Ferguson’s Militia Saved it from Race Riots

Ferguson is just another flashpoint for the global war on terror and Obama is not on America’s side. #Benghazi #FastAndFurious #Ferguson

MY OPINION ON FERGUSON — With incredibly small use of force, the Ferguson Police have averted a mass disruption of the local economy that would have affected not only Saint Louis, but all of America. Looting cannot be tolerated under the rule of law.

Now more than ever with the rise of a new Islamic Caliphate, global terrorism is knocking on the front door of fragile incipient puppet nations that buoy our slipping geopolitical grip on the throats of the people we’re really “oppressing” in Ferguson: Terrorists. These shootings are the type of thing instigated by Black Islamic Nationalists who plant false stories to turn people against the government, earning them just a little more wiggle room in their Jihad.

Now I’m not saying the rioters in Ferguson are terrorists, but the best police first protect themselves and always come more prepared than the enemies of the economy. Second comes the safety of the people, and then only in proper proportion to their contribution to the economy. That’s true fairness.

Obama and his patsy of a Missouri governor have deposed the local police force, marching in Federal and State police in violation of local rule of law. We know the Muslim Brotherhood has infiltrated our government, but now we know for a fact they’ve made it to the highest office. The spirit of the 2nd amendment is that the government must always outgun the people. Don’t let the shifty Liberals turn that around on us. Gun Control is their number one policy, and it starts with taking guns from POLICE. The Ferguson police are the equivalent of a local militia, and for Obama to deny the right for the militia to assemble is in direct contradiction to the 2nd amendment, which is the most important amendment of all. We MUST impeach Obama today before he dismantles our local homeland militias and takes our guns!

The Poor are Satan's Army

Satan's Army cannot pass through the pearly gates and into suburban heaven
Satan’s Army cannot pass through the pearly gates and into suburban heaven

“I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but most of all I’ve seen short segments on television by fair and balanced news networks that have no vested political interests backing their reporting. I watch them every day, and because of it I know the free market is always the best solution.” ~ My first book, The Poor are Satan’s Army

Healthcare was great in America, and America is a place where those who need healthcare and can’t pay for it will be punished openly on the free market, through a sanction and stigma business which scores your credit rating. Through this system, prices on things like insurance, rent, and so on will skyrocket and you will be suppressed into a lower rank in the caste spectrum. You will earn less money for the same services and gets less money for more work. Potential landlords and employers will run a check on you because they know not to do business with you, as is correct and proper. But thanks to Obamacare, Barack Hussein Obama has personally mandated — in violation of the constitution — that you must submit to government controlled death panels, rather than the free market death panels I rightly prefer. Everyone knows the American government has been incapable of anything since winning the last World War, and now it would probably lose hands down to an invasion from North Korea.

Institutions that prey on those who seem to be unable to exist properly within the domain of capitalism are smitten down by the invisible hand of God. What the invisible hand does is necessarily justice itself. As a good Christian I believe the poor are in fact Satan’s army, otherwise God would not strike them. Separation of church and State dictates that it is right and proper that they may receive help only through the pity of God incarnated in voluntary Church fundraising, or through for-profit philanthropy. Those in the grips of Satan must struggle under the capitalist system, created in the image of God and incarnated through human rationality and statistical math.

I believe that Liberals, generally well-meaning people who are able to make a living, are only the enemy within. Those who can exist comfortably in the warm suburban embrace of God’s greatest capitalist empire are as angelic as any good conservative simply for maintaining a decent and responsible credit rating. God blesses them with halcyon streets free of drugs and vagrancy. Thanks to the stewardship of local police they dwell in a heavenly realm rather than in the hellish streets where existence itself has been correctly outlawed. But the Liberals do not understand God’s creation. They want to lift these demons from their sewers.

I believe we need to get back to what the founding fathers intended. When they said “All men are created equal,” they meant that businesses should be able to put a price on every man’s head within an equal market. And if some people can’t catch a break, it isn’t up to the government to make people equal again, it’s up to the Creator. He gave all people an equal capacity to thrive in the capitalist system, and if they find themselves in hell it is their own sins at fault. Christ only saves those who save themselves, he doesn’t go around writing blank checks absolving everyone for their sins. He only helps those who deserve it, destined from their high birth for a life of comfort and luxury.

