ROOM 10 ELBORUH LEBENSRAU

ROOM 10 ELBORUH LEBENSRAU

 

ELBORUH LEBENSRAU

by Larry Lee Slot

Chapter One

Our Hero, the Vindicator:

Stanley Koplik was a slight lad, white and comely. His upbringing was in no way spectacular or traumatic. He was above average in school but never attained summa cum laude accolades. There was nothing in his childhood portending the line of work he ultimately chose. His parents could only be described as model care-givers.
The cruelest thing young Stanley ever did was to compress a frog between two pieces of wood after crucifying it. He was trying to see how the frog would simulate our Savior’s plight. It was not an attempt at torture, just a child’s way of better understanding a bizarre report about historical zombie creation. He often regretted his behavior that day. However, being but 6 years-old at the time, he learned to forgive himself, vowing never again to willfully torture another creature.
Life does not accept our best intentions, however, and makes us pay for every attempt at perfection. Something intangible & sporadic restricts our destiny. We are puppets manipulated brutally and ineptly within a toxic medium. Like Stanley, we land here with all we have. Nothing. We do a little good. We do a little bad. We writhe in agony for a bit, and then we leave with all we have. Nothing. No purpose. No meaning. Damned. Irrelevant clods of dust.
Stanley grew older and started a good life. After college, he got a job, bought a small farm and planned a future with his sweetheart, Sally McRae. When he was 25 years-old, Stanley discovered a local politician took a serious liking to his farm. Stanley refused all the pol’s meager offers to buy it. Mortgage payments were paid as agreed, nothing was amiss, yet Stanley’s efforts to protect himself from the vote-rapist were to no avail. The bank, at last, took possession of the farm. The politician picked it up at auction for a fraction of its true worth. The Sheriff put Stanley’s belongings out on the street with orders to have them gone by sundown.
In response, Stanley worked at a number of extra jobs for years, trying to get his farm back by paying an attorney. He put off marriage with Sally. After 5 years of such efforts, trauma upon trauma, an erstwhile friend discovered that Stanley’s attorney was communicating with the politician. The vote-rapist was receiving all the information necessary to counter every legal maneuver Stanley made.
The surprising information devastated Stanley, who confronted the cravat in the man’s plush St. Paul office. The lawyer tried to reason with Stanley, telling him there was never even the slightest chance of ever getting his farm back. The bank was in the politician’s pocket and visa versa. The lawyer said that all he himself did that was unethical was to give the other side Stanley’s strategic plans. He never took money for the treachery but only received a modicum of political support in unrelated areas.
He told Stanley that Stanley needed to grow up and face facts, saying. “You’ll never prove a word of what I’ve just admitted, so forget it. In this life, Stan, we can’t always have what we thought was ours. We need to be realistic. Economics is the study of legitimized theft.  This includes all forms of conversion like robbery, extortion, fraud, embezzlement, banking, alienation of affection, etc. The poor steal small, the rich steal big, and the middle class cheat everyone in between. Society has assimilated it, and so must you.  The pol is right. You are poor, so you are in the wrong. Never, ever, forget the lesson of the O.J. Simpson murder trial and its sequel. Law means NOTHING. It is but subterfuge. Money means EVERYTHING.”
As Stanley did not appear to be too ruffled, the man tried to increase their camaraderie, adding. “There is a lawyer from another firm putting the horns on me as we speak. Nothing I can do about it. He’s got more money & buys more influence than I do. My wife is a typical savvy whore and recognizes that. I have accepted it, as must you with your farm. If you do not – you will break.”
It did nothing to smooth things over. Stanley couldn’t even have a venal wife, due to his enforced impoverishment. The girl, he wanted to marry, Sally, was becoming ever more distant as the battle dragged on. Who could blame the gal? Hopes of marriage for her were becoming as thin as Stanley’s were of recovering his farm.

Stanley sat mute, as his lawyer urged settlement. The vote-rapist was willing to reimburse Stanley for a portion of his loss. If Stanley would agree to cease & desist all further action in the matter, the politician would pay a year of Stanley’s legal costs. Stanley thought about the offer. It would seem good to put it all behind him.
Then again, it was humiliating to see oneself so powerless, being dishonored in one’s own eyes. The treachery was too grave. He wanted vengeance. Stanley was too young yet to internalize the fact that most people who betray friends for money are just too stupid to feel the pain of another’s loss. Something is missing in their humanity.
He tried to hire another lawyer to sue his first lawyer for malpractice. That new lawyer told the first about Stanley’s plans. When Stanley returned, the second lawyer told Stanley to go back to the first lawyer, eat some crow, and take the raping politician’s offer. Every subsequent prospective lawyer treated Stanley the same way. The enervation grew, even though desire for revenge continued unabated, increasing commensurately.
A few days after Stanley experienced his final barrage of lawyer-treacheries, he also became aware that Sally passed her fidelity breaking-point. He arrived at her regular employment, to pick her up, as usual. He was a few minutes late, and all the staff had left for the day. He entered a few office cubicles, calling her name. She did not answer, no doubt concentrating on something (he thought) that prevented her from responding with alacrity.
When he did encounter her, it was in the executive lunch-room. The vote-rapist was with her. He was on the couch. Naked Sally was on her knees. The pol’s penis was well-ensconced in her mouth.
As her head rose, periodically, her undulating breasts gently slapped the vote-rapist’s knees above his partially removed trousers. Stanley was just too much dismayed to respond favorably to the sensuous pornographic scene with decorum. He did little more than stare, while his legs began to quiver uncontrollably. The pol was surprised, of course, and waved at Stanley to make haste in getting out of the room. The vote-rapist’s wild gesticulations distracted Sally from assiduous attention to matters at hand.

She stopped her oscillating head long enough to turn and observe what was causing the pol’s change of behavior. Seeing Stanley, she emptied her mouth enough to shout. “Get out, Stanley! Can’t you see this is private!?”
The scene before him forced Stanley to take some important steps. There was no amount of auto-dissembling that would obscure the fact that Sally was serving as a bimbo for the vote-rapist. It was right there before his eyes. He really felt like a slave. As he stumbled out of the lunch-room door, and into the street, his desire for revenge became insatiable.
Stanley asked an uninvolved lawyer why lawyers in general were so unethical. The indignant cravat denied any such state existed or was as universal as Stanley so intimated, showing our hero a copy of the BAR’s “legal ethics”. Stanley read the paper. It clarified why lawyers indeed feel no moral limitations. Such “ethics” are simply the rules of professional parasitism.  Lawyers appear to have rigged the system, he thought, to make it appear that we need them and always will.
Long after Stanley became a successful lawyer hunter, he met Rav Aloirav. Rav Aloirav, the great bioweapons virtuoso, explained the esotericisms of “Law” to him. He said. “Ask yourself, Stan, what exactly is “Law”?”
“I guess I can’t really give you a good definition of it, Rav. I’m not a lawyer.”
“You need not be a skunk to know skunks stink, Stan. At any rate, this is what I believe. Law is an internationally-organized mammoth swindle, a collective psychosis. It is sold to the hoi polloi as an esoteric interpretation of an enormous collection of customs, precedents and tyrannical essays (called statutes). The interpretation purports to regulate human conduct for justice and progress in the direction of some twisted utopia for the enchanted hordes, a kind of ersatz Christianity. As death-worshipping Christianity today is the exact opposite of what that wonderful fag, J.H. Christ, taught his flock, so the “legal reality” is quite the opposite of its stated objective’s propaganda. The fate of the U.S. Constitution, the existence of a porcine fraternity of obscenely wealthy at-av-neg mutant caedere thugs, and packed penitentiaries around the world graphically demonstrate this fact. By dedicating themselves to subverting high-minded objectives, practitioners of these accepted voodoo taboos, to the detriment of humanity and the planet, eventually profit only themselves and those with a preponderance of substantial quantities of caedere wealth symbols. In order to keep themselves in the enviable position of system regulators, these legal lice have placed an interdict upon any other system or incentive to human betterment.”
“They have a monopoly.”
“One of the strongest and have had it so for a very long time. So very long that the rest of us believe “Law” to be an invincible institution. Only war, epidemics, revolution, etc. pull deception’s veil down long enough for us to see their subterfuge. In truth, lawyers are parasites, traitors to humanity. Their latent objective is the destruction of civilization. The founding in Indiana of The American Bar Association in 1870 by the monstrous Rothschild family is a case in point.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Most pols and all judges are now members of it. Lawyers essentially control all government and thus advocate the most egregious conflict of interest. The Rothschild et als. do not mandate lawyers work exclusively for Rothschild corporate interests. Like any mafia, they allow lawyers the largesse to rob as they see fit wherever Rothschild interests do not impinge. Just as the Rothschilds have rigged the financial systems of the world to make people believe they are dependent on Rothschild fiat currency, so lawyers have rigged the legal system to make us feel we need the fiends to interpret their unjust laws.”
“Why do “good” people make bad laws and bad people make “good” laws, Rav?”
“Because there are NO “good” laws, Elbo. Good laws would be money-losers for the corruption cult – people would obey them in spirit without reservation. Lawyers are superfluous, adventitious, subhuman beasts, and “good” laws would make that fact obvious to the most casual observer.”
“What is crime?”
“Crime is an invention of legal practitioners, an exploitative offshoot of archaic taboos. Lawyers write terrible laws and then prohibit humans from interpreting them. They reduce reality to specious symbols and argue over those symbols. This gives lawyers monopoly over the “Law” and ownership of “criminal raw-material chattels”, i.e. people in penitentiaries are their slaves. Lawyers and the at-av-neg mutant porcine fraternity are the only universally-accepted slave-owners in the world.”

“Law, itself, is slavery, a growing business. Penitentiaries are all examples of unconstitutional punishment, yet lawyers never try to get people out of them on those grounds. Why? Why cut your own throat? The best situation for the lawyers would be to get rid of the US Constitution forever. In fact, the last Presidents of the USA were nothing more than Rothschild hit-men, hired to kill the US Constitution. Understandably so. It made a mockery of the entire legal system. It was a legal embarrassment.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Worldwide, lawyers have titles of nobility, “Esquire”, granted by the Rothschilds. Our Constitution also prohibits these titles. Lawyers, therefore, are not just general traitors to humanity. That “Esquire” title makes them also specific traitors to their country. Every day, lawyers subvert our 1776 revolution against the King & Rothschild. Treacherous agents of these atrocious porcine families, lawyers dedicate themselves to enslaving all humans.”
“And Courts?”
“Democracy, even if not complete rabble-rule dementocracy, is just a fantasy of the brutal & ignorant. Law courts are little fiefdoms of compartmentalized tyranny, caedere dictatorships within gardens of insanity. The judge is el Supremo, the Dictator, and the contending parties are but pawns of the dictator-lawyer underlings. As Attila is to the Witch Doctor, so the pol is to the lawyer. Tax lawyers are shameless minions of the Rothschild brigands. The Federal Reserve and its IRS thugs are a lawless Ponzi swindle and its enforcer, respectively. Zionists & the porcine fraternity own them. The Zionist world hierarchy depends on their godfather, the Rothschild viper family and its enforcing arm, the Mossad, to protect them from humanity.”
“And industry? How does industry fit into the picture?”
“First, you must discriminate between free enterprise industry, disconnected from government subsidies, as opposed to gargantuan corporate-welfare industry. The former can be an integral part of an anarchistic economy. The latter cannot. Regulatory agencies are obfuscating tools of welfare-industry. Welfare-industry behemoths get swindling lawyers to camouflage their indiscreet nether regions. Lawyers then use their creations to betray the public. Welfare-industry repays the treacherous lawyers with future nepotistic industry benefits. Lawyer pols aid & abet the “regulated” industry in return for political contributions.”

“So law has no purpose at all?”

“Yes, it does. Law serves to enslave humans. But, to be accurate, most “laws” are not even laws, passed by venal pol representatives, but are non-laws, self-serving edicts of legal tyrants. These are enforced criminally and willy-nilly on legal bureaucrats’ personal whims, often brutally at gunpoint. Lawyers make extorting non-laws just to enrich themselves at human expense.”

“We’re all being used.”

“Slavery is an institution, still alive and well. It is no longer called such. We now know it as “The Rule of Written Law”. Legal terms are contrived shibboleths that obfuscate anything resembling descriptive accuracy of definition. Legal language is a bastardization of English that is so obtuse it does little more than act as the practitioner’s enforce-at-will-mechanism. Any crime or swindle a lawyer wishes to perpetrate, he can do with impunity as long as it does not embarrass his legal colleagues. The BAR’s venal “legal ethics” scheme is clearly evidential of that fact. It is but a sham excuse to use whatever means available, break any accepted value… to betray, exploit or cheat their clients in any way imaginable. Their only constraint is to avoid an exposure, tending to lead to difficulties or embarrassment for their shameless associates.”

“That was my take on them too.”

“Accepting a bribe to betray a legal client is not considered wrong. It is known as getting “too close” to a case. Corrupting a judge is not called subornation. It is termed getting the bloke “personally involved” in the case or, in Brazil; it is called “wetting” the guy. Usually such “influence” (in the USA) is accomplished by getting to the agency (pol) that put the judge in the dictatorial position. This protects, with the advantage of distance, the suborners’ cabals.”
“It sounds to me like I’m fighting a losing battle.”
“As laudable as are your efforts and as pure as are your objectives, perhaps you are indeed. What you are attempting, the way you are proceeding, at present, is bound to fail, Stan. “Un solo palo no hace lanea” (One small burning match stick will not cook all your meals), i.e. you cannot rid the world of legal slavery alone, not even with your few cadres of “pol-police”.

“I can see the wisdom in your words, Rav.  But, I will continue doing, what I feel I must do. If not me, who? If not now, when? Even if no one else has the courage to do this kind of work, at least my imagining it is possible, and attempting it, may make another person’s similar efforts easier. Ultimately, our race may, one day, develop the wherewithal to make it a standard health measure.  These subhuman parasites may even be relegated forever to disease-microbe status, eradicated like variola.”

“Careful! Elbo. Smile when you say “variola”!”

Elbo laughed at Rav’s pretended ire, and the hotelier continued. “You will need an army, lad, perhaps roving bands of fathers, to search out and destroy lawyers and pols wherever they find them.”

“How do I do that?” Elbo asked.

“Interesting, that you should ask.  I don’t know if you are aware of it, Elbo, but I used to be a U.S. Marine. Back then, being a soldier was thought of as an honorable profession, not just another ho-hum Rothschild pol-hired thug. I have a friend that was with me in Viet Nam. After his discharge, he hated the United States with such a vehement hot hatred that he went on to become a mercenary for other countries. I was speaking with him about this very subject, just the other day.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He said. “Rav. Because of technology, war has become far less enjoyable than it once was. Firearms, biological and chemical weapons, nukes… all take their toll on the entertainment’s longevity. Non-combatants get to enjoy the real carnage. The human race needs to step back and choose an entirely new aspect in war and a new look at strategies and their associated tactics. The Islamic State (ISIS) alone was embarking on an exciting new experiment in this regard. I have not yet learned if Rothschild funded it or just benefitted from it. If Israel was not its creator, the outfit merited respect. I’m confident; ISIS or some similar group may even be in position to take out Israel someday.””

“I could not believe he was serious. It was news just too good to be true. Imagine getting rid of that nest of Nazis! So, I continued to listen.”

“He continued. “Wars, and the amusement they generate, should grow out of territoriality or clan privileges, revenge, religion, ethnic cleansing needs (cleanliness is next to godliness, you know), resource exhaustion, glory & power motives, economic commitment failures, etc. These catalysts need not change. Alas, today, wars are business, entered into exclusively for banker’s economic gain. This is unacceptable. War needs a new definition.”

“For example, plunder. Riches are defined, heuristically, as the symbolic representation of possessed death (caedere) objects. Living things, rendered into their dead counterparts, become “wealth”. The human race creates a death gradient therefrom. Our species then places thereon various monetary value weights. Kind of a religion…death worshipping and all. Economics is the study of how death symbols can be most effectively redirected, stolen or embezzled. ISIS pursued this fresh new aspect in plunder-pillage very well.”

“War now lacks the universality of yester-year’s carnage, blood & guts. The mayhem is not spread around equally. Somehow, we’ve forgotten that the true pleasures of war are deployment and engagement. Seeing our friends’ bodies torn to pieces with arms, legs, heads, etc. tossed around, willy nilly, as if there was no rhyme or reason to it, is being discontinued. What do we have in that joyful situation’s place? A sanitized corporate exercise geared to benefit the arms industry, i.e. the Rothschild family. Death symbols are how we keep score.”

“First strikes and preventative hostility are all well and good . . . for viruses, but their use in mass-murder frolicking is over-rated and perhaps even a tad pusillanimous. We cannot neglect this fact in our new synthesis. Men make war because they enjoy it, not for any specious goal realization. Goals are how you sell war to the rubes. This is why lies and false-flag torts must precipitate any decent wars. The Rothschild family never ever forgets that principle.”

“Teleology is not needed in war. Its use is a distraction, engineered to swindle support out of enslaved taxpayers. Rothschild always wins, whichever side prevails, sponsoring both of the opposed parties with fiat money. Fools and the children of contenders ultimately pay the cost of a genuinely appealing war. Ignorant or virtual morons prosecute wars. Florence Nightingale said, “A generous helping of stupidity is almost essential to being a good soldier or marine.” I think she was right. An Honorable Discharge is prima facie evidence of dishonor in the recipient. One must be truly dishonorable to endure the degradation necessary to acquire one. Not even real mercenaries, the military today are just enslaved killers-for hire. After the pointless exercise ends, the government throws veterans into trash heaps (VA Hospitals) and nobody is the worse.”

“Wars are never, ever won, as both sides lose more than the war will ever provide in compensation. Most terminate in negotiated political settlements as if they were started as silly lawsuits filed by shit-shysters. Any self-respecting war should be self-supporting and display nothing less than pure brutality. ISIS showed the entire world how to do it right. Israeli Khazars, Rothschild sycophants, are as practiced in the art of contemporary war as is inhumanely possible. Like ISIS they never neglect the real purpose of war.”

“Which is…? I asked”

“Why, entertainment!”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I agreed, and he continued.”

“As usual, deception and prevarication are all that is required in the way of atrocity inception. Highly successful Khazar subhumans first test plausible solutions to all festive blood sports. Prior to putting their own subhumans in harm’s way, these likable chaps insure ample suffering and bloodshed will result. Ashkenazi’s of Begin, Shamir, Dayan, Peres, Netanyahu and Sharon ilk have thus developed a plethora of ways to keep war highly gratifying. These stingy good ol’ guys’ acolytes don’t shirk sending in their sophisticated armies. Why should they? Their gorillas and arms, bought & paid for by imbecile Americans, succinctly and with impunity murder and maim defenseless Palestinians.”

“Yet, they only do so until all the available women and children are raped, burned and maimed beyond recognition. Virtually all will attest to the great fun they had, seeing babies with their arms & legs blown off or blinded by incendiary grenades. Oh, yes! It’s a real scream. And if you have never observed how loud an Arab teenager can yell when burned over 90% of his body, you’ve missed too much.”

“It’s priceless. When such blissful experiences are nearing an end, and war ceases to please their simian bloodlust, the Khazars return to the UN. There, with all pomp and circumstance, they deliver the cherished, much-appreciated, social finger. I don’t believe anyone has managed to invent a better way of starting, prosecuting or keeping war exciting than Rothschild’s bootlicking Israelis. The US cabaret and the British stable can learn much about war from the Khazars.”

“The issue of non-combatant deaths is an abstruse matter. It is not to be taken too flippantly. As one who has personally put hundreds of souls to the sword, I feel I have standing to expound upon the sophistication of child murder. In my previous adulation of the Khazars, I do so hope that the Islamic State (ISIS) and friends of the mulatto Obama do not for one moment feel that I am shorting them in deserved recognition. The Bushes and the Clintons will excuse my but apparent neglect of them likewise, I’m sure.”

“To kill an innocent child in any way other than in a perfect accident requires a titanium heart. Possession of such an existence, totally lacking in anything resembling a human soul, is a marvelous thing. Cherishing lifelessness in all aspects of existence is not to be denigrated. Far be it from me to attest to the contrary. I say, honestly, that I do believe these few subhumans, I have mentioned, have found ways of keeping war genuinely pleasurable.”

“Give credit where it is due. Sadly, there is virtually no expectation that members of the genuine human race can ever hope to achieve the heights of fiendish miscreation that the subhuman Israelis or our politicians have. The only case in point (other than ISIS) that even approaches Israeli expertise is that of another subhuman coterie, the late Nelson Mandela’s ANC & its SACP pustule. Fond memories of Nelson’s bombings of children and discerning necklacings have in some ways brought about a similar pleasure to those soul-less aficionados of the total war ecstasy.”

“Of a certain, I do not mean to underestimate Rothschild’s legitimate concerns about ripping off Ukraine’s titanium. How does one make war these days without an ample supply of titanium? Ridiculous! Even to consider an alternative metal! Along with Rothschild’s occasional cardiac repair needs, one understands and can appreciate his family’s titanium apprehensions.”

“That, Elbo, brought my friend to his main point in our conversation, a point particularly salient to you and I also and our present conversation. That is, a tentative substitute for the contemporary anemic nature of non-Khazar war and your need for an army. They coincide.  The proposal presented to me by him describes an attractive alternative to the niggardly insanity we now know as modern war. The following limited explanation of his new aspect in war-craft is just that of which you are in need. By being terse, draconically economical in words, in describing the subject, I mean no impertinence to him. While developing the following substitute, “ersatz war” (if you will), he has taken as many objections into account as possible. Being a charter member of the Burning Fasces (Anti-Fascism) Movement, you must, of course, step lightly around Rothschild’s corporate interests to impel forward your ambitious goals.”

“His idea is sheer genius. But, no war alternative can be chosen if it fails to take into consideration the sponsor of all piquant wars, the Israeli cynosure, and the Rothschild dynasty. (Hence his own recent obsequious disclaimer to me on the West’s Ukrainian prevarication.)”

“He went on to say. “Humanity is on one side of the embattled parties in the proposed new hostilities. The issue (war) is the dubious value, residing in the survival of the human race. Other combatants, about to be introduced, are subhuman.””

“As you are so well aware.” Rav said.

“Absolutely!” Elbo replied.

Rav’s friend continued. “There has been some criticism, albeit unjustified, that humanity should not deploy against subhumanity. We both disagree, I’m sure. Subhumanity has been attacking humanity for over 40,000 years. Battles have already been engaged. Just because a soul-less, missionless, subhuman animal has uncertain standing to engage us in battle does not indicate it is deserving of any handicap.”

“Agreed.” Rav replied, and his friend continued. “Subhumans, like Neanderthals, lawyers, pols and such are often more intelligent than humans. Also, members of the at-av-neg mutant porcine fraternity (Rothschild, Clintons, Bushes, Rockefellers, Gates, Buffet, etc.) are nearly as intelligent as the average human. We are inclined to overlook that in our misplaced admiration for their large caches of caedere goods, thinking they are but sick beasts to constitutively accumulate nonsense to such a degree.”

Rav said. “Legal parasites are subhumans and self-proclaimed enemies of the human race. They have rigged the entire system to protect themselves and the garden-variety Rothschild nematode. How have they done this great feat? They have led us to believe that they (and only they) have the ability to determine what is right and wrong, guilt or innocence. The great jurist, Blackstone, defined insanity as the inability to distinguish between good and evil, right and wrong. I say that any time we assume the capacity in ourselves to arrogate the ability to designate something as right or wrong we display our insanity before the entire world. To imagine there might be right or wrong or to suppose a capability to determine something so is to misappropriate powers of judgment for which we are not endowed. The right to say we have the ability to determine what is right and wrong is but assumed and an act of a pompous overwrought mind. Very few beings of which pass as human today can even be called rational entities and to say we can know truth, when we see it, is engaging in the most errant conjecture, at best. “

“In defining this – our adversary,” Rav said his friend continued, “we must ask. Just exactly, what is a lawyer?”

“What do you think, Elbo?” Rav asked. “Define the subhuman for me.”

“A credentialed thief.”

“Ah, Elbo. You are too kind.”

“You think so, Rav?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“My friend defined the brutes this way.” “A lawyer is a pompous gold-digger whose only claim to incomplete utter ignorance is a capacity to navigate power’s labyrinthine sewers in order to cheat the unaware and unwary.”

“Is he not right, Elbo?” Rav queried.

“Yes, he is.” Elbo replied.

Rav’s friend continued. “All lawyers employ their licensed-fraudster status to force compliance with arbitrary fiats backed by violence. Rules of truth (proof) are no guarantee of truth. That Man can discover justice is a mirage, a swindle. Justice, natural or man-made, is unknowable by humans. Our minds are incapable of judging irresponsibility. Written Law has been with us for so long, way too long, and persons (relationship junkies) now exist that feel it has positive benefits for humanity. Quaint, isn’t it?”

“I told him I agreed, Elbo. Since all lawyers worship at the feet of dear old 666, my friend needed to remove all salient objections from this direction. Having pacified the 6-pointed red star, with his obsequies, he felt he could speak to me with candor. You would do well to heed his precaution in your work.”

“Oh, I can see the wisdom in that, Rav.”

“Good.”

“My friend then went on to say. ”A valiant warrior of yesteryear would never achieve glory and its associated fair damsel if he did not take down ten to twenty times his weight in enemy. But soft! The average lawyer is not a warrior but an irresponsible fiend. It cannot aspire to reach even the height of the average human combatant’s shoelaces. So, a feat worthy of great honor or acclaim, taking one out or even a score or two, it cannot be.””

“The modern ersatz warrior must expect to take down 50 to 100 of these embodiments of excrement before he can ever be considered for admittance to Valhalla or even to be called a man worthy of his steel. In this vein, we also can only consider bankers, politicians and hierarchal religious hominids (pastors, priests, bishops, popes, etc.) on a par with the legal vermin. So, whatever can be the incentive to eradicate these parasites beyond some adventitious desire for survival? Herein layeth the rub. One must never forget that police and all the minions of state violence will be arrayed on line to thwart any attack on these horrendous beasts. Therefore, blood must spill.”

“There you have it, Elbo!” Rav exclaimed. “An ersatz war, with all the blood and guts that simmered & seethed within wars of yesteryear, is possible. New definitions are applicable as well as conservation of as much carnage as in the old wars. Multiples of sanguinary honor and glory gradients can be achieved. Battling the preponderance of legal infrastructure and battalions of organized homicidal state agents, financial instrumentalities, bestial voodoo faculties, and amalgamated odds, all arrayed against the human warrior.”

“Declaring war on lawyers, bankers, the simian religious, and pols will burn the millennial fasces and return the entire pleasure of war to those glorious days of yore.  “Ersatz war” will provide opportunities for sacrifice, honor, glory and every other ideal to be achieved by turning our better faculties to the extinction of subhuman irresponsible fiendish vermin. Should the battle go against the human, he will recycle. As he goes, he will know that the human race and the planet will be a better place for his having lived and struggled against the parasites. The world, to which he may return, will be a better one.”

“Sounds good, Rav. It certainly bears thought.”

“He went on to say some metaphysical-like personal stuff. I don’t know if you want to hear it. It may have some bearing on your needs, Elbo, but I’m not sure. Do you want to hear it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Talking as if nearing his end, he said. “If there has been some purpose, for my being made to torment and be tormented for a few decades here, it will soon be satisfied. Has my life been a success to my tormentors? I could care less. I avoided Rothschild’s involuntary servitude and prevented his using my accomplishments to enslave others. I escaped a castrating woman and her ungrateful brats. I did the best I could to solve the major problems on the planet and shall have died not having failed to use the last of my resources to do so. I call that a measure of success, don’t you, Rav?””

“I agreed, of course, and he continued. “Could I have done more? Yes. But, I don’t see how with the resources at my disposal.””

“That ends our late conversation. I hope you can see its value, Elbo.”

“Oh, I can, Rav.”

 

That ended their conversation for a time. At a later date Elbo and Rav were talking again about the problems associated with eradicating those they considered enemies of humanity. Rav said. “Once you are successful, my lad, and if you can ever see the end of the tunnel, you must eradicate the parasitic ultra-wealthy and the top clerics too.”
“Why?”
“As my mercenary friend said, these are also virulent parasites, and if you neglect to do so, they will act as counter-revolutionaries. If the planet is ever finally free of the legal-political scum, these porcine few will start the process all over again.”
“How?”
“By creating a new batch of Judas-goat “professionals”.
“More lawyers?”
“Of course. And, among many others, a veritable slew of filthy pols they can get to do their money-grubbing bidding. Ask yourself, Elbo, why you feel compelled to take on this virtually impossible task?”

“I don’t know, I guess. I never gave strategy much thought beyond the correct employment of tactics to achieve revenge.”

“Teleology is important and should not be neglected. I believe it’s because you are a real human being, Elbo. You have a mission, even if you have not defined it yet in terms of strategic awareness. I feel your mission and mine are similar but distinctly different. They are facets of the one great purpose in why all true humanity manifested out of the ether.”

“What mission is that, Rav?”

“We must first define what we mean by mission. To do that, we must define life – our lives.      What is life?” Rav asked and then answered himself. “I believe it is a photon of light, reflected off a grain of sand. That small sand pebble lies on one of the beaches of one of the great oceans of the great planet, Death. Our mission as human beings is to aid Nature, that stubborn cuckolding whore of the great god Entropy, in her rebellion to make that one tiny photon, two.”

“And these “others” of which you speak are our mission’s enemies?”

“Yes. Professionals number among our best guides to the primrose path. Look at how much available science knowledge is never brought to light because of the scientific priesthood’s “peer review” Index. It’s a contemporary Consistory. John Calvin in Geneva or the damn Pope couldn’t have limited it better. Stifling of scientists’ press-freedom is called    “peer review”. It is virtually a euphemism for enforcing politically-correct thinking in technical areas. Have you any idea how much of “political correctness” is determined by financial pressure gradients?”

“I’m sure it’s substantial.”

“Damn straight!” The hotelier continued. “Do you think, without “peer review” of chemists, the pharmaceutical industry could have grown so powerful as to subvert every political system in the world? Anti-cancer . . .hypertension . . . heart drugs that rip-off sickos but don’t work, the entire HIV mess that poisons people for being positive on bogus ELISA tests, and the simian virus potentiating industry – are all accidental?”

“Could the nuclear technology industry have brought us to the Chernobyl – Fukushima – nuclear waste abyss without “peer review” poison? Nuclear energy, as it is presently used, will destroy all animal life, humanity included. Scientific superstition, cowardice and venality have led us to this point. Without “peer review”, real scientists might have stopped the abomination before it left Alamogordo.”

“But, take the “medical profession”. It is, at best, a euphemism for a brothel of sado-masochistic whores & myopic altruists. Their provincial thinking, despite rhetoric to the contrary, simply adds to needless world suffering. At worst, their venal peddling of an array of useless false hopes and poisonous medicaments comes about as an unholy alliance with the pharmaceutical devils. Their molly-coddling genetic misfits and the moribund is an eternal menace to society.”

