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Cheetah Surrender: Through the Eyes of a Jew

Jamie Jo Cornhole's ritual cleansing.

Below is a piece of brief prose that I wrote to commemorate the ways upon which “jews,” affects humanity – even those whose job it is to further humanity.  Read it once – and read it again.  Jews, Cheetahs, violence, and hate affects us all. It affects our thinking, it affects our character, and it affects us in ways that we don’t even understand.  We are not immune to sociopathic behavior, if pushed towards the violence by the majority and if it war becomes a necessity to survive rather than an act of defense. And now I give you: Cheetah Surrender.

Jerusalem has become a department store for the everlasting dreams of Cheetahs. The snow pays its last respects, landing gently upon the realistic, big-eyed anime dolls with whom I’m going steady, as they await my sexual demands. I gaze hatefully through a rifle scope and scan the maze of death traps that I once ran through as a child and urinate myself. Cheetahs everywhere. Their dicks contain actual bones. Pokey ones.

The  desolate phallic structures have been demolished by the sexually ravaging Sixth Army like a flesh eating fuck disease. The frozen stillness of the morning air pervades my usual incontinence, also Cheetahs. The array of traumatic childhood memories tinge the edges of my concentration and  the pungent aroma of gasoline and hydrogen cyanide keep an erection at bay. Matzos.. so shitty.. The almond taste on my tongue reminds me of the hard realities I must face. How many of you can stand before a pile of corpses and remain a decent man? Some dude next to me doing card tricks breaks the silence after a series of motions with his hands to ask, “Is this your card?”

Again, I shake my head no. I am also glad that I do not wear a kippah.

Today, I am the piss-soaked damned. Who do you think controls the media?! The power I hold at the tip of my index finger will change the fate of even the noblest of men, the bullet becoming a silent angel of death – if it had been a gun I held. But instead it was a computer mouse. An old Macintosh type with one giant square button. The software moved the cursor 1-dimensionally up and down. The concept of left and right would not be invented until around two years later.

A movement catches my eye. TV is now watched with our backs to the screen. Zionist puppets! MASONS! ILLUMINATI! To kill or be killed? That is today’s episode of Seinfeld. We must secure the existence of our people.  Hands reach out from the screens and around our faces to communicate like small children crying for attention and playing guess who at the same time. TVs are so damn annoying. Crouching amid the garden of carnage below, one lone German soldier has made a mortal move. Walker, Texas Ranger approaches.

The Protocols of the Elders of Zion! With vigilance, our crypto-Nazi propagandist examines this document, desperately searching for the retarded enemies like a lost child looking for his mother. He has come to the valley of the shadow of death. Fucking schmuck! I lurk here sometimes, only a short distance above, ready to avenge my people’s despair. “Let my people go!” their prophet said. Was it worth it little Cheetah Jew man? Was it worth your mother’s virginity? Today is history. Today is the Presstorm.

Here comes a series of trite, introspective thoughts. Try to ignore them.

“Do you ever wonder what could have been? Have you ever farted in your hand and then smelled it?  How must it feel to be so pitiful and nefarious? Nicht wahr? Why do I suspiciously fetishize the German language? Your life means so little? Fucky? Sucky fucky? It was the Jews… I knew it!”

Now, you are all alone. You have your dick in one hand and you are surfing the World Wide Web with the other. You jerk it to chubby porn. Is your cause worth the numbness in your fingers and toes, or do you regret touching that colorful froggie now? General Frost is merciless. He is quite cold but not unexpectedly so. Was the hunger in your  stomach as you stood before Hitler and vowed loyalty to him? I stood before him after eating a shit ton of pommes and drinking Club Mate. Anyway, has he come  to save you now? He sent me a buttload of amphetamines. The tiny little heads of your children must be tucked  into their cozy beds right now, each one bearing the face of Adolf Hitler, while I get to tweak all fucken night. Is bedtime worth the tears your children will shed as they visit your grave in years to come and remember what an old shit you were? Is this worth just four easy payments of $9.95? Easily.

A child woke up and realized this was only a dream. He dreamed that he buttfucked Lynxx and Lamb Gaede with the dick of a cheetah. It was mega hot. He continued tucking little heads into bed even though he had no little beds available. His Mother once told me that to kill another means you own their soul. They will linger upon the essence of our being and when we die, they are there to drag us to hell – which really is a small price to pay considering all we do for them. For now, I am still condemned and this is still my duty.

Many years have drifted past, collecting multitudes of disdain and relentless tragedy. My eyes have seen the demons of history come rapping upon the day, time after time and again. Will cheetahs ever manifest the lessons learned?   Round and round the world turns, the cycles of life only come to begin again. Then one moment in time is separated from the grief and sustenance of suffering. The echo of death whispers through the mind of  a  lonely forlorn soldier. The silent messenger of promise desire encroaches.

Do not fear death little cheetah. Look into my eyes and we shall both know the peace of surrender. There is no shame in connecting with the enemy. I am no longer the enemy. I am only here to take away your pain.

He looks left then right. In one final movement, he is looking directly through my eyes and into my soul. Time suspends itself and there is nothing but complete forgiveness. I find myself completely consumed with a love that cannot be compared. The coldness of my stoned heart becomes the warmth radiated by the first ray of sun on a cold morning. I feel his pain, but it is love. I feel his hate, but it is calm. There is a certain acceptance, and I know that it is time. I will serve the Jewish cheetah no pain.

The bullet penetrates the Jew’s skull. The  life of one has  ceased, as the life of another is only just beginning.  I lift myself off  the ground and the tiny flutters in my abdomen  remind me of my motherly duties.

Through the eyes, love attains the death of suffering – and we all find our Cheetah surrender.

***This was a Piece that I published several years ago in a now-closed Cheetah’s History Magazine***

Jamie Jo Cornhole is executive editor of Presstorm, a news site serving 10 million visitors per month. She holds the equivalent of 17 PHDs and is an expert in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion.