my hearing. It first appeared in its MIDI version, which is very close to the original except without the words. I had heard the song before, but until I researched the song after this dream, I had never known the words to it.


It first sailed into the dream as an LP. A bright and shining black vinyl record of 33 rpm size, that wheeled and spun as it floated into the dream from a far distance off to my upper left. It floated and sailed slowly through the dream several times, casually passing through anything and everything. And then, with complete indifference, it floated out of the dream exit Stage Right. I think that once, it had the words to it. But, the rest of the time it was the MIDI tone version.


It was never loud, or even central to the sounds of the dream. Instead it was always a faded memory. A whisper at times, a rush of departure at others, but always half muted. When I awoke, I remembered the tune and went through my MIDI collection searching for it. It is called 'Englishman In New York', and the original version is sung by 'Sting'. All of which amounts to very little, as you will learn.


----------


The dream started with Claude Rains leaning down at me, with that mischievous smile of his, and saying (in his best Porter's Style) -- "And, are we having a good evening? Mr. King?"


Let us look at some photographs of Claude, so we all know who I am talking about. Then, we can forget him again, until he reappears in the dream.

*************************


There were women in this dream, but they kept flitting in and out of the action like Ingrid Bergman, at a Casablanca dress shop sale. They were always the objects of some romantic attention; like gypsy dancers leaping in and out of the scenes to briefly catch my attention. If I reached for them, they danced back out of the dream. Soon, they gave it up as the action intensified.


I was in a dark castle of very tall height. It had so many floors to it that I doubted if there was any way to count them all; or if it would be allowed. At this point in the dream there was a large staircase involved, which ascended to God Knows Where. Indeed, the unlit depths of the castle seemed to be filled with moving stars, as though bright stars had been thrown into a dark chocolate ice cream mixture before it was finished, frozen, and packaged.


This was not enough to brighten the interior of the castle, but it did add a lot of ambiance to the staircase decor. The stairway was quite visible to me, reaching always upwards and out of sight. Where the light came from for this was way beyond me, but the staircase was illuminated well enough; and naturally the higher I went the lighter matters became, ever so slowly. The stairs would rise in forty steps, and then level off for a few yards, and then start to rise again; always in one direction directly away from me. There was no sense of other directions, such as North or West.


I was intent upon repairing something in the wall of the staircase, along its right side. The staircase did not have sides, except wherever I became determined to repair something.


I would pull a laser tool out of my tool belt, and zap at a small speck in the wall right next to me. Then, a panel would recede from the wall and slide sideways; to reveal an intricate network of fiber optic cables inside, with many attending small lights of different colors. Having achieved access to the problem area, I would then stick my face into the open space, illuminate everything with my iridescent eyeballs, and look closely at the many optical cables and circuit boards inside. This always scared the bejiggers out of them, and they began to work properly, immediately.


I would then lean back away from the wall, pull on my left earlobe which turned my lights off, and the wall would cease to exist as I turned and began to walk up the staircase again. As I ascended, it appeared to me that I was also walking on the other side of the wall; a wall which was either not there, or was completely transparent.


I looked to my right, and there I saw an identical staircase, with myself slowly walking up the steps. Except, I was dressed as a character in one of my novels. I then got the definite impression that there was indeed something material between us, and I reached out towards my other self with my right hand. My hand hit something; something that was transparent to such an extent that it could not be seen.


As soon as that happened, I heard a voice say -- "These are very serious matters, your 'Sire'."


I turned to see who had said it, and I found Claude Rains standing about eight feet from me in a room that verily dripped of nineteenth century Muscovite/French furniture, and expensive draperies and gas lighting chandeliers. The colors of the room were mostly deep felt and velvet red, with a lavish amount of gold trimming; and for a moment I thought we were in the private car of a Russian Railroad President. Then, I realized we were in a room along the left side of the great staircase.