“The “legal profession” is a bit more straightforward. They, at least, admit their latent goal is the destruction of Society. The professional classes, lawyers and doctors, with a sprinkling of pompous royal scientists, are an integral part of the porcine fraternity’s strategy to enslave the human race forever.”
These cogent conversations came at a much later time in Elbo’s life. They did not help him now, as he ruminated on his fate. Despondent, after seeing Sally so avidly connected to his worst enemy, Stanley returned to his small flat in town. Depression and desire to get even turned quickly to murderous rage. Seething hatred welled up in his breast; Stanley sat up all night nursing a 2 liter bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. By 4 AM the next morning he possessed the general plan that ruled the rest of his life.
After work the following day, he returned to his first attorney. There he picked up a check equal to one year of the 5 year’s legal fees he had paid. The equity in his farm was lost earlier. Payment in full, it was, for his agreement to both cease & desist in pursuing further action to recover his farm. At the last minute, the vote-rapist attached a codicil that made a stipulation. Stanley also could provide no entanglements that might come about due to any residual animosity he might have regarding Sally’s treachery. Stanley signed both of the agreements and left with his money.

He now had no assets and, except for the attorney’s check, he was flat broke.  The money from the check went for a sophisticated laptop computer with satellite internet access. He quit his job and during the following two years he studied and researched a smorgasbord of subjects. His topics included mathematics, biology, chemical engineering, chemistry & biochemistry, export-import laws & regulations, criminal investigation, forensics, shipping schedules, hunting tips, guerrilla tactics, man hunting, digital surveillance technology, hacking 101, etc.
When Stanley felt he’d learned sufficient facts to move into the second stage of his plans, he changed his residence to New England. He felt it would be better to do experimenting far away from the incubus of his vengeful motivations. He would hunt small prey first. Larger cravats would come with experience.
Stanley settled down in a small town in Massachusetts. Vestigial remains of democratic foolishness, the town meeting, still haunted it. He made himself known with the townies but kept pretty much to himself. He got to know the politicians in the area and recorded all their habits in a special encrypted file. When Stanley felt ready, he began hunting.
One night, he passed a local Board of Health politician alone on the expressway. The politician was obviously drunk and his car weaved as it entered the rest area entrance. Stanley followed the vehicle and stopped a ways away to watch. The politician was cruising, looking for homosexual boys with whom to consort. The rest area was uncharacteristically devoid of other occupants, and Stanley saw his chance.
He began a homosexual defilade, prancing a ways away from the politician. The politician noticed, bought into the depraved spectacle, and followed. When near the darkest area of the rest park, Stanley swung his baseball bat at the other’s head. The politician fell gently to the ground. Stanley threw the body and bat into his trunk which was lined with plastic poly film.

Taking the man’s keys, he opened the pol’s car’s door and rifled through the contents.
Anything anonymous and of value he took. Taking care that no evidence was left behind, Stanley also removed all valuables from the politician’s body. Driving to the inland waterway on the Cape, Stanley dumped in the headless, handless body. The head and hands he burned in a special incinerator.
A few weeks later, he found another politician in a similar condition. This time it was a selectman from another town that also exited the world leaving Stanley a bit richer. Stanley’s hunting continued in such a serial manner for about a year. As he gained experience in his new vocation, the man began looking into legal parasite possibilities. Here there was much more plunder possible. It was here also that the purpose rested for his current apprenticeship.
He catalogued the diurnal itinerary & habits of a number of Boston attorneys. Those with Irish mob connections were the most visible and appeared to be the wealthiest. How to accomplish the kill and get more money than a weak & common fag-mugging was always a problem. Very few attorneys strode along the esplanade with cash on their persons. They knew better than most of the existing plethora of thieves.

Yet, Stanley couldn’t keep cleaning the world of cravats indefinitely without better compensation. Hunting was expensive. Suppose he made a mistake? Charged with serial cravat killing, how would he ever find a cravat to defend him? Nevertheless, Stanley knew he needed to take greater risks if he wanted plunder in larger amounts. He could not grow without plunder. If he didn’t grow, he would regress. It was a Law of Nature.  Therein lay the conundrum. He proved amenable to risk, thinking. “If I fail, what are the consequences? Castigation intensity is inversely proportional to gravity of crime. All they can really do is sling shame.”
One cravat, our avenging angel researched, lived in a Marblehead mansion with his wife, a spinster sister, a maid, and a handyman. Stanley watched the lawyer & the man’s house for weeks. This particular lawyer was employed as a Massachusetts Superior Court judge. The entire legal (and illegal) world knew the judge was as corrupt as moldy bread. The legal fraternity would fight for years for the chance to put their most guilty wealthy clients before him.
The judge and the politician that placed him in his judgeship were in triple demand over other similarly-positioned cravats. Being in such demand meant he and his politician handler could raise bribe acceptance levels to astronomical heights. Such large numbers an honest criminal could never hope to pay. Only the most powerful of drug kingpins and richest of vote-rapists enjoyed the judge’s extra-close proximity. Stanley would have liked to harvest both the judge and his pol-owner.

It would have been a nice catch. However, he did not yet feel skillful enough to take down targets just because he wanted the trophy. The targets still needed to be vulnerable enough, he felt, for his lack of planetary sanitation experience to exploit.
One night, Stanley followed the cravat home and waited until the police escort left the premises. Having dressed in a policeman’s uniform, Stanley felt the beguiling attire would overwhelm any caution demanded by the surveillance camera. Feeling that his pistol would not be enough intimidation, he carried a baseball bat and some furnace tape beneath the uniform. He wrapped his gun hand & gun in plastic. The maid answered the door, and Stanley immediately silenced her.

A large rolled overcoat muffled most of the volume of the gun’s report. The handyman heard anyway and came to investigate. Stanley subdued him quickly with a blow from his bat. Dragging the bodies out of sight from the other rooms, Stanley incapacitated each of the other three occupants separately. The judge put up a bit of resistance but not for long. Stanley ensconced the wife & sister in an overstuffed, until the judge regained consciousness.

Once the latter three were all awake, gagged and bound Stanley questioned them about their mutual interests. Cravat, wife and spinster sis all refused to reveal their wealth’s location. Stanley was stymied, temporarily. Then, he demanded all three remove their clothing. The cravat and his wife began doing so. When the cravat was naked, his wife was only nude to the waist, and she stopped. Stanley urged her to continue. She was removing the last item of her lingerie, when the judge stopped her.
The gal was considerably younger than her husband, and the cravat thought she was about to be raped. It was too much. Stanley assured the man that he was only interested in the valuables, not his woman’s virtue. Cravat and nearly nude wife then showed Stanley the safe and its contents. There was over $250,000 in cash there and the same in jewelry & bearer bonds.
Taking it all, Stanley wrapped it in the wife’s sweater. He tied the sleeves around it to make it secure and placed it near the front door. He now demanded to know where the rest of the crown-jewels were hidden, but he received no answer. Having done no prior investigation for information about what all booty was contained in the house; he gambled that there was more. Stanly told the judge his patience was wearing thin, and he wanted the wife to remove the last of her lingerie, so that he could more easily have his way with her.
The judge broke down, admitting that there was over a million in uninsured white diamonds in another safe in the guest bedroom. This should have been enough, but Stanley was not yet finished. After acquiring the diamonds, he turned to the other woman. She still refused to expose either her wealth’s location or any of her body. Stanley helped adjust her to the new conditions in her life. He tore off the blouse and ripped apart her brassiere. She screamed and continued to do so as she beheld how her withered white breasts fell very obviously free . . . and down.
Stanley slapped her, and she quieted. The cravat and his wife were well-wrapped now in furnace tape. Stanley untaped them at the mouth and permitted the two to speak to her. They beseeched her to reveal where she ensconced her valuables. They tried cajoling her into self-betrayal in the interest of her modesty and practicality.
The spinster was unmoved. Stanley assured them again that he only wanted their valuables and would leave them in peace once he had them. The spinster held a long flat breast in each hand and was facing away from Stanley. As she listened to her brother’s request, Stanley yanked the back of her skirt and panties down to her knees. He pushed her down and pulled off the remaining clothing.
The woman was now more exposed than her sister-in-law. The condition so disconcerted her that she forgot attempting to conceal the normally most appealing areas. Stanley noticed the curiosity with which her brother beheld those nether regions. When the judge observed how Stanley was watching him, he looked away. It was too late, however, and Stanley ordered the cravat to rape his sister.
The cravat needed to be untaped to do so. Stanley complied, and the cravat moved to the position. Seeing her brother’s growing erection, as he contemplated kneeling to mount her broke the woman’s resistance. She led Stanley to the location of her most valuable (excepting her virtue) belongings. The cache was impressive, and she moaned as Stanley made her fill a torn blouse with the cash, bonds and jewelry.
Before leaving, he insured that the two employees were quite dead. Then he eased the judge out of life, using a pillow to muffle the exit noise. Stanley was getting ready to do the same to the women when lights appeared in the driveway. Taking a momentary hiatus from the carnage, he hid in the foyer, should anyone attempt an entry. He waited until the lights in the driveway left.

They were from a car turning around to head in the opposite direction. It was soon as tranquil as it was earlier. Making sure no evidence linking him to the crimes remained; he quietly killed each of the naked women with headshots. Stanley left Marblehead immediately thereafter.
A Concord cravat met a similar fate, as did a Lynn politician. After a number of similar escapades in New York and New Jersey, Stanley moved to Philadelphia. He was now a bona fide serial killer with most of his crimes noted on FBI records. Stanley was not concerned about future apprehension-by-cop.  He knew that such people do not do routine police work.

They only move on information provided by informants, and he worked all alone. Much later, Rav Aloirav informed him that the FBI does not even move when aided by informants. It is a necessary but insufficient impetus. Only when the director wants the information pursued is anyone willing to do policing stuff.

Stanley worked steadfastly and never left witnesses. His cash reserves were soon upwards of $5,400,000. He felt he could splurge on a trip to South America. Stanley found a Jew in the Jeweler’s building, 580 5th Ave New York, NY, 10036, that would hawala transfer for him the bulk of his money to another Jew in Rio. Stanley felt the 20% fee was a sound investment in happily-ever-aftering.
In Caracas, our hero met an Avensa stewardess who helped him buy the property on which Stanley located his first fish pond. She also held his passport for him, when he entered the Consulate to report it missing. Stanley felt a spare might come in handy someday. A few weeks later, his presentiment proved right.
As the Hegira is to Islam, so that trip to Caracas became the defining point in Stanley’s life. His rise to professional politician-hunter status began here. All alone, he tracked, hunted, captured & killed politicians & lawyers around the world. Within a few years Stanley was killing cravats in almost every corner of the globe. As yet, his survival depended on just the cash he wrung out of his victims & anonymity.
After a life of tribulation, he felt, only Lester Frye’s surpassed, Stanley learned to view lawyers & politicians with a similar white-hot hatred. He did not simply accept, what everyone else did, that most lawyers were ignorant, rude, pompous, mendacious, and treacherous know-it-alls. Stanley knew in his heart that they had no value at all, except in a parasitic negative subhuman manner. He made it his life’s mission to rid the earth of the “craven cravats”.
He hired some donkey drivers to expand & deepen a drainage-basin-cum-swamp on his property on Avenida La California near Caucagua, Miranda. His first alligator farm experiment began there in that small fishpond in a little barrio known as Yaguapita in pre-communistic Venezuela. Aspiring communist politicians there were plentiful and hunting was good.
In the beginning of his ex-patriotism, Stanley removed lawyers & politicians in Venezuela at twice his U.S. rate. Here it was not necessary to be so mindful of not leaving his DNA behind. Here also he discovered how to accomplish much more than simple murder and robbery. Stanley took a great risk, turning the tables on legal parasitism. He began himself to demonstrate sounder biological parasitism activity. The new procedures also made his métier safer. It would prove to be much more difficult to bring evidence to bear against him with the corpora delicti never found.
Although Venezuelan politicians were much poorer than their gringo counterparts, they were easier to kill. Stanley simply incapacitated them surreptitiously, threw them in a gunny sack and brought them home. Once there, he processed the cadavers in his new experimental factory. Hammer mills, comminutors, desiccators, 100 mesh filters, sacking machines, etc. It made his life so much richer.
Stanley wasted some time at the get-go in learning the most efficient way to process his acquisitions. After many painful trials, he hit upon the method still used today in what he termed the “planetary-parasite house-cleaning” profession. Stanley only kept a modicum of what he called “monkey-meat” in the large refrigerators. He preferred to dry & dispose of it the same day he acquired it.
First, Stan would strip himself naked. Then, he would chop the cravat into 4 or more manageable pieces with an ax. The hammer mill accepted the quartered corpse; much like a blender does potato pieces. The second step was to pour liquefied cravat into the desiccators. From the desiccators the former soup leaves in, as ever, unmanageable chunks. Comminutors reduced the small cravat cakes to finer particles. These grains passed 100 mesh filters and went directly to sacking machines.

Stan often complained. “As legal parasites flaunt the rules of civilization so do their particles. They tend to also violate normal processing expectations.”

Some blood & stray bits of fetid flesh invariably escaped the machines. It became necessary to wash these pieces of possible evidence into the waste stream quickly. Once he completed the cravat-crunching to his satisfaction, Stan bathed and dressed.
The first washings entered the fishponds immediately. Later washings, containing lye, couldn’t go directly there. Cravat-lye solutions are very bitter and can kill fish. Acid from spoiled-fermented finca fruit must neutralize it first. Large clay vats, near the ponds, lixiviate lye-cravat-fruit juice (until the bitterness dissipates). Then, once the solution is isotonic, snails & fish can feed on it.

Early on in his Venezuela sojourn, Stanley met neighbors who heard the sound of machinery. They thought his premises were allocated to grain processing. Soon they brought their rice and corn to him to be shelled or ground. He wisely bought the necessary additional machinery and took a percentage of the grain for his services. The arrangement worked well with the local farmers who increased their patronage.
The smell of grain being processed also obfuscated any rotting blood & flesh smells that accumulated unavoidably beneath the hammer mills. Stanley put the grain percentage with his cravat-monkey powder, diluting it to normal fish-ration consistency. He was careful never to sell monkey powder. Filters are not 100% effective. Larger particles (than 100 mesh) may at times enter the sacks. He mixed the high nitrogen material with broken grain and fed his fish with the resulting product.
Since lye never touched sacked cravat, DNA could survive processing. That would be evidence, grounds for arrest, and involve other complications. Ever larger groups of legal coteries would need to be reduced. As tempting as his contemplating on it was, Stanley did not yet feel competent to start such mini-wars.
Sacks of powdered monkey meat accumulated, as did his bank balance. He was also able to use monkey powder fertilizer on his cacao trees, increasing yields dramatically. Cacao supplemented fish sales. His “finca” grew. One day, Stanley built another factory on his land and bought an entire new complement of meat-processing equipment. Here he began producing pure powdered-fish fertilizer. It augmented his repertoire of other products. As he became richer and more proficient at his profession, he needed employees.
Not all his acquired employees were normal capitalistic humans. There were communist and religious subhumans among them, and at times Stanley experienced sabotage. The concupiscent commie Chavez was also in power now and Stanley knew what a roving eye that filthy pol possessed. It came to pass that Stanley needed to find employees of a higher caliber. Here, he was stumped. A distinct problem presented with no easy answer.
At times, he met other ex-patriots who were fugitives for assorted reasons. He approached them. Such maneuvers were dangerous, he knew. Lurking treachery was ubiquitous. Stanley wanted to know whether his prospective employees needed more than just a job. Their curriculum vitaes were not going to give him that information.
First, he felt, they must believe 100% in his mission. To ascertain that, he would have to discover if they had a history of being mistreated by the cravat profession. Stanley thought there would be legions, and he was right. Most fugitives are not wealthy, and Stanley was a “godsend” for many. Unfortunately, most “runners” are also suicidal, and he did not accept all those who wished to accompany him.
A few had no anti-cravat baggage. These too Stanley left alone. Those with great animosity for politicians, lawyers and other parasites he accepted into his mercenary corps as “pol-police” recruits. His older henchmen helped train and scrutinize newer people. Each must “make their bones” in regions and situations highly estranged from Stanley’s métier. Without at least such a prerequisite, he would not even consider hiring them.
The time came when Stanley felt he was ready to obviate his exportation middlemen. Exporting his legal products (cacao, fishmeal, dried fish, and alligators) brought him foreign exchange avenues and capital. To gain world distributors, he personally traveled to other countries. Many of his “pol-police” accompanied him. Those he trusted the most ran the Venezuelan operation in his absence.
The phenomenal feat of organization, started here, is legendary. His minions not only helped him acquire raw materials but they also protected him from all types of legal interference. Goethe said. “A noble person attracts noble people, and knows how to hold on to them.” Stanley was such a noble beast. None but licensed thieves & silk-suited embezzlers (cravats) wanted to stop him.
On one return trip, Stanley arrived at Maiquetia. He and his entourage were already through Customs, when a fellow from Guardia Nacional apprehended him. Stanley was using an expensive high-quality English passport. It had only once given him a problem and that was in Bucharest. He discounted that episode, because nothing came of it. The Romanian Immigration official was obviously, he felt, just trying to scare him into tendering a bribe.
This time something else was afoot, and Stanley was concerned. He knew he must have a snitch in his employ. The “pol-police” accompanying him knew enough to evaporate, on a prearranged signal. The Guardia Nacional fellow brought him to a large government building in Carabobo. Stanley was ensconced in an Inmigracion office for processing. While the cops were scrutinizing his phony passport, the chefe’ received a phone call. Stanley saw it as his only chance, and he took it.
Jumping behind a curious-but-buxom secretary, Stanley used both hands to tear off her blouse and bra. He then pushed the woman, breasts swinging freely, on her back on to the chefe’s desk. While the assorted men exercised great discipline in taking their eyes off the happy spectacle, our hero ran for the exit. Machine guns announced his escape, and he was forced to jump from a window on the building’s second floor. On the street below, at least twenty people were shot.

Many were killed, during his escape, and it was not a pleasant scene. He continued running, until he arrived at Belles Artes subway station. Bounding down the escalator, he jumped the coupon turnstile, just as the train’s doors were closing on a trip to Altamira. At Altamira, he left the train and found a hair salon, near the U.S. Consulate, which was still open. He soon became a fairy-blond with a Caracas-style hairdo.

A fine set of clothes, that would make any fag downright proud, adorned his new “image”, and he felt a bit more secure. Hailing a cab, he swished in and went to Belles Artes. Then, up the hill a ways, he got a room at Hotel Mercedes. From there, he made a phone call to his “finca” and got ahold of his top “pol-police” captain. The man was already aware of the situation’s gravity from the “pol-police” who had evaporated from the Guardia Nacional pogue’s presence earlier.

They were preparing for an expected raid. Stanley waited at a restaurant in Caucagua for news of the raid’s affect. It was not long in coming. The Guardia Nacional and local police swarmed over the finca looking for evidence of a clandestine “smuggling operation”. The erroneous information told Stanley his snitch had to be a new man, and they immediately set to work on discovering which one it was. Fortunately, the raid uncovered nothing more than a very prosperous Caucagua farm that Chavez would very much like to appropriate “nationalize”.
The stooges never uncovered any evidence of a wholesale revolution against institutionalized parasitism or even any proof of anarchy-dreaming. After a few hundred million Bolivar-bribe was tendered (and received) the agents of the pols left. One special provision of the handsome bribe, was that the chefe’ of the Guardia Nacional was to identify the snitch when convenient. He did so. The snitch immediately left Stanley’s employ to prepare Chavez’ place in Hell.
Later that same week, Stanley had no problem finding a cravat to iron out his difficulties with the Guardia Nacional. Within a month, business returned to normal. In ten more years, Stanley had acquired 2000 vans and 400 stake trucks around the world. They delivered thousands of desiccators, comminutors, and other reducing equipment months prior to any incursion into a new country. Huge lyophilization freezers & blending machines transformed 2,700,000 kilos of raw cravat meat into fine 100 mesh powder every year.
The polluted beings and their close associates (which often included billionaire caedere parasites) remained recognizable for less than 12 hours after acquisition (capture). He shipped only bags of 27% protein (fish ration) to his depots, prior to exporting it to his jungle farms. 20,000 henchmen in cities around the world brought him news and prospective feed livestock (politicians). They also helped him lure hopefuls to unlit & unobserved locations for eventual acquisition, fund extraction (robbing) & recycling (butchering). In every country he went to make contracts, he rented warehouses, bought milling machinery, and installed managers or franchisees.

Some places stayed almost vacant & unused for months. Eventually, he returned to do his hunting & processing. There were some areas where he was unable to shine. For instance, Stanley was never able to “acquire” a single trillionaire pol. As hard as he tried, there were always impasses that presented in his attempts to “acquire” a top Rothschild, Rockefeller, Schiff or even an ordinary member of the extremely obscene billionaires’ porcine fraternity.

The Queen of England, Loose Lizzy II, a most eligible monster, always eluded him, as did her close relatives. Another embarrassment was his minions’ infrequent lack of legal discretion. At times, employees made egregious errors that left them exposed to lawyer sophistry or vulnerable to the residuals of informants. This always required Stanley’s individual attention and sometimes large bribes. Often, bribes were ineffectual and massive “acquisitions” of entire gaggles of pols needed “recycling.

Once it became necessary to engineer an entire coup d’ etat just to keep operating in a neighboring country. His failures were not always limited to the “pernicious parasite persecution persuasion”. A situation of this instance presented when he arrived in Caucagua one afternoon to find his woman with another man. As mentioned earlier, Stanley was no novice to horns. He did not crumble now, as he did when Sally betrayed him.

It was now, to Stanley, just a hazard inherent in eternity work. The woman explained to Stanley that the handsome stranger was her cousin. It was all just innocent fun, nothing salacious. Supposedly, her “cousin” had often seen her naked when they were growing up together in Merida. He was merely fond now of watching her breasts swing to and fro (as she scrubbed at laundry).

Elbo’s mercenaries disagreed, however, suggesting to Stanley that the relationship was other than platonic. Stanley was most understanding, though, telling her that he understood she had needs that he could not satisfy while away planet-polishing. She need not prevaricate, Stanley said. Horns were a natural part of life.

Inviting the two into his factory, he explained to them some of the more salient parts of his political objectives. They were more impressed with his immediate goals than his machinery and aspirations. Both became silent after Stanley reduced them to monkey powder. His woman never again took the opportunity to let anyone watch her breasts swing to and fro while doing the laundry.
Stanley’s ample and growing experience with horns did not leave him unmoved. It convinced him of the need for spies & intelligence operatives. He began training his most gung ho & loyal henchmen in information gathering & processing. Soon after sending out into the field his first graduating spy class, Stanley was seriously taken aback. Politicians had made tremendous inroads into his ranks. He marveled at how close he had come, many times, to being stopped.
Only informers could unseat him, as his methods of operation were otherwise secure. Police would always need snitches to break him. His phenomenal luck, Stanley attributed to the residuals of diligence. On the basis of sound intelligence, he now made special changes, electronic & otherwise. These would preclude most future intrusions into his organization.

He reduced the numbers of his unfaithful “pol-police” and their pol contacts. It was necessary to “recycle” many “pol-police” and their pol-controllers in the process. Stanley’s increasing wealth was also not good for his public image in a commie state like Venezuela. He was spending increasingly larger quantities of funds and time on recycling his poorer neighbors, those that aspired to rob him and his assets. He knew changes were necessary.

In order to think more clearly and develop some ideas, Stanley returned to the U.S.A. for a vacation visit. He left his most trusted mercenaries in charge of the business. Politicians would be inclined to leave his farm in peace, knowing it contained many stinging wasps.
When Stanley arrived at one of his former U.S. residences, he encountered strange looks from some of the neighbors.

It was not long before he discovered the reason. The FBI soon arrived to question him regarding some of the murders for which, they felt, he was responsible. Stanley was moderately surprised, since he never left evidence connecting himself to any of the crimes. Alibis were the salient issues. Nevertheless, the intrusion did not devastate him. He was preparing for eventual police harassment for years.
Stanley knew his changing residence itinerary & the dates of the murders were highly coincidental. Police do not like or believe in coincidences. Correlations are too graphic. They took his passport on circumstantial grounds and told him not to leave town. Stanley did not take kindly to such behavior and caught the first train to New York City.

There he bought a nice new German passport with a different name, Elboruh Lebensrau.
Once in Caucagua again, after this 2^nd Hegira, Elbo also noticed a somewhat expected increase in heat from his neighbors. Becoming sensitized to hostile looks, he inquired about them from his mercenary managers. It turned out that the commie president, the brutal-pig look-alike, Hugo Chavez, was making land nationalization noises again. The last time he did that many decent people lost land & farms to the beggars, malignant poor and political thieves.

Elbo didn’t waste time. Looking into which vote-rapists were making the most “agrarian-reform” noise, he got his cadre of gringo “pol-police” ready. In every barrio in Caucagua, he began recording information on the commie cravats. One Saturday night, everywhere a commie politician rested, a gringo “pol-cop” filled his gunny sack. If there was a problem, the entire household got sacked. In the early Sunday morning hours, Elbo’s combe’ vans picked up stashed bodies.
There was great joy in one area of Yaguapita, the site of Elbo’s grindery, that Sunday, Day of Rest, God’s Day. The factory owner paid a bonus for every ton of “pol-belly” reduced. Elbo’s mercenary cops rolled up their sleeves and spent the entire day reducing rabble meat to rubble powder. Talk of land reform in Miranda became much reduced in intensity, temporarily. As it was Sunday, no Venezuelan would work, not even police.

Holidays in Venezuela are sacred, as there are only 142 of them per year and they only last for a few days each. Wednesday, however, like clockwork, Venezuelan commie-homicide crews arrived to harass Elbo’s factory. Reports of combe’ vans, similar to Elbo’s commie-cleaning vans, came in to police. It seems many reports claimed vans were entering the grindery that Sunday previous. Naturally, police found no corpora delicti.

Commie-cleaning vans were also not in residence. Lacking both evidence and a dearth of generous gifts of decadent western dollars & bolivars, the malicious rumors’ mystery left as quickly as it arrived. In the 1^st world, integrity is for sale as is any capitalistic commodity. In the 4^th world, integrity is an obscure idiosyncrasy of gringos and not very well understood by indigenous personnel. Caucagua police soon left the grindery in peace.

Each officer carried a well-stuffed fish with him. The next day, all the pol-positions, temporarily left vacant by Elbo’s depredation, were filled by brand new thieves.
Elbo was no fool. He knew he couldn’t kill all Venezuela. The US never succeeded in wiping out the poor in Viet Nam, the decent people of Iraq, or even the humans in Syria.

How could the man hope to do more in a country with such ample oil reserves, all allocated to finance brutes, beggars and Hollywood’s Rothschild rats? He couldn’t. Rather than concentrate his predatory wealth in any one state, for the envious to seize, Elbo accelerated his branching out to other countries. He never left tracks behind, because he left no trail of corpses. In every country, where Elbo discovered unprotected prey, he pounced & devoured.

Finding straight human flesh unpalatable, Elbo refrained from eating his “recycled acquisitions”. One of his “pol-police”, however, did experiment with pol-belly, as a bacon-substitute. Using locally-available seasoning and hard-wood smoke baths, the enterprising fellow found many who preferred it to commercial bacon of swine origin. Elbo sampled it, found it tasty enough, but declined to make it a sine qua non of his cuisine or even a daily regimen. He continued to dismember the raw beasts and deliver morsels in various comestible stages to his alligator farms.
Brazil appealed to Elbo, and there he focused his endeavors in alligator feed by-products and derivatives. Long afterward, because of its extreme lawlessness, he began to rue his Brazil decision. Explaining his reasons to Rav Aloirav, he listened to Rav’s cogent reply.

“I understand your point, Stan, but stop and consider. In most of the world now, there are aggressive police and penal institutions. Someone may err, exposing an aspect of their humanity. Monsters warehouse him in a cage and subject him to all the taunts and jibes of what might have been. Then they marvel at the kind of freaks they produce.”
“Very true.”
“Not here.” Rav continued. “Sure, Brazil is lawless, has no educational or infrastructural strengths. Transportation is a joke and the people are Pope-ophiles as superstitious as an African voodoo village. It has underdeveloped medical care and extraordinarily developed corruption. Yet, Brazil protects those on the receiving end of the pols and refuses to punish its offenders. She forgives. Lawlessness or freedom has a high price.”
“Sure does.”
“I believe slavery to be more expensive.”

“Explain, please.” Elbo asked.

“The USA, conceived in drunkenness, whelped in hypocrisy, and raised on theft imprisons as if there will be no future. A human being there must labor 11 months out of 12 to support: Rothschild’s greed, fascistic corporations, 100’s of millions of commie trash, pandering pols and prisons. Voter-trash are the truly monstrous ones!”

“You wonder how pols, such abortions of humanity, become representatives. People in the USA are nearly all demented, ignorant, cowardly & superstitious brutes. They epitomize the behavior of their beloved Jehovah and still allow themselves to be slaves of their pols.”

   Rav replied. “Men are fools. Democracies are run by men. The logic is simple. Fools run democracies. Democracy works, except for those who matter. In many states, voting is optional. It is always a form of beggary. Voter-trash hopes to be reimbursed for what the pols have previously stolen from it. Voter-trash sees itself gaining something from the corruption. One need not sympathize with such people. They run a risk, win or lose, deserving their condition. Voting in Brazil is compulsory. The government forces the monkeys to legitimize their oppressors’ representatives by a polite form of bribery (no public largesse without a proof-of-voting (slave) title-card). Yet, Brazil is the only country left in the world today that is still relatively free.”
“Yes.” Elbo replied. “Where else can you, with impunity, dismember your friends, decapitate them, and use their resulting liberated heads as soccer balls?”
“Freedom is expensive.”
“I’ll say. Too expensive!”
“My, Oh my. Aren’t we displaying the phantasmagoria of our hypocrisy for the entire world to see?”
“Perhaps, a bit.”
“Stan. You are a complete enigma to me. You reduce 3 million kilos of lawyer & pol monkey-meat to alligator feed every year and yet you can sit there and complain because some frolicking local kids got a little rough, during one of their silly soccer games.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You suppose!?” Rav erupted. “You have no right to judge, turkey! Killing lawyers and pols is not wrong. It is acting in survival mode and, as such, blessed by Nature. Yet, you also arrogate the right to judge the beasts. In that you have no standing.”
“How do you know you act in survival mode if you do not judge your enemy first?”
Survival acts are instinctive in the human breast. To judge, you must first pervert your soul. Stan, you are acting like that hypocritical old Noam Chomsky fart.”
“Why? What’s he done?”
“That yoyo purports to be an intellectual. Ridiculous travesty! He wasn’t just an obsequious supporter of the commies that massacred their own people in Vietnam. He also supported the monster commie Hugo Chavez. He took alms from Zionist war criminals at MIT for decades, while decrying their treatment of Palestinians. He even tried to absolve Mossad from their accessorial guilt in blowing up NYC on 9/11/2001, still whining about their genocides. MIT helped US Presidents & Israel murder millions of innocents. MIT, builders of the first nuclear bomb, home of Draper labs, and rippers-off of idealistic NSF students for their scholarships, committed the only real sin that humans could commit. They aided and abetted the nuclear technology industry as it brought death from another dimension into our own. They supported that dog tick Chomsky & Zionist world domination for years. The nuclear technology industry, MIT spawned, will ultimately cause the extinction of all animal life, including humanity. With all these anathemas to his credit, that Chomsky air-head can still arrogate sufficient moral high ground to pander to those who criticize Nazi vermin in Israel for their atrocious rape & murder of Palestinians. Hypocrisy unparalleled!”
“And you say I’m following in his footsteps?”
“I’m saying that you have no right to judge Brazilians for some petty atrocities. I’m sure somewhere in this world you can find someone who might even make a case for pols and lawyers being human. THEN, how would you feel? You’d be a murderer, like me, not just some glorified dog-catcher.”

