Wednesday, 13 December 2017

Murder on the Orient Express (2017): PC Poirot and the Diversity Train of Tolerance

What is cinema in 2017? Okay, straight talking now, cinema in 2017, in western countries, and I’m talking that multiplex down the road, and the turdfests that they show, is 100% diversity programming, and when I say ‘diversity’ I mean anti-white, anti-male, anti-western propaganda, produced by liberals, directed by liberals, acted by liberals, for liberals.

Like the good little Globalists/Communists that they are, the world-view of the moviemakers is completely unambiguous, and very, very clear. Here how it goes:

Straight white men (the blonder the better) are the enemy, and so must be demonised at every opportunity. Masculine young ‘empowered’ females with black boyfriends are the future. Islam is a religion of peace. Christianity is evil, and lastly, and most importantly, nation states must be demolished, because nation states (white countries only, obviously) represent the white male patriarchy, of racist, sexist, Islamaphobic, intolerant, hateful, straight white men.

As a straight white man myself, the cinema therefore has nothing to offer me, other than lacerating self-hatred, and accusations of racism, sexism, and being a terrible person because of my politically inconvenient race and gender.

So, bearing all of this in mind, and not being particularly inclined towards self-hatred, I don’t go to the cinema, usually.

Oh dear, what happened to Poirot?
Last night I made an exception, because my mother wanted to see a movie, and so, because Tuesday nights are half price night, and because I wanted to make my mum happy, I decided to go. Was it as bad as I expected it to be? Was the movie full of social justice, and liberal virtue signalling about how not racist and sexist they all are? Were my assumptions confirmed?

Yes, of course they were. It’s a movie. It’s 2017. It’s what they do. To expect anything else would be unrealistic. You go to the cinema, and you know what you’re going to get.

Okay then, onto the movie, and it could have been any movie, but the one that I decided to see (because it was the movie my mum wanted to see) was called ‘Murder on the Orient Express.’ I know the plot, know the characters, know what happens, and I also know that they won’t be able to help themselves.

Kenneth Branagh is in charge, the director, and star, and as old Ken is a luvvie lefty (obviously) virtue signalling about tolerance and diversity is a certainty. There will be no surprises here. You are going to get a new ‘interpretation’ of the old story, and that new interpretation means social justice and ‘diversified’ characters (which is code-word for less white characters, obviously) so here we go, let’s see how far they go with it.

First off, Poirot doesn’t look like Poirot anymore. He’s got a ridiculous moustache, but not the right kind of ridiculous moustache. This moustache is grey, and bushy, and ostentatiously hipsterish. Kenneth’s Poirot isn’t a quirky little Belgium. He’s a domineering peacock hipster, constantly on the lookout for any small incident of non-PC intolerant behaviour. This ain’t Poirot. It’s lefty bore, daaaarling boy, wine sipping, Guardian reading, soyboy Kenneth. Hey Ken, how's Spacey doing? Oh, we can't talk about him anymore, can we?

I see director, not detective in the new Poirot. I see the Metrosexual City. I see the prat. I see the virtuously lonely white hipster, itechnology, a job in PR, advertising, transgender bathrooms, city-bubble consensus from the offices of an all-female, all white, diversity is our strength Huffington Post echo chamber of cat lady future loneliness. I see the city. The dead, meaningless, diversified, sniffing from the fumes of what once was great, ruined cityscapes of Europe, another movie that feeds from the glory of the past, farted out for the eight people in the cinema showing where I sat, the poison fumes of 2017, liberals, liberals, liberals.

From the cultural ruins of modern day Europe, our progressive movie scoots back to the 1930's with a pretentious Poirot solving a mysterious case involving a Jew, Muslim, and a Christian. Oh, religious conflict? A movie where real world issues are being explored honestly, and bravely? No, don’t be silly. This is a modern lefty movie. You already know who the bad guy is, don’t you?

So how are we going to navigate through the religious conflicts in Jerusalem, and find a convenient scapegoat that will leave all religions off the hook, and confirm (what we already know) that diversity is a strength after all? Easy, my friend. Pick the white man, any white man will do, blame him, it’s always him, that rotter. Religious conflict? Don’t be silly. Blame the WASP. All religions can co-exist, even in Jerusalem. In the modern toxic-city of liberal consensus, and trucks of peace, we all get along.

So, nothing religious going on here at all, let’s move on, it’s the white guy to blame, as it always is, and always will be, at least in cinema today, if not the real world, not that the two things have anything in common whatsoever.

From solving the Jerusalem issue, hipster Poirot jumps on-board the famous train (which is shot in perpetual darkness, thus wasting the impressive interiors that my mum was looking forward to seeing on the big screen) and the well-known plot unfolds, and unravels into predictable lefty tiresomeness.