But if the Liberals are right, and Jesus really meant that the poor are the only ones who can get into heaven (as is obviously false, if you look at the conditions the poor live in every day) then it would follow that they’d also be nicer people. But, as we all know, they’re mean and angry and more likely to do drugs and sin. They wear symbols of Satan, listen to angry metal or rap music, and brag about how they’re going to hell. Just look at anyone who is a deadbeat and can’t make their own way under the capitalist system. You don’t want to be like them.

Read More in my new book, coming out this Christmas: The Poor are Satan’s Army

Intense outpouring of hate

Lush RimjobDuring an AmWay pitch

I WILL CUT EVERYBODY IN THIS ROOM, DON’T KNOWBODY MAKE A MOVE.

I hear you all talking about me behind my back. I know them things you been saying about me. You think I’m a punk.
You think I’m going to back down?

Shit, I own a fucking business. (Emphasis added) I will rape the teeth out of your mouth until all I’m left fucking is a complaining, bloody gumhole. And then I’ll come for your slutty daughter.

RAPING ALL THE DAUGHTERS – that’s my business. (Emphasis added)

NOW SIT DOWN AND LISTEN TO ME SELLING AMWAY.

Why I can't do Facebook

I hate my conscience

Okay, there are some things in life you just can’t pass up. I almost clicked the Comment button. Seriously. And what do I have to lose? I should have just done it, but now it’s not funny anymore. Or maybe it was never funny. Or maybe it would just hurt that girl’s feelings because she is not who she used to be and I should not enforce a negative image upon her in front of everyone we’ve ever known personally, and my friends would say, “Come on, man, seriously?” and then I’d feel something called remorse.

That’s because I am a conscious, thinking man with the impulses of a terribly cruel bastard. Meh. What goes around comes around. I’ll get mine one day, but that day hasn’t come yet.

That being said, let’s talk a little shit about Facebook:

A lot’s changed since the last time I used it.

Why is it now considered stalking to look at someone’s profile?

Maybe I’m fucking interested. Am I a stalker now? In high school I dated this girl with a stalker and we didn’t have Facebook yet; in fact, myspace hadn’t even come out yet. What we did have was the telephone, and her back yard where we’d find him standing from time to time. That’s a stalker. This is a website and read this little factoid hot off the news feed: YOU CHOSE TO PUT YOUR INFORMATION ON IT.

I honestly don’t see what’s wrong with camping on a girl’s profile who you like and spamming F5 for hours at a time, or even all day. If that makes me a Facebook stalker, then I’m a Facebook stalker and my wrist hurts.

Why am I a “creeper” for hitting on girls with it?

Because if you do something as simple as using a communication device on a dumb girl, that word comes out. It’s not that sophisticated, honey. I didn’t go out of my way. Not for you. Maybe I can’t find what they call a good girl (which may or may not actually exist) at the bar because her face looks like a leather bag with a cigarette hanging out of it. Maybe I don’t find them at parties because *whore* Maybe I don’t find them where I work because they only hire men to do my job. Although, there is that one cute chick…but she’s a cocktease with a vendetta.

“WHORES AREN’T THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO GO TO PARTIES, MR. SMART ASS ELF WAX WRITER FOR THE INTERNET, MR. I FUCKING HATE EVERYTHING, MR. I CAN’T GET LAID SO I GO ONLINE AND RAGE ABOUT IT.”

Point taken. Still, fuck that.

I operate Facebook like a vast net, trawling the murky unknown for a good conversation, intelligent insight, a funny joke, adding strangers in the hopes of discovering a classy broad who isn’t afraid to go out on a limb and meet a religious rapist-murderer zealot she talks to online. Because I looove to rape me some bitches. So what if I filter out all the ladies except those whose relationship status has just changed to “single”? That’s how you find the ripe ones!

brb jerking off to facebook

Why do people refuse to hang out with me and then have three-hour conversations with me across Facebook?

Maybe it’s because I’ve always been friends with lazy stoners. Or they just don’t like me, which pretty much invalidates our friendship status. -1 friend but there are still 257 left

“Wow asshole, you sure do have a lot of negative opinions about Facebook. Maybe you should stop using it?”