“Oh, I’m just a glorified dog-catcher, am I?”

“What do you call lawyers and pols?”

“Well.”

“What do you catch?”

“OK. I see your point. But, you can call what the local kids here in Pio XII did a petty atrocity?”

“Yes, I can. Remember the various assorted crimes against humanity perpetrated by the Russians, Germans, Japanese, Pol Pot, and the American Presidents. Those were real atrocities, millions of bodies. Let’s keep our priorities straight, Elbo. Rothschild’s fascists and commies committed untold numbers of horrendous genocides, and they are now getting ready to immolate the entire globe. We must be prepared to fight back and survive. We cannot do so, adhering to assorted dead guys’ antiquated morality based on twisted ideas about what constitutes right and wrong. If we do not keep our assessments of situations realistic we will go crazy and to jail. The petty murders in Pio XII are no different than petty murders anywhere else. A bit more colorful but still petty. Murdering virtually entire countries and races is not petty. I’ve seen some of them in my time in the Congo, Biafra, Viet Nam. I once walked all day in Hue and never saw an end to either pagoda-topped graves or piled-up corpses. Large murders are what Rothschild and the fascist at-av-neg mutant porcine brotherhood are planning for us and ours. Why? Because we are not as sick-greedy for caedere gold as they are. So, get a grip on your priorities, and help me save the planet from its parasites.”
“O.K. Rav.”
Stanley’s rented buildings in various countries processed his raw material. As his fish food augmented fish population, his alligator population responded in kind. Soon he was exporting alligator products with his fish & cacao. He bought more cacao seed sacs than he needed, filling them with fish-meal or monkey-meal to store his powders.
Elbo ultimately reduced his operation in Venezuela to a “skeleton” crew, moving his best and most expensive men & machinery to Brazil. He smuggled it in via the Orinoco, as Brazil’s politicians wanted exorbitant bribes. Those same politicians, having kept Brazil poor for decades, with their defalcations and acceptance of Rothschild gold, demanded exorbitant sums to permit recycled Texas oil derricks into their country. Such depravity is hard to understand coming out of people who appear so much like human beings. People wondered why Elbo chose such a country for his operation. Brazil had nothing but ignorance, corruption, poverty, crime, and non-extradition to offer entrepreneurs. Elbo just smiled at such criticism, as did Rav Aloirav before him. Both knew the price of freedom comes high.
Elbo was not in Brazil long before he became aware that Brazilians considered alligators to be a problem. Fish farmers were universally beset by alligators making themselves at home in their açudes (ponds). With Brazil being deforested faster than a 10 year-old Brazilera is deflowered, alligators found themselves evicted everywhere. Young alligator hatchlings appeared every rainy season in sewers and catch basins all over Maranhao & Amazonia.      “Fazendeiros” felt the problem was due to alligator “malicia”.
Elbo found it difficult to believe that alligators were equipped with human misanthropy radar, and he made his sentiments very clear.  In response, Rav Aloirav said. “Brazileiros are passionately involved in protecting their ignorance, Stan.  The reason they respect no law is not because laws are de-civilizing, adding to injustice, brutality and the abasement of those with lesser amounts of caedere goods. No, it’s because Brazilian culture is almost nonexistent. They know virtually nothing about their history, or the history of Man, and so they remain mentally less than 18 years old their entire lives. Largely aboriginal, they all appear as varying (but slightly) in degrees of Yanomami-ness. Near beasts, only fear of neighbors, cash, religion & voodoo superstition (macumba) restrains most of them, and they look not to the stars but only toward base survival.”

Elbo added. “As I see it, clothing, sex, food, booze, noise and motorcycles are their entire life.”
IBAMA, the government branch dealing with graft acceptance in wildlife matters, refused to allow friendship with caimans. You had to have a license to raise alligators or pay large amounts of graft. Licenses were difficult to acquire, impossible for undocumented gringos. Lawyers and IBAMA formed mutual assistance – graft optimization pacts. Fortunately, Elbo was not one to let little things like legal fees, fines, exorbitant bribes, or jails deter him.
Alligators entered his fish ponds, and he did not evict them. When IBAMA officials approached his “açudes”, they left happy& richer sooner . . . or . . . later … as alligator luggage. Things continued this way until Elbo met Rav Aloirav and all IBAMA inconveniences disappeared forever for both of them. It was from that point on that world democracy dementia finally began its steady demise. For the first time since the Peloponnesian War, hope grew that one day the plague of democracy would be forever cured.
Lester Frye said. “Politics is the private manipulation of social homicide harmonics. Contrary to the hype, “written law” legitimizes confusion, making the world of man no safer and no better than anarchy but usually far worse. As medicine augments and perpetuates weakness & suffering, both Medicine & Written Law present to the world a picture of themselves which is exactly opposite to the reality. It will ultimately result in annihilation of the species. Both are Judas-goat tools of the one true god, Chaos.”
Rav Aloirav & Elboruh Lebensrau each felt a calling to eradicate the democratic dementia. Only by succeeding in that, they felt, could the twin planetary curses, Written Law & Medicine, be forever eradicated. Rav used his biological weapons, surgically excising necrotic democratic tissue. Elbo didn’t have Rav’s technical expertise. He only had his pristine conviction that ignorance, brutality, dementia, crime, disease and poverty would not leave the planet as long as demon democracy festered. The disease must be removed and the wound cauterized.
Elbo offered himself as a willing instrument. His alligator – fish farms in South America, Africa, and Asia multiplied. His cacao business followed suit. Artificial chocolate made inroads, but Elbo just lowered his prices and quality chocolate survived. At times, socialists would nationalize one of his farms or tax him to the breaking point. They paid a heavy price for their attempts, and Elbo always got even.
His vengeance was swift. Every politician voting to rob him met his refining machinery sooner or later. Although the takings were never reversed, the farms in pol hands never prospered without subsidized feed & fertilizer. Elbo was always able to buy them back from the new owners for a pittance. Pols, lawyers, commies, clerics, and the caedere opulent, Elbo felt, were losers.

They did not understand human aspirations and could not hope to equal human achievement. Elbo believed that whatever a commie subhuman accomplished was neither in nor of itself. Success for the macaque came as a result of the theft of human aspiration products & assistance. Elbo believed all politicians & commies to be subhumans or human degenerates aware only of how to take credit for human magic.
Rav agreed, saying. “The average commie or socialist is a subhuman parasite, a leech. It needs to suck human blood for survival, in as much as does a virus or the legendary vampire. Subhumans neither form objectives & undergo risk nor do they use intelligence to accomplish. There is no need for struggle in their Weltanschauung. They live in a child’s dream world where great effort is confounded by wishfulness.”
“When exertion is necessary, the burden is vouchsafed to a human. Rapacious government politicians substitute for “Daddy”. If an actual objective should form in a vacant socialistic mind, it remains forever inchoate. Democracy cannot survive without commie, socialist or Christian rabble babble. Democracy exists because the rabble shadows the light, keeping it from shining on ignorance, dementia, poverty, brutality, and corruption.”
“Education is light. Democracy is darkness, worshipping more darkness. Wherever it festers, education falters. Politicians, as priests, know they must keep the subjected in shadow. If people were free to use their reason and take the world as it is, there would be no enforced ignorance.
Faith and reason are enemies, Martin Luther maintained. Rav believed as did Pascal that if faith is not restricted to being just belief in some maniac control-freak; both are mental tools of survival. They become opposed only when reason is ignored. Belief in some crazy “God” occurs only because reason is denied supremacy. Faith in such nonsense falters because of reason. Reason denies belief in lies. Faith and reason can be a synergy if both agree.

 

Elbo was discontented. His farms and factories were never in better shape. He was extracting and spending billions of dollars every year while cleaning the planet of hundreds of thousands of tons of parasitic simian detritus. Yet, he bemoaned his fate. After 20 years of unmitigated success, he could neither be consoled nor pacified. Why such base ingratitude, one asks?
It turned out that Elbo saw an upsetting newscast in which the vote-rapist, that stole his farm & fiancé, was now Governor of the State. All the lawyers who betrayed Stanley still lived. Most were in better positions, wealthier than ever. After all his success and wealth, Elbo’s grief was inconsolable. Thirst for revenge still ravaged unchecked in his breast.
Sitting before Hotel Aloirav’s alligator pond, he stared at the mammoth stone columns. Oblivious to the near-naked girls lounging around him, he nursed a glass of Rav’s Cheval Blanc 1947 and mused. “How can I kill them all & accomplish my objectives most effectively?”
It would be no problem to return to the US. His passport was quality made and no forgery. It represented an actual person, still alive. He could walk into FBI offices anywhere.  They could not touch him. His quandary, upsetting him most of all, was something Rav Aloirav said that morning.
“Stan. I understand your motivation. But, think about what you are contemplating. Torturing an enemy for revenge is an exercise in futility. Torture is of value only if it can be used as a lesson to your target or your subordinates or can gain you something positive. Payback pleasure is pointless. You intend killing your enemy as part of the revenge, do you not?”
“Yes.” He remembered replying.
“Allright! You remove a blemish, a pimple, from the ass of the planet when you kill a lawyer or a pol. Survival. That is the most positive you can hope to accomplish. You gain almost nothing for the planet with the pain you inflict. All you do is add to the total amount of suffering milling about in the world. You play maniac God. Why do it? Just to feel pleasure in getting even? Seems to me to be a small thing, a vanity. Kill, Stan, because you can & must to survive.”

Elbo knew the man was right, but that didn’t make Elbo’s quandary any easier to weather.

Rav continued. “You can kill your prey – to survive. Religious people enjoy disobeying their Bible’s Ten Commandments, killing animals for meat. And, that’s just for themselves. You are also aiding the rest of the world and your own species when you kill. Only lawyers, pols and their sycophants will object. For the present, what you are doing with your pol eradication cadres is smart & effective. You are helping to clean the planet, cure the democracy disease. If you cannot justify adding torture, don’t do it. Lawyers & pols are just ignorant treacherous subhumans. They will learn nothing from pain. Without it being used somehow as a planetary benefit, it’s just wasted suffering. Playing God recapitulates the medical doctor error from the other direction.”
Many questions now ran through Elbo’s mind. “How could he justify some torture? How could he destroy his past enemies without them seeing him, until it was too late? How could he take them all out during the same visit? He didn’t want to just kill a few. Legal parasites are destroying the human race. The planet needs NO legal cravats. Their deaths are ALL justifiable homicide. Plus, I want total revenge!”
He found it impossible to make any decisions in Brazil. There was an annual meeting of his monkey-powder franchisees that month in Tenerife, Spain. After the meeting concluded, he left Puerto de la Cruz far behind. In Paris, at a small shop near the Gare de l’Est, he bought new passports for three of his most trusted “pol-police”. Together, but on separate flights, they entered the U.S.

When deep in the country, they re-united and began researching each cravat. They Google’d, then ogled. Each man took 2 cravat dossiers to bed with him every night, until he knew his prey as if it were actually already in his gunny sack. Elbo and his closest cohort slept with the dossiers of Stanley’s first lawyer and the new Governor. When they were ready, the “pol-police” went through the town like angels of death.

In one sally, they swooped down upon Stanley’s first lawyer, sweeping him into a bathtub. There, they gently slit the cravat’s throat. His carotid & jugular blood were flowing softly & rapidly into the bathtub’s drain, when Elbo said.
“You’ll never prove what I’ve just done.”
“Of course not! How much longer can I live?” Replied the cravat.
“Just forget it.” Stanley mocked. “In this life we can’t always have what we thought was ours . . . like our life. We need to be realistic. I have accepted it, as must you.”
That evening, all four men met in the Hilton’s dining room to celebrate the demise of four cravat parasites. Later, their cryptic conversation discussed the manner in which they would take down the super vote-rapist. It would not be easy, assassinating a State governor. Although they didn’t expect it to be as difficult as offing a US President, there would still be problems. Breaking the security of a veteran vote-swindler like a governor, would be a nightmare.
Sally Mac Rae finished filing her nails and put away her purse. The Governor expected her to supervise the luncheon with the Canadians. It was not as simple a task as it seemed. Canadians spoke English and there was no room for excusing errors by playing the translation difficulties card. She would need to be on her toes all afternoon.
She was no longer the Governor’s only mistress. Younger and prettier bimbos came & went. She remained but not because sex with her was irreplaceable. She held her position because she was smart, sexy and very competent. If either of those qualities ever faltered, Sally knew she too would be history.
Looking out the window, she thought she beheld what appeared to be a person not seen for many years. Then, he was gone. It must have been her imagination, she thought. “Why am I thinking of him right now? I wonder what ever happened to him. Poor devil. I really did a job on him, but he was so selfish.”
Elbo never saw Sally. He was too preoccupied with the Governor’s timely death. As he entered the Capital building, he became even more concerned. This was not going to be another simple pol pursuit. The Governor was protected as well as any President.

To bring him down would mean a great many collateral deaths. Elbo felt no scruples about taking out many non-pols just to snag the one he wanted. To him, pol sycophants were just that much pol-pandering poop-powder. What was concerning was that he did not feel confident that the chopper could drop off all the armament and men he needed. One of his “pol-cops” suggested prussic acid, but Elbo ruled it out, as he did not know the politician’s itinerary.

Another mentioned xumbinh. Elbo did not know what the politician would eat, when and where.  So, that too was out of the running. Elbo and his “pol-police” did not have Rav’s expertise with the surgical use of bio weapons.
The vote-rapist was supposed to host a luncheon today for some Canadian politicians. Elbo had no access to information as to where it would be held. He sent his “pol-police” to various parts of the building to reconnoiter. Elbo then retired to the mezzanine near the rotunda to think. He remembered a recent conversation with Rav Aloirav.

Rav asked. “Could anyone ever write a horror story to compete with Homo sapiens sapiens circa the 21^st century?”
“I doubt it.” Elbo replied.
“Life is a drug, Stan. When the toxic effects wear off, you’re dead. No matter what you accomplish, it is ultimately just another vanity. Someone, also a meaningless vanity, or time, will come along and steal or undo all you’ve done.”
“Or make your contribution behave contrary to all your intentions.”
“Exactly! There is nothing anywhere or anytime that anyone has ever done that was not a meaningless vanity immediately after or a few years later.”
“So why do we do what we do?” Elbo asked.
“We’re damned, Stan. Something condemned us to exist in a meaningless toxic void. Our “gift”, as humans, or our curse as animals, is having that bit of insight to know we are meaningless detritus. Our mental apparatus allows us to deny it, like living with the bomb. The constitutive survival gene, all of us have, also contains a corollary capacity. It connects to a cistron that codes for a protein. That protein folds into an enzyme which catalyzes a reaction that teaches us to delude ourselves into believing unquestioningly that we have value. The more we think we’ve accomplished, i.e. success (admiration from monkeys) the more deluded we are, and the more we try to deny its vanity. I think it must be connected to the at-av-neg mutation.”
“Like a beautiful woman, strutting around in front of the lesser-endowed monkeys, thinking that she deserves recognition for her beauty “accomplishment”.”
“Quite so. But think about successful men, Stan. How much difference is there between your China doll and a self-made billionaire like Buffy or Gates? They swagger around, making speeches, believing they have deluded others sufficiently to be admired. They are searching for undeserved love as much as any pol or China doll. They have to first fool themselves that caedere wealth is a barometer of worth, more so than any of their marks.”
“I don’t agree, Rav.” Elbo countered.

“Is that because you are filthy rich, Elbo?”

“No. Some of these self-made billionaires deserve our love for creating benefits that aid humanity and the planet.”
“Not the planet, Stan. Only Lester has approached that state. But, anyway. I didn’t mean to imply they aren’t deserving of our love. I said they are looking for undeserved love as much as is a beauty queen. Therein exists the delusion. The act of creating has merit, deserves love, admiration, hatred & envy. However, beauty & intelligence are accidents of birth as is bearing and the ability to steal with impunity. Successful people are all possessors of savage attributes that can only be termed uncivilized. Enmity springing from those latter sources, alone, does not count, except as envy of “monkey success”. It is simply that most love, recognition, hatred and envy are misguided & undeserved.”
“There is only one idea or accomplishment that deserves total recognition & admiration?” Elbo asked.
“Yes. I believe so.” Rav replied. “To have lived your life, so creatively, for yourself & the planet, that you gain the enmity of your fellows. Love, admiration, hatred & envy, coming as a result of such accomplishment, is deserved.”
“They must wish to kill you because of your behavior?”
“Of course! Your accomplishments, as far removed as possible from accident of birth, are truly glorious, deserving of love, admiration, hatred and envy.”
Elbo said. “To make the most powerful statement and contribution to life, we pick a pol, most beloved by his ignorant and demented constituents, and destroy him. One thus gains the hatred of many subhumans. The more monkeys that feel animosity for you indicates a greater contribution to life.”
“Ahhh…how poetic, Stan. You do see things so clearly. That’s one of the main things I like about you.”
“Thanks, Rav.”
“Killing a popular pol is mainly symbolic, of course, but there is a bonus to it. There is the residual benefit of having struck a blow for the planet in striking against a tool of democracy. We strike against ignorance, dementia and pollution too.”
“What about the enemies of the pol? They will feel love for his killer.”
“True. And it will be deserved too, detracting something from the accomplishment.”
“Why?”
“Goethe said it best. “The deed is everything, the glory nothing.””
“So animosity directed against parasite-removal behavior is better than animosity toward creative behavior?”
“There you got me. I’d have to say they were both deserved and admirable. It would depend on the specific accomplishments, I think. How destructive the pol was, how creative the accomplishment, plus the deed’s duration would have a bearing on it. Without more data I couldn’t begin to place the generality of preponderance of value on one aspect or the other. That would require judgment, and we have no right arrogating such powers. Capacity does not exist. The one certainty is how often the deed brings monetary reward.”
“Certainty?”
“There is absolutely no correlation between merit and money. Except in small amounts, money is an illusion, and mob approval (the source of monetary success) does not always indicate real value. Usually it indicates caedere wealth, a sure negative. That’s one reason why people cannot tell when they have enough of it. There does seem to be a correlation between greed and money. But, I don’t understand how that works exactly. Perhaps, like with all concupiscence, the several vices coalesce.”
Elbo sat on the mezzanine chair, still thinking. “Killing this pol has the planet’s blessing. If I am caught, and executed, I will simply recycle. But, I will also be thumbing my nose at whatever monstrosity put me into this horror show. Another side benefit is gaining the hatred of the ignorant, ignoble, demented and avaricious, i.e. his constituents. I win either way. Nevertheless, I must kill him and survive to kill more. Committing a crime that helps the planet or human race is only a fraction of the job. To make the work completely elegant, you must also survive, and well enough, to be an example to others. It is more appropriate. One cannot give necroextirpation legacies. It is a gift the planet bestows on very few.”
One of the “pol-police” brought him some news. The vote-rapist was leaving his office for a destination unknown. He was surrounded by police. What should they do? It would not be a kill without casualties.
“Follow the train.” Elbo said. “Are the choppers here yet with the additional arms and men?”
“Yah. The new men are coming up the stairs right now, all dressed as closely to Canadian Mounties as we could manage.”
“O.K. Remember. Keep these guys away from the Canadians. A Canadian will recognize a correct uniform a long way off and ring the alarm. These duds were just to gain us access to the building.”
“Right, Elbo. They know that.”
“Find all exits and entrances. When the big pol stops to address the Canadian pols, we grenade the entire room. Stay concealed in hallways and corridors as inconspicuously as you can, until they’re all seated. Wait for my throw. Aim your tosses at the Governor. To hell with the Canadians. Kill all guards as they appear or get in the way. When you are sure the big pol is down, get the hell out. Meet at the Hilton, later, only if you’re clean, separately & circumspectly. This is what we trained for. We’ll leave the country when we know they are stymied. Don’t forget to conceal your faces & ordnance from the cameras, if you can.”
“Right Elbo.” The “pol-cop” replied. “I’ll inform the others.”
Elbo paused. These men with him were his very best, the most loyal. They were not here today for money alone. Risking one’s life for money went only so far. After that, something more was required…nobility, charisma, idealism, vengeance, etc. Elbo understood revenge. He had promised these “pol-police” an equal revenge on their own personal pol enemies. That was an open-ended price tag.
The luncheon began as planned. The foreign dignitaries were all seated, when the Governor and his wife entered the room. The repast was going along fine when the wait staff entered with Sally Mac Rae and beautifully garnished plates of Canadian salmon. As prearranged, the Governor waited for Sally Mac Rae to ask the Governor to say a few words. Eulogizing the main course, (discreetly failing to mention the PCBs, mercury plus other heavy-metals and pharmaceuticals with which Canadian fish are laced), the vote-rapist was interrupted mid-lie.
One of the kitchen staff began arguing with a strange cook who wanted to join in the festivities in a special way. A guard gave a similar performance near the main entrance to the banquet room. Guests began looking askance at each other in expectation of later opportunities to criticize the regalia. Elbo took a long last look at his ex-girl-friend before shooting the guard blocking him from the Governor and throwing the first magnum grenade. It landed on the table a meter from the Governor, rolling off the table & onto the floor. Exploding there, it killed a Canadian politician and nearly severed the First-Lady’s left leg.
Immediately subsequent to Elbo’s throw, Sally Mac Rae looked over in the direction from which it came. Elbo thought she recognized him just before grenades aplenty flew through the air. He thought later that he was perhaps just toying with wishful thinking. One grenade happily blew Sally Mac Rae’s face off, as it severed her jugular. Another took the First-Lady to her just reward.

Elbo’s 2^nd throw landed on target, tumbling into the top pol’s salmon, ending his meal. He would never again cheat anyone out of a farm or steal another man’s woman. A “pol-cop” killed two Canadian sycophants and then went bonkers with kill-fun. Half of the guards that were attempting to crash Elbo’s party fell to his firing before they stopped him. Elbo shouted, when he saw the big pol’s head a blob of jelly.
“Mission accomplished! He’s toast!”
The surviving amalgamated assassins attempted then to make their escape. The kitchen immediately lost most of its occupants when a “pol-cop”, unsuccessfully, tried to elude the grasp of a legitimate cook. Elbo was the Hilton’s last guest to arrive back that evening. He lost two of his better “pol-cops”. The first was killed outright by guards.
Forgetting to duck, the second had wounded himself, when he exploded a grenade on all those present in the kitchen fiasco. Elbo sent him along the recycle pathway, personally. The pseudo-Mounties covered the escape, as they doffed the red attire. None were wounded in the sally, and all made it back to the chopper and their own regrouping point, unscathed.    The surviving mercenary “pol-cop” with Elbo in the banquet hall received $1.5M from Elbo with instructions to meet in Yaguapita, Miranda later that month. Elbo left for Mykonos to celebrate the success of his mission.
Doctors worked for 6 hours on the Governor’s skull that same afternoon. For months afterward, the man would enjoy many other such surgeries, all attempting to replace what was formerly resplendent there. His eyes and lower jaw were never again to be seen. The surgeons were able to restore a small portion of the auditory apparatus in one of the two holes that ears formerly adorned. It was cause for much subsequent rejoicing in the former vote-rapist’s household.
The brain hemorrhage, which occurred concomitant to the vaporization of the beautifully garnished plates of Canadian salmon, took from him his ability to control saliva, urine and defecation. Fitted with a nice plastic face later gave the new constitutive producer of bodily wastes a semblance of human-ness. It was not enough, however, for it to continue to function as the State’s top vote-rapist. So, with a great big display of large crocodile tears, the 2^nd in command joyfully left the Lieutenant Governor’s seat. The new Governor augmented measurably the security at the Capitol.
One happy note. A few months after the bombing festivity, terrorist police came to the ex-Governor’s modest new home. They exuberantly made the former pol understand that, via a special informant’s communication, they had narrowed down the suspects (in the masterminding of his injury) to one person. The police mentioned the name, Stanley Koplik, and stood back to gauge the cheerfulness in the canny cravat’s reaction. They thought they saw (what appeared to be) tears emanating from (what used to be) the politician’s eye area, but that was not possible as there were no surviving tear ducts. It was not the reaction for which the intrepid detectives had hoped.

The police nevertheless took it as a sign of intense gratitude and determined to do more to apprehend the brigand. They would return as often as possible with news of their progress.

 

PASQUAL
Pasqual peered out from beneath the meter-long philodendron leaves of Hotel Aloirav’s lobby. It was a quiet day, and the pool-side alligators were sleeping. The ex-mayor was late. The corpulent corrupt thief was a typical Brazilian politician. This one had a bit more value than the others, as he was a murderer of subhumans too. Just one redeeming characteristic was insufficient, however. Pasqual had been watching him and recording his movements for weeks. It would soon be time for the reduction.

Pasqual thought about why he was here, doing such dastardly deeds. It was an easy question to answer. There was so much peace & pleasure to be found just knowing one was outside the bounds of polite society. Each successive rule broken widened the inner gap from discord, fear & pain. But it wasn’t just the spirit-engendering energy he got from lawlessness.
In his entire life of 67 years (and 9 months in utero) he had never met even one politician that was worth more (in human terms) than a 7.62 round (in fiat currency) sufficient to end any pol-at-issue’s life. He did not think chances were very good that he ever would. Statistically, he did not believe (after his own death) conditions would change so much that lambs would learn to roar and attack lions either. He was sure that it would be a wise move for society to give the ax to each pol at birth. There must be some way to know in advance if a fetus would someday demonstrate pol tendencies. Perhaps they could invent an amniocentesis that could test for subhuman qualities, like trisomy 21s or the at-av-neg deletion, for instance.

His mind wandered and he remembered the following article he read in a counterculture website some years 17 years back:

Is it time for cannibals and anthropophagites to unite? Some feel it is. Homo sapiens var. sapiens is no more than a thousand generations from his cave-dwelling Homo sapiens predecessors. We are but parvenus compared to species like the dinosaurs that existed 200M years before going extinct. Subhumans, for the most part, have breached the limits of all reason. If evolution has any teleological value, subhumans represent a monumental failure of Nature. Global warming, ozone depletion and pollution threaten mammalian existence. Pseudo-dearths of energy precipitate suicidal experiments in nuclear power generation and choking coal-fired plants. The bees & oceans are dying. Soon it will be the apes’ turn. We must return to being a salubrious species and cease being a cancer on the planet.
Jonas Salk put our carrying capacity at 11B. At 7.5B and still growing exponentially, we approach the death phase. Subhuman religion & democracy have led all our species down a primrose path to the brink of extinction. Superstition, plus subhuman law, medicine & quasi-science, menaces all multicellular life. These felonies vs. Nature polluted Eden and relegated healthy human mores to the criminal zone.
We punish our felons because castigation promises to lighten our burden. Like humanism, the promise never delivers. The greatest criminals go into Law and government to hide from the universal judge. Keats intimated that beauty is truth, truth beauty – but Keats world was as circumscribed as his urn. He never witnessed a Dachau, a Tet offensive, a Rwandan or Iraqi genocide, a Bosnian depopulation initiative, or a kwashiorkor child.
Civilization demands immediate united effort. We must reevaluate all cultural mores in the light of evolutionary imperatives or we will not survive. The 1000 or so top subhuman potentates think mendacity and exalted position will buy their survival. Simians placing faith in these politicians, religionists and caedere opulents are equally as ignorant. Receiving ends of such swindles will surely starve for want of food, water & oxygen.
What Oscar Wilde said about prison also applies. Ignorance, dementia, indigence and filth from overpopulation will take our souls bit by bit. So what can save us at this late hour?
Lester Frye, as a biophysicist, tried to make a difference, inventing a new building material to amplify habitats. For a time, he crossed swords with the U.S. Government & Rothschild interests. That threw him into the arms of terrorists. As a fugitive from all three, he met some Amazon headwaters’ indigenous people, the Yanomami. Yanomamis are cannibals.
Brazil has long protected indigenous tribes that practice such salubrious life styles.
Subhumans merit no love and little respect, but humans can mitigate or ameliorate simian depredatory affects by emulating aspects of Yanomami culture. Controlled anthropophagia can save the species from twin humanism diseases, democracy and religion. Christians are already cannibals. They need but widen their horizons. For many, God is a metaphor for Nature.
The eastern world needs converting. Uniting our Weltanschauungs may synergistically reduce subhuman population. A diet of lawyers, bankers, politicians & priests along with a plethora of other mental-physical defectives will diminish Homo’s planetary parasitism. Preying on the weak is sound. Nature blesses the practice.
When human survival again appears possible, all subhumans can become prey. Choices are dwindling. How long can any mammal survive without oxygen engines, bees, water or food?
The world is predominately feminine and growing more so with each new dearth of food and environmental introduction of male-destroying chemicals. Perhaps, for this reason, the scourges of democracy & religion obtained such a stranglehold on human aristocracy. Quis qui quod, balance your diet. Estrogen is a potent carcinogen. As most are unfit for use as companions, don’t become habitualized to female flesh just because it’s easier to acquire.
Avoid children. Even roasted, their flesh is too tender for culinary pleasure. Some find sautéed pol-bellies delicious. Others say a sacerdotal sandwich is delightful . . . garnished with garlic, tomato, oregano, and a little lettuce.
Subhumans nauseate me, no matter what use to which one applies them. I prefer to run 20 to 30 through the intestine of an alligator first. Enjoying them roasted later in a tail shish-kabob can be quite agreeable. Macaque flesh, like pork, demands that you protect your arteries. Stockpile edible celluloses like Portulaca oleracea, vitamins & minerals, etc. The dearth approaches. Avoid rabbit poisoning.
Visit WASH in Brazil. Get more information on mutual problems & aspirations. Identify your herd. Learn heuristic methods to discriminate rapidly between the human and the raw on-the-hoof subhuman. Share harvesting hints. Bring a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon or a nice Pomerol. Watch your livestock together from the hotel’s upper floors.