Claude Rains was trying to tell me something, and it seemed to be important from his mannerisms, but I got sidetracked by a Gypsy Dancer who tried to pull me back out to the staircase, with her dress. She wrapped it around me and tried to pull me away, but I was intent upon something else in the room. She disappeared, as I stepped into the room and went to a rosewood table in the middle of the floor. The table had a dark purple linen cloth on it, and upon that sat a piece of glass that was shaped like a small rectangle; about two inches by two inches by six inches. The edges of the glass object were rounded, but the entire surface had a strange coarseness to it, like glass sandpaper. It was transparent until I picked it up. Somehow, I knew just how to hold it, and once it had registered my fingerprints it began to light up inside. As this happened the Time and Space before it, wherever it was pointed, began to ripple and shift, and shimmer and change.


I put it back down on the table, quickly. I then returned to the stairway, and began to climb again. I looked to my right to see my other self, but instead I saw myself as though in a mirrored staircase wall. I was wearing a tuxedo, complete with spit-shinned shoes and a white dress shirt. In a kind of opaque manner, I could see my other self beyond. He was walking up the staircase, matching every step which I took. He was loading bullets into a large stainless steel revolver.


I turned back to look up the staircase, and I walked into a large room that was complicated by many tall columns imbedded into its walls, like half-relief roman columns all along its perimeter. The room was floored in white marble tiles, real ones, and there was no furniture in it. The walls were colorless, as though displayed in black-and-white (or greyscale), but the upper heights of the room were a marvel of golden ceiling architecture, as though I was in a Montreal cathedral.


I walked up to the walls, and began to puzzle my brain about how to solve their problems. The columns needed rearranging, and it had to be done in the right order. I was involved in this, and remembering a sequence of codes which I had used long ago for just such a situation, when I heard a voice again -- "They will be here shortly, Your 'Sire'."


I turned away from the wall, to see Claude Rains walking across the room towards me. He was now dressed in a black suit, as though he had once been a military man. He looked as though he had decided to continue to wear his black uniform, without any emblems or badges of rank, to which he had added a black cape. It made him look the rogue, and yet the professor at the same time. His hair was now quite white, long and combed back upon his head. He sported a short white beard, and mustache neatly trimmed. He wore a white collar beneath the cape, which seemed to accent his head. His clothing was polished black however, from shoes to collar. He was never a very tall man, but this attire made him seem taller.


I started to hear arguing. I could hear men discussing something, and not agreeing. Somehow, I knew the answer to their problems, and I went out onto the stairs again to find them and tell them. I walked up the stairway again, and rooms appeared along its sides, set into walls that I had never seen before. No room had a door, so I walked into each one as I came to it; because I could hear the arguing. Every time I entered a room, the arguing went away and became loud again in the next room; which was always on the opposite side of the staircase. I zig-zagged up the stairs from room to room for a while, never able to find the men who were talking.


I stopped, and looked to my right again to see if my other self was visible. He was standing looking at me, with a dead antelope draped over his right shoulder. The silver revolver was smoking from its barrel, in his left hand.


I thought of the glass object again. As soon as I did, many side staircases appeared, all of which molded themselves into the grand staircase. Then a lot of corridors appeared, all leading sideways away from the grand staircase. All of them had arched ceilings, and were so long that their lengths disappeared into the distance on any side.


I was determined to get back to that glass object however, so I started to look for a red and gold room as I descended the stairway. As I stepped downwards, the staircase led right into the same lavishly appointed room that I had been in before; only this time the stairs ran right through the room and continued downwards.


I walked to the small rosewood table, and picked up the glass object. As soon as it read my fingerprints, it began to glow and shine outwards with many lights of different colors. Then, I turned and looked upwards along the rising staircase. From far above there had been a sound, like the blowing of a distant horn. A horn made of horn, not metal.


I looked back down at the glass object in my right hand. I pointed it at the far right wall. I aimed it at a spot in the upper left center of the wall. There, amidst the red and gold patterns of the wallpaper, appeared a large circle about five feet in diameter. Its inner circumference was ridged, as though to accept a gear wheel, but there was none. Through the circular space in the wall, I could see another world. Another Planet Earth.


I became gripped in an intense feeling that a choice had to be made. While I was so occupied, the far left wall of the room became filled with large glass windows. The room then took on the appearance of a curio shop, filled with shelves containing antiques and books and lamps, puppets and toy drums and so forth; except for a large space near the windows at the left wall. I had to walk through the shelves to reach this space, holding the glass object in my hand.