Maybe. But for now, I have developed a sort of perverted fondness for it – like Wal-Mart. Facebook bastardizes human interaction. Wal-Mart destroys local economies. I think the friendship economy is in a recession.

There is intrinsic value in the understanding and hatred of many things, and I encourage all of you to attack something or someone you hate today.

Now, I’m going out to throw some alcohol onto this roaring fire of rage and then I’ll come back to report its effects.

This has been brought to you by Lebal Drocer

“Facebook is garbage.”

-Mike Odum

Edit: I’m home again. I did not drink too much, as I took a look around at my surroundings and into my glass and decided that I’m not reaching my full potential sitting at the bar around people I hate more than myspace. My perspective has not changed, but it did occur to me after some conversation on the matter that Facebook is occasionally used for its intended purpose, like catching up with an old friend after many years. However, my opinion that it is a cesspool of immeasurable proportions will never change, but only reinforce itself as that website gets older and more used, like the girls on it.

FUCK YOUR BLOG

Oh hi! Didn’t see you there. It’s difficult to see anything beyond The Elf Wax Times’ blinding white flurry of success, but we’ve got a finger on the pulse, and we hear you asking yourselves:

How can I get more people to read my [worthless] blog?


It’s a two-step process.

  1. Don’t be such a fucking douchebag. Seriously.
  2. And don’t start a blog.

A man blogs furiously

A long time ago, I was sitting online, my ass was numb, I was talking to my friend and I felt like I needed to break the uncomfortable silence, so I said “fuck people with blogs” to which my friend responded, “Nobody cares what they have to say.”

“Of course not,” I said. “That’s why they start blogs.”

And that’s the kind of fucking genius thought-dissemination that absorbs your blog’s readership before their sunken eyes even leave The Elf Wax Times: your puss-blog about how you don’t get any puss because you’re a giant, throbbing, cheese-flushing pussy is simply not entertaining, and everybody knows it already. Some blogs are so bad that it boosts our readership when people come here in need of healing.

  • Maybe it’s because you don’t have any insights beyond what simpletons uncover within an episode of Touched by an Angel.
  • Maybe you really don’t get any pussy and you try to post about it on the internet, but your half-assed approach to writing fails to capture even the wildest sexual imagination of, say, a pubescent child, who, possibly having never seen the internet before, couldn’t even pay twenty-five seconds of attention to your sex-laden drivel if it were printed off and handed to him to read as an alternative to restriction ad infinitum. In fact, for most folks, reading your blog is probably the equivalent to tasting some cold, stale piss.

But we’re talking about children here. All children are retarded, so they’re a bad example and I should not have used them; if for no other reason than people hate to be reminded of children. Check back next year for an apology.

Conversationally, The Elf Wax Times reporters, staff writers, editors, and our glorious masters are intellectually potent, and should we have a moment in our busy day of cooking up and serving the truth, we need to read thought-inspiring equivalencies of miniature Cat’s Cradles, should we get the chance to read anything at all (usually we have our assistants read to us as we masturbate to rare, uncensored Asian pornography).

So, to us, your Tucker Max attempt at a blog leaves a taste in the mouth of cold piss, too. That is to say, we see through your attempts to piss in our mouths from behind your dual-core PC and you fail to even keep it warm, much less hit your target, whatever that may be. Nobody knows what you’re trying to accomplish. You’re worthless and you suck.

Let’s briefly drop the pissing metaphor for a moment to talk more about why people hate blogs.

I hate blogs because they fail to properly inform. The Elf Wax Times takes an ambivalent stance on blogging, because it is not officially recognized as a medium of any form. A blog is simply something you accidentally click on Google because it contains the most keywords in the most relevant order contained in your search. Maybe you host a copyrighted picture nobody else has, and so people click it, save it, and never see your site again. In all likelihood, if you think people are visiting your blog because your “statistics say so,” look closer and you’ll see that accidental clicks account for at least 99% of your “readership,” and the only reason copyright lawyers have not yet contacted you is because no human is actually looking at your “site.” [Editor’s Note: blogs are not real websites.]