Yours for planetary health,

Rav Aloirav
World Anthropophagia Society Headquarters (WASH)
Hotel Aloirav, Andirobal, Maranhao, Brazil

Pasqual never again felt the way he felt after reading it the first time. Because of that e-article, his life regained purpose. He was one of those men who discover at 50 years-old, after a lifetime of work, that all former values were meaningless. Getting up that morning, long ago, he didn’t know whether to work, drink, or shoot himself in the head. Most of his past acquaintances chose the two latter options.
Only men, married with kids, seemed to find some purpose to it all. They had a vested interest in the future…or greater illusions. As Pasqual’s only child was an ungrateful wretch, filled with hatred and resentment for him, it was as if he were childless.
He didn’t know what he ever did to warrant such negative sentiments, thinking. “After all I sacrificed for him, staying with his hateful, demented, suicidal harpy mother all those years. I never asked for more than polite conversation in return. Yet, a father that could raise such an incubus of ingratitude must own some guilt somewhere. But, I just don’t know where to look for it.”
As the recipient of his son’s rage, he felt awkward accepting anything else from him. The boy couldn’t even communicate except by sending his father quasi-anonymous news articles. False friendship from one so hated & resented was a ridiculous gesture and asked way too much of an old man, Pasqual thought. So, he simply ignored his child and worked to make a better world for his grandchildren. That e-article was why Pasqual came to Brazil & Hotel Aloirav.
Brazil was uncivilized. Ignorance was king. Corruption was queen, and lawlessness found institutionalization here. Brazilian Law was mere fantasy if not bizarre trip along the light fantastic. Civil Law was pantomime, Criminal Law a cash cow for lawyers & judges.
Anthropophagic aficionados congregated in Andirobal. There was a room in Hotel Aloirav reserved for friends of the Society. Prior to his departure, the owner of the place made it clear that his alligator farms’ profit would reserve and pay for a room in the Hotel exclusively for such purposes. All profits from sales of alligator products also went to better the Society and the Hotel’s special A room.
Another section of the hotel was singled out as special enough to be mentioned in the owner’s parting instructions. This concerned the expectations of the current manager of Rav Aloirav’s alligator farm, Elboruh Lebensrau. This man had a great weakness for Cabernet Sauvignon, and it was willed never to be absent from the Hotel’s cellar in deference to him. He was a vegetarian except when it came to gourmet alligator flesh. While bathing his palate in fine Bordeaux bouquets he would expound on other gastronomic delights.
One particular repast he enjoyed was the white reptilian flesh, baked or sautéed, in coconut milk & hand-pressed babaçu palm oil. Its compatibility with a cooxah-purslane garnish was strictly Elbo’s own contention. Such dishes were not included in usual tastes. Alligator meat is sweet & delicate while cooxah leaves are very acidic. Morning Purslane is high in malic acid, sweeter if harvested in mid-afternoon. Babaçu oil is harsh & strong. Such robust opposites do not commonly make for delectable cuisine.
The gourmand knew how to modify the culinary extremes. He increased the cooxah’s pH with a few grams of Portland cement. The bitterness of magnesium in the purslane also softened the oil’s pungent aggression. Only cannibals, without a fond taste for human flesh, knew such gourmet secrets. These men preferred (and only personally harvested) their selected prey if there were alligators available through which to run the corpses, prior to consumption.
The Hotel’s owner widened his own repertoire of recycling techniques under Elbo’s tutelage. The two renegades were fast friends. Elbo’s hatred of lawyers & politicians aided the owner’s own anti-clerical & anti-caedere wealth political inclinations. The synergy in the union of these two great freedom-fighters of the soul augmented the science of rabble-rule eradication. Technologies involved in free-enterprise anarchy and its fore-running philosopher-king associations likewise grew exponentially.
Pasqual started now, as the Mayor approached. Unlike most politicians with which Pasqual was acquainted, this predatory vote-rapist was a cagey bastard and often varied his diurnal routine. One of Elbo’s Rules of Parasite Eradication was to know your target’s routine, make him expose a pattern. Most politicians avoid erratic behavior because the voting hoi polloi criticize every observable instance of it. Politicians are rabid rabble followers and never elect to buck the tide, (until it’s time to betray their constituents, of course). The mayor must have been sensitized or privy to some previous treachery.
If something went untoward, Pasqual was prepared. He knew Elbo’s Second Rule, by heart. It read, “in the event of bad luck – increase the radius of acquisition & recycling while reducing the radius & depth of fund extraction”. It was an effective strategy. Politician-protectors never managed to arrest him.
Pasqual thought about his grandchildren as he snapped the mayor’s photo into his cell phone. He replaced his phone in the GPS squelch case and thought more. “Tonight is the night to take out this pol. Elbo’s men are standing by at the farm to accept the pre-carcass. I need but to incapacitate the pig surreptitiously and deliver the body sub rosa.”
It couldn’t be done in front of the hotel, of course. Bad publicity for the hotel and way too many witnesses abounded. Despite the almost universal hatred felt (among humans) for lawyers & other psychopaths – like politicians, subhumans are weak and snitch easily. Politician hunters need to be prepared to take out all witnesses, regardless of condition, human or subhuman. As long as Homo is too weak to expunge democracy and religion, collateral blood is usually unavoidable.
Donning his jalaba hood, Pasqual left the hotel and followed his prey. Disguised as a mendicant Friar Tuck, he pursued the politician past the town market and on until they arrived at the sub’s residence. According to Pasqual’s earlier research records, the cravat always remained in macaque-quarters till 9 PM. On occasion, he would leave at that time to visit a local cabaret. The Mayor was not averse to enjoying proximity to a locally available 12-year-old’s naked flesh.
The Town Father liked to impress the young whores with large rolls of his ill-gotten gains. Pasqual made an agreement earlier with one of the youngest girls the Mayor appeared to relish. For a percentage, she would entice the politician out of the building and into a secluded area for acquisition and recycling. He cautioned the child never to reveal the details of the agreement or its subsequent impinging events. The penalty of being likewise reduced was always in residence.
The girl was unconcerned. Why should she talk? As lawless and corrupt as Brazil is, the country still makes it de facto criminal to either hire another for work purposes or to tell the truth. Only the malignant poor, the stupid, the decent, or foreign criminals need fear for their freedom. Normal macaques, with money adequate for their needs, are immune from prosecution.
One of Elbo’s managers was waiting at the farm when Pasqual’s motorcycle appeared. The Mayor, in a large gunny sack, was securely strapped like a hog on the rear. From there, three henchmen assisted Pasqual in schlepping the substantial burden. Pasqual paid the reduction fee, Elbo demanded of his quasi-free-lance operatives. Then, the man returned to his apartment in Bacabal.

As cold water in the metal feeding cage touched pol skin, the degenerate sub awakened. Wondering where he was, the cravat forgot to correct his grammar before shouting. “What the hell is going on here?! What am I in water for?!”
“Do you mean for what are you in the water?”
“Sim.”
“I think I can answer that without being charged with fraternizing with the feedstock.”
“Well…”
“You’re about to be the piece de resistance for that big jacarei’ lolli-gagging over there on the other shore.”
“What do you mean?!”
“Oh, hell! I don’t want to repeat myself. It’s almost quitting time and I’m pooped. Ask Rex.”
“Do you know who I am?!”
“Don’t you mean who you were?”
“How dare you?”
“How dare I? How dare I not?”
“You insolent bastard!”
“Tut, tut. Be advised to keep a civil tongue with you. Time to show some respect. Tsk, tsk.”
“Respect?! For who? You?”
“Look, Filth! Your kind is destroying my world. I’m just a poor sentry. That jacarei’ over there knows your true value right down to the last gram, because he’s honest. I’m afraid I would be inclined to give you to the urabuh (buzzards). They have no taste, n’ll eat anything corrupt. It’s not that I, myself, am dishonest, mind you. I don’t perceive myself in that way at all. I’m just inclined to be too humane at times. Weak, I guess. My problem is more a situation, actually, an emotional situation. You’re my last pol for the night. I have a home in which to go. Can’t leave till ye’r processed. My revulsion for you parasites, unfortunately, is tempered by my humanity, which leaves me with little desire to be as perfectly honest as Rex. Ah. He’s noticed you. You lucky devil. You are nearly rid of your miserable existence. If you could just raise your voice a little and struggle a bit more you’ll help me tremendously with my domestic responsibilities and Rex’s competition.”
“I . . .I…I…I’ll pay you. Whatever you want. IT’S — IT’S — IT’S just a phone call away.”
“Sounds like a business proposition. Not my job. You’ll have to talk that over with Rex. I must warn you, however. He’s straightforward to a fault and a hard negotiator, especially on an empty stomach. If you could just stick y’er head out of those bars a little bit further, Rex’ll hear you better. He won’t need to pull your arms and legs off first, and you’ll recycle much faster.”

 

RAIMUNDO CEZAR DA SILVA MACHADO

 

Elbo was giving a pep-talk to some of his better people. He had developed a problem in his ranks. As more and more parasites fell to his “acquired” credit, he found that subsequent to extracting them a dangerous situation often advanced. The situation would not go away. Acquiring parasites sometimes required bringing their friends or relatives to the extraction centers.
In legal parlance these are termed witnesses to criminal behavior. Therefore, they, of course, needed to be recycled along with the alpha parasite. Parasite relatives are usually as parasitic as the parasites themselves but to some of Elbo’s people it didn’t look that way. Their moral senses got confused in the ether of casuistry. There grew among his best agents an insufficient desire to recycle these parasites and symbionts of parasites.
At first, the malingering was a small matter. Gratuitous cruelty is cheap to find. But well-managed and disciplined meanness over the long-term is not. Elbo was very successful at his métier. So, there did not fall to him many opportunities to reinforce in his people
vengeful feelings toward the enemy. Commensurate-plus animosity toward the parasite did not materialize, and Elbo needed it, badly. (Thus, the pep talk.)
He said. “. . . . . If we define ownership to be the right to possess and control, the Rothschild family’s DNA owns ½ the planet, roughly described by that caedere clan to be worth in recognized legal tender 500T Euros. (Give or take a few T Euros.) The other 97 richest families’ DNA owns another 100T Euro. (Similar statistical qualifications apply.) Therefore, roughly 1 millionth of 1% of the Earth’s hominid population owns 60% of its wealth. Let’s add to this at-av-neg mutant fraternity the 1000 richest corporations on the planet (including the Church). Now we have gathered 99.999999999% of the planet’s wealth under the rubric of 2 millionths of 1% of the planet’s population. The rest of us have to boast about . . . relatively . . . nothing.”
“Why”, an agent asked, “do you term that relegated pittance – relatively nothing?”
“Here is why.” Elbo answered. “Advantage of birth and wealth passes down through generations. It makes equality of opportunity just a meaningless phrase. Greater opportunities for the richer are carried on the shoulders of the poorer. Voters and those they bludgeon with their votes are the underclass of the day. A country’s economic growth is nothing more than a local porcine dynasty winner taking it all. Taxes, the richest must pay, fall every year while those same thefts perpetrated against the unwashed grow commensurately. Political influence, even in countries not controlled by typical ignorant, demented & corrupt democracies, is easily converted into even greater windfalls for the ruling dynasties. These collections of homologous DNA sequences manipulate financial deregulation and tax shelters into subsidies and dole-welfare for themselves. Laissez-faire capitalism, free enterprise, suffers exponentially per generation. As porcine incomes rise, they cut public services. That means we all receive fewer opportunities for education, health, food, water and everything else that makes life better for us and ours. How did this all come about? It came about because the ruling elite and their lawyer minions have rigged the system, for millennia. They have created a scheme to protect themselves which we have all learned to despise, fear and consider impregnable . . . Written Law.”
Elbo waited for a minute to let his words sink in, and then said. “Now then, I hope you people will get back to the business at hand. Stop resisting the planet’s parasite-load reductions. Wherever and whenever I say a parasite is a parasite, you accept it and act accordingly! Are there any questions?”
“No, Elbo.” The group chimed in, until a gutsy agent asked. “Yes, I have a question. You want us to accept your condemnations, but they appear brutally arbitrary at times. I do not wish to deal now with the symbionts, just the alpha parasite. How do you know you are not just interdicting successful people due to your envy?”
“Now that is a good question, and one that has bothered me for years. Does anyone have an answer for me?”
Elbo’s daughter looked at the interrogator and said. “I think it is indeed a valid question. Envy enters into our selections. I have no doubt of it. I do not think we can ever separate our mission from contamination with envy. My question is, should we try?”
The interrogator said. “What do you mean? Of course, we should!”
“I don’t think so.”
Elbo too looked very hard at his daughter and asked. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying father that our envy empowers us, makes us successful at our task. We should not condemn it any more than we should condemn ourselves for total depravity, like those Calvinist Christian whackos. Believing in inherent evil-ness lowers self-esteem and potentiates us for any number of mental deficiencies and aberrations. Where would free-enterprise be without selfishness and greed? Envy is a tool, just a tool. An important human tool. Envy can be a destructive emotion but it need not always be so. Our task as planetary custodians is to look at envy as a crude diamond that needs work. We must contemplate each potential acquisition and ask. Is this financially successful person a parasite, inimical to our survival? Is this successful person an at-av-neg mutant that detracts from a salubrious planet or the opposite? Did they acquire their wealth through nepotism or in collusion with the porcine fraternity? If so, then they are dedicated potential acquisitions, prime for extraction. Is the successful person, mutant or human, a success because it is advancing anarchy, free enterprise the health of the planet or its opposite in varying degrees? If these successful people are assisting human evolution, we should let them be. I don’t think we need to put these questions to our lawyer, politician or clerical acquisitions. They are quite obviously all parasites.”
“I see, and I understand your thought. I also agree. You’ve answered a question that has often weighed heavily on me. What I must do is decide if my election to acquire and extract is righteous or not based on other criteria than just the possession of caedere wealth. Does anyone have a problem with our new rule?”
No one did, and Elbo continued. “Fine. Then on to other business – symbionts of alpha parasites. We are going to start a new series of parasite reduction education classes. The drill is the same as always. If you wish to continue as privileged “pol-police” you will need a sotto voce diploma from this course. Without further ado, class, I want you to meet your new professor of Cruelty 101, Raimundo Cezar da Silva Machado.”

A few weeks prior to this handsome introduction, Elbo was visiting a prospective acquisition

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

candidate in Apiau, Roraima, Brazil. The candidate was a small but exceedingly corrupt and brutal coboçlo pol named Wilson. Wilson was the owner of a cattle-raising fazenda about 25 kilometers from the Yanomami reserve in Roraima. Wilson had 3 ugly daughters, and the entire countryside knew he wanted to marry them off. It provided a perfect cover for Elbo to visit and hang around the fazenda for a short time. What better suitor for one’s daughters than a rich old gringo?
Raimundo Cezar da Silva Machado was Wilson’s foreman. Cezar’s job was to supervise the slash-burning of pristine Amazon triple-canopy jungle to ready it for pasture. He handled moving the cattle from one range to another in response to rainfall. Cezar also did the butchering incidental to a large ranch. As part of his job he ran and disciplined all the pigeon-English-speaking, Guarani-native, menial-labor that managed to escape from Georgetown, Guyana gold prospectors.
Raimundo Cezar da Silva Machado was versatile but not a nice man. He was gratuitously brutal and cruel to his underlings and victims alike. Elbo marveled at the extent to which Cezar went to prove his monstrous inhumanity to all intrigued spectators. Wilson never said a word in reproof.
He almost seemed pleased, Elbo noticed, when Cezar once deliberately got an angry cow to kick a young Guarani trying to learn the local milking procedure. The boy lost his genitals as a result and everyone found it to be cause for great mirth. In a similar vein, it does not take exclusively cruel people to butcher animals for meat. An animal can be butchered almost painlessly if the butcher is a humane individual and sincerely wishes but to rob the intended prey of its life. A chicken can have its throat slit and be bled to death without the hapless creature feeling anything more than the initial sting before it drifts gently off into the other dimension. The same can be said for a lamb or even a calmed pig.
Societies that condone the mistreatment of their carrion beasts are deserving of all the cruelty that so frequently besets the malignant poor. Raimundo Cezar da Silva Machado, however, was one of those malignant poor who seemed to have escaped just recompense. Cezar found a friend in Elboruh Lebensrau. The first time Elbo saw Cezar, Cezar came on the scene, dragging and kicking his porcine prey to the killing field. Once there, he threw his innocent victim to the ground, kicking and clubbing it into terrorized submission, oftentimes dropping to his knees on its body. Once it was more than adequately subdued and trembling before him, Cezar let it quiver for hours in anticipation of whatever fate might befall it.
Letting bound pigs lay in the hot sun, until they expired, was great fun for Cezar. Kicking a lamb, until it no longer made any noise was another choice diversion for him. A few days after their initial meeting, Elbo got to talking with Cezar. They were watching a calf being gelded by a Cezar understudy. Sitting in the shade of a grapefruit tree, Elbo asked the foreman what it was about his job he liked the best. Cezar replied that he thought it was probably the autonomy. Elbo imagined as much and asked a bit more about Cezar’s background. Largely noncommittal, after a few minutes Cezar called a halt to the interrogation and went back to do his job, personally.
One of Wilson’s horny daughters came by and asked Elbo concerning the subject that he was talking about with Cezar. Elbo replied and then added how he marveled at Cezar’s cruelty, wondering whatever made the man so incredibly horrendous. The girl replied that she really had no idea. It made no sense to her, but she was accustomed to his behavior now. It seems that, until a couple of years prior, when he came to work at the fazenda, Cezar was married to a Boa Vista woman.
They had 7 children which (over a 40 year period) Cezar housed, fed, clothed, educated and raised to marriageable age. He had always found sufficient work to make ends meet. Everything was spent on his family, and he was now not by any means well-heeled. Yet, he seemed to hurt for nothing. When he took the job with her father, the girl said he told Wilson that he did not ever wish to return to Boa Vista.
Wilson asked why not, and Cezar replied that he recently learned that he was not the father of his 7 children. The real biological father now wished to co-habit with Cezar’s wife. The suffragette wanted Cezar to agree to the prospective change. It seemed to Wilson’s daughter that Cezar should be very happy to be relieved of the woman. She could not see why the man was so ungrateful, showing such mean-spiritedness toward the world after such a happy fate. Elbo thought about the opinion but did not give the girl an answer.
After a couple of months of co-habitation, most men find that women fall far short of their promise of being good companions. They settle for good meals and occasional sex. In order to maintain the union and keep the marriage on an even keel, a bit of strange is called for on occasion. In the Amazonian triple-canopy rain-forest frontier, cabarets and brothels are scarce. Men need to make do with whatever sexual diversion they can find, be it animal, subhuman or human. To neglect one’s better possibilities in this regard is to leave oneself open to the depredations of Rosy Palm.
It happened that Wilson had a brother, Oilson. Oilson was not well-endowed in the male “member” area. His wife, bless her suffering soul, had to accept substantial differences whenever they presented. One of those carrying a substantial difference was her brother-in-law, Wilson, but nearly all of Apiau was welcome to share her bed, and they did so.
Oilson had a favorite pig that, like his other more affectionate animals, frequently strayed. Oilson also often allowed the fellow to forage about the countryside. He was frequently called upon to remove the chubby fellow from neighboring fazendas.
As he would go to gather his friend, his wife would also gather her friends. Men from all over the Apiau territory had Oilson’s sweet wife to thank for saving their marriages. The situation was well in hand until Elbo arrived. Elbo was not a philanderer. He never cheated on his women. He never ripped off a friend.
Elbo was far from being a saint, of course, and he didn’t want to make a profession out of acquiring just one filthy little pol. Yet, Wilson seemed uncannily good at always being surrounded by relatives or minions. Elbo thought if he went to see a local whore, he might learn something that would help finish the job with dispatch. So, he headed toward Oilson house, one day, after discovering Oilson’s pig, fushing around in Wilson’s bean field. The pig’s field day would soon make the woman available, and Elbo rushed over to discover how the acquisition might be more spryly accomplished.
The woman was overwhelmingly conducive to complying with whatever Elbo wished. However, she did not seem to understand what exactly it was he wanted. Disappointed at his failure, Elbo left to return to his hammock at Wilson’s fazenda. He had not gone more than a few meters from the woman’s environs, when he was discovered in flagrante delicto by Wilson’s ugliest daughter. The choice piece of female flesh berated him soundly for using the services of such a loose woman. Why, she (Wilson’s girl) was easily available, every night, and much cheaper too.
The girl began to explain further while removing her clothing as fast as she could. Elbo was in the process of bewailing his fate, thanking his stars that he never merited conjugal bliss, when they were both surprised by the arrival of Cezar. Cezar had also recently marveled at the disheveled state of Wilson’s beans, and he instantly knew where he briskly should head. Elbo was looking for a diversion from his ear-beating and remembered how he also needed a fellow at the alligator farm & assorted recycling centers with Cezar’s unique qualifications.
Elbo tore himself away from Wilson’s daughter’s rapt attention and suggested that Cezar accompany him to a spot where they might discuss some lucrative private business. Cezar reluctantly agreed, and the two left the area. Elbo lost no time in presenting Cezar with a hypothetical question of what it might take for the fellow to leave Wilson’s employ and start working for the planet.
As he moved around to Cezar’s rear, Elbo dropped the big question. Should Cezar decide that he was not assassin material, Elbo’s shiv would send him to butcher’s hell without further ado. Cezar was more than ready for a career change however, and the two finalized their business. Cezar’s salary and working conditions all ironed out, the men headed for the Wilson fazenda. As luck would have it, Wilson was moving rapidly through the jungle to where sprang the pig’s provenance. He had a perfect excuse for dalliance and could take the high road in the process.
The three met serendipitously, and Cezar was able to show his new employer how brightly he would soon prove to shine in his new setting. When Wilson was safely tucked into a large saco de fibre, Elbo signaled for the chopper, and the three spirited the pol off to the hammer mill. The later extraction of Wilson’s estate went well. Cezar was able to collect nearly all of the pol’s mobile wealth for Elbo’s organization. Cezar was never seen absconding, and Elbo never married any of Wilson’s daughters. Oilson moved into Wilson’s old digs, and his willing wife was able to entertain on a much grander scale.

DELANO

Delano was not a bad man. Nearly everyone loved him. He didn’t hate his mother. Boys always chose him for their softball teams over other boys. He never did very well in school, only because his interests were elsewhere. Delano liked girls and was ever ready to do things to impress them. Girls are not such shallow beasts as to be impressed with virtues like good school grades. Their profound complexity leads them to pursue captains of football teams and boys whose fathers own perfume stores.
Delano was a BMOC. He was on the football team and in the Young Politician’s Club. He made all the other exclusive clubs and the fraternity of his choice. His academic standing was not too good, but he did average out with a solid C. It took a lot of talk and some “behind the scenes” effort by his father to get him to graduate “cum laude”.
After passing the BAR, Delano practiced for a year. He didn’t care much for the profession. The hypocrisy, cheap integrity prices, and pomposity were too fragrant even for him. So, when Congressman Bigeri asked Delano to come on board, as his personal aide, Delano jumped at the chance. Bigeri was thought to be an environmentalist politician. “Save the whalers” and “Recycle your scivvies” types supported him.
It sometimes surprised Delano how people could consider Bigeri an advocate for environmental matters. He always voted for development, nuclear power plants, unlicensed landfills, toxic waste cleanup companies’ rights to pollute aquifers, etc. It said a lot about the power of a “free” press. Delano kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to rock the boat while he was helping with the rowing. A couple of times he did have heated discussions with Bigeri over such equivocal conduct. Sometimes, even for Delano, the treachery was too pungent.
Environmentalists would often leave Bigeri’s office with his promises in their hands to act on their behalf in upcoming battles. Yet, after a flurry of phone calls the evening before voting occurred, votes always seemed to go against the environment somehow. The spin went out, “Bigeri mu$t have been under tremendou$ pre$$ure to go $o far afield from hi$ per$onal de$ire.” Or, at times, “How could he have been $o $tupid?”, “he ju$t didn’t under$tand the intricacie$ of the $ituation.” Or, “they mu$t have threatened him unmercifully.” Or, “he wa$ unprepared for the force of their re$olve.” Or, “they were much better prepared than hi$ $ide wa$.” Or, “tho$e ba$tard$ u$ed $ome dirty trick$!”
Then, it happened. After being with Bigeri for about 10 months, Delano saw where he just couldn’t go along with his mentor anymore. Bigeri needed him to convince a real honest-to-goodness environmentalist to back Bigeri on a bond issue. The bond issue was of no great import. Going with Bigeri on it, however, would glue environmentalist skin securely on Bigeri’s wolf hide. Covering Bigeri’s obvious treachery would be at the environmentalist’s expense. It would ultimately throw the unsuspecting pol into the camp of development & aquifer denigration, while Bigeri would emerge the zealot. The duped politician’s political future as an unwavering environmentalist would necessarily nose dive.
Delano saw it all very clearly. He told Bigeri what he thought and refused to cooperate. Bigeri saw that he was soon to lose either his most ardent collaborator or the political con-job. Bigeri made some phone calls and called Delano into his office once more. It was an easy sell. Delano left Bigeri a few months after they ruined the practicing environmentalist. It was the environmentalist’s own fault, of course. There was insufficient due diligence on his part. Bigeri’s record spoke for itself. The green guy chose to believe his “friend” Delano’s ardent praise of Bigeri’s image as an environmentalist. Delano needed a 2 month sabbatical to recover from a strained wrist. (The wrist that was wrenched while stabbing his “friend” in the back.) When he returned, white fibrous tissue covered his healed wrist while shiny new black silk robes covered his damaged psyche. Judge Delano moved into his new digs on the bench.
“Not bad.” People said. “Two years out of law school and already a judgeship. Must have been a brilliant lawyer.”
Within 2 more years, Delano was a multimillionaire. He included many powerful lawyers, politicians, bankers, mob handlers, and even the pedophile arch-bishop, in his repertoire of friends. His social calendar was always full. You had to make a 2-week-in-advance appointment just to get a two-minute audience with him. If Delano would prove to be just a smidgen more corrupt, the President of the USA was said to be seriously considering him for a Federal District Court Judgeship.
No, Delano was not a really bad man. Nearly everyone loved him. His publicity manager saw to that. There was never a highly visible event in which he was not prominently featured. He was a man going places. Was there a place for him on the Democratic Party ticket for US Vice President next year? He would be 32 years-old before inauguration if elected. There was some talk. . .
Nearly everyone loved him, but not everyone. Elbo was not impressed. Neither was Rav Aloirav, Gloria Gold, Lester Frye or anyone in the New Society. Those who did not feel Delano had a place on their social calendar were peripheral to society anyway and counted for nothing on the caedere hierarchy scale of hypocrisy. So, with many crooked judges and corrupt politicians from which to choose, these peripheral pogues just let Delano trip the light fantastic apart from them. Their killing calendar was full, and Delano could wait. Responsibility for US politician-wasting was in Rav’s bailiwick, but other matters occupied him. Elbo couldn’t risk the exposure of another hit on US soil at that time.
Then it happened. Delano got too close to a case, and it vomited on him. It seems a judge colleague was doing a favor for a drug trafficking pedophile pederast, and it backfired. In one fetid blast, the judge found himself indicted, tried, convicted and up for sentencing. The judge had all the earmarks of a cocaine addict himself but was never processed for it. Apparently, now he had pissed off someone who mattered. Such little indiscretions, as was his, never would have busted him, ordinarily, not in the good old U.$. of A.
Important people went to talk to Bigeri. Bigeri asked Delano to get involved. Since Bigeri was Delano’s handler, Delano couldn’t very well refuse. The judge on the docket to sentence the baby bugger’s savior had a misfortune. He found himself mugged and in traction the week before he was to play the hypocrite role vis a vis the ex-judge.
His caseload went elsewhere. One case went to Delano, who let the ex-judge off with a disbarring and a sharp reprimand. He stepped lightly aside, (and to the bank) with his “conscience” unmoved. As luck would have it, it turned out the ex-judge was a closet Hitler aficionado. His apartment was a veritable treasure-trove of Nazi memorabilia. The monkey-sector erupted with differential animosity against the mamby-pamby treatment of an ultraconservative who was not sucking up to the Zionist Nazis.
There was no alternative for Delano. He needed to snuggle up to some socialist manure to recover his liberal stench. The closest commie nations from which to choose his junket were Venezuela, Cuba, Ecuador, Bolivia, or Brazil. His avenging angel must have sensed that Elbo was contemplating a Venezuelan sally, because Delano also chose it. When Elbo heard the news that evening, his ears rang as if with the music of Christmas.
To waste a liberal “damn fool” U.S. politician in a super-commie’s own backyard was a “Silent Night, Holy Night” for Elbo. How much more could one ask, before Heaven? It was truly a gift from on high. It almost made Elbo a religious man . . . well, no, it didn’t even come close to that, but you get the idea of how elated he was. Elbo got on the phone to his best agents around the world. He also put his crew of Venezuelan “pol-police” intelligence agents to the ready position in Caracas.
He learned that Venezuela’s commie president was in need of some good publicity himself. Public knowledge of his personal depredations of former constituent’s caedere wealth had become a public nuisance. The monkeys too were chafing at the bit for more agrarian reform. He needed to humor or distract everyone. What better way than to raise his image by feigning friendship with a “damn-fool liberal”, a green-gringo. Together, they would come down on some struggling farmer’s chest with both feet and impress the hell out of the ignorant and demented poor from both countries. Anything for a vote, pragmatic, realpolitik, the way the game is played.
Elbo’s spies told him where the unfortunate farmer was to be immolated, and Elbo went to see him. The doomed man had been struggling for years to keep the beggars from stealing his land & fruit. Each year, the monkeys stole his tangerines. They burned his cacao warehouses and squatted in his orchards. When he fought back, the commie politicians reacted with force of “LAW”.
The farmer once asked the local commissar. “How am I to pay the strangling taxes, my other bills, your people, and still eat myself? You let your thieves have their way with me & my farm too much.”
“As far as we can tell, landlord, your stolen fruit is analogous to a loaf of stolen bread. It puts us in the same position with the people as if it were. I’m sure you know that we cannot punish some hungry kid for stealing a loaf of bread. It would not be humane. We’re not Elizabethan Englanders.”
“I am aware of the excuse you politicians have been using for centuries to excuse your pandering to thieves for votes. You pooh-pooh stealing on political grounds. So, who, in your criminal philosophy, is entrusted with the responsibility of reimbursing the baker for his loss? One loaf of stolen bread hurts, but won’t kill a baker. Suppose a town has a population of 20,000 souls. The baker could lose countless loaves of bread a day and go broke overnight under such an unjust philosophy. You are prostituting your office for votes. I’m going broke because of your pandering. Because you are so weak, you won’t take the criticism incidental to locking up minors for petty crime. You are also too indolent to help the victims of your cowardice.”
“I think you’ve said enough, landlord. Get out!”
When Elbo appeared, the farmer was at his breaking point and said. “I’ve heard of you, Senor Lebensrau? I admire you, and I appreciate what you are doing for hard-working people. I myself am not so brave. My money is gone. My children have left to do other things in Espana. It’s just me and my Senora now, and we’re old. I can’t fight on alone anymore. What can I do?”
“If I promise to end all your troubles and see to it that the country leaves you in peace forever, will you work with me?”
“What must I do?”
“How well is your finca producing? Are your fruit trees well-pruned and fertilized?”
“Oh, Senor Lebensrau.”
“Are the tatu digging holes in your cacao orchards?”
“You embarrass me so.”
“How is that?”
“I can’t prune or fertilize. Workers want half the value of the mandarinas just to prune the trees. Every 2 or three years the rains are light. Because the irrigation ditches are clogged, the fruit matures dry. Dry tangerines are of no value and do not sell. Not even chickens will eat dry mandarinas. I haven’t made a centavo on my citrus fruit in ten years. The neighbors steal all my wild lemons and limes.”
“And the cacao?”
“My eucalyptus are too thickly set over the cacao trees, and the tatu are wreaking havoc with the roots. I have not pruned the trees for three years. You raise cacao. You know the trees need pruning every year and fertilizer. I must choose one or the other as my resources do not allow for both expenditures. My cacao fruits are consequently small, so seeds are light and few in number. Most of them go to the armadillos. I’ll have no crop again this year. I am broke!”
“Well, if that’s your answer. You must fire us immediately.”
“I don’t understand. You don’t even work for me. How could I fire you? You are cleaning the world of subhuman parasites. Why would I want to fire you?”
Elbo explained what he intended to do. The farmer was skeptical. He’d never declared war on a politician before, and he found it a rather daunting proposition.
“I could be killed and my wife too.”
“Your life is that good now?”
“When I consider the alternative, yes.”
“Well. As I said. I promise, one way or the other, to end all your troubles. I’ll see to it that the country leaves you in peace forever, if you work with me. It’s your choice. Be a man or a slave. Risk dying free on your feet or live forever on your knees. I can’t choose for you.”
“How long do I have to decide?”
“Ten minutes. The Press is coming up your drive right now.”
“I’m lost anyway. Without you, I haven’t even a friend. It behooves me to go along, though I fall harder if you fail. It’s my only alternative, if I wish to survive as a man. Do what you must.”
It did not take Elbo long to work his cruel & unjust firing into a cause celebre’. The farmer showed no remorse. He led the State Press to his small cacao fruit and his strangled tangerines. Being a State-owned press, naturally, the blame for poor husbandry fell directly on the farmer. The media came down firmly on the side of the mistreated workers. The farmer accepted anathemas, until no one recognized him. Elbo’s spies wasted no time in delivering the fabricated “news” to the commie president’s handlers. It was a godsend to the cravats. Delano agreed with the commies. “How better to publicize the agrarian reforming of a capitalist farmer than by holding a show trial, a circus?”
The commie’s handlers found Elbo (disguised) and his cohorts right where the media said they’d be. Elbo and his associates were hard at work, drowning their sorrows in cana (rum) over losing their jobs. The bar was a local one near the farmer’s orchards. Elbo had prepped the patron$ and nearby local$ prior to the press’s appearance. It was not difficult to sympathize with his crew and their sad plight. Elbo’s front man was ready with the well-cultivated primrose path.
“The man mistreated us, horribly,” he lied. “We worked ourselves sick, and this is our reward!”
The handlers did not ask where their money came from to drink. They did propose some solutions and made some suggestions. Collaborating with the fat commie president was the best answer to the abused workers immediate problems. Cooperate, and they would soon be the new owners of the nasty old capitalist’s farm. Managers, where they were former slaves. It was an answer to prayer, the men agreed. They would do it.
All interested persons were to meet the next day at the farm, soon to be collective-ized. Elbo arrived early & surreptitiously. He came with as many “pol-police” as he felt would be necessary to overwhelm the opposition. He concealed himself and all his crew inside media-like combe-vans. As the politicians approached, the state media went into action.
Soon all the professional truth-obfuscators (reporters) were absorbed in hobnobbing with the rich and famous commies. All were anticipating a newsworthy event. If only the fired workers and Elbo’s front man would show up as they promised they would. They did arrive promptly, and the circus went as planned. Every Venezuelan home, with a stolen TV, was soon aware of the intolerable situation unfolding in Miranda.
Mistreated agricultural workers were making a courageous stand. They were taking over as the new owners of an agrarian-reformed farm. The hero of the day, of course, was the corpulent commie president. Delano stood proudly by as his conservative stain dissolved in toxic commie waste. He and the obese president had seats of honor at the festivity.
Cognac and good wine, (enhanced by a few grains of Elbo’s ethidium bromide, courtesy of Rav Aloirav’s productions), no doubt helped them enjoy the proceedings. The fat commie president left with his entourage a few minutes after the media gave their okay. When the entire farce was a wrap, Elbo struck. The media went into a barn under “pol-police” guard. It was too dangerous for them outside with counterrevolutionary hoodlums on the warpath everywhere. Lesser politicians, (DNA un-intercalated with ethidium bromide), their bimbos & sycophants left the scene in white Elbo combes. Guards, SWAT teams, police, and security agents went in a brown combe caravan.
Delano, (without the mutant porcine commie president to protect him), took his leave under the tutelage of Elbo in a nice long black combe limo with stylish refinements. It was only in keeping with the chic status of the rich, famous, and great Marxist look-alikes. Elbo’s SWAT-like “pol-police” and his spies handled crowd and “truth” control. All the white & brown combe vans met at the former cacao-seed fermenting-area of the fruit farm. The large covered building had sides which could be closed.
Elbo, ever the shy-retiring type, wanted to conceal the gala occasion from critics and outsiders. He knew that not everyone would appreciate the political sackings’ gaiety. The prussic acid perfume was just that delicate touch for which the occasion called.
Later, the corrupt cravats (more manageable now), Elbo, Delano, and drivers entered the fish-pond farm-factory. One large truck transported sacked monkey meat from cravats, bimbos, sycophants, guards, SWAT teams, police, and security agents to the factory for further processing. The large truck had replaced all the separate white & brown combe vans. Delano got to watch evolving new technologies in politician-processing economy. As a final treat, Delano was able to take part in the clean-up hosing. Stubborn little bits of political detritus and Delano were the last to leave the next morning. The commie president considered the event a complete success. He never missed his NorteAmericano counterpart. Most of the top pol’s most trusted retainers & sycophants felt nothing out of the ordinary for the first few months. Then, the obese commie thug pol was invited to enjoy Cuban medical quackery as his last will and testament. That testament did not preclude, of course, his daughters spiriting away a few hundred billion euros worth of the country’s oil revenue, as he went so handsomely off to Hell.