Working class white male villain (the enemy of the left)
Johnny Depp is the villain, and he plays him as a rough and ready working-class man, the very kind of commoner so feared by hipster Ken and his darlings of the theatre. Middle-class, city-dwelling, university Marxists always fear the genuine working-classes, so to have working class Johnny playing the villain makes a lot of sense. This is the kind of man they really fear, in the real world, outside of their twitter block bubble of self-congratulatory virtue. This is the Donald Trump voter. This is the Brexiteer. This is the straight, white, working class man. This is their enemy. This is the man they want to murder, and this is the man they want to replace with ‘diversity.’

I suppose I should mention the black guy now, shouldn't I? Okay then. So there was a black guy in the movie. Did he appear in the original novel by Agatha Christie, I hear you ask. Of course he bloody well didn't, is the answer. So how is he going to be portrayed? How do you think? There’s nothing unpredictable here. He’s black, he’s in a movie, don’t worry, he’s not going to be the bad guy.

Nope the black guy is a brave, self-sacrificing, courageous, erudite, charming, wonderful man, and he’s as English as Winston Churchill. Oh, and he's race-mixing with the character played by Daisy Ridley, that boyish girl who’s doing the same race-mixing thing in the new social justice Star Wars franchise. Hey Daisy, how come so many of your on-screen relationships are with black guys, but in the real world you are dating a fellow white, English actor? Come on girl, think of the social justice message you are portraying in your roles, and commit to the bit in your real life, otherwise it might just look like you are the vehicle of a message that you don’t really believe in yourself.

Away from reality, and back on the lib-train, one of the characters addresses this race mixing directly, blending her white and red wine, and declaring virtuously, ‘I prefer Rosa anyway.’ The message is clear. You shall be blended, such is the way of the modern progressive left, where diversity means consensus, no white, no black, no colours at all, just blended neutral corporate friendly colours that have as much meaning as a Pepsi advert. Diversity compels you to agree. Ignore Muhammad Ali and his blue and red bird analogy.

You’re not racist, are you?

Daisy = Lib Director's Dream Girl (a progressive man in a dress)
And so I yawn, and start to notice that Poirot, with his non-Poirot look, isn’t acting like Poirot either. He’s looking at an old photograph of some simpering lass, and getting in touch with his emotions, doubting himself, and looking at the photograph, pleading for ghostly guidance from a girl not yet in her mid twenties. What is it with old liberal men and their belief that great wisdom resides in the minds of pretty white girls who have yet to experience anything of life at all? It’s weird, cucky, and silly, but I see it all the time. Here’s the truth. Pretty young girls are not exactly the font of great wisdom. Sorry Ken, but wisdom and pretty female faces don’t exactly align in the real world. I've met lots of pretty young girls, but a wise and pretty young girl? Nope, I’m yet to meet one, and though I live in hope, I’m not exactly holding my breath and waiting for one to show up.

With simpering cuck Poirot getting in touch with his feelings, the plot goes down the usual route, with a couple of dramatic scenes added to make it seem more interesting than it is, before a final denouement where the suspects are lined up on a last supper table. The hipster detective reveals who done it, and then proceeds to let the guilty parties get away with it, walking off to take on the next case with barely a care in the world.

Hang on, that’s not how it usually ends, is it? Nope, but this is a newer version, with a Poirot who is not Poirot, and added feelings, and a fog of relativism and nihilistic grey emptiness.

Right and wrong? Paying for your crime? Who cares? Rules, facts, law, morality, all dissipate in the liberal fog of feelings and getting in touch with the wisdom of a pretty feminine face. This is the brave new world of the progressive matriarchal welfare state, and the only thing that matters is how you feel, no morals, no order, no justice, just the feels, race-mixing, white-guilt, a hipster moustache, and the leftist establishment’s fear of the white, working-class man.

So, that’s it. My yearly visit to the cinema, one and done, that’s it for me. Will I be watching the new Star Wars movie with Daisy doing her race-mixing thing again? Nah, I think I’ll give that one a miss. She doesn't believe in it. Not really, not in the real world, and neither do I.

Saturday, 5 August 2017

‘Angry Goy’ by CYBERN4ZI: The Rise of FashWave Offers a Pathway to the Future

I remember talking to a girl during my university years, and it’s one of those conversations that you don’t forget, not because of the words, but because of a look, and what remained unsaid. I was talking, not listening, about moving away from my old passion of hard, aggressive, masculine metal music, and settling into a new listening routine of Belle & Sebastian, and similar bands of whimsy, cucked out faggotry. She looked at me, and instead of being impressed with my ‘sensitivity’ as I had intended, she kind of sighed, and gave me a look of pure, ‘Well I’m never having sex with you then,’ revulsion/pity.