As I reached the space, I noticed that the windows were taller than they were wide, and they were held together in place by strong vertical beams of hardwood walnut. Through those windows I could clearly see a vast throng of people, all of whom were either in a hurry or standing looking confused. The hurried ones were variously tromping along the street with loads on their backs, alone and with bitter looks; or marching in groups for the protection of numbers; or driving cattle drawn wagons and horse drawn carriages -- all going from my right to my left in the scene.


They looked decidedly European, perhaps slavic and teutonic. There was no monopoly of body types, facial patterns or class definitions. They were, at a glance, an emergency blend of everyone and everything; somehow molded together into a great moving throng of Humanity, as only great adversity can forge.


Claude Rains appeared again to my right. He was still dressed in black, with his white collar, his black cape and his white hair. This time he was quite agitated. He was quite surprised to see me standing there. With his arms up in the air, and the fingers of his hands stretched apart in warning, he shouted -- "No, You Fool! This is Dresden!"


Instantly, the windows before me flashed, and became almost nonexistent due to an enormous white light that burst through them. As I closed my eyes, I was aware that there should be a shock wave, and everything (including myself) should no longer exist -- but instead I could see, through my closed eyelids, that the light just changed into a cacophony of orange, yellow and red explosions.


I opened my eyes again to see the windows, and the left wall, standing undamaged and immune to the carnage that was occurring outside. But, the sight remained. The wide and cobblestoned street beyond the windows had been filled with immigrants and refugees, and beasts of burden, and the people of Dresden -- when the Fire Storm began. Now, the carts were torn to pieces and smashed about in enormous bursts of flames. Body parts pelted the windows, and smeared the glass dark red for brief seconds; and then the intense searing heat evaporated even that. Inside the maelstrom, there were still people running on fire. In places there were bellies and legs alone, running without upper torsos. Horses exploded, and then evaporated. The buildings on the other side of the street burst apart, showering everything with bricks and mortar and wood chips; but this all evaporated in the impossible storm, before it could reach the windows in front of me.


There was no sound -- except that of Claude Rains. He was standing quite still, about ten feet to my right. He was looking ahead of himself, as if alone and commenting to the Angels about Earthly Matters. The fire storm raged just outside the windows, and I could see both Claude Rains, and the gruesome reality. Smashed faces appeared at intervals, pressed up against the windows with incredible force, and then burning into cinders quickly. Sometimes, only a hand or a shoe, or a purse, or the back of a naked baby would hit the windows; and then explode as if consumed by an atomic rage. Still, there were people running and flailing about in the fires outside. Most of them either fell into burning red heaps; or became torches, white hot in the orange and red fireball.


The street itself buckled and heaved from the ripple effects of the bomb blasts, tossing more refugees, fallen oxen, headless bodies, and bodiless heads upwards; to flash brightly like match heads in the blood-red and white-orange mixture. Everything turned and churned with terrible force, the street being repeatedly painted with blood which was immediately seared off and stone polished again, by another landing death blow from above.


As it all proceeded, he spoke in a detached monotone. "Dresden -- 13th February 1945. 2,431 tons of high explosive bombs. 1,475 tons of incendiary bombs are dropped onto the city of Dresden. Filled with refugees fleeing the advancing Red Tide of the Soviet Armies, that are driving westwards. There is little military importance to the city, it is incinerated for a show of force and revenge. To impress Joseph Stalin with the 'Allied Might', and to revenge the bombing of English cities. The death toll exceeds 100,000 -- all removed from existence completely."


I stood there, bathed in bursts of incendiary lights, and watched his figure slowly fade out of existence. In my right hand, the glass object began to glow more brightly, as if in competition with the hellish flames outside. Something hit the windows. It looked for a few brief seconds like the back of an old woman, clad in an old brown coat with a blue scarf over her head, who had been opening a door, perhaps to flee from the street. Now, the old woman and the doorway and the door hit the windows together. They then flared up into a cloud mass of white particles, which the fire storm immediately gathered to itself. This was whisked away, and added to the hurricane of flames and fumes, as more bombs fell outside. It all began to become Death Surreal.