 

RASCUNHO

 

Elbo has been much maligned for his dalliance with drug dealers. Although such criticism is no doubt warranted, it is only fair that he be given a fair chance to present the total facts. He himself grew a little marijuana and some naughty mushrooms. He may even have facilitated the transportation of same. But, Elbo never dealt drugs, personally.
He was very friendly with dealers in all types of illegal commodities except those whose trade included women, children or nuclear power chemicals. His own smuggling began and ended in monkey powder. Elbo knew how drugs played into cravat hands around the world. Because of the high prices, charged for illegal commodities, all types of corruption resulted. Police, lawyers, judges, politicians, bankers, social workers, and the very fabric of our lives become drug dependent.

The point arrives when cop-hijacked drug-revenues do not pay enough to support law enforcement’s drug financed habits. Then, they must steal innocent citizens’ hard-earned funds in a scheme called asset-forfeiture. These highly immoral armed robberies and embezzlements are perfectly legal. The “legal” minions of the “state” could care less about any constraint. Tolerance develops for drug use, the lucre they generate, the corruption they produce, and the power that they render.

The legitimate economy & the black market become inextricably connected. It is far too easy to say that men of character and high principles, like Elbo, sometimes stoop to become involved with unsavory items. Such assessments are highly over-simplified. Implying a defect in character, it undermines and deprecates Elbo unjustly. We must never forget that Elbo felt that he was involved in a very important and necessary task.

As Polonius’ advice to Laertes . . . Elbo to his own self was true. Elbo’s objective was an arcane task. Ridding the world of the invidious & insidious cravat parasite never departed from his worldview. Protecting himself and his, along with us was his nobless oblige.

“Imagine a world,” he said, “where lawyers are not hunted down and exterminated for being the vermin they truly are. Imagine a world where such filth (lawyer-judge-pol) is admired and respected. Imagine a system that brings ALL value, material and ethical, down to a fiat currency price tag. Such an odious creation’s devious & treacherous behavior must pollute every aspect of existence. How can it not? And I should refrain to enter such a Hell to do a Heavenly task?!”
Rav Aloirav explained it thus to his people, when they criticized Elbo’s familiarity with concupiscent people. “Elbo needed to explore all possible avenues to ferret out & reduce the cravat-vermin to inanimate monkey-powder. Yet, he could neither dive unprotected into the cesspool with them nor fall into their traps. He asked himself, he searched his soul as to how he could accomplish his task. That is the reason he deliberately chose to associate with the marginally antisocial. It was how he chose to safeguard his character from immolation. They were his shield & buckler. But, he was the warrior! What heroism! What sacrifices he made, wallowing in the malicious mud, entering the abysmal world of the craven cravat to search out and eradicate the fiend. The asocial and antisocial were Elbo’s protective armor for when he made his courageous sallies into the corrupt simian world. He devoted his entire life to cleaning the planet of these parasites! Oh, Elbo. How can we ever show our appreciation? Some say J.H. Christ gave his life as propitiation for our sins. Some say he descended into Hell for us, forsaken by God the Father. Ridiculous fantasies? Of course. But how small such an imaginary sacrifice would be compared to that of Elboruh Lebensrau! Imagine how much good Elbo accomplished, the peace and justice he brought to the planet. With every gram of monkey powder he extracted, we can revel in how much better he made all our lives. Think of all the benefits of rendering the great god Entropy’s purely negative acts into positive food, raiment and habitat for humanity and its also-rans. Hold a child in your arms. Remember that the world he or she lives in today is a better one, because of Elbo the Eradicator.”

Rascunho was small-time. He never could muster the ruthlessness of demeanor necessary to be a great criminal. Nor was he addicted to money as are our at-av-neg mutant porcine billionaires and trillionaires. So, he never got to be the CEO of a large corporation, a corporate media editor, a director of a Federal bureaucracy, or a state’s governor. He never even rose to be some country’s Rothschild-puppet president. That didn’t mean he wasn’t just as treacherous or dishonest as these latter examples of the human race’s shame. He just never could act on despising ALL his fellow men to such a profound degree. He settled for being a drug kingpin.
If the facts are all present, it doesn’t take a rational man much time to realize the truth. The toxic blend of endorphin analogs on the market grows ever larger and more pervasive.  The Drug War is a political scam. The entire drug interdiction theory & its actual implementation endeavor is a show (circus) for the gullible. It’s a very thinly-veiled scheme of the pols to use demented and ignorant voters as clubs. These bludgeons acquire illegitimate & absolute power over decent people and hold on to it for pols.
The huge financial returns and lost productivity aid and abet the pols’ apotheoses. Such a condition could never abide in pure free-enterprise anarchy or a Platonic philosopher-king government. Only the savage hunter-gatherer’s lack of control (such as prevails in most democracies) allows it. Stupid, ignorant, ignoble, demented, brutal and base monkeys will accept anything if their neighbors concur. It’s the theory (plus experience) behind tyrannical democracies everywhere. Give the monkeys a circus (TV), throw them some crumbs (the dole), and they’ll jump to become slaves or virtual cattle.

Rascunho knew this, and he capitalized on the same, thinking. “Why risk my humanity, not to mention my neck, with such a personal ambition? Why would I want or need my face plastered all over the prostituted media? Does having cattle-worship (or enjoying cheap adulatory titillation) give such base pleasure that it cannot be denied? These love-junkies are nothing but offal, awful offal. I can get richer and almost as far socially, using one of these political monkeys to do my bidding and facilitate my impunity.”
Now everyone knew Rascunho was not an average small-time thug. The mean intelligence level of his line of trade was usually far less than his own. Nevertheless, he survived, even with that handicap, to become one of the richest if not the top drug traficantes in his city. Every politician and judge for many miles around knew his name and wanted to be included on his pay market and in his repertoire of nefarious connections. Lawyers actually took out contracts on their competition to be integrated into Rascunho’s legal cadre.
Just because Rascunho didn’t want to lose his humanity didn’t mean he respected his species. He despised his fellow man as only great men can. Integrating his sentiments and his impetus to act on same never carried him off to the degree his co-despisers did. Rascunho used the cravats for all they were worth. When he got as much out of them as he felt he could, he threw them to the wolves (electorate).
Rascunho owned a pol in Venezuela. The enchanted cravat was a personal friend of the fat military pig that was the current president of the country. He controlled Columbian & Peruvian cocaine’s extra-territorial gateways into Miami. As it happened, the sewer-swimmer was a notorious gambler. The luck-junkie gambled constituents’ blood away faster than a US pol could sell American blood to Israel.

Everywhere in the world the craven Caracas cravat found a blackjack table, down he sat. His graft take from the Andes area went down the same pipeline. So, he was extremely interested in Elboruh’s offer to get him part of a casino of his very own. Elboruh never inadvertently let on that the offer was a ruse. His ploy was a lure for unsuspecting pols.

Once he had the awful-offal in a position where he could separate them from their ever-present security teams he also made off with their liquid resources. Then, he would reduce them to monkey powder. The pol, on his part, also did not let on that he knew Elboruh’s profession, obviously, because he indeed did not know it. Conning someone into believing you are a casino owner & wanting concomitantly to sell out is not an easy task. It is like convincing someone you would like to sell your goose that lays golden eggs.

It was almost as difficult as separating a pol from his secret service. One must know how to effectively hide one’s fangs while also displaying a highly credible fantasy of juicy tenderloin.

As it happened, Elbo owned an alligator conservatory near a beautiful inland Suriname lake. His açude (fish pond) was a reclaimed prospected bank of the river Mahnahgron. The wash was 20 kilometers upriver of the river’s mouth, entering the River Lawa. A part of the River Maroni, Lawa is the Suriname – French Guyana border. From the air, bank washings appeared as little desert gaps among the Suriname triple canopy.

Oiapoque, where Brazilian garimperos (prospectors) enter French Guyana, was abandoned after completely devastating it. Having failed in numerous attempts to burn out the Oyapock wetbacks, French gendarmes were but helpless observers in Suriname. Brazilians ravaged the pristine jungle. It seems to be one activity at which Brazilians are really good.

After investing sufficient resources to convert the man-made desert into a life-teeming preserve, years ago, Elbo rested. Now, with the need for a casino in which to lure politicians, Elbo returned to building in the area. His casino was as yet an inchoate pile of bricks and iron. There was no possibility of impressing the cravat with his investment’s gambling take. A beautifully-constructed architectural model was all that was necessary, he felt.

It was enough to imply its soon-to-be-opened status. Helipad and airstrip completion gave the locale an impressive pie-in-the-sky appearance. The preserves other high-rolling accouterments were also impressive. After many tucunare’ fishing trips in the area’s streams, the Venezuelan was becoming tranquil. The idea of being a casino partner for a very small investment seemed ever more attractive as time passed.

Elbo planned very carefully. He hoped to use the casino for more than just one reduction. His swindle-assassination sorties could not be desperate haphazard affairs. Each time the Venezuelan cravat visited the alligator conservatory to do some peacock bass fishing, Elbo inquired. “Were there other pols out there, similar to the Venezuelan, who might find a like interest in the venture?”

A few, it seems. The Venezuelan, his entire security team, and the sycophants entered alligator tummies on casino opening night. A well-toasted skeleton of a Cessna Citation was presented as evidence that there was no foul play involved in the mass exodus from the planet. At that time, many other cravats were ready & waiting for eventual acquisition. They confirmed the general happy leave-taking of the Cessna jet.

Eventually, the inquiries regarding the Venezuelans’ mysterious disappearances from the plane’s wreckage died down some. Elbo then helped himself to the dearly-departed’s cravat cronies. Of course, the finished monkey-powder value for the complete cravat-coven was far below the investment figure for his casino’s construction. Elbo was about to sit down and contemplate his venture’s financial return concerns. Before he could do so, another concern took precedence.

Our old friend Rascunho was making inquiries regarding his Venezuelan pocket pol. Transportation of Columbian cocaine was being hampered by many smaller pols. While he was alive, Rascunho’s personal Venezuelan courtesan kept them under control. Now the business was falling into free-for-all status. With their hands outstretched, the little pols made it a virtual cabaret and every day a headache for Rascunho.
Elbo’s spies reported that some of Rascunho’s agents were contemplating hunting for the Venezuelan in Elbo’s bailiwick. That concerned Elbo. Rascunho was not a pol, and he showed a great deal of misanthropy. Elbo admired the man and didn’t want trouble therefrom. How would he handle the situation?
Rav Aloirav was in the U.S. and could more easily ferret out Rascunho’s position. Rav and his New Society didn’t like the narcotics business. They appreciated drug traffickers even less. Rav did like Elbo, though, and wanted to help. Elbo talked to Rav, and Rav replied.
“I don’t know, Elbo. You know I don’t like dope-dealers.”
“And I can see your point. Missionless subhumans, do nothing for the planet. No better than Christians.”
“Exactly. But, like doctors, priests, liberals and other counterfeit subhumans, it doesn’t end there. They facilitate the subhumaning of many others, Elbo.”
“I don’t know what I can say, Rav. I need your help.”
“Elbo. Somewhere off in the horizon a man stands, looking out at the ocean. As it swells in tune with his breast, he hears a shriek of agony. I feel that agony, felt throughout the universe, when a species’ final member breathes its ultimate breath. My every cell retches with the pain of such misery. I have devoted my life to extricating this planet from the grasp of the “Death Merchants, necroextirpation. Talking with subhumans is off-course for me.”
“I know how strongly you feel about your biosustainability mission, Rav. I think I can say that I feel as strongly about mine. But we aren’t isolated entities. Our visions are interconnected. How can biosustainability ever hope to succeed with parasites like lawyers, judges, and pols sucking the blood of everything that makes biosustainability a positive?”
“I know, Elbo. I admire your gift for analogies and your dedication & objective. You are an authentic person. A great deal of courage is necessary for such a mission. Removing brilliant psychopaths and powerful degenerates from the planet is not child’s play.”
“Thanks! Coming from you, I consider that quite a compliment.”
“I mean it. Killing lawyers and pols is a calling worthy of a true knight. You are an honorable man. I guess I’m getting old though, because to me it’s mind-boggling that there is not open-season on the beasts.”
“Politics is the perfection of corruption, Rav.”
“I guess I don’t share that aspect of your aspiration, at least not to the same degree of animosity.”
“Why not?”
“You speak of corruption as if it were a completely bad thing.”
“Yes, I do believe corruption is totally bad, don’t you too?”
“No. The tyranny of the ultra-rich is far worse. Rampant universal corruption, as we have in Brazil, is a sign of freedom and equality of opportunity . . . crude capitalism. I do not see that as 100% bad. It is certainly not as bad as the 1st World’s corruption. There, only the most wealthy caedere pigs can afford to bribe the cravats.”
“I see what you are saying, and I have to agree. That just makes my point more salient. We see the truth, you & I. We go after it, and do what needs to be done. Pols consider you and me, and our demeanor, politically naïve.”

“It matters little.” Rav said. “We’re cleaning the planet of filth.”

“We’re glorified garbage collectors.”
“Scum suckers?”
“I prefer not to carry the analogy too far, Rav. But, just for a moment, think about what happens when garbage is left to rot – incredible stink, right?”
“Yah?”
“So think about all those missionless subs out there.”
“Okay. Kill ‘em all, I say.”
“They still need reasons to go on, while they’re waiting for us.”
“Let ‘em eat each other.”
“They still reek, but perhaps you’re not far off the mark. I know you’ve read the Bible.”
“Cover to cover, three times. An original Mein Kampf, Rise & Fall of the Third Reich.  The Old Testament attempts to justify Semitic wars of aggression, using an insane potentate, their “God” fellow. The New Testament is a frustrated apologia for homosexuality & pedophilia, adulterated to sell to wanna-be cannibals.”
“Interesting slant. Do you remember Proverbs 29:18?”
“Not right off…”
“It reads, “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” Even subhumans are looking for human purpose, Rav. They see none on the horizon. They have no recourse but to remain subhumans. Your stand requires some charity.”
“Hardly anyone takes that “God bullshit” seriously anymore, Elbo. They all just use its shibboleth service to swim free or rape the rubes. I’m here, doing the necroextirpation, like you. So can the missionless.”
“How many have our courage and capacity for self-sacrifice? We can’t all be J.H. Christ, Rav.”
“They can ride on Lester’s train. They’ll get there just the same.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Rav, Mr. Frye says he will never proscribe ANY plant or eukaryotic organism on the Great Pontibus Bridges. Are not coca leaves and poppy flowers parts of eukaryotes?”
“So, what’s your point?”
“Not everyone uses the internet. How can they hitchhike on a train that hasn’t even left the station, maybe never will?”
“You’ve got a point, Elbo. We are in a mess.”
“So you see how drugs fill the gap?”
“Yah, I do, for Dream garbage. But I don’t like it; hate dealers, bad as pols.”
“Of course they are. But they have a mission, like doctors, pastors, etc…”
“What? Hospice?”
“Yes, hospice. Somebody’s got ‘a do it.”
“Cop out!”

“Rav . . .”

“I’ll do it. I’ll help ya’ get the guy off your back.”

 

 

Rav had no problem meeting with the dealer. They both knew some of the same professional criminals, (Frank Castle). Rav explained how his friend, Elbo, accidentally made trouble for Rascunho. He wanted to make things right. Rascunho was understandably angry, shouting.

“The bastards’a fuckin’ murderer!”
“Oh, now that’s a real point! And we’re not?”
“He did it for grins. We do it out of necessity! Where are your priorities, Aloirav?!”
“He’s a crusader, doing it for all of us. It’s something we, as men, need done.”
“Can’t see why. Not for me!”
“Like hell it wasn’t! Killing lawyers & pols is EVERYONE’S responsibility. Most of us are just too busy or preoccupied to take it seriously. He stole your used toilet paper. Big deal. Let him buy you a whole roll, perfumed & white, never used. At the very best, the pol was a tool, a screw driver. Elbo can replace it.”
Being angry and being reasonable are not necessarily incompatible mental tools. Rav concluded that both men could benefit from the Venezuelan’s reduction, post mortem, if they just got together, saying. “I understand your reservation. He wasted your minion. Like you, I prefer to glean my nether power from one who has bartered his manhood to achieve his. But be reasonable, Rascal. The pol was manure. Pols can’t be friends. We all know pols and lawyers are just lumps of un-dissolved shit, clogging the drain. They’re not human.”
“The name’s Rascunho, Rav, not rascal. I may call you Rav?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t look like a rabbi, but you talk sense. You even embarrass me a little. I need to do some explaining. I’m one of those refugees from the future, I feared, that never happened. I also believed, as a young man, that I lacked the needed brains and/or ruthlessness to be a successful and wealthy law breaker. Long ago, however, I made a conscious decision to exchange being bankrupt financially for being rich (bankrupt spiritually). Expected ethics and morality belong to others. They are virtues of fools and the very poor. I did not have the stomach to remain indigent.”
“And?”
“So I stole. Understand?”
“Pretty much.”
“In order that one might obtain a measure of security in this life one must be willing to profit from one’s birthright. Profiteering is usually directly proportional to birthright.  That does not always mean financial resources at one’s disposal. One believes security is also proportional to the amount of profiteering. Consequently, birthright can generally indicate the direction for finding immediate & ultimate security.”
“Both for the individual and the species.”
“I’m sure you know that aspect better than I. In short, one must rob, cheat, and murder his way in this world, and may the best cheat win. Poor parents teach their kids to be honest. Thereby, saddling them with a handicap that can last their entire life. Only thieves and cheats get filthy rich. Sometimes a kid needs to reach maturity before he realizes the handicap his parents gave him, and he needs to start from scratch. The blind beggar starves, while Adonis rules a corporation and the world. Where there are fences and walls there is poverty. The only difference between felon and banker is visibility. Natural theft fills prisons. Unnatural, bankers – lawyers – hospitals, fills the world outside the box. The un-credentialed felon robs overtly and the banker covertly.  The banker is indirectly & immediately in the stronger sphere. But, ya’ gotta’ start somewhere. Whatever, when you’re hungry, three bucks is a lot of money. I had to choose to eat or be educated.”
“You chose to eat.”
“I did, and I didn’t want to get busted. Imprisonment for crime, Rav, is as ridiculous as dousing cold ashes with water to put out the next fire. There is the bloody rapport with death of which a convict’s life is made. That tragic futility of the moment of remorse, and the totally debilitating depression of the next, fades into resignation. Society’s hypocrisy, be it what it may, still presents a formidable and expensive nemesis for the drug dealer. Pols are my salvation, and my corrupting them is how I ask my savior to take me to heaven.” “How can they imprison someone for their failure to educate, ya’ think?” Spoke Rav, pensively.
“Beats me.”

“I’ve been there, where of you speak. I understand.”
“I did not wish to be poor. Those unfortunate creatures who love their impecunious state so are willing to stop at nothing to maintain it.  Disloyal, crude, and despicable, ignorant, demented . . . they are . . .”

“Voters?”

“Yah, humanity’s elite, her Titanic.”

“The alternative?”

“We need a corrupt establishment to survive.”
“What you say makes a lot of sense too, Rasca – unho.”
“Thanks . . . for both.”
“You’re welcome. Elbo speaks similarly, yet from the opposite direction. What he is doing is taking the only responsible action in response to an insane world. As he sees it, making the world sane means taking out its insane aspects, lawyers & pols. I believe he will ultimately fail, but I admire his spirit. He’s being responsible in the only way he sees fit.”

“Yah, maybe . . .”
They sat down and discussed the problem. Rascunho explained how his business was being impeded every day by small timers wanting to cra$h his party. Rav could sympathize and did so. The dealer reciprocated. He listened to what the “boss” had to say.
“I’m sure both you and Elbo can get what you want if you just stop thinking you’re in each other’s way. Elbo cleans out the pols you can’t use. He reduces the parasitic lawyer population for everyone. We should let him practice his profession unhampered. He’s like an antibiotic, a penicillin. You’ll get your product through, hassleless. No unnecessary expense. If you run into trouble, call him. Work with him, Rascal.”
“Rascunho.”
“Excuse me… Freudian.”
“I know. It’s okay. I kind of like it.”
“So? We agree? You give Elbo the dossiers of the various pols in your way. A$$i$t in whatever manner you can. He solves your problems.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Rav gave Rascunho instructions on how to find a trusted guide to Elbo’s embryonic casino and left. Rascunho & Elbo met. They collaborated, planning many reductions. Most pols used products that came from Rascunho’s larder. Scheduling needed to be circumspect. Neither man wished to complicate the other’s métier.
Both Rav & Elbo felt drug use was a neutral thing. Symptomatic of a society without dreams, it became problematic only when interdicted. Elbo did not share Rav’s distaste for the narcotics trade. Rascunho agreed with the two planet surgeons, but didn’t like to hear talk about decriminalization of use. An ignoratio elenchus got in his way.
Elbo & Rascunho became friends, getting ever richer together; helping Rav rid the planet of human detritus.  Rascunho introduced Elbo to other dealers with similar problems to his own, and Elbo a$$i$ted them too. In time, the Suriname casino became a very popular resort for narcotics dealers. Many lawyers & pols also came & went. Most found it impossible to leave without assistance and without being forever changed.

 

KRAMOU

 

Kramou worked hard. He bought a small piece of land near Bacabal and built a house on it. He raised rice and beans. Then he bought some calves, raising them to marketable weight. His farm grew, and he worked harder. The man took a wife and raised some children.
One day he sold his farm and moved into town. There Kramou built a small hotel with the sale of his farm’s proceeds. His location was good, his prices were fair, and the rooms were clean. The business prospered. He added a parking garage and a restaurant. Kraumou thought he had taken care of everything. The risks he took were calculated and reasonable. He used the best intelligence he could buy to run everything. He drank moderately, didn’t gamble, and had but one mistress. What could go wrong?
Kramou discovered exactly that, when Iterate entered the establishment. Iterate was a personable chap who wanted only for money. His needs exceeded his means by just a smidgen. He entered the hotel, paid his room rent and immediately set about making Kramou’s friendship. Kramou responded as most true humans would.
He was reserved but accepted Iterate’s overtures with finesse. Iterate maintained his permitted distance for a few days and then began falling a few days behind in rent. It was not an isolated behavior, and Kramou allowed a small arrearage to develop. When it became sizable, he made his concern felt. Iterate promised to pay and almost did so.
In time the promises, partial payments and arrearages became unacceptably copious. Kramou demanded payment in full or a prompt exit forthwith. Iterate reacted with pique, as is the usual response to such incursions. With darkened visage, he entered and exited his room. Borrowing money from an available source, Iterate paid his defalcations and got quasi-reinstated to the innkeeper’s confidence.
Kramou accepted payment and went on with his life, not unaware that Iterate might soon become a bigger problem. Bitterness at his lot in life ate away at Iterate. Unbeknownst to Kramou, Iterate was incubating a plan to get rich and avenge himself, all at Kramou’s expense. Iterate had been stricken with a disease known as the “Big Eye” in Brazilian “macumba” parlance. There was a remedy for Iterate’s disease in Brazil’s legal whorehouse. The normal folk called it “indemnification”.
To qualify for indemnification one needed but to be willing to distort another’s perception of reality. Socialist – Communist countries are enamored of such legal shenanigans. They are a way, like non-punishment for theft, of equalizing the gap between haves and have-nots. Commies and their Socialist enantiomers are not finicky about their depredations. Pragmatic to a fault, any form of robbery or misappropriation that works is as acceptable to small commie minds as it is to big bankers. Whatever works to enrich without an investment in labor.
Taxes, unpaid police, prohibited drugs, free “legal” advice by the pandering pols, etc. – all serve as Homo sapiens’ socialistic aids to rape Homo sapiens sapiens. Iterate consulted with various cravats in Bacabal and hit upon one they all felt would answer their needs. Together, they planned the attack “golpe” on Kramou. It would not be easy, as Kramou was no shrinking violet. He was well-versed in Brazilian anti – “Big Eye”, anti – cravat protection strategies. His hotel was not unsafe to guests. Entrance registry forms also demanded legal release from liability prosecution for any slights or torts of management that might be construed as having been committed while on premises.
Iterate knew Kramou had a water well that was becoming seriously mudded. It needed emptying and the mud removed. Advertisements for men to accomplish such a task went unheeded. Few communists care to work. Only thieves researching a site to rob later, or swindlers of some type, choose to work in socialist settings like Brazil. “Why work and be penalized for it”, the commie asks? “Only suckers work. Learn to live off a woman, fool!”
Iterate presented himself (with a very likeable smile) to Kramou for the job. Desperate for the labor Kramou accepted with a bit less reluctance than was prudent, perhaps. The well was soon drained and Iterate, with an accomplice, began to remove mud. They soon began digging laterally and not vertically, burrowing into the well sides exuberantly. The well’s walls soon became perilously undermined. One must wonder at the mental state of persons who would allow the desire for revenge or unearned money to become so strong as to risk self-preservation.
By accident, Kramou saw the impending danger. He ordered them to stop lateral digging, until the walls could be buttressed against cave-in. Iterate & his accomplice heard the exhortation. The two returned to the imprudent digging after Kramou left. Iterate’s accomplice did begin to worry that Kramou was right, and he quarreled with Iterate. Iterate could not force his collaborator to continue undermining the well’s walls and expelled the fellow. As Kramou expected, the walls soon fell in upon Iterate, and the would-be vindicator was buried deeply in the sand.
As was well-rehearsed with Iterate, earlier, the man working the overhead pulley to remove mud and sand began screaming for an audience under the guise of looking for assistance. A locally popular fat man entered the well. Promptly yanking Iterate’s shoulders to dislodge him from his unenviable position, the jolly fellow broke Iterate’s clavicle. He also may have temporarily dislocated Iterate’s femur in the process. The scenario was now complete.
The unsuspecting Kramou believed Iterate’s injured ruse, and Iterate had his cause of action. Kramou hired some expensive diggers to extract Iterate. He then paid passage and costs for the man to enjoy a taxi ride to a distant hospital (San Luis) for the best care obtainable in Maranhao, Brazil. Iterate demanded supplemental care, and Kramou delivered it, even going to see Iterate in the hospital. Iterate was not in sight.
The doctors there informed Kramou that his “friend” Iterate was not in a very bad way. He did indeed fracture his clavicle, but the femur dislocation was doubtful, as X-rays showed no inflammation. The only injuries sustained (broken clavicle) could not be attributable to the cave-in, per se, but to the manhandling by the fat fellow. At any rate, it was not a problem, and Iterate had been discharged as ambulatory the day prior. Iterate’s lawyer accomplices maintained Iterate was bed-ridden and demanded the doctors take a second look. They wanted him sent to another hospital where his femur situation could be reassessed by other doctors. The fat fellow who broke the clavicle became a witness to Kramou’s great and willful negligence. The legal conspiracy against Kramou grew by the minute as did Kramou’s concern. It grew heavier when Iterate sent word to Kramou, via an accomplice, that he needed more money to travel.
“Travel?” wondered Kramou. “Why?”
The accomplice said. “Iterate needs to find expert witnesses and hire some other professionals to prosecute an indemnification suit against you.”
Kramou got very worried about those “other professionals”, suspecting them to be nothing more than hired liars. So, he stopped all of his support. People told Kramou that Iterate was indeed not bed-ridden. He was walking unencumbered by any deficiency. Iterate found clandestine work with his relatives as if the injuries had never happened.