I was shocked. I thought that girls at university were supposed to be into intellectual, Woody Allen ‘intellectual’ types, and her reaction confused the fuck out of me. Today I understand fully what was going on. I was renouncing my own masculinity, and making a virtue of it. What a cuck I was. A regressively retarded, girl repellent turn-off, fool. That same girl arranged to meet me (with her gay mate) at the end of the college term, to ‘say goodbye and good luck for the future.’ One day before the meeting the gay guy sent me a text, saying that they couldn’t show up. I never saw, or heard from either of them ever again. I don’t blame her for not showing up, fuck, why would she?

What does that horribly self-tortuous story have to do with ‘Angry Goy’ by ‘CyberN4zi? Not a lot, you might think, but you’d be mistaken, because my story is a metaphor for life, and the pathways that you choose to take. Take the wrong path, and you might think that you’ve fucked your life, but that’s not the case. Pathways have intersections, and you can always get off, decide to take a detour, or better still, make your own path to someplace you’d never even thought about before.

My pathway at university was a pathway narrative that I told myself was leading towards ‘progression’ and bettering myself. It was supposed to be easy. The destination would naturally enfold, and the pathway would widen, expanding horizons around me as I progressed into the future. All I had to do was follow the left-wing liberal pathway to enlightenment, and everything would get better for me. To take this pathway I had to jettison all of the baggage that I had carried with me through my previous twenty-six years of life. Yeah, I lived a bit before university, but not enough to help me navigate through the dangerous waters that I was about to dive into. I worked in factories, warehouses, shops, but I read too many shitty liberal books, and my mind was already primed to fuck me over.

Metal music had to go, because it was too assertive, aggressive, masculine, not ‘sensitive’ enough, so off it went, replaced by the whiny music of defeated man-boys, gay as fuck, but progressive, the way forward, the way of the future, my future. I listened to ‘college’ bands now, anything to prove that I wasn’t the boorish manly man who used to work in a car-factory.

If you want to know where this new, kinder, softer taste in music led me, read the end of the first paragraph again, then read some of the frustrated ‘reviews’ that litter this blog. After university, with a useless liberal arts degree, having feminised myself almost into the point of suicidal despair, I was (when it comes to interpersonal relationships, and future career possibilities) complete and utter fucked, up a shitty creak, with no paddle, and a big fucking hole in my (one-man) boat.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck,’ I thought to myself. I’d been taken down a ‘progressive’ path that led to no fucking life, no fucking female interest, and no fucking career opportunities. After wailing around in ‘please kill me now’ despair for a bit, I regrouped, and decided to write down my thoughts, and tell the world of the fucking disastrous mess that I’d made of my life. My blog is a warning, and here’s the condensed version of it:


^^^That’s my entire blog encapsulated, ranting about everything that I despise, which is of course everything that I used to consume, every poisonous bit of shit which made me take a near disastrous pathway in life towards progressive/regressive oblivion.  I’m a strong guy, and I got off the pathway, eventually, but man, it fucked me up for a long, long time.

Nowadays I write short stories (‘Red Pill Tales from the Alt-Right’ by ‘Mark Anthony Pritchard’ is available on Amazon) and my blog is updated only rarely. But on this Saturday morning, sweating buckets after getting back from the gym, I’m coming back, because I have some good news for you all. You must already know that our culture is toxic fucking poison, so when I find something that is the diametric, polar opposite, I’ve got to say something about it. Big holes of truth are appearing all over the black cloud of mainstream liberal consensus, and they are getting larger by the day.

I’ve told you my old story, and here’s the new one. The old pathways that led me astray, pathways I diverted from many years ago, have led me to a new path, and that can loosely by termed ‘Alt-Right.’ This pathway has a very obvious final destination, and that destination is, fuck it, I’m going to say it, the ethno-state.

Yeah, I’m finally getting somewhere, no more walking, it’s time to run, and to come home. All of my old liberal white male guilt is fucking waste to me now. Fuck that shit. I’m all about the future now, and to get to that future we have to look at a time before this modern ‘progressive’ age of black cloud toxic shit that still engulfs us all.

The time has come time for white people to reclaim their tribal identity, a proud ethnic identity that has been taken from us by our toxic, nihilistic, empty culture of endless shame and cuckoldry. A big part of reclaiming our pride is to listen to music that genuinely uplifts, rather than depresses. ‘Angry Goy’ does exactly that. Despite the title, it is not an angry album. It’s an album of uplifting music, with just one brief interlude into sadness at the brutality of the past (Echoes from Dresden), it’s an album of joyful music that will make you feel good to be alive, and feel positive about the future. It’s an album that must be listened to as a whole, but standout track ‘Kek Commando’ with it’s ribbiting frog hilarity, gets a special mention. It’s an album of resistance against mainstream despair, an album of sun, in a world of darkness.