I turned away from the windows, and stepped past the shelves to the far right wall again. Through the wide hole in that wall I could see a different world, another Earth. A horn, made of horn, sounded again somewhere above me; far above and away on the great stairway.


I quickly dove upwards, and through the opening. I landed upon a grassy field, almost a lawn, of great proportions. It was scattered with islands of deciduous forests, and the occasional dark blue pool, which was surrounded by a beltway of flowers. The lawn was quite green, and across it was a wide golden road of crushed gold.


That is where the familiarity ended, however. All about this place there vibrated a feeling of unexpectedness, and chance, and risk, and a wideness of uncertainty. This was reinforced, when I looked above me and stared in disbelief into a dark sky of star fields, very close and unaffected by any atmospheric effects. I literally thought that if I reached up, I would touch a star. Or, at least get noticed by it.


I turned back to see that the wall was still there, and the opening was still there. I could see the room on the other side, and the stairway running through it at an angle. The far windows were still ablaze with livid explosions.


I looked upwards again, and this time I noticed that the stars were slowly turning, as if they were affixed to a huge celestial wheel, that I was standing just beyond the edge of. There was a chill up there, and very close, but I was feeling none of that. Instead, I was sensing a keenness of energy, as though someone had plugged the prongs of my shoes into a recharge outlet.


I turned again, and walked out onto the grass fields towards the golden road. At this, there appeared from my left, as though coming over a very near horizon, a lady driving a carriage with two appaloosa horses before her. She did not see me, that was apparent. She, and the horses and the carriage came along the road at sort of a half-speed trot. They were like a seamless video, that was all around me, but it was set for slow motion at half-speed. I concentrated on her face. She looked very much like a young and blond-haired Ingrid Bergman. She was dressed in a richly made dark green riding outfit, with a green coat topped by a high collar in white. All of the trim of her clothing was white.


She never saw me, nor did the horses as they passed right before me. The horses were talking about horse racing and looking ahead, while she was looking upwards and to her left, with a broad smile on her red lips. She had bright white teeth, but it was her expression that struck me. She was looking into her skies with a wide-eyed happiness and contentment with what she was doing, and where she was going, and where she was.


She belonged here. But, here was definitely alien. She was alien. She was happy, but everything was Other Earth. I, on the contrary, had a growing feeling of being in the wrong place, or at least in need of a lot of adjustments. She drove on past me, and I watched her for a moment, then noticed that I was still dressed in a Tuxedo. I was rife to quip that my cane and hat were missing, but then something caught my eyes. Away from me and ahead of me, by about three hundred yards, was a tall wall of grey stones covered partly with green vines. It was nestled into a space between two groves of tall broad-leafed trees. As such, it was shaded from the stars above. But, there was a bright spot in it. The bright spot caught my attention, because of its contrast to the rest of the wall.


As happens in dreams, I covered the space to the wall quite quickly, and then I was standing some six feet before it. Mid-center in the wall's mass was a large opening, with a toothed inner circumference, about five feet wide. Through it, I could see a fascinating three-dimensional view of the interior of some unknown Galaxy. Nebula’s vied with Supernovas and Pulsars for the eye's attention, in a sweeping grandeur of universal colors; and with an attention to detail that was very impressive. This happens from time to time in our lives, as we get so adjusted and complacent to the daily items and events of our existence; and then something surprising and sharp happens, and we are both startled and amazed that our eyes really can see that well.


There was no doubt about it. A Galaxy, that I had never seen before, was just on the other side of that opening. I could not see anything on the near side, however. Where would I land, if I jumped in?


The question never got answered, as I was suddenly back inside the red and gold room from French Moscow. Claude Rains was gone, and the windows on the far left side were now black, swirling black.


I was at a Choosing Point, and I knew it. I looked through the opening in the right wall again. There was no sight of the green fields and forests of the Other Earth. Instead, I was in a room on the other side, identical to this one. There, Claude Rains was standing in the center of the floor, and I was sitting in a red chair, hunched over and staring at a dead antelope on the rug between myself and Claude Rains. I had a steel revolver in my belt, and I was looking down as he spoke.