Nobody is looking at your perspective on the world. Nobody is sharing in your unique, subjective experience of reality in the abstract. Nobody is taking the journey as your narrative prose degrades into broken poetry with faulty rhyme scheme followed by ellipses and a question mark. Nobody feels the way you do, because your mechanism for emotion is so completely distorted that you actually believe people are reading your fucking blog. Normal people are not as self-important as blog “authors.” [Editor’s Note: blogs are not authored by anyone because authors write for a living, and bloggers do not.] Nobody will ever identify with a blogger.

Blogger

Now, I know I’m just farting into the wind here, so we’re going to have to break it down another level.

You write a blog, you have one. You maintain one, as you put on your resumé or MySpace page. No cute girls are reading it. Maybe there are two people who make comments on your posts from time to time, under the unspoken arrangement that you reciprocate. One’s a fat chick, the other’s your online friend who once agreed over AIM that the government sucks. You put a lot of time into your CSS code, your margins are perfect, the padding fucking fits and you feel good because you’ve got shit all figured out, so this doesn’t apply to you – right? Oh boy. How glad I am not to be you. How thankful I am not to be so misled, so delusional, so willing to lie to myself as you; so wrong as you are.

I’m talking to you, blogger. Blogosphere. The bastion of truth–shit, I mean, self-importance. Your thoughts are impure, your opinions invalid, broadly unsubstantiated by anything other than your George W. Bush “gut feeling” fueled by the insights of Neil Cavuto, or name-a-CNN-pundit.com.

Your vision is filtered through orange glasses or red, depending on where we’re at on the Terror Alert scale. At best, you’re the unseen, unheard afterthought of a political mechanism – lost to all keepers of history but your own web browser. At worst, you serve the political machine as they reference your voice among millions in the blogosphere, speaking for you, making determinations about you, without reading you, or knowing you, or seeing you, or even consciously being aware that someone like you might actually exist.

And we here at The Elf Wax Times for once share their anti-sentiment. So without further ado, fuck you and your little blog, too.

Your daughter's a whore, and not even the good kind

Your daughter
Your daughter

You sick fucks. Stop coming here. Elf Wax Times doesn’t need you.

You dress up your daughters like little Tijuanan whores. Let them wear makeup. Tiny shorts. They’re twelve years old for god’s sake. Grow a pair and be a dad, you disgusting fuck, and stop pimping out your child. She doesn’t need to lose her virginity before she’s 13. Or did you already take it, because you’re just that fucked up?

Maybe in a way you did, because you didn’t give her any rules, any love, any direction, or any discipline or motivation to be anything besides fucked, because you yourself lack the cognisant ability to provide even a small child with the stability and love necessary to keep her from going to bed with the first guy who promises to make her a woman, because you couldn’t take care of her as a little girl.

Your little girl wants to grow up faster than she can ditch My Littlest Pony for Hannah Montana for a pregnancy test. And it’s all your fault, Dad. Instead of pissing in her panties and sniffing them at 4 AM, maybe you could have been telling her how to keep them on. Or keep her hymen, or your respect. But instead you just jerk off to internet porn and fantasize about fucking her little friends and you’re a bit too rough as you tuck her in at night. And you don’t read her one god damn story about a bitch running for president, or inventing laser technology.

You make me fucking sick. You sick fucks. I know what you’re thinking. “Who is this prick to call it like he sees it?” I’m me. And you’re worthless parent number 3271407498357.

You know the score. I shouldn’t have to be the referee, but here I am. Telling you that I see you walking right behind your slutty tween daughter when you come in to where I work every week. And each time I ask myself, who bought her the clothes? Who never slapped her to the floor and said, “Don’t be a little slut Janie!” Who never thought twice about the way the crumbs hit the table as he ate his thousandth meal in front of an awkward table of people he calls family?

Your kids are your fucking pets. So why don’t you lock them in a dark basement for 24 hours and let them know that you’re in fucking charge, that you buy their clothes, and that you think Miley Cyrus, that little slut that Billy Ray Cyrus pimps out to the cameras, is a whore who sucks off Mickey Mouse and sells sex to minors with lipstick, blush, and a show that is neither funny nor intelligent?