This is not the music of the aggressive young man that I used to be. It’s not the music of aimless violence and rage. It’s music of resistance, but that resistance has matured, grown solid, emboldened not by youthful aggression, but with the intellectual, moral understanding that truth is on our side, that what we are doing is good, honest and true.

I hear Atari. I hear Commodore 64, and old pro-wrestling shows with ripped-off themes based on Star Wars, when Star Wars was new, and masculine, and good. I hear happy plinks and plonks of electronic joy, and rousing sci-fi tunes of a ‘futuristic’ movie set in the 1980’s, before identity politics and enforced diversity turned the cinema experience into a libtard joke for the dumbest of the dumb.

‘Angry Goy’ makes me smile, makes me feel happy, and it’s available now for all of you ‘Goys’ to consume and enjoy. Pay as many shekels as you think it’s worth, but download it, listen, and experience life as I did this morning.

Get up early, put on some headphones, talk a walk down an alt-right path, enjoy the crisp fresh morning air of optimism, feel good to be alive, and know that there is a future for OUR PEOPLE, that the angry goys are rising, and things are finally beginning to change.

Rating: 10/10 


Thursday, 22 June 2017

RAPTURE #2: The Power of a Word, that Can Destroy us All

WRITER: Matt Kindt 

ARTISTS: CAFU & Roberto De La Torre

COLORIST: Andrew Dalhouse

PUBLISHER: Valiant Entertainment

RELEASE DATE: June 21, 2017

I do not waste my time reviewing comic books that do not deserve to be reviewed. That time, for me, has gone.

I will not sit down, and write out another scathing review for a regressive comic book that is pushing, and praising, all of the evils that are currently plaguing the western world. I’ve done that already, and if you want to read those reviews, they are here, on my blog, and you are welcome to check them out.

Today, I look for solutions, not problems. I write my own stuff, and if you want to look at it just go onto Amazon and type ‘Mark Anthony Pritchard’ and ‘Red Pill Tales from the Alt-Right.’ I write about solutions, with positively and hope for real change. Let the problem writers continue to do their thing, because if at this point they are still writing about problems, it’s doubtful that solutions will ever be coming from anything that they write.

Comic books, as we all know, are predominantly leftist, and so the chances of finding solutions within their pages are rare, but still I look, hoping for a spark, for something that is addressing the problems, and occasionally, just occasionally, I find it.

Is Matt Kindt, writer of Rapture #2, a leftist? Looking at his twitter page it’s unclear. I assume that he is, but he’s also smart enough not to alienate over 50% of his potential readers by posting silliness about Donald Trump. He uses twitter to promote his work, and that’s undoubtedly the safest thing to do. Expressing anything that, even accidentally, promotes a (dare I say it) ‘right-leaning’ point of view in the comic book industry, would be heresy to leftist consensus, and you would be subjected to a weaponised ‘word’ that can destroy a career.

Let’s talk about that word, because in ‘Rapture #2’ the use of a word as a weapon is a central theme of the book. Here’s how it works. The comic book villains utter a word, a word that paralyses the heroes into passivity, allowing the villains to attack, and to defeat the heroes.

Now, let’s look at the real world parallels.

I live in the UK, a country that is currently being subjected to Islamist terrorist attacks. Every time one occurs, with blood, guts, and dead bodies littering the streets and concert halls, the response, from the mainstream media, the political establishment, and those on the left (they are the same people) is always the same. They tell us to carry on as before, to come together, to light candles, hashtag support, and repeat that it’s not ALL Muslims who are doing this, so we mustn’t criticise the Ideology that is causing it.

And if the people do criticise that ideology, what happens? The media, politicians, pop-stars, and cultural leaders use one word to pacify the population into helpless passivity, and that word is- ISLAMAPHOBIA.

One word can destroy a country. That is what is happening here in the UK, and all over Europe as well.

Does Matt Kindt understand this? I do not know, but what I do know is that in ‘Rapture #2’ he is saying something that cannot be said in liberal/progressive circles. For that alone, I applaud him, and recommend (to everybody reading this review) that they purchase an issue of this superior comic book.

The art (with it’s beautiful colouring), the characters and the story itself in ‘Rapture #2’ are all excellent, but that is not why the book is essential. Enjoy the surface, enjoy the prettiness, but think on the deeper meaning, think on what is being said here, think on the UK, on Europe, and the power of a word that can destroy us all.

