Here is something I have wanted to see for many years now. The testimony of a father of one of the girls forced into sex slavery by muslim grooming gangs.
H/T Richard P.
“The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious.” -Marcus Aurelius
Tragedy beyond , it’s totally horrific what is going on in Britain and other Western country with the laws , they don’t even investigate horrible crimes committed by 7 th. Century savages, criminals, no words , seriously, no words to describe what happened to used to beautiful countries with law and order..
I am waiting for my espresso. I make it in one of those little old things that gives you a couple of doses. You put the water in and the coffee on top and place it on the stove. Then you wait and watch as the element gets red hot. The water reaches 200 degrees farenheit. That’s when it wants to boil and turn to steam, but it cannot because it’s a closed system. Under pressure. This forces the boiling water up to the top. Under pressure.
Today is Father’s Day. Happy Father’s Day. My daughter is 11-years old. We will drive down to a farm later this morning to a place that has horses and a llama. She will like this. Llamas are funny things. Maybe she’ll get to ride a horse. She’ll want to know the animals’ names, and she’ll talk to them. Probably she’ll pick some flowers for her mother while we’re there. The flowers grow in a small field beside the paddock. The yellow sun bathes the flowers in sweet, warm light. Amazingly, my girl is able to ingest this light.
Oh, temperature’s up. I hear the water boiling.
The time and effort he went to rebuild his relationship with his child… is the time and effort every parent should have done first with their child.
I watched over my son like a chickenhawk. I knew all the evil pride that the world wanted to inject. This venom into him. He had a childhood. Musician, martial artist, astronomer, philosopher and more, and now biochemist.
The work – after the Feminists, Marxists, muslims and Sex-Change agents have broken in – is heartbreaking.
Only Vlad’s website will tell you what you need to know. And the readers who keep it informed.
Great yarn as usual, Johnnyu.
“Llamas are funny things.”
People ask me, “What’s a one-ell ‘lama’?” And I tell them, “It’s a Tibetan monk.”
Then they inquire, “What’s a two-ell ‘lama’?” So I reply, “That’s a high altitude Andean camelid.”
What to say when they all want to know, “What’s a three-ell lama?”
I tell ’em, “It’s one helluva fire.”
“She’ll want to know the animals’ names, and she’ll talk to them.”
If your child is a fraction of the raconteur that you are, she’ll be able to talk a coon out of his tree, just like Dan’l Boone. According to legend, my maternal, Danish great grandmother could walk into her Copenhagen garden and have songbirds land on her shoulders. Evidently, I’ve inherited her connection to animal life as I had to walk up my street the other midnight and order a strange neighbor’s bulldogs back inside their house to shut them the hell up.
“Amazingly, my girl is able to ingest this light.”
In the presence of a striving neo-Renaissance luminary like yourself? I’d be much more
shocked! Shocked, I tell you!surprised if she wasn’t.T = 00:02:54 – VPI (very politically incorrect) Lyrics
The Legend of Daniel Boone
Gotta story to tell about a frontier man
He never went to sleep without a rifle in his hand
He lived in the woods and he slept on the ground
When he was five he shot a buffalo down
He took a horn from the dead buffalo
And he whittled it out so as it would blow
Just a hoot and a toot though he couldn’t blow a tune
But everybody know’d he was Daniel Boone
Daniel Boone was brave and he was strong
A hunter and a scout
He slept on the ground with the trees all around
While the Injuns roamed all about
He had an old gun he called Ticker-licker
She was known as a pretty good kicker
One day he was shootin’ at a buffalo
It kicked him from Kentucky to Ohio
When he got up, he looked all around
He loaded up his gun, and he fired another round
And before ol’ Dan could count to ten
It kicked him back to Kentucky again!
Daniel Boone was brave and he was strong
A fightin’ man was he
He was quick as a flicker with old Ticker-Licker
And mighty as a tree
When the Shawnee Indians captured him
They tried to make him one of them
They yanked out his hair and scrubbed him down
And painted him up all red and brown
He was a sight, it hurt his pride
But he outfoxed that Shawnee tribe
Fifty miles he ran for early morn’
A hootin’ and a tootin’ his buffalo horn!
Daniel Boone was brave and he was strong
Was painted red and brown
He could run like a deer and showed no fear
When the Injuns came around
When he went a huntin’ down in Tennessee
There he made more history
He carved these words for all to see
“Daniel Boone killed a bear at this here tree”
That’s all there is, my story’s told
‘Bout the frontier man so brave and bold
The story you heard in this here tune
Is the true legend of Daniel Boone
Daniel Boone was brave and he was strong
A hunter and a scout
He slept on the ground with the trees all around
While the Injuns roamed all about
Koranimal, koranimal
Come out from where you are
A girl has turned up just thirteen
Her father is afar.
Dhimmitude, dhimitude
Reward for who you are
Her menses calls muhammad’s team
To rape a new kufar.
Taqiyya, taqiyya
Revert is what you are
Socialists won’t turn you in
When tied to allah’s star.
Koranimal, koranimal
Come out from where you are
A girl has turned up just thirteen
Her father is afar.
Is there a name for an author of the truthful poem? A pen name?
The Chicken sees a worm squirming
It knows for what it’s lookin’
But draw a line beyond learning
Hypnotically it’s cookin’
The Chicken sees a fox around
No enemy mistookin’
But block its eyes, sense-surround
Hypnotically it’s cookin’
Our brain is in two halves, to sell
Birth, Present and the Bookin’
Told of God, Satan and Hell
Hypnotically we’re cookin’
And then we hear about The Flood
We needed a good shookin’
Won’t come again if you be good
Hypnotically we’re cookin’
The female silenced in contempt
The male beyond foresookin’
Hope, the change without repent
Hypnotically we’re cookin’
I guess Vlad’s the author.
Did I hear the father say some of the perps are Sikhs?
Perpsquikhs?
Funny.
“Perpsquikhs?”
Given your rodential paraphilia, din’t ‘cha mean, “Squirkpeeps”?