I could not hear what he said in there, but I heard what he was saying to me in here. I turned, and Claude Rains was standing next to me, pointing at the colorful glass object in my right hand. I could not make out his words, but the meaning was becoming clear. Violence was a valuable commodity to moderate masters. Moderation was always a failure. Moderation always tries to appease. Moderation tried to appease National Socialism. Now, and he looked at the churning clouds of darkness outside the windows, this was necessary. I was welcome, under conditions. I was being given a choice. I could stay here, or jump again -- this time forever.


He explained that here, there was moderation and all of the absurdities and excesses that went with it. He motioned towards the windows, as he spoke. I could stay here, but I would have to repair everything; and moderation was always destroying everything at the same time. The columns of sanity were completely broken and awry because of violent cowardice, and would never be properly aligned again.


But, on the other side there was the complete unknown. And, he emphasized, I was not from there. My chances at survival were completely unknown. Did I not feel the difference?


I was still simmering from the effects of the vibrations on the other side, and it was like an electricity running through my veins. More charged, and on a different frequency than I was used to. There was literally nothing that I could expect on the other side. Whatever was there, I would become.


I stepped to the opening in the wall, and looked through it at my other self. He was going to stay. He said that he knew how to deal with the mazes of moderation. He would survive, and adapt. From his chair he said, in a beaten voice -- "Ich bin ein moderate."


I could not help myself. I shouted through the opening at him -- "And, I suppose you are a jelly-filled donut too!"


I did not agree with his surrender. I understood what it meant, an existence instead of a consciousness. But, I had more life than that and I had gotten a glimpse, however brief, of something far more incredible and greater than this side possessed. Compared to it, despite the feeling of sheer alien existence, nothing here was worth staying for.


I turned to the right wall, and raised the glass object up before me. I pointed it at the opening in the wall, and saw it flash brightly. Then, I saw a dark movement coming at me from my left side, and I ...


*************************


Markel Peters
http://www.voices-of-iowa.blogspot.com/

A MIDDLE-MANAGER SELF DESTRUCTS:

Grandma can read this. After a few beers.


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Recently, I wrote about an appalling suicide that I witnessed; by a semi-dead ModoRat, that watched a Satan Tube and died.


WATCH TV -- LOSE ALL!


Now, another crazy happening has occurred. However, this time it is something to celebrate.


I just saw a Middle-Manager, for the Satanic and Queer Lying-Dead, break down and go insane.


While this is great and wonderful news for the Human Species, we must pause for a while and examine the Why's and How's of its demise; so that we may reproduce such excellence again and again.


Currently, the Queer Propaganda Machine is spewing out yet another sewer load of phony stupidity, about HObama the Magnificent Pervert, in an ad nauseum attempt to make that Black Clown appear to be some kind of leader. All of the queer newsrags have been ordered to put the Super Queer (HObama) on their front toilet roll pages. Only, the Queer Propagandists know that everyone who is still Sane, will just wipe the asses of their pets with such trash -- which works well with kitty litter, and in the bottom of bird cages by the way.


So, the Queer Propagandists have also ordered their Middle-Managers to perform a vaudeville routine of laughter. The playtime this time, is to get all of the (mentally-challenged) persons, that follow each Middle-Manager, to laugh. The idea is to act as though the FACT that they are just as 'Queer' as the perverts which they (the Middle-Managers) made into 'Queers', is ridiculous and must be laughed about loudly.


The hope is that loud laughter will destroy any Truth that their followers may have heard. So, they laugh. But first, they get their followers to be in bunches. Bunches of followers, and of stooges who are already in on the game. Then as a group, they laugh about the idea that they too are 'Queers'. This Group Laughter, is meant to make the followers in the bunch laugh along with them. The hope being that the idiots will somehow forget that Middle-Managers are Queer-Makers-For-Hire.


Makers. As in Rape and Sodomy.