Rating: 10/10 (Essential reading)

Tuesday, 13 June 2017

VON - Dark Gods: Birth of the Architects (Join me on the Mountain Top)

Musical accompaniment is needed for the disaster movie of our times, as we witness western societal collapse into moral and cultural relativism, and the inevitable consequences befalling a society that no longer has any shared moral or spiritual bonds to shield it from attack. ‘Dark Gods: Birth of the Architects’ by ‘VON’ is an essential gift to the watchers of this ongoing, self-inflicted farce/tragedy, a moment in time where we can witness the fall of an entire civilisation. Unfortunately for us, that civilisation is our own, and the collapse, enabled by the left, pushed in schools, colleges, boardrooms, and on our television/movie screens, books, comic books and newspapers, is happening right NOW.

Listen to the sounds of decay, as VON take you back to where it all began, with mother, choices, and the reawakening of demonic forces that were there from the very beginning of humanity. In self-satisfied, virtue signalling deference to evil we invited them back in, allowed them to feed, and now, sated, they have began to set fires to our hollowed out institutions, accelerating the collapse of all that was built by men far better than ourselves. 

So sing along with VON as the world falls apart. Wail in despair at all that we have done, and how we took the architecture of western civilisation for granted, and so easily, lazily, apathetically, and with ignorance masquerading as virtue, gave it all away to ancient enemies, from the outside, and (to our everlasting shame) from within.

Dante in Hell, observes frozen traitors to their own people.

-To the nothing that we have become:

Atomised, so easily defeated into individualism, a bottom of the caged barrel concept, where trapped animals dig claws into the only companions that they will ever have.

Man built, listened to the enemy, and elevated the least worthy. Children reared by government strangers. Generation snowflake screams about safety, but can never be safe, in hashtag era of nailbomb inevitability, an era inheritance from boomer, into nihilism and relativism collapse.

Drugged children grow up into drugged adults, from Disney and Ritalin, to career, mortgage, debt, politics, television, and pills for anxiety and depression.

Why depressed? Why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel so empty?

Oh God twitter, why do you never reply to my lonely prayer call?

Dying boy, in bedroom, stasis the Internet, and fucking conspiracy theories. Daddy is gone, and mommy does not care. Free and independent, curtains drawn, in government containment camp he browses for answers, moribund, hidden from his neighbours, and the sun outside.

Councils and Bilderbergs rear political puppets that masquerade as choice, to the animals on the farm.

Hey George, Tony, Oh Tony.

Old left zombie re-birth. Rebel alliance, girls and blacks on television, movie screens, fuck it, you better say it now kid.

Boy, you better start talking. Friendless anyway, as end time looms, we all die alone.

Culled, easily, bedroom casualty, walking towards stickman, tax stick, electronic, the currency will kill us all. So easily convinced, but convenience is death. Annihilation sold as a benefit. We wanted it, invited the vampire in, and now she does what the vampire does, sucker, she sucks.

It all returns to mother, shielded from criticism by a word, and from velvet slippered choice we began to descend, into empowerment of weakness and guilt, so sowing the seeds of our own destruction. We did it all for her, but now look at what she has done to us.

Enemies invited in, by dear in power mother, as our new Roman Empire collapses, into relativism, dampened fires rekindled, old fires that were there from the beginning.

‘My truth’ means never a true word spoken, and Godless as we are, ‘truth’ becomes an opinion, and deceit cancers us all.

Oh, reap now, farmer of lies, for the harvest of no opinion truth is upon us.

From invasions, to conspiracies, compromise, convenience, tolerate the trucks of peace, death, into tombs of never was, with eternity pissing on the grave of a Godless, nihilistic, empty, divided people, judgement time is NOW.

So we, the culpable masses, we finally did it.

Stripped naked on the altar of progression, doused in Sunni petroleum, with Karl smiling from the pit below, a flame arose from the heart of us all, and western civilisation roared into flame.

In death, I spit out the fumes of burning corpse surrender, step outside of the flesh melting pain, into soul, with judgement hanging over what I have both seen, understood, and done.

Oh my God, here I am, waiting, it was so hot down there, and the people didn’t care, and the flames of self-deceit increased in temperature, slowly, then quickly, engulfing them all, and I could not help, though I tried, and I tried.

But now, my end begins, no more struggle, no more lines, they fade as judgement time is here, and eternity beckons before me, as lawyer word time finally ends, forever.

(‘Dark Gods: Birth of the Architects’ by VON: A soundtrack for the end of western civilisation, can be purchased, below. Buy it, and sit with me here, for a while, on the rise of Mount Purgatory, watching the city below, in all of it’s multicultural diversity, surrendered in hashtags and love, as it's culturally enriched with trucks, stabbings and nailbombs, and the people watch in paralysed impotence as everything that was built up through generations of sacrifice and courage is burnt to the ground, and all for the fear of a six letter word that silences us all.)