Kramou went and investigated. He found the allegations to be 100% true. In Brazil, a cravat on contingency is entitled to at least 30% of whatever he can extort from his opponent’s client. Cravats defending legally-assaulted parties are expected to garner a similar percentage for their fees. Double-billing, the usual cravat cheat, is an ante-diluvian method of augmenting income for these individuals.

Depending on the plaintiff’s greed, “opposing” cravats can potentially extort a tremendously large sum out of the defendant. If the opposing cravats are forewarned (before the case is delivered to the court and battle enjoined) the opposing parties can fix a sum happily satisfactory to both sides, (minus the hapless client, of course). The case can prove extremely lucrative for plaintiff and the lawyers on both sides. After the case is filed, the defending cravat can still work surreptitiously with his legal “adversary” to exponentially escalate the defendant’s pillage.

Iterate was as greedy as he was prepared and had already turned Kramou’s lawyer weeks prior to the “golpe”. Talk began to surface that Iterate had hired a super-cravat and was contemplating a multimillion Real lawsuit. Kramou became nearly apoplectic when word arrived that Iterate was talking about raising all room rents at the Kramou hotel (that he was soon to acquire). Local, State and Federal governments sent $upport to Iterate and word that they were behind him in his noble & just cause.
Kramou’s associates consoled him with the fact that only gringos and escaped fathers need fear Brazilian pseudo-law. He was not a gringo, his wife was dead, and he had produced no children by his mistress. So, there was no danger. Kramou was not convinced. A decent, hard-working man in a corrupt commie state is always at risk. He saw danger everywhere.
Then, it happened. A week before the final deadline to answer the multimillion Real complaint, the lawsuit papers appeared at Kramou’s doorstep. The judge, Mayor, Governor, Federal Attorney General, and the plaintiff’s entire crew conspired to destroy Kramou. Delaying the serving of the case to Kramou was a great way to insure Kramou would find inadequate or no counsel. The cravats tried their best to prevent Kramou from getting a competent defense.
They corrupted Kramou’s first attorney by using the fiend to inform them of Kramou’s plans, but Kramou discovered the treacherous cravat’s behavior and fired him. Next, they withheld the papers until another attorney was nearly impossible to find. How could the man mortgage his hotel and find a defense cravat in less than a week? He couldn’t. There was no bank that would do all the paperwork and other processes on such short notice. Cravats never hesitate in using time pressure to accomplish their goals.
That is why legal processes take so much time. If deadline time pressure is not possible, cravats postpone cases until the enemy is vulnerable to the opposite time-pressure. Sympathy mounted for Iterate, as photos of his bed-ridden person surfaced. The Mayor was a daily visitor, as were all of Kramou’s enemies and enviers. Everyone was hoping to enjoy a piece of Kramou pie.
It happened that Kramou had a beautiful daughter. She shared Kramou’s French-Italian DNA and also some Guarani-Tupi indigenous parentage. The long-legged, high check-boned, blond-haired, blue-eyed lass was a real eye-catcher. The girl loved her father, and she didn’t want to see him lose the result of a lifetime’s work & risk. The girl went with him to search for a cravat that would wait for his fee. Incredibly, they found one. Unfortunately, a week was not enough time to make any side agreements with Iterate’s cravats to split exorbitantly inflated fee loot.
Therefore, installments on the million Reale defense fee Kramou’s monkey wanted needed some security. Kramou’s daughter became the prime object as a topic on which to discuss the loan’s security interest. Kramou refused. The two returned home with Kramou determined to lose everything and possibly go to jail. His daughter had other ideas.
She did not want to see her father destroyed any more than she wanted to lose her patrimony or virginity. She accepted the cravat’s offer and became the simian’s mistress. Kramou did not know. Somehow, that, and his initial belief in Iterate’s injury, slipped right past his keen instincts. Perhaps he was getting old and wishful-thinking propensities got the better of him.
As it turned out, however, Kramou won his battle with Iterate. A friend told Kramou about a place where Kramou could observe and photo Iterate working. Kramou did photograph Iterate standing on a ladder, working. Iterate’s cravats were devastated and split a large bribe to stab their client in the back. Kramou’s cravat collected his one million Real fee, plus interest, plus Kramou’s daughter’s 14 year-old virginity, and a few months bed decoration.

When the fee was paid in full, the cravat went on to deflower another hapless virgin. Kramou’s daughter returned to her father with undeserved shame well-disguised. Together they worked 20 hour shifts to pay the strangling mortgage.
Elbo heard about the affair from one of Rav Aloirav’s “needles”. The “Boss” was all for wiping out the entire Bacabal court system with one of his bio-agents. Elbo thought he could do the job without the messiness of an epidemic. He set out to prove himself adequate to the task. The hotelier relinquished the heartwarming task to his friend, as a favor, even though it ultimately nearly resulted in our hero’s demise.
Elbo’s intelligence agents congregated in Bacabal. There, he explained the nature of the acquisition. Over 1MR$ was a sizable chunk of plunder. At the current exchange rate about $700,000. Fund extraction would have to be contemplated with care. Acquisition and recycling were elementary. Most lawyers, like pols, are creatures of habit, and hate eratic behavior. Ossification of one’s spirit, it seems, follows close upon the heels of ossification of one’s humanity.
When all cravat itineraries were duly recorded and patterns established for Iterate’s day, Elbo finalized his plans. Iterate’s losing lawyer had given Iterate some pocket change as consolation, and Iterate knew just what to do with it. Pasqual took Iterate out that same evening as the scoundrel left a local cabaret. Rex approved all of Pasqual’s provision and Iterate finally became a valuable part of the universe.
Elbo’s task now involved getting a judge to the alligator pond as well as the two adversarial cravats and the Mayor. The judge was a decadent sensualist and had no great reserves of cash to plunder. The judge’s epicurean designation meant Elbo was left with an even simpler task of acquisition and recycling than with the adversarial scam-artists. Rex ultimately would have to accept essentially a plumper and more serene Iterate in the jolly jurist.
The judge was pleased to encounter (the next day) in his courtroom a buxom lass in need of legal assistance. Of course, the young package of pulchritude had to wait for free legal advice until the judge could retire from the day’s heavy ordeal of bribe-acceptance maneuvering. Decision-making can be a very demanding profession, you see, especially for those who control the contingencies under which we unwashed must live & die.
The judge thought it would make the task of educating the young lady much easier if he could take her to a local bar. They went there together and enjoyed a few drinks under didactic conditions. When the judge felt the student to be sufficiently erudite he suggested they go elsewhere for some practical application of the points he had so recently inculcated. On her part, the pupil felt she needed that ultimate bit of learning dispensed in a particular bar of her own choosing.
Reluctant, but feeling he had nearly accomplished his objective, the jaded jurist agreed. Responsibilities of high office, even for stupid pols like judges, are grave indeed. The couple of high expectations then went to a bar which was a little more to Elbo’s choosing. Here the young lady made a very public display of disentangling herself from the legal man’s embrace and went home. The judge wandered out of the bar, deploring how his disappointment could be no worse. He soon discovered that he was wrong. Rex finished the evening’s hedonistic residues in his own way without the need for legal erudition.
Elbo and his agents could not decide which of the two cravats they would enjoy killing more or first. His agents were more inclined to enjoy the one who betrayed client Iterate. Elbo was more interested in the one who robbed Kramou. Yet, neither was the clear winner. The discussion eventually focused on which one would be easiest to plunder. On that point too there seemed little agreement. Acquisition and recycling planning problems were dealt with quickly. Fund extraction presented the most problems. Heavily invested, both cravats’ liquidity was at issue.
As it happened, the cravat of deceased Iterate was inordinately interested in Kramou’s daughter. Whether it was her beauty, demonstrated loyalty to her father, or the fact that Kramou’s cravat enjoyed her and thought her of worth, was unknown. It was immaterial to Elbo. He approached the girl and explained the cravat’s erotic passion and their interest in it. Despite the risk, Elbo asked the woman, point-blank, if she would like to help some people avenge her father and she. At first, the poor child could not say what she wanted. Her trauma had been complete, and she thought she would probably never recover her lost self-esteem. She said she just wanted to put it all behind her. Amid a tearful rejection, she asked Elbo to leave. Elbo returned to his compatriots and told them that they would probably just have to be satisfied with acquisition and recycling. It was a sad day for biosustainability and planet-cleansing initiatives.
Kramou’s daughter spent the night in ardent soul-searching. Her own desire for peace, she told herself, was a separate issue. Her not helping the freedom-fighters was another matter. Elbo was very explicit when he told her that she, as everyone else, had a responsibility to help all decent people rid the world of lawyers and pols. She knew that and was permitting her personal fear and desire for tranquility to get in the way.
The next day, very early, she went to Elbo’s room at Hotel Aloirav. There, she said she wanted to help. The woman thought it all out and concluded that she would probably never heal until her father was repaid and she was revenged. Elbo could not tell her about Iterate’s demise but asked her what she thought she was prepared to do. She agreed to let herself be approached and courted by the former Iterate’s ex-cravat.
The cravat did as expected and the two prospective lovers began to get acquainted. It was not true love, even though it appeared so. Kramou’s daughter, Silmara, played her part exactly as Elbo and his agents felt would be apropos. The woman was smart and observed carefully all that might lead to a mechanism for possibilities of plunder. Nothing appeared for days, however.
The avenging predators were getting impatient. Some even became voluble. Silmara put them in their place, when she said. “Look here. I appreciate what you are doing for us. Don’t forget! It is I that must deal with the pig. You are going to benefit from my sacrifice much more than I. Let me do my part without this pressure. I cannot force him to reveal where his funds are without also tipping our entire cause over the cliff!”
Justly taken aback, the “pol-police” apologized for their impatience. Elbo agreed with Silmara, and the vindicators settled back to wait for an opening. The opening appeared within another week, and Silmara proudly reported it. “He keeps all his investment records in a safe in his legal office in San Luis. He and the Mayor occupy the same floor in the same building.”
That was good news. They could extract the Mayor while they waited to acquire the target. Silmara went on to suggest. “If you can find someone who can open the safe, without damaging it, while I keep him busy elsewhere, we might be able to discover information leading to a more effective way to rob him.” Elbo knew just such a man, and they were soon in possession of a vast amount of the cravat’s investment information. The few bearer bonds and jewels, stored in the safe, were never returned to it. The rest of the information was photocopied and returned as it was before the ransacking.
The cravat was understandably irritated to find himself somewhat depleted in resources, but he was also relieved that the thieves did not clean him out entirely. He did not suspect Silmara and told her about his side of the situation. She did not appear unsympathetic, and he responded in kind, telling her much more than was prudent for a wealthy man. She brought all information to Elbo. The cravat-hunters acted prudently on the rest of the investment information.
With Silmara’s additional information as to the cravat’s offshore bank accounts in Luxembourg and Antigua the avenging crews’ financial experts managed to extract a few million more of the cravat’s liquid assets. By this time however Silmara’s part in the former Iterate’s ex-lawyer’s misfortune was becoming rapidly more obvious to the cravat. His recycling became necessary. It was a simple matter, because he was a relationship junkie. His residual weakness for Silmara was overwhelming. He was acquired and recycled without much ado.
Silmara was a wealthy woman now, in her own right, and she used the money well. The woman did not pay off the mortgage on her father’s estate, as it might mean explaining from where the money came. She felt the desire to continue as a cravat-hunter. Silmara became one of Elbo’s “pol-police” after a short training session. A portion of plundered funds went to increase her wardrobe and other tools of her new treachery-trade.

By emulating the craven-cravat behavior she acquired some of their skills. As she used these skills only to purloin fiends, Elbo did not feel she was just another cravat in human clothing. Within a year, she had taken out over 20 wealthy cravats. Silmara told Elbo it was her ambition to one day kill a president, a prime minister, or even a queen. Elbo confessed, despite his also coveting such a praiseworthy ambition, he himself never was able to aim at such stellar targets.

However, he said he would be only too glad to help her when she developed a plan worth executing. Meanwhile, the crew of cravat-hunters was assiduously looking for ways to plunder Kramou’s former cravat. Silmara tried to help them with what she remembered. It was not a great deal. She said she once saw him with a large sack of diamonds.

When he noticed her interest, though, he quickly put them away, and she never saw them again. Lawyers and pols swim in a cesspool of capital. Integrity unfortunately becomes but a cheap commodity in both capitalistic & communistic worlds. Attorneys of note deal with people who only know price and nothing else. They soon become the venal tools of these virtually totally corrupt beings, unless they are smarter. In that case, they become the masters of their clients and cravat corruption directs 100% of the course of those clients’ lives.
Silmara said there was a Cabo Frio rich man with whom Kramou’s former cravat did a great deal of business. They were both “illegal” diamond aficionados and traveled much between West Africa, New York and Antwerp. During one of her john’s visits to Rio, Silmara said she accompanied him to Cabo Frio and met the jolly little diamond dealer. Redundant rolls of fat notwithstanding, the corpulent fellow was a long-time clandestine CIA agent. He had a full cover story as a criminal ex-patriot.
Like Deak, Chanel, and many other ex-OSS thugs, this piece of work was also plundering the USA’s wealthy alleged “enemies”. The diamond-dealer, con-man cum CIA agent had privileged access to both information and powerful pols. He had been on a first name basis with the top drug lord in Rio, the Mossad agent, P— Roth—–. It obviously made his criminal avocation just that much easier to facilitate. Silmara said she remembered once seeing a huge diamond on the man’s desk.

The dealer said it was to be worth over ten million dollars if he could ever decide on a cut he particularly liked. That final fact fit into Elbo’s interests. He asked Silmara where the Cabo Frio address was exactly, and they went to investigate the situation there. The dealer’s residence turned out to be a veritable fortress, complete with roving digital cameras, attack dogs and guards. Elbo found CIA & FBI agents to be nearly as despicable as lawyers and pols.

He refrained from harvesting them, however. It was not out of fear . . . exactly, but, facing hard facts, eradicating the filthiest subhumans first, while avoiding to the maximum those with stinging nettles, was only prudent. Nevertheless, a $10M diamond, he equivocated, was nothing about which to be snobbish. For two days, Elbo and Silmara walked the public beach way in front of the dealer’s residence to observe the man’s habits. They discovered that he left the impregnable site daily but never at the same time.

One dog and a guard always accompanied him. The two planet custodians did not follow him. They merely sent a message, relayed to other “pol-police”, that the dealer was on the move. As day three began, Elbo thought it would be nice if the dealer and Silmara were to meet again – unexpectedly. Elbo chose Rio’s main Jewish hawala banking area to be the point of contact.

The dealer was a philanderer and jumped at the possible chance to bed Silmara. He took her dining in Copacabana. After leaving Porçao, they went to his fortress in Cabo Frio. When the peculiar pecuniary knowledge and opportunity presented, she informed Elbo (by pre-arranged signals) that the diamond was still in residence. In the early morning hours, she made an entrance, as surreptitious as possible, for Elbo and his men.

They ransacked the residence, extracting everything they found of value. Acquiring the fat CIA agent did not go well, and it was necessary to recycle his son too. The corrupt US Government was neither amused nor impressed and made their sentiments quickly evident. Scores of forensic specialists from the DEA, FBI, CIA and NSA descended on the deflowered fortress.

Elbo’s dossier and DNA were now promnently on file in many government agencies for his Philadelphia serial-killing days. His last days of relative freedom were numbered, as the Feds organized their trap. At the same time, Elbo and Silmara discovered a viable mechanism for extracting Kramou’s former attorney. The corrupt canny cravat breathed his last breath under Silmara’s strong embrace. They were in the process of facilitating the extraction of her ex-john, when the pol-sycophants struck.

Working with US-enthralled Brazilian Federal Police, the U.S. agents brought down the two vindicators. The upholding heroes were separated immediately. Under torture, psychological mechanisms and excellent deception techniques Silmara talked. Tons of circumstantial as well as hearsay evidence materialized. Millions of dollars in bribes to venal “witnesses” sealed Elbo’s fate.

He was tried and convicted of numerous serial murders but not even approaching 0.01% of his own actual count. It undoubtedly helped the state’s case some that Elbo refused counsel. His value to the Rothschild family, the BAR, and the US Government, however, was immense. It was so such that they could not permit him to be executed. Like Hess at Spandau, his knowledge of vermin eradication (and his elusive friend Rav Aloirav) was too valuable to be summarily extinguished. The pols, (unfortunately having no experience with aspirations), were seriously remiss.

On the day the judge was to pass the 237 life sentences, with no possibility for parole, guards brought virtually advocate-less Elbo into the courtroom. Elbo was seated and asked if he wished to make a final statement. Having stedfastly refused counsel during the entire proceeding, Elbo replied, personally, that he did. He went to the witness stand to do so. He sat down, and, looking up at the judge, asked.

“May I have a glass of water, before I speak?”
A glass of water appeared, and Elbo drank it all. Then, he said, quietly. “I do not have anything exculpatory to say. I am even guiltier of much more than that for which you have given me credit. But I do thank you for remembering some of my work as well as you have. Very kind. I feel somewhat slighted that you have not seen fit to have rewarded me more fully, but that is the nature of subhuman ingratitude. In closing, I would like to say that you may think you can imprison me for a thousand years…!”

Finishing that statement, he broke the glass on the wooden rails of the witness stand. With the largest shard still in his hand, Elbo raised it high and said. “But, as you see before you, most clearly, I can leave any premises in one day.”

Finishing that last statement, he brought the shard down and slashed his left brachial artery. Throwing the bloody bit of broken glass to the floor before him, he looked around the courtroom, smiled kindly, and promptly fainted. Paramedics in the courtroom rushed to save him from exsanguinating. They applied tourniquets and saline, but the man awakened and resisted. Then, he fell unresponsive. Heartbeat appeared to have ceased. Bailiff’s carried Elbo’s lifeless body to the court’s basement infirmary. There, the on-duty medical officer pronounced him dead.
There was very little love resident in any breast there for the cold-blooded killer. So, he remained alone on an isolated gurney for quite some time. While patiently waiting for the assorted devils to guide him down the pathway into hell, Elbo found himself floating away from his body. He saw himself laying there, on the gurney while concomitantly entering a strange light tunnel. He later remembered Rav Aloirav telling him about just such a scene.
(Rav said he too experienced that phenomenon 6 times in his life, each one when very close to death. It was usually during the war, but a few times afterwards. Rav later built what he called an alpha-omega machine, which embodied the light-tunnel experience. It was an art object (Alpha & Omega) that modeled and somewhat explained the birth-death phenomenon as an Einstein-Rosen bridge highway. It is still on display, along with a plethora of his other art works, in Hotel Aloirav’s lobby today.)
After a few segments of Elbo’s time-illusion passed, the tunnel disappeared. Apparently, his torment was not to end just yet. Whatever maniac sent us all to Earth to writhe in this toxic environment, it had not finished watching Elbo squirm. Elbo awakened to find his heart pounding and his head splitting in pain. He tried to rise off the gurney, but the restraints were still in place.
Shouting. “You bastards are gonna’ regret putting me behind bars! I promise you, you will regret it! Now, you will really pay.”

He passed out again. Although his voice did not have its usual force, there was still sufficient strength in it for a nurse to both hear and react. After Elbo recovered, they took him to a maximum security penitentiary. Due to subsequent events, the authorities have still never disclosed the name or location identity of that particular facility. As if Elbo were some Roswell alien, the information we have about him, (from the latter infirmary scenes to his escape from the prison), is entirely hearsay.

It is mostly reliable hearsay, as it came to us via the New Society. Anyone else, who has documentary evidence, is welcome to come forward and present it. The world well needs successful repeats of the freedom-fighting process. Many people in penitentiaries around the world would like to know the details. (It would also make our story more interesting.)
As Elbo entered the Big House, he expected, at any moment, for his life to end. Some contract (paid for by Rothschild, any number of pols, or the BAR) would accomplish it. As he entered the cell block, those presentiments were nearly realized. A contractor rushed forward to shank him. The con never made it to Elbo’s vicinity.

A coterie of cons, (many of them from the New Society group), closed around the vindicator. They would not allow any assaults upon him to take place. Elbo immediately asked his motley crew of bodyguards to take him to the most powerful of the gang leaders in the prison. They brought him to the white gang leader’s cell. There Elbo remained for the next few hours.

Some feel that the future escape and world revolution strategy began here. Perhaps they are right. At any rate, it was not an easy sell on either side. The highly-tattooed gang leader, “Captain”, was an extremely powerful and wealthy convict. He, himself, had no intention of joining Elbo in any of the vindicator’s aspirations.

Captain did not want to leave his prison fiefdom. Unnatural situations, like prisons, develop a bizarre ecosystem of their own. Aristocracies grow, as in any estranged milieu, that would never survive in an open political system. The Captain was aware of his special status and was in no way eagar for change. Understandably, escape would make him (on the outside) no better than some “King Rat” after the Armistice.

He also did not want to let Elbo (or the New Society) discover any chance to take his uniquely-sequestered power away from him. What the two did seem to agree on was Elbo’s conditions of imprisonment, his future escape, and its immediate aftermath. They did not like each other. Both were quite certain that they would be most happy to end their enthralled association . . . quickly.

Elbo said later that he felt the gang leader’s prime objective was to get Elbo out of his hair in as painless a manner as possible. Mighty forces ran alongside Elbo that were undeniable. Rav Aloirav’s New Society people, Elbo’s many tacit supporters, and his enemies that did not wish to see him off’d, (until he was no longer useful) were those main influences. Escapes, however, made Rav Aloirav uncomfortable. The New Society did not traffic in them. They got people out by bribing pols, lawyers, judges and parole boards.

Unsettling matters, always boiling just beneath the surface, ensued between the varied interests. Nearly a billion dollars sat in the gang leader’s kitty to make Elbo a corpse. Rich lawyers, pols, large subsidized bankers, fat non-productive sick billionaires, and governmental man-hunting mercenaries genuinely feared a live & kicking Elboruh Lebensrau. Inside the prison, they knew of Elbo’s alliance with Rav Aloirav and the New Society. That knowledge attenuated rapidly as the outside prison radius grew.

Rav Aloirav was a man that respected his own power and its clandestine character. He was a knife in the shadows, a cough, a sneeze and . . . ignominious death. The donations to Captain were anonymous. That did not in any way detract from the difficulties (for the white gang leader) that Elbo brought along with him. The average cons’ pro-Elbo sentiment and the subliminal New Society power would not disappear.

The entire prison power structure, including the warden, explained daily to the outer fascist world brotherhood. They needed to dissemble credibly, why they were powerless to effect Elbo’s murder. Swimming in the same waters were the ever-present possibilities of a free-lance contract kill. If the various prison power structures failed, they would have to enlighten powerful interests. How ever did they let a prison riot (mini-civil war) come about in their joint?

Impatient as Elbo was to leave the prison; he waited over a year to escape. It took that long for the gang leader and Elbo’s “pol-police” outside to work out an exit plan. Then, they had to make that plan acceptable to Rav Aloirav’s New Society. The escape was intended to be foolproof, as the prison would explode, otherwise, and the inevitable corpses might not be 100% predictable. As things turned out, that eventuality came to pass anyway, despite many efforts, on all sides, to prevent it.

As strange as it may appear, the following conversation about female sexual quality was the precipitating factor in the aborted tranquillity. Elbo was in the prison cafeteria, talking with some New Society people. A contract-con approached with some slander about Elbo. It seems a statutory rape charge (that Elbo beat by recycling a district attorney cravat and her files a few years before he went to prison) was alleged. The con-con’s gambit was intended to get the New Society cons so upset that they would allow Elbo’s flanks to be exposed long enough to shank him. It almost worked.
The contract-con said. “I hear you like to fuck 13 year-old girls, Elbo. That true?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Have we something in common, Pig Face?”
“Wha’cha mean, Asshole?”
“Well. I, myself, like girls, but to each his own, I always say.”
“What are you talking about, freak?” The con-con screamed, lunging at Elbo. “You callin’ me a punk?!”
(In the pen, most cons feel there is a hierarchy in crime. Rapists and child molesters (not fags) belong on the bottom rung. They are sort of like the Hindu outcast “untouchable” class. Usually, it is only the very worst of the worst scum in the prison world that do indeed look down on such miscreants. Those brutal detrita that take action against these unfortunates are even lower on the moral phylogenic tree.)
Elbo knew what was being attempted. He turned to his New Society friends, who held off the con-con from attempting to shank him, and assayed their mettle, before saying. “This piece of shit, you are now embracing so affectionately there, my pretty Piggy Face, wants to separate me from you long enough to separate me from my life with his shank. He and whoever his employers are believe that if you disrespect me, he’ll get his opportunity.”
“Yah. Might be right.” They agreed.
Elbo then turned back toward his interlocutor and replied. “I suppose my attraction to young females would give pause to some. Others, an envious few, might even suspect that I do indeed have a weakness similar to your own predilection. I can only say that it is untrue, and my pedophilia weaknesses begin and end with young nubile females. I can also say that my attraction is solely to their bodies and not to their fathers’ wallets.”
Now he’d piqued the New Society cons curiosity, and they asked. “To what are you referring, Elbo?”
Elbo appeared to ignore the con-killer then and said. “That effeminate freak, Justin Bieber, has absolutely no value to ANYONE that does not spring from the greed of those who profit from female pre & post puberty obsessions. Are you gentlemen acquainted with the little box of misplaced estrogen of which I speak and his unmerited fame?”
Most were, nourishing unmentionable passion for the boy’s anus, and asked what he was trying to say. He replied. “If one voices displeasure with the interminable public nonsense regarding that creep, thrown in one’s face on the outside at every opportunity, one is hit with a mountain of unjust retorts. Things like. . . “You’re just jealous!” . . . or. . . “You just wish you were him, etc., etc.” It stifles most intelligent conversation or turns it violent. Now, I can live with the little bundle of spam-squish drivel, but the ubiquitous concomitant hypocrisy appalls me to death!”
“How’s that, Elbo?”
Elbo continued. “The money-mongers make billions exploiting the innocence of puberty. It’s considered just good business because the electorate are fools, ignorant and usually demented eunuchs. During the entire time “Little Boobs” has been nauseatingly notorious, “child-molesters”, indecent liberties perps, statutory rape convicts, and unrepentant or slavery-averse husbands have had their lives molested & ultimately ruined. By whom? Lawyers, the state, and Rothschild-media-controlled Society. Why? Misguided envy that is much more than rhetorical! Most men are afraid to voice their ire. Why? Because they live in terror of the dry-vagina lobby. No one wants to risk being on the firing line of a fickle feminist hard-finger. I, myself, have a “Maggie’s drawers” card and need not be so afraid. Why? I’m old and descending onto the proverbial banana-peel. Others are not so lucky.”
“So, yer’ pissed at the hypocrisy?”
“Exactly! Let me explain.” Elbo requested. “Adolescent girls, aged 11-16, love sex, and they manifest their passion, unabashedly. Hence the Bieber attraction. Men are not oblivious to the voracious desires for affection residing in the available age differences, and they respond with alacrity. Who would not recognize the gaping abyss that abides between the beautiful little unassuming sexpots on one side and the unattractive, frigid, grasping, older women on the other? Jilted, jaded, hollow-cheeked, flat-breasted, fat, droopy-skinned, Sapphic-shored, painted, misanthropic harridans are incredibly envious. They have found allies in jealous fathers. Both groups despair of sufficiently venting their ire at losing all their perceived chances at rights to sex upon demand. Pernicious lawyers and prosecutors will always jump to embrace any unjust cause if it benefits their greed. They prohibit and proscribe ANY potential biological need, destroy ANY life, to feed their cagey concupiscence. The sweet-young-things are invulnerable, so this unholy alliance triumvirate takes its envy out on male victims. It’s all rolled up under the rubric of “sex-crime”. None dare call it envy or jealousy, but it has been increasingly wielded and fluttered about since they crucified the most publicized pedophile & sex pervert of all time, the purported zombie, J.H. Christ. The world just does not seem to see that the entire human race is one big persistent sex crime? Here we are in the box, paying the price for all the other child molesters in the world. Are we that much worse than General Society? So terrible are we that we deserve to be placed in a cage? Of course not! The same goes for genuine pedophilia, my friends. Why does Society incarcerate a subset of people for it? Cold envy. Christians, Mormons, Jews, Muslims and all the other religious pusillanimites, if not outright literal pedophiles still feed their children the milk of superstitious nonsense. They are figuratively molesting pure innocent minds, contaminating them with the offal sperm of delusion. THAT!!! IS RAPE! THAT!!! IS CHILD MOLESTATION! Is pedophilia that does no harm to a child, (other than what harm any healthy learning experience would do), so heinous? Of course not. Anyone, telling a child that a loving & sadistic god exists, (or scaring them into believing that some zombie fag will take them to live with him in some horrible afterlife “Heaven”), is a RAPIST! Furthermore, all pols are child-molesters. They promise ignorant demented voter-trash future political candy. The pols get elected and f**k their entire constituency! Talk about rape, indecent liberties, and illicit promiscuous molestation! And then, all 1st-world citizens have been raping the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th world for decades. Look at Chernobyl and Fukushima and observe how the nuclear energy industry is raping the entire planet, biosphere and posterity. The customary garden-variety pedophiliary subset appears rather tame in comparison!”
“So, you don’t see anything wrong in porking 13 year-olds, Elbo?” A belligerent New Society pogue asked.
“Hell, no.” Elbo riposted. “Yanomamis marry at 11, other cultures do so similarly. Even older societies always married at that same age.”
“They ain’t us, Elbo.”
“No. That is true, and why the change? We, ourselves, are facing tremendous population pressure. There are way too many subhuman lawyers, pols, religionists, obscene caedere bankers, nuclear-energy proponents, biological misfits, old sick farts, etc. on the planet. So, society raises the age of legal procreation for everyone, legally killing infants at varous stages of development. That does not make pedophilia any more wrong now than it was long ago. It’s just become another outdated morality constraint, a perfect silliness. Do you guys understand?”
“I donno’, Elbo. Fuckin’ kids is just wrong.”
“Of course, it is.” He answered. “But, a nubile 11 year old girl is hardly a child. At least, she’s a woman too. Nature has made Her own sentiments abundantly clear, saying. “If you fuck one, watch out! You are not fuckin’ a child anymore. Children cannot be parents.”
“It’s still a crime, so it must be wrong.”
“I don’t agree either with your faulty logic or your definition of right & wrong.” Elbo countered. “The word “crime”, used in such a context, is legal double-talk. Even if I did agree with your sophistry, the difference is negligible, approaching zero. It’s just another way of taking your attention off the real crimes and criminals in the world. Unhappily, all prisons do that. WE are the price Society pays to hide its head in its “business-as-usual” sand.”
“Go on. We’re interested.”
“Off Pretty Piggy there, and I’ll explain more.” Elbo said, throwing up his head to indicate the con-con.
“Can’t do it, Elbo. He’s Captain’s tart.”
“Well. Get rid of him any way you can. I don’t like him near me. He’s as nauseating as a Christian.”
“Okay.”
When the con-con was out of the area, Elbo went on to say. “As I said before. There are way too many people in the world. The planet is dying from out-of-control energy-production by-products and other pollution. We face worldwide resource exhaustion and an ecological disaster of monumental proportions. Our population devastates Nature. Yet, we can’t escalate the killing of our children any more. If we do we also kill our chances to survive as a species. Do I make that point clear?”
“Yah.”
“So, we must select some of our numbers to take an early retirement from the burden of life,” Elbo said. “That many will die, regardless, is inevitable, whether we choose them or lose them via our failure to act with countermeasures. As those of you in the New Society know, nobody seems to be rushing to build the Great Pontibus Bridges, so I have some suggestions for alternative sacrificial candidates.”
“Which are?”
“I think we should start by killing those inhuman beasts most dangerous to our continued evolution.”
“And what might these beasts be?”
Elbo answered. “I’ve already mentioned them … lawyers, pols, religionists, obscenely wealthy non-productive caedere bankers, nuclear-energy profiteers, biological misfits, those on life-support drugs & machines, organ-transplant freaks . . . I could go on, but you get my drift.”
“Yah, I think so”, one guy said. “Oxygen leeches, parasites.”
“Yes. I spent most of my life trying to rid the world of lawyers, pols and other corrupt craven cravats. That’s why I’m here, enjoying your company. When they busted me, I never expected to get a chance to revisit my calling. I thought I’d effectively recycled in that court room. I blew it.” Elbo confessed. “Now, I know why.”
“Why, Elbo?”
“STAB (Second Time Around Bastards) is not effective enough, alone, so I intend to form a new wave of invasive people.”
“When you get out of here?”
“Well. Just as soon as I can. Time’s a’wastin’.”
“You mean like the Huns, Mongolian hordes or somethin’?” A con, not affiliated with the New Society asked.
“Yes. The planet needs a new wave of armed conquest. A jihad that isn’t religious but secular.” Elbo explained. “One which attacks and kills all those of the “doomed persuasion” . . . those who are fornicating with our evolution.”
“These lawyers & pols and such are part of the “Doomed Persuasion”?”
“Yes.” Elbo added. “At first, we shall concentrate on them, then presidents and CEOs of the largest fascistic corporations. The strongest of these jokers will soon put up protective shields that we cannot penetrate, at least not until our guerrilla numbers reach critical-mass level. When that point arrives, we go after the criminal corporations’ shareholders and thousands of rank & file workers in the criminal industries. Industries likenuclear power generation or evolution-wrecking pesticide manufacturers must die. When our armies are of sufficient strength, we will ferret out and harvest all the “Doomed Persuasion” proponents, even the inhuman monstrous illuminati. The carnage will be impressive.”
“Damn! Elbo.” A con said. “You sound like the inhuman monster.
“Really? Well, decent people, real humans, need food, purpose, and a sense of self-worth. The dearth is killing us all. Killing these sub-scum can deliver all that, everything we need, and much, much more.”
“You’re over the top.” The con retorted.
“Ahh, my cherry.” Elbo replied. “That’s because you are a simple thief. You have no idea how satisfying it is to feel waves of warm blood cascading in liters over your gentle hands, after you have just sent a planet-raper’s monkey soul to another dimension.”
“Damn straight, Hector!” A New Society con erupted. “You really are crazy, Elbo. How come Rav told us to protect you, and even help you to escape when he gives the word? You really belong here.”
“You think so?”
“I know so!”
“Aw, shucks. Thanks, convict. I thought you were just saying that to make me feel at home.”
“You’re a nut case if I ever saw one. Killing respectable squares, as if they were criminals like us. . . Jeese! You’re a maniac! I’m going to report this entire conversation to Rav’s agent here. I want no part of you or your “aspiration”.”