Oh, I will tell you why. Because your wife knows you actually think about fucking your daughter when you’re huffing away on top of her, stinking of cigarettes and panting your rotten booze-breath down her resistant nostrils, just trying to close your eyes and pretend you aren’t really fucking a fat-ass soccer man. Because she knows you didn’t get that promotion. Because your boss knows you’re a creep. Because your boss has seen your daughter and also secretly jerks it while thinking about fucking her, too, because you dress her up like a little Disnified Harlot servicing the Magic Kingdom. “Rent the ‘Tiniest Princess,’ honey. We love that one, don’t we?” But mainly because you are a crummy parent, and you’ve failed your child, if not yourself.

The only time you spend with your warped daughter she doesn’t even know about, because it all takes place in your delusional mind via rationalization for your shortcomings as a pseudo-parent.

You’re a sick fuck who lets her dress the way all the boys want her to dress, and you would rather believe she’s going to a sleepover at little Suzy’s and staying there instead of actually facing the reality in the back of your mind in which she’s at the park losing her virginity to a nineteen-year-old with a motorcycle on the swingset you never pushed her on.

Get your shit straight, American Dads. Or The Elf Wax Times will start phoning your homes. We have your information – your phone numbers, addresses, social security numbers. Driver’s licenses, credit cards. We have the means, we have the motive. We have the sense of self-righteousness that sets us apart from regular human beings, that makes us better than you. And we aren’t afraid to use it. Now close your fucking browser, delete your cookies, erase your history, and forget you read this. We don’t want you reading another page of this shit because you aren’t fucking good enough, motherfucker. Eat shit and die. I hate you. We hate you. We hate your family. We hate your friends. We hate the house you live in and the Mercedes you drive – you fucking Nazi. We hate the valley you poison. We hate the tradition you spread, of ignorance and television, and of slutty daughters and of forged integrity and false systems of values and morals and definitions of what is right and wrong. We hate you.

A day in the life

It’s been a while since I’ve had anything valuable to contribute but let me start off with an excuse: my life is retarded. I mean that literally, not figuratively, not “my life is a retard, lol, it can’t wipe its own ass,” nor do I mean my brain is as fucked up as it should be. Let’s just say my career is a Ford Tempo, the transmission’s shot and I’m stuck in first.

So let’s get right down to it and be real straight here. I took a shitty job in what is ironically the most beautiful, unhappiest city in all of Virginia. That’s because Roanoke is a basin, meaning it is surrounded on most sides by mountains. But since it isn’t completely surrounded by mountains, it owns peculiar weather phenomena collectively known as ‘thermal updraft’. Thermal updraft means that the most beautiful county in Virginia collects a negligible amount of rain in the summertime and snow in the winter. It is very basic and sees few extremes, not counting the population which politically, is extremely conservative. And that’s hilarious.

Like acid, I recommend the Nickels and Dimes lifestyle to anyone who hasn’t tried it at least once – especially yuppie, Starbucks-drinking assholes who call themselves young professionals and attend three-dollar plays at the local college theatre. That’s because this time spent living out my worst nightmare has given me time to assess what my life is really all about, as well as what my life is, what it is not, and what it has yet to become; I’ve also had a lot of time to sit back and figure out what I like about our world and what I truly despise.

Being a man, I have dreams. I am driven by them to do better things with my life than just feel good all the time and kick back to enjoy Futurama on my home-theater system with Dolby Surround Sound two-point-one and widescreen progressive scan. This is because my dreams don’t include these luxuries – at least not yet, anyway. So naturally I have nothing in my life, no things of great value (short of my delicious camera), no fast car, no hi-fidelity stereo, no big-screen TV, no PDAs, cell phone, or $300 sunglasses with matching buttplug. I have only one thing: the desire for a lifestyle that supports my anti-materialistic, anti-establishment, anti-grocery store, anti-dealership, anti-salesman, anti-control, anti-monetary, anti-social, pro-freedom (anti-reality), pro-critical attitude and thought process toward humanity and the forces that corrupt its potential goodness.

The following list of things are key contributors to the poisoning of our existence as men know it today:

1) women
2) greed & envy
3) 1+2

Women are the source of all jealousy, greed, hate, envy, desire and insecurity needed for one rock-virus such as ourselves to sustain its doubling reproduction every forty years. We always have to prove ourselves worthy of someone, something, or some status daily in order to “earn” our “right” to the fruits of the tree of life. Without a woman, there would be no need for expensive watches, nice suits or beautiful cars (not muscle cars, and not sports cars, because those are very manly things; but “luxury” SUVs, sedans and mini-vans are all shit we buy because women like it).

Women are the reason men die early. Subsequently, women are the reason men don’t mind dying early in spite of the horribly twisted fact that our counterparts live decades beyond their years of usefulness. This should confuse and infuriate us men, but it does not. This is because we get everything we want out of life by the time we’re thirty, and we still get to enjoy it for another twenty years past that, given that all of our drinking, cigar-smoking and partying don’t kill us before we reach fifty (fifty years is the target age for any real man; any later than that and you’re starting to get greedy but any earlier and you might feel cheated since you haven’t yet gotten to live long enough to see your wife hit menopause). Women, on the other hand, are never happy with their lives unless they have a man around to validate them by feeding them all the shit that women want to hear: how pretty and skinny they are and always will be, how intelligent they are, and most importantly, how much they are needed in spite of their inability to do anything for themselves. It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s true, because almost everything a woman says is a lie and they live under the illusion that we believe what they say and so they want to believe what they hear. Women hang on every word a man has to say about them because they know we are smart, strong-willed and driven, so our words are the only words they can believe in since women are too insecure and doubtful of themselves to maintain their own opinions and any real self-confidence or direction.

Watching young women try to conceive something besides a child is like watching a one-armed man jerk off while driving down the road. Something is always going to be left unattended and eventually there will either be a crash or the payoff will fall flat and never come.

Now how do greed and jealousy tie into all of this? Women gauge how much you “love” them by how jealous you are of the other men that they talk to. Not only is this absurdly reckless, it is irresponsible and dangerous to all parties involved. Women make men greedy because they believe the only way for us to show that we love them is to want them all to ourselves. This implies that men are as lazy as women and that we do not enjoy working to satisfy them in meaningful, lasting ways and that’s just not true. Women believe that if they say something, then it is true and thus will be written into the pages of history that you stifle and control them by giving them stability, peace of mind, comfort, warmth, power and self-esteem.

If a woman wants me to be jealous of a guy she talks to because they share a similar interest in books and t-shirts and painting and other feminine activities, I do just the opposite. I withdraw my support for her and suddenly the pseudo-intellectual tough-guy she was talking to doesn’t make her feel so special anymore. Suddenly she realizes she is an ugly and unlikeable person. This is because the puppy-eyes and failed attempts at romance from a spineless middle-aged man who might otherwise be a woman if it weren’t for that improperly-issued penis pinched between his legs doesn’t stand up to the lasting potency of a real man’s affection. This is because women like men who are in control of their lives and don’t answer to retail supervisors. Real men answer to their calling in life, the loudest voice of them all that tells them to ignore everything but the itching desire to shit out masterpieces like the one you are reading now. Real men who are motivated only by what they want get everything they want, and nothing they don’t.

Women take whatever shit life shovels out to them and that is why they cheat, lie and slobber on whatever crosses their path. It’s just whatever happened to be there. What a woman wants changes like the weather. The reason you can’t get too comfortable with the rain here in Roanoke is the same reason you can’t trust a woman. There are more reasons for them to go than to stay. Roanoke has thermal updrafts and it pushes the clouds out; women have moody upswings and when there isn’t a substantial man around to appreciate it, anything will do. Like water, a woman’s desire follows the path of least resistance. Because they have no soul that a man didn’t substantiate, they will always need a certain man for a certain job. I don’t make excuses for anyone’s incompetence but there’s always someone who will.

This woman is smiling because she has no accountability.

A man makes his own path and doesn’t listen to where people tell him to go or their directions on how to get there because he knows how to read a map – especially since he wrote the fucking map. My map takes me around greed and envy, past incompetence, through the layers of false personality, and over the walls put up by women, the government, colleagues, higher-ups, the company you work for, and into the ultimate success the soul that I built hungers for night and day, woman or no woman, school or no school, work or no work, house or no house, website or no website. This is the way I am and the way you are, and the way we are meant to be.

Relax, and enjoy what life doesn’t offer but you have anyway because you took it, like a man.