The climb had sapped my last strength when I cried:
"Sweet Father, turn to me: unless you pause
I shall be left here on the mountainside!"
He pointed to a ledge a little ahead
that wound around the whole face of the slope.
"Pull yourself that much higher, my son," he said.
His words so spurred me that I forced myself
to push on after him on hands and knees
until at last my feet were on that shelf.
Purgatorio, Canto XXXI:

Friday, 12 May 2017

EPIC RANT: This is the End of Everything

Check out this blog, just scan it, and see what I have been doing over the years. Yeah man, what a waste of my fucking time, eh? Call this a life? Fuck off, there’s no life here.

Do you know why I don’t do much of this reviewing stuff anymore? Its not because writing scathing reviews about dippy libtard comic books & movies stopped being fun, and it’s not because I finally got a life, which I never did, and no, it’s not because of the feedback, good, bad indifferent, whatever,

Nope, I cut back because I felt like a dumb ass parasite, swimming alongside a really crappy predator, a shark if you like, but a shark who was old, toothless, and wasn’t really giving me any new scraps to feed from anymore. It’s bad enough being a tic, but a tic on a bloodless body, what’s the fucking point in that?

How many times can I write paragraphs about the plain as day cultural Marxist programming, multicultural programming, feminist programming, and anti white male programming that constitutes the entire point of mainstream media product in the west today?

If you are still consuming mainstream product at this point in time, there probably isn’t any hope left for you at all. Sorry, but come off it, there’s nothing new going on here.

Okay man, it’s Friday and the latest movie in the cinema down the road will be laughable tosh featuring a feeble little girl in a prominent role who easily, and heroically beats up all of the evil white blokes. It’s fucking stupid, and yet people still pay to see this turdy nonsense.

Look at what they have done to the Star Wars franchise. It used to be fun, but not anymore. Nowadays it’s just another reminder that the people who make movies have 1- Run out of new ideas 2- No respect for their audience 3- Become completely corrupted by feminist/Marxist identity politics bullshit. That’s the norm in the cinema now, get used to it, because the fucking morons in Hollywood don’t have anything else to say.

Walk into your local comic book store and pick a random book off of the shelves. You know what you’ll be reading about, right? The writers will be telling you that nationalism is evil and that white males suck.

They’ll tell you that all nations, ethnicity’s, cultures and religions need to blend together to create world peace. They’ll sell you this ideological shit, and call it ‘diversity’ by the way, which is really contradictory and stupid, but don’t expect anything you read to make any coherent sense. What they really mean by ‘diversity’ is less white people, zero ideological diversity and a staff of leftists obsessing over the racial and ethnic differences that they pretend not to see.

Oh, and don’t forget about the ham-fisted (wall related) accusations of racism and white supremacy thrown at Donald Trump, and a constant reminder that if you support him, then that most certainly means that you are a card carrying member of the newly resurrected KKK.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it by now. We suck, you suck, everything sucks, and this whole stupid experiment of allowing the dumbest of dumb to vote for more free stuff was really a very stupid idea from the beginning.

Fucking hell man. Democracy really is an empty lie. You were right all along Richey? Oh, and leave a fucking comment if you get that reference. It’s a Gen-X fucking song, if you care, which is a lot more than I can say about Gen-X itself.

Okay, let’s get this bonfire burning. Let’s finish what they stared, because there’s no hope here. You don’t create a future in telling people that their cultural, ethic, and tribal identities no longer exist. What kind of a nut does that? I know the answer by the way. I fucking know, and so do you, if you are being honest with yourself. Sure, we got pushed, but we did it to ourselves. I want to believe that somebody cares, that the programming can be broken, that something will happen to finally make people give a shit, but it’s lonely here, caring, in a society where individualism and nihilism is the atheist God of the day. Do you care? You don’t, do you? It’s okay. You can admit it now.

This whole shit ship called western civilisation is going down, enslaved to god state into the never ending, soul sucking, fucking debt-swamp, with enemies on the outside (Islam) being let in by the enemies from within (that will be the liberals). So what do I do? Read a comic, and watch the fanning of the flames as civil war, collapse, fucking madness rears on the horizon. I wish I had a kid, so I’d care more. People need to have children, it will make you give a shit, at least it fucking should do, because they have to live in this shit hole that we’ve created for them.

And here I am, mid 2017, writing a stupid fucking blog post that will be read by one man and his dog, talking about the same old shit, and why reviewing inferior material from liberal dick-heads that do the same thing over and over again is less than fucking pointless. Yeah man, this is it, the end of everything. Let’s write another fucking song about it. No, there’s no meaning, it’s just a song, don’t expect any meaning, not here, not now, fucking waiting for Godot shite man.