However, even the worst Middle-Managers of the SQLD are feeling the pinch of Reality, as Human Resistance increases. One reason for this, is that of their total reliance upon the Satanic Medias, the Satan Tube in particular. Being the Satan Tube, the entire Universe is weighing in against it, for the total insanity and sickness that it is. Any reliance upon the TV Medias is therefore doomed to failure. This unstoppable demise is slowly and steadily bearing down upon the Middle-Managers, and their twisted games. The Middle-Managers are trapped, and caught in a vise of their own making. They relied upon the pretended powers of social-programming, that the Owners and Operators of the Satanic Channels claimed to have. Now, those dirty and hideous brainwashing tactics are being dismantled and torn apart.


And with it, goes the hopes and vile plans of the Middle-Managers of Total Disaster.


I was at a factory in Des Moines yesterday. There I saw a Satanic Middle-Manager go completely insane.


It was trying to follow the orders that it had been given. It was trying to put on a comic act for a bunch of followers, assisted by some supporting players. But, as soon as it began to laugh -- it lost control. From within its doomed brain, came a screeching and coughing laughter from 'Death's Row'.


It began to sputter out words. It could not finish a lie. It laughed uncontrollably. It gyrated spasmodically. It's lies and script broke up into unrelated sentences of DemoCrap catch phrases. It shook its head uncontrollably. For all the World, it acted like a robot with a broken control program. Finally, it gave up and left the group, because it had become the object of its own intended laughter. It was become -- Death.


I knew the place was Satanic anyway. Inside the factory were TV machines that showed the Talking Turds of the Crackheads and Nasty Neuters (CNN); a 100 % guarantee that the place is dominated by the Satanic and Queer Lying-Dead.


By the way, don't worry about the Middle-Managers being offended by this. The DemoCraps have ordered (long ago) that all loyal subjects will never read anything which the Human Resistance writes about the Truth. Instead, all loyal subjects of DemoTopia are supposed to do everything that they can -- such as attacks, threats, lies, insinuations, thefts, murders (etc) -- to prevent any more messages from being put out by any Human Resister.


And, that makes perfect sense. Doesn't it?


If you are a Satanic Master, and there are messages being put on the Internet about how horrible you are; you will not want any of the idiots and fools, who follow your orders, to read the Truth about you!


Instead, you will demand that the Humans who make the Messages of Truth be destroyed ...


But! -- Your Followers Must Not Read The Truth In The Process!!!!


BY ALL MEANS, AND NO MATTER WHAT ELSE HAPPENS -- YOUR VOTER/FOLLOWERS MUST NOT READ THE TRUTH ABOUT YOU -- THEIR MASTER!!!!!!!!!!


Simple.


And, on the average DemoCrap or ModoRat -- it works.


It would never work on any living animal with an IQ over 40 .. but let's not talk about excesses of Un-wanted Intelligence here. Let's not change the subject. Even though, that is the subject.


----------


For their part of this latest Queer Propaganda Effort -- the 'Queer' Filthy Monkeys are putting out twisted songs that say -- "Hold onto what we got! We got a lot!" This is being done, because they know that they are going to lose the last pretenses of DemoCrap control over the country, this year.


"We got a lot!" means -- a lot of trained liars, brain-dead followers, 'Queers', Queer Masters, dying Middle-Managers, sewer TV Channels, deranged and horrible Filthy Monkeys, sick and sinister newsrags, Phony Laws created by criminal politician-prostitutes (and their dirty tricks), punk puppets playing Occupation Games, and so filth.


What they have a lot of -- is a Mountain Of Dung -- created by themselves to serve as the maggot-ridden Foundations of DemoTopia.


But, DemoTopia can only happen if they dominate.


Also, with the maggots inside their foundations going insane from continued playacting without success, DemoTopia is beginning to list and slow down; like a Sewage Tanker in Boston Harbor that has been torpedoed.


Adding to the list, and lisp, is the panic that is setting in amongst those Voter/Followers of the Demos/Homos/Modos who are uncertain about their 'future'; without the daily addictions and lies of the Queer Propagandists of DemoTopia.


They are getting 'The Jones' really bad.


Well, there will always be 'DemoDope-ia'; for the dying Dopes and Fools of the former Dogshit Empire.


In a word of scant encouragement to such Demo Dopes -- this same thing happened to the followers of the Nazis, after the Fall of the Third Reich.