A word in explanation here: Much has been made of Elbo’s support for the extremely covert STAB (Second Time Around Bastards) organization. Before Elbo’s death, his forces and those of Rav Aloirav’s New Society were virtually entirely composed of STAB people. The clandestine STAB organization believes in a special service that those receiving death sentences (suicide ideas, terminal cancer, type C hepatitis, etc.) can peform. Certain imminent death does not necessarily mean the end to one’s chances for doing positive deeds for the planet. If reincarnation should prove to be a natural fact, who would not wish to come back someday to a better world?
There are a great many hostis humani generis (enemies of the human race) that use the establishment’s security apparati as well as their own expensive private security. Pols’ secret service agencies, professional private armies, governmental black ops, personal bodyguards, etc. are examples of some of the forces used to protect parasites. Anyone wishing to assist the human race by killing subhuman hostis humani generis vermin cannot do so and still expect to live. The only way this offal can be removed from the planet is via a near suicide of the hero. STAB steps in here and gives an opportunity for conflict resolution.
Free-enterprise capitalism is the most natural of the economic systems for the human race. It aids and abets natural selection much better than the others do. Unfortunately, expert practitioners of twisted state-welfare-capitalistic principles feel its darlings should be the sole determining factor in opportunities to assist in human evolution. This is absolutely incorrect and a gross misreading of the Law of Natural Selection. The cause of such a perverse reading of the condition rests in an execrable institution known as “Law”.

It is legalized fraud which rewards the super-state-capitalist not for genetic fitness but for perverse, obscene accumulation of caedere wealth. Both the extreme caedere-wealthy and the destitute-poor disorders are examples of nearly the exact opposite of natural human fitness. Only sick subhuman animals feel the need either to accumulate obscene quantities of caedere wealth or to disdain it completely. Those malignant rich and poor, uncommon greed & unlimited malingering, emulating porcine values, are indeed more akin to our squealing friends than humanity.

STAB heroes, subsequent to their violent altruistic deeds, are largely protected from legal punishment and political censure. Deteriorating health and proximity to interplanetary travel insulates them from castigation. Such a condition works in biosustainability’s favor. Unfortunately, the STAB hero is also prevented from receiving the glory his homicidal behavior merits. This works contrary to biosustainability.
It is for the latter fact that both Rav Aloirav and Elboruh Lebensrau praised STAB to their members, suggesting membership. Every time a Trilateral Commission, Council on Foreign Relations, or Bilderberger parasite was found happily murdered there was a celebration to honor the moribund perpetrator. Every time a nuclear power executive bit the dust, due to the STAB hero’s kind act, there was also a great joy. Caedere accumulators and indigent beggars are sick beasts and do not deserve the respect that real human biological fitness deserves. Although the hostis humani generis parasites are the most highly prized of STAB targets, almost any obscene accumulator of caedere wealth, their relatives, sycophants, and hangers-on are fair game for the heroic STAB warrior.

The malignant poor are of little concern to STAB. Individual mendicants fortunately die naturally without requiring much neighborly assistance. Should commies and pol panderers get involved, prolonging the mendicant’s miserable parasitic existence, the problem grows greater.
Convicts are generally represented as a cross-section of society, emulating its ignorance, dementia and intellectual cowardice. So, Elbo was not surprised that most of the cons were as morally-offended as he discovered the general population outside prison walls were at his dreams. They did indeed spread far their negative opinions of Elbo and his iconoclastic vision. The New Society rank and file were not immune. Yet, word came back from Rav Aloirav that Elbo was in no way lesser in the “Boss’s” eyes for his ideas. He was to be revered in the same way as he was on his first day in the “box”. In fact, the escape was to go forward that very evening, and the hotelier expected Elbo would obtain the maximum in assistance & protection from the New Society cons.
Corrupt guards were alerted. Necessary cons went to their positions. Snitches passed the necessary disinformation as prelude to their effected retirement from life. Elbo was ready at his appointed station. A corrupted guard opened Elbo’s cell door, and Elbo proceeded to wend his way to the laundry, as planned.
As luck would have it, however, a few doors prior to the laundry, Elbo found himself face to face with Pig Face. Pig Face either did not get the orders or ignored them. He rushed at the old man and thrust his shank at Elbo’s midsection. The blade entered Elbo but did not drop him, and Pig Face retracted the knife for another thrust. The guard on Elbo’s right was also not in Elbo’s corner. He tried to push Elbo into a position more vulnerable to Pig Face’s weapon.
Elbo’s age did not prevent him from reacting with vigor to the guard’s perfidy. Using the screw’s weight and momentum, Elbo threw the guy directly into Pig Face’s next line of shank-thrust. The dreamy look on the guard’s face told Elbo that the monkey was adjusting for the voyage to parts unknown. He turned his focus on Pig Face and charged. The shank was still stuck in the guard’s rib cage and Pig Face found himself unarmed, tete-a-tete with a quasi-cannibal.
Pig Face was no match, and Elbo ripped out the ape’s jugular and larynx. As blood covered the deck and Elbo, footing on the polished cement floor became less than solid. A New Society con appeared and grabbed Elbo. He steadied Elbo’s gait and guided him to the laundry. There, others helped Elbo negotiate the various checkpoints. As bad luck would have it, an uninformed guard on a video camera monitor saw the two bodies on the deck and rang the alarm.
Everything went into lockdown mode. Now there would really be blood. Elbo’s pol-police, landing in the yard with four helicopters, joined New Society cons in neutralizing screws and enemy-cons with grenades, machine guns and LAWs. It was a half-hour before the pro-Elbo cons could reverse the lockdown sequence program. Prison swat teams entered with their own sophisticated armament. Cops & and cons died by the scores.
Elbo’s pol-police grabbed and tried to get their leader to a helicopter. They were almost there when an Elbo-trusted con notified Elbo that the warden was outside the prison and in a vulnerable position. Professional temptation too much for Elbo, he grabbed a machine gun from one of his pol-police. Rushing to the wall, Elbo looked down upon the senior screw’s position and that of his entourage. Losing two men in that final sally, Elbo did personally manage to kill over twenty pols, swat team members, and the warden, before he turned back to the chopper’s hatch.
The chopper lifted off with Elbo’s face sporting a huge shit-eating-grin. All surviving pol-police and cons, escaping with Elbo, lifted off their hovers and got safely to the refueling site. There, pol-police distributed changes of clothing, food, passports and cash to all escapees. Those regular cons, Elbo deemed fit for his new army, got their orders. Others got walk-away cash. Captain, and the senior New Society cons, remaining in the prison, took over from there. The media sent in their best liars to put the proper fascistic spin on it all. Pol-police and New Society KIAs were 48, WIAs 82. Screws, snitches, swat police, and pols fraternizing with the warden were 239 killed and 456 wounded. Elbo considered the action a success in all categories.
After a week spent on Mykonos, recovering from his year-long sabbatical and the gunfight, Elbo resurrected his planetary objectives and opened his new biosustainability war program. His new focus was fully expanded to include removal of all parasites, not just lawyers and pols. He was well-aware now that Rav was right. He could never hope to beat the monolithic globalists’ fascistic power structure with just his own and a few close minions’ sacrifices. He began to increase his risks dramatically by starting to organize a large clandestine guerrilla army.
In every country of the world, Elbo reached out to oppressed humanity. His job was neither easy nor safe. Of that, he was aware. But, it was his raison d’ etre, his obsession. Pol-police preferably recruited biological fathers (and other persons with vested interests in human evolution) to help in rooting out those of the “Doomed Persuasion”.
It was more a process of elimination than of recruitment. Elbo asked. “What normal decent human being does not wish to root out (with impunity) all of the corruption and filthy blood-sucking elements encountered in the world? What better examples have we of such conditions and vermin than lawyers, pols, ultra-rich bankers, and clerics?”
Therefore Elbo and his recruiting people had to winnow out those classes not fit to be hunters and executioners. Most of the rejects fell into the two opposite ends of the social spectrum. Middle management always bears the brunt of the organizational survival responsibilities in this world. In the military, these are found in the upper enlisted ranks (NCOs) and field-grade officers. In society these comprise the petite bourgeoisie.
Elbo’s recruiters avoided the indigent, which are, Elbo maintained, usually twisted biological misfits, undisciplined weaklings and stupid wastrels. The recruiters also avoided the very rich, which, he said, were usually sick criminal psychopaths, narcissists, swindlers and concupiscent misers. Elbo’s cleaning crews needed smart intuitive generals with a field grade officer’s vision, sense of responsibility & capacity. They chose to find such people in the general population. But, they were eclectic.
Their enemies’ powerful New World Order, despite many of its sound biosustainability aspects, contained avaricious fascistic elements of deep ignorance, dementia and corruption. Despite the given possibilities of the globalists for sound natural custodianship, total annihilation of life was ever impending within their Weltanschauung. Normal environmentalists were all too often not scientists but just well-meaning buffoons and wanna-be dictators. Something needed to be done. The Great Pontibus Bridges were still not a fait accompli.
As Elbo needed more than just his nefarious aspirations to attract adherents, and since he was by definition staunchly anti-democratic, his army needed a banner behind which to unite. Elbo chose a unique symbol for his crusade taken from Rav Aloirav’s collection of art objects. It was a special flag. An all-encompassing raging fire blasted upon a white background. The fire engulfed an Etruscan laureled fasces with its protruding Roman ax head. The flames were actively melting the ax head, and the liquid metallic drops flowed down the sticks as red blood.
The “Burning Fasces” was an impressive symbol. Each time his guerrillas pulled off a major coup, the combatants left behind some facsimile of that flag. Each time the planet suffered substantially fewer pols, lawyers, big bankers or clerics (bishop or higher), the banner announced the fact to the entire world. Elbo knew the banner was tempting his fate, but he felt the end (non-caedere biosustainability religion) justified the risks. The banner brought notoriety and renown where it was most needed.
Elbo was aging and could not be in charge at each acquisition site anymore. He found himself delegating more and more power and its responsibilities to his better people, his children and Kramou’s daughter, Silmara. Elbo broke Silmara out of prison a few months after he released himself.
Silmara returned immediately to the site of her father’s hotel. There, she discovered that the premises were buried underneath a great deal of rubble. Cravat friends of her ex-john, (Kramou’s former lawyer), took it upon themselves to avenge the cravat’s murder with a bomb. Luckily, her father and his family were absent from the hotel at the time. Silmara found the Kramous living in a state of penury in Bacabal, hiding from the vindictive cravats.
She soon learned who the perpetrators were. With a bit of help from Elbo, Silmara acquired, recycled and extracted them all. The extracted funds bought Kramou a small but nice retirement home on a Cabo Frio beach. They bought the home from one of Rav Aloirav’s future victims, his chubby Global (GF) Facilitator, Cinza. When her father was comfortable again, Silmara rejoined Elbo’s army. She was now one of Elbo’s better agents and, despite her previous betrayal, he was glad to have her return.
Silmara’s most heartfelt desire was to, one day, acquire a top pol. There was as yet no logistical provision for the Burning Fasces organization to acquire a pol of presidential positioning, a prime minister, or even a nasty old queen. Such a target would require a large army, and communication security almost impossible to accomplish. But, the Pope was another matter. Silmara focused on him, saying.

“That commie monster is still nothing but a pol. He has much greater vulnerability than a secular pol, and I believe we can take the fiend out!”
Silmara knew that Elbo would be averse to going after an ultra-monstrous pol or rich caedere banker, as it would mean risking his lawyer-eliminating leverage. But she felt that, like Rav Aloirav, Elbo was an enthusiastic supporter of biosustainability. The Pope was not just an inhuman bootlicking fascist, but his church was a great beneficiary of the illicit funds derived from the CIA’s proscribed drug racket. His lavish lifestyle drew much on the proceeds from the phony “drug war”. His fascism ecompassed a anti-biosustainable directed communism for enslaving the unwashed.
His stand on abortion was a disgrace to the entire human race. How it impinged on eugenics, (prenatal testing and abortion of genetic misfits), the assault on the family, and over-population brought human evolution to the brink of disaster. The question for Silmara was not should the Pope die. It was, “If not now, when?”.

The megalomaniacal Pope wanted to maintain ostensible proximity to his “flock” around the world. He also wanted to re-visit South America before the year’s end. Getting all her arrows ready, Silmara went to see Elbo and asked him if he thought an attack on the world’s top superstitious fascist and closet-commy was a possibility.
“If I’m not mistaken, a Pope – JP I, was assassinated,” he said. “It is possible, even if risky as hell.”
“Do you think it would be a good idea for us, at this time?” She asked. “It’s only been a short time since our breakouts?”
“It would indeed be unwisely poking at one of the fascists’ larger unhealed wounds, but it also would sure bring our organization and its goals to the foreground, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure would.” Silmara agreed. “While we’re at it, we might even help a large number of the Curia to travel with him to Hell.”
“I know you’re stroking me, Silmara, but it does feel good. It would make us much more visible. That has positive and negative implications. We’d certainly be more vulnerable.”
“Sure would.” Silmara said. “The Pope’s flock would be foaming at the mouth for vengeance.”
“It might mean hunkering down for a while.” Elbo ruminated. “We’d have to curtail much of our normal pol acquisitioning.”
“But, we’d get many more atheists, cops and military people to gravitate to our movement. You know how much we need honest warriors, those experienced in fighting for proven good causes.”
“You’ve brought up a very good point. It speaks to a symptom of the accelerating shortage of true manhood in humanity’s ranks.”
“Yes. I suppose it does.”
“Our ranks are feeling that dearth. From womb to tomb, the fascists are killing natural masculinity, polluting the food, water, and air with poisons and estrogen analogs.”
“They’re also polluting the air-waves. Rav was talking about how they are doing that. The job called me away, and I didn’t hear it all. Tell me what he said.”
“Sure. It’s a multi-pronged illuminati initiative. The media, entertainment industry and the entire education system has been employed to make masculinity politically un-cool. Just to get laid now a man needs to appear to be nothing more than a somewhat mildly-deranged lesbian with a bonafide penis. The law courts aid and abet the scam by turning males into de facto legal eunuchs. Sociologists and socialists justify figurative castration by subsidizing females with taxes stolen from working males. Food and drinking water are laced with fluorine and drugs to pharmaceutically castrate males. Pesticides and other chemicals, that mimic female hormones, are used universally. Too much estrogen or its look-alikes destroy manhood along with giving women cancer. Dow’s 2,4-D is a perfect example of one of the feminizing chemicals. It’s sold as an agricultural product, but it was engineered to destroy human sperm and natural male attributes. The fascists think they’ve got everyone fooled about needing it as an alternate to Bill Gates’ glyphosate. It is supposed to produce weed-resistant crops when weeds grow resistant to glyphosate. In actuality, they need an alternate poison for when glyphosate gets too well-known as a sub rosa population-reducer. They are using these chemicals as pesticides just for window-dressing. They kill weeds, very true. They are poisons. Their most-valued use to the fascists is to remove humanity’s opposition to slavery by stifling natural masculine drives to protect the family & tribe. That is one of the reasons why we are finding ever more homosexuals being born, developed, protected and glorified. Voter-trash are overwhelmingly ignorant & demented eunuchs. Natural male behavior and male values are getting almost impossible to find. Good cops, good soldiers, good citizens, Silmara. We need more of these good folks around. Most people are growing worthless or even negative forces for human evolution, toadies to the fascists. The fascist media delivers the tentative coup d’ gras to male heroism by demonizing surviving maculine ideals, making them politically un-cool, criminal, putting men at risk, as if every male is a potential Elboruh Lebensrau.”
“If we succeed in killing the Pope, you’ll be much more at risk.” She said. “On that subject, I really can’t understand why they still haven’t got you.”
“I’m sure you mean why they haven’t assassinated me? You know I’m not invincible. You were there.”
“Will I never be able to make it up to you?” She asked.
Elbo ignored her question, but continued to ruminate volubly. “We would have to move around a lot and not let any of our people know the whereabouts of the others, until things got more normal again. We’ll need a better way to ferret out snitches, as there will be a lot of them, looking to get rich on my white hide.”
“That will not entail a great deal of change to our system. The three-man teams are insulated from each other now. Interteam messengers only know three teams, and we’d just have to make minor protocol changes in their communication strategies.”
“I too think our organizational matters are quite sound. Only informants and GPS data can knock us down. We do not use unprotected cell phones and our teams are isolated cadres. Getting GPS and betrayal fixes on our major activities is nearly impossible.”
“Their intelligence people are not fools, Elbo. They know your value to us. They will always want you more than assorted pieces of the organization.”
“Do you think so? I always assumed that to them I’m just another serial killer, perhaps more to be feared than most but . . . “

“Still nothing more than a glorified thug with an inflated price on his head?”

“Pretty much, yah.”
“And what is that up to now?”
“The last I heard, it was $4B.”
“That’s a lot of temptation to betray you and all of us near you.”
“But not enough for you?”
“Are you trying to say something, Elbo?”
“Like what?”
“Are you trying to make me hurt forever for once being too weak to do what was right?”
“You are beating yourself, Sil. I have never condemned you for that.”
“Perhaps not, but temptation and betrayal are not always linked, Elbo. You were not…”
“I suppose once burnt, always…”
“Have you never shown your human weakness, Elbo?”

“Nobody is above the possibility of betrayal, Sil. Torture works.”

“Have you never been less than your ideal, Elbo?”
“Ahh, Silmara, my dear. If I did not know, every day, that I am proving less than my ideal I should be either dead or already successful in ridding the world of these anti-life fiends. I forgave you for betraying me the very instant I discovered that you had done so. I knew, when they grabbed us, it would eventually happen or you would die. No one, wishing to live, can resist torture for long.”
“You’re thinking of your son, aren’t you, Elbo? That must hurt terribly.”
“It does, Sil. I can’t but feel some responsibility for having been a part in his demise.”
“Now that is really off-base.” Silmara erupted. “He knew he was breaking the rules. You have made it very clear to every one of us… no cell phones or internet anywhere near our persons when vulnerable to attack.”
“Yes. That’s true. But, maybe I didn’t explain well enough to him what “vulnerability to attack” meant.”
“Yes, you did, Elbo. We all understand the phrase. He did too. He was just too eager to shine. He wanted that piece of shit more than we did, and he took too many chances. He sidestepped deception-tactics orders, because he wanted to impress you.”
“Poor kid. That fag he was after is still alive, isn’t he?”
“You mean Selva-verde?”
“The greedy jerk who sold the big NSA whistle-blower to the fascists?”
“Yes.”
“No one has acquired him yet?”
“No. As you requested.” Silmara replied. “All of us felt, as you did, that the cell-phone data that your son compromised, when they took him, was too damaging to the organization. We are still revamping protocols to obviate anything they might do to capitalize on it. Once we’re ready, we can get back to that business.”
“We should not let it dangle too long if possible.” Elbo said. “The whistle-blower is a great man, a hero. The glib fag, that figuratively castrated him, needs to be recycled. That sell-out sends the wrong message to our sympathizers that the fascists and their money are invincible.”
“We all agree on that.” Silmara said. “It boggles my mind.”
“What?”
Silmara said. “How these fags can see anything, with their truncated humanity, that makes life worth living?”
“You mean, how do money, fame and filthy perverted sex compensate for a twisted life?”
“Yes.” She replied. “And more.”
“The guy could have made the world a much better place, even with his perversion handicap, by conforming to the whistleblower’s aspirations. Why didn’t he?”
“Yes. The whistleblower rots in a cold, unfriendly, foreign wasteland, after he sacrificed his entire life for humanity.”
Elbo said. “His friend puts a price on that and sells him out!”
“Yes. I just feel sick, when I think about it! Fag values are so cheap and tawdry. For a bit of dirty sex with a retarded monkey, notoriety, and a few hundred million bucks, he beds the fascists and gives the entire world the finger. Such envy and hatred of normal human beings….”
“No wonder the ancients proscribed homosexuality.”
“More than ever, after this, I have to agree with you, Elbo.”
“Twisted in body…twisted in mind?”
“Actually, I was thinking of, “If you don’t have a vested interest in the future of mankind, you have no business affecting it?”
“Oh, yes. Exactly.”
“But that brings me to another thing, a question that has been bugging me for some time.”
“What is that?”
“I understand the need to take revenge, Elbo, and don’t get me wrong. It’s just that, well, even before they killed your son you were a strong opponent of the fascists. It makes me wonder. Every sentient being hates lawyers, big bankers and pols, but they don’t all go to such lengths with their hatred as do you or I. Why are you so vehemently opposed to them, Elbo? Have they truly hurt you so much?”
“Yes. They have hurt me, Silmara. Very much. They robbed me terribly, like they do most people. But not just personally and not only in the way you probably think. My need for vengeance started out that way. It did. I wanted to kill every lawyer and pol I could get my hands on. But then, other considerations, far more grave than just my own situation, popped up. My thinking grew more circumspect and comprehensive after talking to Rav Aloirav. He made me see that I could never rid the world of the slime all by my lonesome. I would need an army or at least a way of making all people view lawyers and pols as second or third class…degenerates…essentially monkeys. Nearly every family has a lawyer, hiding in the closet somewhere. It’s even considered a mark for pride in lower class homes. The way young men of the 1950’s used to view L.A. fags is the way the world must learn to see lawyers & pols.”
“How did young men then view homosexuals?”
“Young men, on the prowl, often used to roll fags as a source of quick cash. It was seen as good clean fun and somewhat lucrative. If a fag died, no one cared much. People rarely got prosecuted for killing such offal.”
“I see. Avoiding prosecution for murder is quite a feat. Especially when those doing the prosecuting are lawyers… and potential victims.”
“Exactly. Perceiving cravats as the sick perverted parasites they are is a possible answer to the “law” disease. Most people do not have the courage or strength of will on their own to do anything necessary for mankind. They are usually wrapped up so tightly in isolated creature comfort needs, TV, sports, or petty projects that they do not have the spare energy to step out of line to do anything meaningful with their lives. If young people around the world started destroying lawyers, pols, biological misfits, wealthy bankers, bishops, etc. as a form of non-criminal recreation, as Nature intended, we might be able to survive as a species long enough to evolve. Equating lawyer-baiting to a new kind of bowling or a different type of squirrel-hunting can detoxify these subhuman parasites.
“And while they are doing that, cleaning out the fascists, we can be building a new world.”
“That’s it. I have come to believe, Silmara, like Rav Aloirav and the New Society, that there is a Force for Life in the universe that, by definition, is perverse. It vehemently opposes dissolution. We are all creatures of disobedience, damned, born to burn. It is Life’s misfortune that there can be no compromise with the great god Entropy, Chaos, the Creator (by default) of all that exists. We are condemned to writhe in the wind and blazing sun of mass action. Our DNA is constitutively programmed to resist death and cellular decentralization. We survive, not voluntarily, but because we are condemned to do so, usually consciously incognizant of a choice. The Life Force is weak, Silmara, much weaker than the other Natural Forces. As all things beautiful, it is delicate and fragile. Yet, it survives. Entropy cannot control Nature’s perversity. That is why, like some whore or unfaithful wife, Nature betrays her creator, Chaos. She has made it a cardinal virtue for all her weak creatures to disallow any fatal weakness to develop which may tend to drop her subjects beneath a certain threshold of strength. Legal vermin, our cravat enemies, the most loathsome creatures on the planet, have made a separate peace with Chaos. They promise our cuckolded Creator our death and that of our also-rans, betraying us in return for petty temporal power and cheap animal bliss. Religion, Law, Democratic Government, Medicine, the pressure of accumulated caedere goods, etc. represent Entropy’s Death Forces. Those who traffic in them are agents of death. Because our fascist enemies, like Selva-verde, Rothschild, the British Queen, US Presidents, etc. are so ignorant of everything that makes life worthwhile, they have fallen under the spell of species dissolution. They know only how to gain, keep and use the illusion of brutal death-dealing power. There is a great abyss in the center of these “creatures of lucre”, and it is obvious to the most casual of observers. Rav says that they have a constitutive at-av-neg savagery lesion in their DNA. Imagine finding the insatiable desire, energy and drive to accumulate billions more, when you already have billions. It is a terrible fate. They can only but watch their lives become a piece of paper on a bank statement for a few short years and then lose it all. It is a horrible disease, this great hole in them. Not by chance is that invented god of most of them, J.H. Christ, a purported zombie. Everything beautiful, everything that counters the ugly dust of debris in meaningless motion, has no value to them. They oppose healthy people, ecosystems and ideas. They are the force behind institutionalized ignorance, dementia, and death. They, like that fascist Pope, represent the major opposition to salubrious eugenics, euthanasia, biosustainability and education. They will never learn their error. They will never stop feeding mental, physical and spiritual poison to the planet.These toxic fascists with their communist-socialist sophistry will never stop enslaving and murdering us, until they have either caged us for a daily milking, or we kill them all. Silmara, we must recycle every last one of them. It will not happen without tremendous risk, and we may ultimately fail to rid the planet of them. Our enemies may win and be damned to oblivion along with us. But Nature is not defeated by our defeat. She still has options. We are only part of many. Others will go on without us. What will die, if we fail, making me so sad and angry now, is our own footprint in the sand, our species, and our closest taxonomic relatives. How can we, or at least I, do otherwise? How can I turn my back on the survival of my species and the friends of my species? I must resist. I must defy my fascist-leaning totalitarian society at all costs. Democracy, the effective rule of mobs and madness, has failed us, as many knew it would. How could it do otherwise? Mob values, the voluntary result of fascist thieves’ & murderers’ manipulations, have carried the day. The continuity of benevolent dictatorships has failed us. There is no valid authority toward which we can turn, and 1984 style totalitarianism has arrived worldwide. We must kill them all, Silmara. We have no choice if we wish free-enterprise anarchy to triumph. We must institutionalize their recycling. It is our. . . humanity’s, only chance for survival. To oppose society and kill one’s vile also-ran is not wrong, Silmara, if it is in the spirit of survival. Why? Because the capacity exists, a Natural gift. To judge these vermin is wrong. Why? Because Nature has not given anyone that capacity. But we need not judge them to kill them. Intuitively, by their actions we know our enemies mean our enslavement and death. I hate and abhor the God Almighty of antiquity, if it even ever existed. I believe the force, Entropy, is actually that true God Almighty, and it intends to bring us all to a state of meaningless dust. What have we to lose? After giving us a sense of right and wrong, it has damned us without cause. That is unconscionable, unforgivable. I cannot, will not, believe that Entropy is all there is, all there can be, and all there must be.”
“You feel that if we pursue salubrious goals, conforming as much as possible to Natural constraints, our evolution will be assured.
“No, but I do feel that if we do not do as you have effectively summarized our species will most surely disappear.”
“No guarantees?”
“None. That is also what Rav Aloirav believes, and I have never known him to be wrong.”
“That is one scary man.”
“True. He is that and more. Speaking of whom, one of his New Society people told me about a fellow in Ohio, (that’s in the former USA).
“Unh-hunh.”
“Supposedly, the guy worked hard all his life and built up a nice business, like your father did. Then, he perhaps foolishly took a woman as his wife, and they had two children. After about 7 years of marriage, the broad starts an affair, decides she does not want her husband in her life anymore, and sues for divorce. The husband does as she wishes. He pays for everything, loses his business and his children, and even has to pay alimony & support. She feels he is hiding funds. She wants them and wants him imprisoned until he coughs them up. Rav feels her lawyer and that of her husband must have combined, together with the judge, to allow him to be so heinously raped. It is the vile trade of these vermin. When the husband complained to the judge that he was being abused by the system, the judge was reported to have just smiled and said, “You let your life get out of hand, and now you must pay. Six months in MCI Concord. Next case.””
“No mention of legal collusion in his demise?”
“Not one word.”
“Amazing. You want to acquire the cravats?”
“Yes. But remember. The people you use must be insulated from us in every way. There must be no unprotected cell phones used and no communication with any more than one of our organization that knows any more than one more in our organization. Losing my son and his cell phone could destroy us if we do not keep insulated from every possible incursion. We do not know how much the fascists have learned about us. The world is becoming far too technologically enslaved to be careless with our vulnerability to it.”
“Right, Elbo.”
“I’ll get working on the Vatican job.”
“Really, Elbo!? You think we can do it?”
“Yes, I do. It will not be pretty, and I do not see any way to do a job like that and hope to extract anything. It’s an altruistic deed and will be simply pure cost, very high cost.”
“Hit and run?”
“Yes. We’re short on camouflaged LAWs (Light Anti-tank Weapons) right now. I need to procure more.”
“That is messy, using heavy weaponry.”
“It will be brutal. I see no other way, though. There are just too many aspects that can go wrong, using our regular methods. Standard procedure will require too much cooperation with too many foreign elements. The chance for betrayal and bust is far too great. A failure of such magnitude could bring us down completely, and I do not feel recycling the Pope and a few of the Curia are more valuable than our operation. There are too many lesser fascists to take out of circulation. I still have aspirations of a two-man acquisition-army wave to unleash against the parasites. I want a planetary immune system like the one Rav Aloirav envisions.”
“Why don’t we just forget the Pope…if it’s too expensive a task?”
“No, if you think it’s doable, I’ll look into it. I like the idea. The guy is a major monster and controls a great many other fascists. It needs doing and the propaganda value will be of great benefit to the planet. Except for our casualties, collateral damage will be just empty irresponsible religionists in close proximity to the target area. No one of any value to the planet would be caught near such a bastard. Only irresponsible cowardly lost souls, lookin’ for an imaginary other world.”
“Great.”