Okay fuck it, sense, we are going the way of every other corrupt, overly inflated, multicultural empire in world history, and the lessons of the past, have been ignored, again, boringly, obviously, as they always are. And so I trail off this whatever the fuck this was, ending like the west will end, not with a bang, but a tired old cliched, indifferent, who gives a fuck, whimper.

Thursday, 27 April 2017

RSC LIVE 2017- JULIUS CAESAR (REVIEW): When William Returned



DATE: 26th APRIL 2017



If you go to the theatre today you run the risk of hearing the political views of directors and actors, and being subjected to their embarrassingly blue pilled juvenile squarkings about nationalism, Donald Trump, or anything that doesn’t conform to PC, consensus leftist ideology.

Such was the case with this production of Julius Caesar, which was largely very good, but (predictably) tainted at the beginning with a short interview with some of the cast members. So, what did the lefty twits say? Did they call Donald Trump Hitler? Did they call Brexit voters Hitler? Did they call my brother’s dog Hitler? Well, no Hitler references this time, but they had a good old SJW whinge anyway.

Okay, so here’s the bit where you slap your forehead, and endure the pearls of 'wisdom' dropped from the lefty luvvies at the RSC.

Hail Caesar/Trump/Hitler (same thing, isn't it?)
Democratically elected businessman Donald Trump, a man who appears to be playing along with the globalists agenda just like Obama before him, is a potential dictator who probably needs to be assassinated, just like Julius Caesar in the play. Yeah, they went there. Oh, and the role of females in this play was vital (it wasn’t) because Shakespeare gave all of the best lines to the female characters (he didn’t) and if women had ran Rome all of the horrible events that transpire during the play probably wouldn't have happened.

Oh man, the idiocy is strong in the theatre, a strange land of oestrogen empowered make believe where actors and directors see patriarchal dictators everywhere, yet are completely unable to see their own Marxist indoctrinated faces that stare back at themselves in the mirror.

But onto the play, which was very good, and written by a guy who was a bit of a genius, and not a drippy leftist, who would no doubt have been commissioned to write the play if it was created anew today.

The plot is simple, easy to follow, and I can see why it is one of the Shakespeare plays taught in UK schools. A very popular Julius Caesar is returning from another military triumph, and the plebeians of Rome (the ancient equivalent of the voting masses) are demanding he be made an emperor, and given dictatorial powers. The Roman plebeians are unanimous in their passionate devotion towards Caesar by the way, they all love him, so the parallels with nationalist figures like Donald Trump (who are massively divisive) is completely off. Trump built hotels, not battlefields of corpses. He was a businessman, not a soldier. If you want a more accurate parallel with Caesar I'd suggest you look at Oliver Cromwell, and the aftermath of the English Civil War, and for modern parallels of military might and dictatorships look to Erdogan in Turkey, because that situation is ongoing right now.

But, back to the plot.

Caesar is considered too popular/ambitious by a group of conspirators that are close to him, and so they bump him off, speeches happen, the plebeians change their mind, then back again, and the play concludes with the conspirators losing a battle and doing what good Roman soldiers always do when they lose a war.

James Corrigan excels as Mark Antony.
Julius Caesar is all about the speeches given by powerful political figures, and their attempts to manipulate the roman plebians. The most memorable of these speeches is the rhetorical masterclass given by Mark Antony (James Corrigan) as he demonstrates that his rival Brutus (Alex Waldmann) is not all that he claims, repeatedly referring to him as honourable, whilst illustrating that by his very actions he is anything but. The speech is further enhanced by the orator’s claims that he is not very good at speeches, that he’s just a bumbling fool who cannot manipulate with words, and is a simple man who just tells it like it is.

Potential politicians should take note, this is how you do it, this is how you turn a potentially hostile crowd onto your way of thinking, whilst acting like all you are doing is speaking unvarnished truth. And no, this has no parallels with Trump either, sorry libs, it just doesn't. Trump is a symptom, not a cause, and his powers of rhetorical speech are certainly not at the level of Mark Antony. If you want to know the cause, look in that most painful of implements, a mirror.

I want to make a couple of notes about the individual performances and staging, as I saw the production with my mother, and as she has seen (and studied) the play before, her observations hold more weight than my own.

Mum felt that the actor playing Brutus lacked presence, power and charisma, and that his uninspiring performance detracted from the play. I saw the character as weak and wishy-washy, and apparently that’s not what they were going for, so that was a problem. Mum also felt that the scenes with the plebeians were lacking in personal. The speakers talked of large crowds in Rome, and what we saw was ten people shuffling around the stage, so that was a bit off.