Most of which are dead now, and no longer feel the pain.


----------


Not unaware of their own dilemma, the Middle-Managers (on orders of course) are trying to focus the attention of their suffering 'Queers' and followers, which they made themselves, back upon the Satanic TV Channels. For two reasons:


1. To divert the pain of continued lunacy, which their minions are feeling, into another feverish dependency and addiction to the same old hideous Little Charlie Dictators, and their Little Charlie TV Stations. Which are paying big bucks for this brainwashing effort.


2. To make out of their own failures, and out of the rampant insanities which they have unleashed amongst the populace, a Showcase Event on TV. In other words, to get their sex toys and followers addicted to the Fall of the Satan Tube, by showing how crazy and insane the Satan Tubers get as their God (TV) falls.


It is literally a case of mad dogs, being addicted to watching other mad dogs eat other mad dogs.


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Do Not Ever -- Ask Me Again -- To Prove The Existence Of Planet Sinister.


It is right there, on TV.


But, do NOT watch that trash!


They want you to watch their trash. Get it?


All that matters to them -- is that you watch their sickness. They are like lunatics with webcams on the web, that want you to watch them having diarrhea.


And of course, YOU do not matter. Only your Money and your Votes matter.


*************************


What happens, if such brain-wormed psychopaths go out into the Galaxy, and invade another planet that has Real Intelligent Life on it?


*************************


What the queered song of the Filthy Monkeys should say is -- "Hang on! Hang on! Hang on! To what we AIN'T GOT!"


Which brings to the forefront the eternal question -- "How did so many freaks and lunatics get the notion that they could create a World of Psychopathy for themselves; that was based upon nothing more than the fabrications of their own swined brains; and expect Real People to obey its queered laws and queered judges and queered politicians?"


Aside from the obvious fact, that such a huge looney bin as that would be a Psycho-Heaven to any member of the Anuses, Perverts and Alchemists (APA) ...


Where did such craziness come from?


Answer: At some point, some slime ball, that was licking boots for a living, got a sick idea. The sick idea said -- that if it told everybody that it was better than what it really is, there might be someone else who was better than it is, but was still stupid enough to believe what the 'boot licker' said.


Then, the 'boot licker' could tell the 'idiot' that it should be licking the 'boot lickers' boots instead. Being an 'idiot' (and a coward of course), the moderate imbecile traded places with the 'boot licker', and began to lick its boots. Now, the 'boot licker' was dominant over the 'idiot'.


That started it all!


The basis for Role-Reversal and Truth-Reversal was born!!


And now -- there is TV, FM, and the queer newsrags!!!


Now, any liar can be a Resident in the White House -- if it can convince enough People (who will forever be better than it is), that they should all be licking its boots!!!!


Taa Daa! The concept of a Puppet President is born!!!!


A Liar and Convincer For Hire!!!!


And that, Boys and Girls, is also how the Democrat Party became the DemoCrap Party. The crap inside, told the Democrats that they should be the crap, and then the Crap took over.


Taa Daa! The DemoCraps are born!!!!


----------


Technically, this all represents the Degeneration and Decline of a Society. From such an advanced stage of decrepitude and decay (as DemoTopia is), there are really only two roads left. To Two Futures.


A. AMORGIDA -- A MORGUE IDEAL -- for the 'Queers'. The 'Queers' slavering and drooling idea of a 'Queer Empire', existing on the bones and ashes and slag heaps of a failed DemoTopia. Planet Sinister is not Sinister Enough, for the 'Queers'.


B. Human Revolution. After which comes Real Life again, on a Real World again.


Choosing, however, is strictly a Human Function. The 'Queers' do not have minds that can choose anything. 'Queers' are locked down, into permanent addictions and mindless cravings for more and more perversions, and acts of violence against anything that is Natural.


The 'Choosing' has to be done by Humans. And thus, the Final Choice becomes:


1. To Fight. To Revolt. To Defeat all Evils.


2. To Cower. To Moderate. To Cringe. To Smile and Obey.


*************************


Markel Peters
http://www.voices-of-iowa.blogspot.com/