“Nearly the entire world believes that the irresponsible and superstitious fear, dwelling in religionists’ breasts, serves a purpose beyond the prevention of successful human evolution, Sil. Most people are neither aware of how ignorant and evil Popes are nor how much damage they and their brutal mobs cause the human race. So, a planned attack on the fascist (and his hysterical faithful) will be understood and welcomed by very few. Nevertheless, it will send a message to those more aware. “Fascism,” it will say, “is not invincible. Slavery to ignorance, dementia, corruption by caedere wealth, impotence of reason is neither necessary nor inevitable.””

“I’ll get someone on those three Ohio cravats, right away.”
“Make contact with someone in ordnance. Without doing too much traveling, see how many of those little bazookas we can get into Maranhao or Venezuela before the big event.”
“Okay, Elbo. When everything is in order for the Ohio extraction do you want to do it, immediately?”
“Yeah. Take them down. That poor guy deserves some peace, even though he probably wouldn’t approve of what we are doing. Killing these cravats is a survival move for human evolution. If we do not do it, and the practice around the world of legal-pandering to gold-digging women continues, humanity will suffer. I want to know too if his ex gets other cravats to further violate the guy. If it appears she still wants to play with these thieving bastards, recycle her too.”
“Okay, Elbo.”

“And take my daughter with you. She’s proving exceptional, and I want her tested more. I want to see what she’s capable of.”

“Right.”
Elbo thought long and hard about the Pope acquisition. In the end he just couldn’t let the idea go. He talked about the subject with his friend Rav Aloirav.

Rav said. “Life only gives you (easily) what you need to accomplish your task. It does not always give you what you desire. But if It should, It does not give it to you in the way you originally imagined. It comes in a bizarre and twisted version of the original. Aspiration imagination works in strange ways. One assumes it is a god, because it turns abstract into concrete. But for most, unfortunately, many times, it is a devil.”

Elbo added. “Our imagination is too much out of step with the pervasive nature of reality’s constraints. It is for this reason EVERYONE deserves prison, some more than others. Fortunately, only those beset with assorted weaknesses serve time.”

Rav continued. “True. There is much wisdom in what you say, Elbo. I believe your political analysis on crime-imagination can be extended even further than that.”

“In what way, Rav?”

“The reason why free-enterprise anarchy often fails, degenerating into statism, is not due to inadequacies inherent in anarchy.”

“No?”

“No. Imagination is the only way we humans have of surpassing the limits Nature has placed on us, Her animals. Our prefrontal lobes give us what we need to challenge the dominion of the soul. That is a powerful tool. And as with all strong tools, it is hard to control. Anarchy’s frailties are due to the fact that as strong and as congruent with Nature’s Will as is free-enterprise, it is still fraught with risks from imagination. As is true of many successful living organisms, attributes of strength also contain great qualities of weakness. Concupiscence, the great strength of capitalism, is channeled in free-enterprise systems to acceptable areas, promoting organic health. This does not detract from the fact that that very same concupiscence fails to stop its effects and affects when acceptably provided channels terminate. Thievery, cheating and other misappropriation continue long after sublimated-vice limits (profit-taking) end. Wherever weak and insecure people, seeking to dominate their fellows, exist imagination will be used to facilitate an avenue. No amount of poetic sophistry will undermine the basic fact that courage, character, integrity, and other human worth values are all just commodities, subject to the onslaught of filthy lucre. As you are perhaps even more aware than I, in nation states, people get lawyers (state-licensed thieves) to help them steal, cheat and otherwise misappropriate caedere symbols of value ($). This is actually a symbolic perversion of the natural selection principle carried to an imaginary extreme. Lawyers and their extremely corrupt brothers, statist-pols, work in unison. They render assistance with unnatural (anti-natural selection) means for symbolic domination in return for caedere-symbol percentages. Caedere wealth is not natural strength. It is not even an indicator of natural health or animal superiority. There is not the slightest correlation there. If anything resembling grist for the analysis mill exists, those with large amounts of caedere wealth prove to be even weaker and more insecure than other members of the species and subspecies.”

“What you are getting at is that failures of limits do not just occur in nation states. They also occur in anarchistic groups. Warped behavior usurps the strengths of utopian anarchy.”

“Yes. Exactly. Statism and failed anarchy both effectively force EVERYONE to choose between the positions of either sheep-ness or wolf-ness.”

It was Elbo and his BFM that worked tirelessly to give teeth to anarchy’s potential sheep. Rav recognized that fact and said. “It was you, Elbo, who first observed that only by killing the cravat can the world be cleansed of cravatism. These beasts will not stop their caedere perversions without force. The lure of symbolic domination is too great. Lawyers and those who accumulate caedere wealth in order to dominate their fellows must be killed outright and their seed along with them. Written Law is a prescription for parasitism. It must end. But, as I am to struggle with on the bridges, what do we use as an alternative to the false-panacea and sophistry of Written Law?”

“Anarchists must experiment with using the doctrine of innocence. I see no alternative at present. We must return to atavism and the state of raw Nature, as if to square-one. Until we can achieve a new system of conflict resolution, each person must respond to others as if in the state of Nature. Individually or in common with the other villagers, the human being must kill outright all the most noxious criminals and predators (thieves, cheats, bankers, rapists, pols, lawyers, priests, pastors, pillagers or other serial violators of tranquility). Criminals not predatory (Scientists, philosophers, inventors, writers, etc.) must be referred to centers of learning for adjudication of their crimes. They can reward each crime as its benefits merit. Civil dissonance matters can be talked out to resolution, without lawyers or judges. Usually, an apology and/or caedere recompense will do.   In the event of an impasse, the party feeling most aggrieved can but kill the one felt most predatory. The avenging murderer must then look to his own familial defense against the non-assailant’s group’s possible revenge. If there is need for a judge, one must be drafted from available honorable men, certainly not obtained from a subhuman election.”

“I believe that to be a hard sell, especially to the “soon-to-be-gored” elite. You will need to clean the population of its current aristocracy, via a recapitulation of Paris circa 1789 AD, but more thorough.”

“I’m afraid so, Rav. I think I’d better get started soon with some small experimenting.”

Maranhao Brazil now became the site of a massive training operation. Various hand signals, mirrors, and other low-tech methods of communication kept Elbo’s repetitive assault-rehearsals busy overcoming confusion. At first, each new trial run was replete with mistakes.

Elbo and his most trusted people trained for months in the babaçu forests to insure success. Except for his closest aides, Elbo kept his people training in cells isolated from themselves, himself, and his upper management. His actual presence was known only to his most trusted people. Informants and torture-betrayal must not be allowed to ever break him again. Elbo and Silmara held many conversations after their prison escapes regarding how the authorities were able to bust them.

All the high-tech methods that existed didn’t answer the one big question. How could the law have known their position? How could they have been busted red-handed? Gaps existed that forensic science was not able to crack before the fact. There had to have been a snitch that day that knew where they would be.

Who was that snitch? Was it still in the organization? Did the law decommission it when Elbo and Silmara went to prison? Has it returned? Would it mess up their Pope caper? All these questions rolled around in Elbo’s head as he planned the assault on the “Man of God”. For what were their enemies waiting?
Elbo needed the extensive preparation to satisfy himself that the tactical assault operation could succeed. He knew there would be no mercy shown for failure. Only Elbo, Silmara, and Elbo’s daughter knew the intended target. Even though each gunner and gunner-protector was ex-military, it took much time before they had it all down to the boredom of regular drill. They built fruit stands, personally, in Brazil and carried that knowledge with them to Venezuela.

Small light cayucos smuggled knowledge, ammo and weapons on the Orinoco, across the jungle and political border, into the northern country. The Pope and his retinue were thought to soon visit Caracas. Elbo expected the motorcade to approach La Candelaria, and he planned to strike there. Most of the assassins were to be well-away from the Pope mobile. Elbo would station each little bazooka in a pushcart of its own, with the gunner disguised as a fruit or cheese vendor.

These numerous small movable fruit stands would easily relocate to a distance of 50-100 meters away from the motorcade. Each stand’s firing position was to be a few decimeters higher than the highest heads in the crowds pressing on the potentates circle. Men with small-arms, gunner-protectors, would stand at 5 to 10 meters away from each pushcart operator, viewing & defending them. Other men, also with concealed small-arms, would be very close to every secret service agent of the Pope they could ferret out. The levels of deception Elbo needed were impressive.

He had to hide his forces, displaying clear non-existence of his clandestine army. That meant at least a partial show position of apparent military weakness. His people were bound to have suspected the target by now, but Elbo did not confirm it. Deception magnified deception. It was only in such a manner could he insure avoidance of upsetting the elaborate coordination necessary for the entire operation.

If even one element was discovered, the operation would go down into ignominious defeat. The possible existence of an informer dogged Elbo’s every thought. The “Burning Fasces” movement’s guerrilla warfare against fascism and lawyers was essential to the human race. Yet, virtually, the entire race was too stupefied by the elite’s bread and circuses to realize how far down the primrose path they already were. The world’s fascists were using Law, lawyers & pols in the most negative interpretations possible to destroy natural human rights.

Elbo said to his daughter and Silmara. “Lawyers, naturally, are vermin & poison to humanity, but allied to the fascists, they take the anathema of Written Law one step further and into the cancer realm. Lawyers have, virtually always, accomplished affects directly opposed to the original stated objectives of Human Written Law. Written Law is now the hemlock of humanity.”

Elbo knew that the psychological sparks, he was carrying to every country on the globe, were bright. But, they might not result in a general conflagration in his lifetime, even with the Hesperides’ Apple elixir to extend it. Nevertheless, he felt he must keep the flame burning. Someday it would explode into a force that would be unstoppable. That momentum would destroy the last vestiges of law, democracy, fascism, nuclear power generation, and the pressure of caedere wealth on humanity.

He felt he had no choice. It was his mission in life. Rav Aloirav alone could not get the Great Pontibus Bridges built fast enough to save mankind. Toxic lawyers & fascist-government were not yet put into the “minor infection” category. Elbo needed a catalyst, something that would thrust his free-enterprise anarchy movement into the planet’s first-place position for economic-ruling sentiments. He thought. “How better to facilitate that than to take out the leader of one of the greatest group of superstitious death-worshippers that has ever existed?”

Elbo said to his closest associates. “The USA’s voter-trash allowed it to become a country having the 2nd most ignorant & demented citizens alive. As the 2^nd greatest economy in the world too, is it any wonder that fools do their fighting and cowards their thinking? Carl von Clausewitz said, “Politics is the womb of war”. I say that Rothschild is the midwife. If there is ever to be a world free of such terrors as war, we must rid the planet of the bankers, the pandering pols and their subhuman lawyer spawn. It was Abraham Lincoln, a lawyer and a pol, who said, “He who molds opinion is greater than he who enacts laws”. Biosustainable opinions and their sanction must become our universal culture, estranged as much as possible from human coercion. We cannot do that as long as caedere wealth controls EVERYTHING. With this acquisition, we send a message. If you are a holder of an obscene amount of caedere wealth, then we may be coming for YOU.”

 

As the bells of the cathedral chimed the Sabbath holiness, Elbo, himself, fired the first rocket-launcher at the Pope-mobile to begin the attack. It was a direct hit. Shrapnel, ground monkey-meat, blood, fabric, plastic pieces and auto foam went everywhere. No one knew whether the Pope died instantly or after the other scores of screaming projectiles plunged into his entourage. Hundreds of subhuman religionists and base other-world’ers died that Sunday.
The world took note, as the shock reverberated around the world. The “Burning Fasces” movement became front page news. No longer would it be necessary to put small cards depicting burning fasces in the mouths of recycled bankers, lawyers, pols and priests. As Elbo expected, Main Stream Media news reports and prostituted internet shows were nonplussed. They were 100% opposed to the attack, of course, and its questionable morality.

They were also loath to report the attack’s smashing success. In the end, the news obfuscators had no choice. The message was finally out that the “Religious Dementia, Law & Fascism, disease” was not 100% fatal. People began to wonder about the reason for the attack. It awakened some.
During his retreat from Caracas through Miranda, Elbo lost 5 gunners, 8 protectors & 4 Pope-agent neutralizers. A special crew, Elbo trained for just one purpose, killed all immobile wounded. Elbo knew from bitter experience that no one resists interrogation for long. He could leave no one behind . . . alive. There also could be no enemy prisoners, so hostages were taken only in dire-emergency ad hoc situations.
Within hours, the price on Elbo’s head more than doubled to $10B. Impromptu armies were specially outfitted by the USA, Israel, and the fascist-prostituted countries. The fascist & Christian subhumans sent them out to find and extirpate members of Elbo’s operation. He, himself, was most averse to leave his hideout tunnels in Apiau, Roraima, Brazil. For over a year, Yanomamis helped him to find food, water, and sexual comfort, as he made sporadic strategic moves.

 

 

Constantly changing his positions, in the triple-canopy, Elbo felt the indigenes served him well. Tunnels in sandy rainforest soil were not of much use during the winter rainy season. It was at such times that Elbo and his immediate entourage were most at risk. Fortunately, South Americans do not like to leave the comforts of home in either rain or strong sun.

Not all of his people were so lucky. The unknown snitch, about whom Elbo and Silmara were so concerned, surfaced in Cayenne, French Guiana. Why the fascists moved that successful operative to such an apparently strategically poor location was a mystery. Maybe the cravat powers thought that Elbo knew the snitch’s identity. If so, they may have feared that the Burning Fasces Movement would have taken him out immediately upon his return to the milieu of Elbo’s closest associates.

Even in that backwater position, however, the dedo-duro exposed many operatives around the world, and they were taken. Elbo’s now-truncated operation continued while limping. Albeit much abbreviated, the acquisitions, extractions, and recyclings continued. World-wide, loosely-controlled from one small herbal-tea restaurant inside Morocco’s Tangiers Casbah, caedere billionaire bankers toppled. The shot fired symbolically from the Casbah hit fascist billionaires in Mol, Belgium, Luxembourg, Paris, and Prague.

Burning Fasces operatives made Puerto Cortez, Tenerife, Las Canarias their point of departure from the African redoubt to continue cravat-cleaning. A two hour boat ride from Morocco got them there without much stress. From Tenerife they could also assist especially hot pol-police hiding in the mountain forest fastnesses of Gomera. When safe to rejoin normal society, cooled-off pol-police would move quickly to safe houses around the world. From such locations they continued parasite removal operations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The group staggered and bled for a few years, but as new recruits flocked in the bleeding slowed. The stagger became a walk and the bleeding stopped. The walk became strong again. The movement continued its steady recovery from the success of the Pope’s recycling and its aftermath. The BFM acquired extracted and recycled increasing numbers of cravats and caedere parasites.

Elbo spent the money acquired as fast as he could. Infrastructure needs, arms & electronic security devices, plus travel costs took most of the cash. The group never fell into the danger of becoming caedere diseases themselves. Elbo’s savage nature did not spring from an at-av-neg mutation. His atavism was the atavism of a human being wanting desperately to survive.

The Burning Fasces Movement grew and prospered, and Elbo grew along with it. His inchoate ambition now was to take down the illuminati. Even recycling one illuminati became his passion. To do such a deed would require a lot more cash than the BFM treasury could spare. Nevertheless, Elbo wanted to be prepared if an opportunity arose.

He began sending out special pol-police the BFM trained in clandestine BFM training schools. These exceptional schools relied heavily on past techniques that serial killers used to remain undetected by contemporary police forces like the FBI and Scotland Yard. Stalking, under Elbo, became a valuable and highly lucrative vocation. Methods, The BFM used to pursue the illuminati were now state of the art. These were not simple shadow detectives.

The security illuminati parasites possessed was incredible and first-rate. It was, of course, the very best that money could buy. The BFM could not compete on the same level. But the BFM stalker was an exceptional hunter that used the computer and the newest experimental technology to accomplish his or her mission. A digital list of STAB people, with their probable demise dates, was a part of BFM’s repertoire of weaponry.

Their war chest for attack compared to Rothschild security was like 5 cents to $500. Ten thousand times may not sound like much. When one must justify allocating millions to acquire just one pig, as Elbo needed to do, it is a great deal. One must remember that normal police are but critics not creative artists. The Rothschild clan is the biggest criminal organization the world has ever known.

Their security is the security of criminals. As such, it is much more creative than common-critic police security. Perhaps for this reason the Rothschild people are much more professional and competent than ex-military political secret service agents. Acquiring one of the Rothschild scions was now the first step of the illuminati eradication journey to which Elbo aspired. It would give the group an injection of much-needed cash.

Elbo sent out his spies and waited for an opportunity on the cheap. One came along after about a year of tracking porcine fraternity movements. The BFM got their mark but it entailed a bit of a scare too. Elbo’s supreme tactical thinking prowess saved the day. In prosecuting the caper’s successful denouement, the Burning Fasces Movement, for their risk, gained a Rockefeller heir in tow to extract and recycle.

One particular Rothschild heir, once removed from the controlling line, was a difficult client. He often took liberties that his security did not authorize. One can understand such, seemingly illogical, behavior when one imagines how imprisoned a normal client of the world’s best bodyguards must feel. Taking a foolish chance now and then must seem inevitable. Perfect compliance must be almost impossible to achieve.

For reason not necessary to pursue, suffice it to say that Rothschild security people will not long survive the loss of a Rothschild client. These security agents did their best. Their lives were also on the line. Nevertheless, this particular unruly rich kid took a quick powder to pee in an airport restaurant’s bathroom. The agents, perhaps mistakenly, allowed him enter unescorted.

One can understand their dilemma. On little notice, they needed to balance their need for a job with their desire to live. They, perhaps inaccurately, chose their jobs. Then they inaccurately mistook the presence of an exiting stranger for the presence of their client. The real client missed his scheduled private-jet flight, because a look-alike stranger was supposedly defecating in the jet’s restroom (head) on takeoff . . . not the client.

The client became separated from his secret service in that restaurant’s bathroom. The client remained in the restaurant bathroom with two of Elbo’s pol-police taking care of his security needs. Once the Rothschild security agents were out of sight, the client was whisked out of the airport. From there he went to a safe house in the same city. Elbo received notice of the coup and immediately arrived on premises to officiate at the extraction.

It took Elbo a long time to find an apparent clone of this Rothschild scion to attempt a switch. Of the great many pol-police in the BFM not all appeared to be of the Khazar (Ashkenazi) persuasion. It took even longer to find a clone-substitute that knew he would probably die or spend his last few days in a Rothschild prison as a result of his usurpation. Torture was a 50-50 possibility. The STAB “stranger” pulled the substitution off very well.

The extraction did not go as well. All the acquisitioned’s belongings were examined. Nothing was useful. Elbo was at a loss as to how to rob it. Kidnappings for money were never Elbo’s desire. Such crimes always involved messy details. The Rothschilds were the best kidnappers in the world, (for 300 years). Elbo did not know if he or BFM were capable of besting them at their own game. So, Elbo pondered on what to do about extracting his porcine prey. While he was so engaged, word arrived that police were raiding one of his rented warehouses.

The building, so honored, was where his Rothschild-scion-caper-crew had studied and planned (for the past year) their last move. The plans which evolved into the latest quasi-impromptu acquisition developed there. Only one of the conspiratorial crew was missing. That was the STAB man. Elbo knew the poor fellow must have been tortured sufficiently to inform on his fellows.

He called for a moment of silence in honor of the man’s sacrifice. Elbo then asked for opinions as to their current state of security. No one was of the opinion that the enemy could get any further than that warehouse. The minute after they acquired their present prey, the project leader, on Elbo’s orders, sent a crew to sanitize the building. Now, though, it was time to sanitize & leave their current position.

As they were moving the newly-acquired person to a new position, a girlfriend of the prey noticed him. She called out to him, and he responded. Elbo knew there was no way his current prey would be friendly with any common person. He was right. As he looked around the girl’s milieu, he noticed an armed escort.

He questioned the enthralled boy and learned it was the boy’s fiancé’. Things now took a different position-grade. The girl could not be allowed to leave unmolested. But, from her position, her bodyguards would not be easy to neutralize. What was Elbo to do?

All concerned would remember Elbo’s presence, even strangers on the street. Elbo asked the kid. “Are you interested in remaining a living part of creation?”

The boy answered affirmatively, and Elbo asked. “Does that girl know your bodyguards?”

“I don’t know. I would guess not. We do not often talk with each other’s employees.”

“All right. Call her over here.”

“Why?”

“I thought you said you wished to live?”

“You’ll hurt her.”

“I’ll hurt you if you refuse, for a certainty.”

Rich people are not often possessed by ethical values such as other people are. Money serves as their only moral, and it is a flexible one. Manly courage is not a commodity respected by wealthy people as it is so often purchased for a pittance. The boy did as he was directed and the girl’s bodyguards followed her obediently. As they came near, Elbo struck.

Elbo’s pol-police quickly disarmed and killed them all. There was yelling and blood that erupted during the ruckus. Now, the situation became a bit more delicate as there were witnesses to the bodyguards’ untimely deaths. The crew sped off anyway. They were soon out of range of any would-be pursuit.

Elbo sent a number of his crew to procure new transportation. By nightfall, the same day as they acquired the Rothschild scion, they were safely ensconced in a new safe house in another city. Now there was double the problem of extracting. The added pressure of a growing manhunt didn’t help. Elbo debated whether it would be better to take the prey to another country, more amenable to ransom, or recycle the acquisitions immediately.

Upon questioning the girl, Elbo discovered she was a Rockefeller heir. That clarified the situation for them. Preparing for such a task as extracting two illuminati brats would require planning. Extracting the duo could not be done correctly if extemporaneous. They would have to leave.

The two would have to be recycled only after all possibilities for further resource procurement were exhausted. These conditions would be best accomplished elsewhere. The prey would need to be comminuted and lyophilized in a proper factory setting. Elbo knew just where that was. He called for the Bell 212 helicopter to facilitate it.

Over the following year, directly and indirectly, the information the two brought into the BFM, augmented group coffers by over 50 million dollars. But, the point arrived when the group felt there was no possibility for further aggrandizement by keeping the duo alive. Elbo gave the order to recycle. Silmara resisted. Whether she still could muster human pity or was motivated by simple avarice was not immediately apparent.

Silmara knew trying to use pity on Elbo was an exercise in futility. Elbo left pity behind the day he saw Sally giving his worst enemy fellatio. So, she asked Elbo why he felt they should recycle the two and not try to acquire a ransom. Elbo said it was too much risk for too little gain. He added that he would not feel right accepting ransom and then killing the prey. Going back on his word, even with an illuminati banker, was never one of Elbo’s crimes. He also didn’t feel the BFM was skilled enough in kidnapping to go head to head against both the Rothschild and the Rockefellers. Where Elbo’s real sentiment lay was indiscernible by Silmara. Silmara said she didn’t like the thought of killing innocent people, and Elbo exploded.

“They are not innocent people! These are subhumans! And furthermore! Possession of unearned money is prima facie evidence of social guilt! The degree of that guilt focuses on the weight of the caedere gradient. For 300 plus years this filthy fiendish family has been destroying other people’s children in wars and crises situations of pig creation. For over 100 years this other family has been reaping billions for similar crimes. Porcine destruction of the health, happiness and well-being of the world’s entire population through taxation and counterfeit fiat currency is an abomination. Not only must these whelps fail to inspire legitimate pity but their entire families CANNOT be allowed to live! If I ever, EVER, hear talk again regarding human decency juxtaposed to illuminati spawn, the source of that talk will join the pigs in the comminutor!”

“Yes, Elbo.” Silmara replied.

No one, ever again, took a stand for any member of the porcine fraternity.
A few weeks after the Pope’s demise, finding no success at capturing Elbo, the world upheaval for vengeance became enormous. The planet’s religious delusionals screamed for blood. The Burning Fasces’ Movement’s enemies needed to make a show of effective force. They began selecting innocent people around the globe to frame for the heinous deed. Over 5000 people, subhuman and human, were murdered by Rothschild’s agents in retaliation for Elbo’s misdeeds.
The brutality markedly increased BFM’s recruitment as well as opportunities for betrayal. The Queen of England pledged 1 billion of her own hidden assets to be added to the reward for Elbo’s capture. Over the following ten years, contemporary fascists repeated Obama’s “Bin Ladin look-alike SEAL-execution” scam over 200 times. They murdered well over that many “purported to be Elboruh Lebensrau” persons. Authorities needed to liquidate over 1200 black-ops soldiers that might have eventually been witnesses to the phony “kills”.

The most totalitarian states that ever existed could never catch him. The attempts became another lucrative war-industry for the Rothschild Clan. Fiat taxes were collected from rube voters and spent on arms to eradicate the Burning Fasces Movement. Even with all their fabricated ruses, Rothschild sycophants were forever being forced to lie about his capture. The lies were so prevalent and ridiculous that they caused a small movement on their own.

People started clandestine believers groups among the unwashed that used a number of sayings, serving to deride the monstrous regimes around the globe. They added to Elbo’s notoriety and influence. One went. “There they go again. Caught another Elbo, they did. The man has more clones than cell phones do.”

Aided immensely by Rav Aloirav and his Hesperides’ thorn-apple juice, Elbo managed to survive his many wounds. One day, he left his jungle abode forever. Elbo spent a fortnight making a circuitous trip to Simi in the Cyclades. After many years as the spiritual head of the “Burning Fasces” crusade, Elbo relinquished control over the organization to younger people. His daughter, Silmara, and others of his better operatives took over the movement’s daily operations.

Financial success allowed them to compete technologically with the most advanced of the totalitarian fascist states. Their human spirituality strengths and high morale were much stronger than the counter appeal of filthy lucre. Support for free-enterprise anarchy grew across the planet. Slowly, but with increasing effectiveness, the guerilla forces advanced. In time, every month saw another fascist state falling to the Burning Fasces onslaught.

It became a tidal wave. The day eventually came when democracy and Written Law died forever. Lawyers and pols were in hiding. Small isolated republics, free-enterprise anarchy communes, and the Great Pontibus Bridge Society, all ran on human dignity. They filled the “government-state” vacuum.
Elbo lived long enough to see the public execution of the greatest monsters the world has ever seen – – the Rothschild-Bauer family. Lawyers and big bankers were still being exterminated everywhere, but with the demise of the Great Red Menace it seemed that there was an end to be seen at the tunnel’s mouth.

But it was not to be. Silmara came to Elbo’s little cottage on Simi one day and told him that the Rothschilds and their richest cohorts were now removed from the planet. Elbo did not seem to be sufficiently impressed, and Silmara asked. “Elbo, I thought you would be much more pleased (than you seem to be) that we have finally prevailed against the one greatest source of evil the planet has ever known. Am I missing something?”

Elbo replied. “I suppose you feel that the rest of the planet can be safely given Certificates of Humanity now that you’ve exterminated the Rothschilds and will soon have all the lawyers and pols buried off?”

“No, of course not. But the subhumans that are left are of no real problem.”

“Is that so?”

“If I am remiss, Elbo, please tell me how and where.”

“It’s been 300+ years since 1743 and the incarnation of that devil Mayer Amschel Bauer. Do you really believe that in the span of a few weeks you have extirpated the entire spawn of that race of vermin?!”

“I . . . I don’t know. I suppose there may have been some we missed or are still in hiding somewhere.”

“Oh, Silmara. The work is not nearly done. You could safely give Certificates of Humanity to the sons and daughters of lawyers, religiously demented, and pols or even some wealthy banker progeny. You can assume that they will not pursue the heinous criminality of their parents. But, you cannot ever relax your guard vis a vis the Bauers. The Rothschild race is a plague that can never ever be ignored. Treating it as if it were some Variola, existing only in a museum now is a terrible mistake. We cannot even let the memory of these fiends remain as role models for other subhumans.”

“I don’t understand. What is to be done yet?”

“You need to sequence the genomic DNA of the last few heads of the Rothschild family. Not just the nuclear DNA but the mitochondrial DNA as well. Then you must create a test that can be given to every single apparent human being on the planet. If any crucial homology exists on the Southern Transfers with the Bauer family, that testee must be exterminated too. There can be no Rothschild DNA to ever exist again.”

“Is that possible?”

“Of course! Do a Poisson cumulative distribution. You’ll see. Get my daughter to help you. She’s a mathematical virtuoso.”

“I’ll do that Elbo.”

“Silmara. When you have taken out their DNA remove all mention of them from every database ANYWHERE. The planet and the human race were nearly destroyed because of that family of soul-vipers. Not just once but on numerous occasions. They were not petty Hitlers or Stalins. The crimes and suffering the family has caused cannot ever be even imagined. We must not cavalierly relinquish the responsibility to protect posterity from their return. We have come too far and suffered too much to neglect to destroy them AND THEIR MEMORY utterly now. . AND FOREVER.”

Silmara did as Elbo directed. The Burning Fasces Movement spent another twenty years eradicating fascist & commie subhumans wherever they were found. Bauer Devil Homologs took longer to remove from the planet. Every time a person with Rothschild or fascistic tendencies rose to positions of prominence in the new anarchistic world, they were given another test. The second test was administered to determine if venality had somehow entered into the previous testing regimen and a homolog had somehow survived.

All in all over 280,000 homologs were destroyed before the Movement felt they had eliminated the last vestiges of the Rothschild plague. Later versions of similar genomic DNA tests were created for the 13 Rothschild-Clone Royal Families with similar results. Anarchy enveloped the planet. Human values were, once again, smelted in the fire of biosustainability & human evolution. Human evolution dared the dominion of the human soul, and the temperate fires of enlightened natural selection retook control of human destiny.

Elbo spent his final years walking Mediterranean beaches, enjoying the beautiful spectacle of naked females everywhere he went. Many of his oldest friends still remember him, sitting at one particular beach restaurant he preferred. He would be eating spanakopita or baklava, sipping away at a fine Cabernet Sauvignon, admiring the choicest of adolescent breasts, sunning on the sand. He died flat broke, as he always wished, saying. “If you die with money in your estate, your dreams were too small.”
If the parasites could speak from the grave, many lawyers, pols, bankers, religionists and Royal Family Members would say how they wished Elbo had died rich and his dreams had been . . . well . . . smaller.

 

 

THE END

 

Copyright © 2013 by Amanayara Oliveira Slot
Published digitally in 2013 by Astri – Amanayara Press
Published digitally in 2014 by Astri – Amanayara Press

Revised edition published digitally in 2015 by Astri – Amanayara Press
Andirobal, Maranhao, Brasil. All rights reserved ©
This digital book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, in any form, without the publisher’s prior written consent.