Speaking for myself I very much enjoyed the performance of Martin Hutson as Cassius. There was a very human sense of complexity to the motivational drivers behind his actions, and my mother and I were left debating those motivations long into the night. I felt him to be the most fascinating character on stage, the most believably human, and certainly the most memorable. Special mention also goes to the booming voice of Andrew Woodall’s Caesar, and the subtle notes of insecurity in his performance of a man not quite as physically robust as he would like to be for an individual in such a high status position of social elevation.

Martin Hutson's compellingly complex Cassius
It’s always a good time when the main man Shakespeare is in town, and such was the case with this latest production from the RSC. Okay, so you have to deal with the blue pill guzzling actors, directors, audience members, and everybody else involved in it all, but at the core of the experience there is always going to be William Shakespeare.

The social justice, open borders, sovereignty hating, feminised libtards, who control the theatre industry can moan and complain about the rejection of their lefty agenda as much as they want, but what they think doesn’t really matter. What matters is the original Shakespearean text, and when they stick to it (as they did in this production) the words of the master easily transcend childish attempts from contemporary liberals to use the bard as weaponised propaganda against their ideological enemies.

William Shakespeare will, of course, endure long after the current era of regressive insanity fades away to dust, buried in the Highgate cemetery of silly bearded, dangerously wrong ideas. That’s a certainty, and it makes me smile. I always get something out of watching Shakespeare, not from the actors, it’s the words that matter, and when they stick to the words, I’m more than happy to spend a night with the liberals. The RSC began tonight’s performance with words from their actors, and then the master took over, his words revealing truth beyond the narrow political ideological squarkings of our time. Leftist insanity disappeared when William returned, ideas flourished, minds were stimulated, and all was RIGHT with the world again.

Rating: 8/10 (Superior performances from Martin Hutson & James Corrigan, but the star of the show, as always, was Shakespeare himself)

Thursday, 6 April 2017

Royals #1- A Message to Marvel Comics

Jonboy Meyers
Ryan Kinnaird
5TH APRIL 2017
Marvel Comics

‘We forgot the meaning of love’ drones the laughably juvenile dialogue, and off they go into space, a bunch of cutesy lesbians, trusting in some obviously villainous bloke who told them there’s a special ‘magic’ prize hidden at the end of the Care Bear rainbow in space.

And Marvel still doesn’t understand why readers are turning away from their books?

What exact readership demographic is Marvel looking to attract here? After reading Royals #1 I can only assume that it’s the pre-teen girls who are questioning their sexuality demographic, because there’s not a lot in this for anyone else, especially young boys. If I had read this book as a ten year old version of myself then I would have been 100% convinced that I had just accidentally read a girls comic book, and not a very good one either.

Okay Marvel, keep writing girly books where you try to convince everybody (including yourselves) that there’s no difference between the genders, but recognise that these comic books will only ever appeal to social justice warrior activists, and your sales will continue to decline. Do you really want to destroy yourselves with gender neutral love and feelings stories? All you are really doing here is whining that the world isn’t the way that you want it to be, and it’s getting a bit embarrassing.

Marvel, my old mate, it really is getting a bit silly now. You really need to stop with the leftist, race-gender-sexuality activism. The world that you are pushing for is a communistic world of perfect equality, where gender, race, politics, sexuality, religion, and everything else is merged into a creepy Borg collectivist whole of unquestioning love and acceptance. The world, the real world, can never, and will never be like that, and the more you try to achieve your impossible Marxist Nirvana, the worse that things will get for all of us.

Wake up Marvel. Take the red pill option that the rest of us are taking. We are forgiving people, and will look back at this period in your history when you got infiltrated by Marxist activists posing as writers, have a laugh at how silly it all was, and move on.

Get with the times Marvel. Recognise that the world is full of real diversity away from the Marxist deceptions of forced integration and mass immigration into western countries. Celebrate real diversity Marvel, real diversity away from the multicultural lies that are being rejected at the ballot box, in England, America and Europe.

Stop pretending that we are all the same Marvel. Reclaim national pride. America is great. Be proud of who you are. Stop pushing leftist victim groups as heroes. Stop hating on straight, white men. Fire the activist leftists who pose as writers. Get back to telling good stories, with recognisably masculine and feminine characters, who are defined by their actions, and not identity politics and how much of a ‘victim’ they are on the liberal scale of officially sanctioned oppressed groups.

You can do it Marvel. You were great before, and you can be great again. All it will take is a little red pill, a touch of courage, and the ability to recognise that you are walking towards a cliff, and it’s time to stop, change direction, and start walking back home. We are waiting here for you Marvel, we miss you Marvel, and we desperately want you back.

Rating for comic: 2/10 (A load of silly old, irrelevant pap)