Other Worlds: The Turner Diaries, Chapter 11. A Puke (TM) Audiobook

Chapter Eleven.

November 28, 1991. A disturbing thing happened tonight which
could have had fatal consequences for all of us. A carload of young
junkies tried to break into the building here, evidently thinking it
was deserted, and we had to dispose of all of them and their car.
This is the first time something like this has happened, but the
abandoned appearance of this place may invite more trouble of the
same sort in the future.
We were all upstairs eating when the car pulled into our parking
area and triggered our perimeter alarm. Bill and I went into the
darkened garage downstairs and uncovered a peephole, so that we
could see who was outside.
The car had cut off its lights, and one occupant had gotten out and
was trying our door. He then began pulling loose the boards which
were nailed over the glass in the door. Another youth got out and
came over to help him. We couldn't see their features in the
darkness, but we could hear them talking. They were obviously
Negroes, and they obviously intended to get into the place, one
way or another.
Bill tried to discourage them. In his best imitation-ghetto accent
he shouted through the door: "Hey, man, dis place occupied. Move
yo' ass on outa heah."
The two Blacks jumped back from the door, startled. They began
whispering to one another, and two other figures from the car
joined them. Then a dialogue began between Bill and one of the
Blacks. It went about like this:
"We didn' know anybody was here, brother. We jes' lookin' for a
place to shoot up."
"Well, now you knows. So, git!"
"Why you so hostile, brother? Let us in. We got some stuff and
some chicks. You by yo'se'f?"

"No, I ain' by myse'f, an' I don' wan' no stuff. You jes' better move on, man."
(Note to the reader: The dialect of the Negroes in
America contained many special terms relating to drug usage,
which was endemic among them up to the end. "Stuff" meant
heroin, an opium derivative which was especially popular. To
"shoot up" was to inject the heroin into a vein. Both the Negro's
drug habits and much of his dialect spread to the White population
of America during the period of government-enforced racial
mixing in the last five decades of the Old Era.)
But Bill was unsuccessful in his attempt to discourage them. The
second Black began a rhythmic pounding on the garage door,
chanting over and over, "Open up, brother, open up." Someone in
the car turned on a radio, and Negro music began blaring at a
deafening volume.
Since the last thing we could afford was to attract the attention of
the police or of someone at the trucking firm next door with a
continuation of this noisy scene, Bill and I quickly made a plan.
We armed both the girls with shotguns and posted them behind
crates to one side of the shop area. I took a pistol, slipped out the
rear door, and silently crept around the side of the building, so that
I could cover the intruders from the outside. Then Bill announced,
"Awright, awright. I open de do', man. You drive yo' car right in."
While Bill began raising the garage door, one of the Blacks went
back to the car and started the engine. Bill stood to one side and
kept his head lowered, so that when the car's lights hit him his
white skin was not conspicuous. When everyone was inside, he
began lowering the door again. The Blacks' car had not pulled in
far enough for the door to close completely, however, and the
driver ignored his command to move ahead another foot.
Then one of the Blacks on foot got a better look at Bill and
immediately raised the alarm. "Dis ain' no brother," he cried.
Bill flipped on the shop lights, and the girls came out from their
places of concealment as I slipped in under the partly closed door.

"Everyone out of the car and flat on the floor," Bill ordered,
yanking open the door on the driver's side. "Come on, bastards,
move! "They looked at the four guns trained on them, and then they
moved, although not without loud protest. Two of them, however,
were not Negroes. When they were all stretched out on the
concrete floor face down, all six of them, we saw that we had three
Black males, one Black female-and two White sluts. I shook my
head in disgust at the sight of the two White girls, neither of whom
appeared to be over 18.
It didn't take long to decide what to do. We couldn't afford the
noise of gunshots, so I took a heavy crowbar and Bill picked up a
shovel. We started at opposite ends of the crew on the floor, while
the girls kept them covered with their shotguns. We worked
quickly but precisely, one blow on the back of the head sufficing
for each of them.
Until the last two, that is. The blade of Bill's shovel glanced off
the skull of one of the Black males and struck the shoulder of the
White girl beside him, cutting into her flesh but not inflicting a
lethal wound. Before I could bring my crowbar into play to finish
her off, the little bitch was up like a shot.
I had pushed the garage door down as far as I could after coming
in, but it still had not latched properly and had meanwhile crept up
about six inches. She scooted through this narrow opening and
headed for the street, with me about 10 yards behind her.
I froze with horror as I saw an arc of light swing along the dark
pavement just in front of the running girl. A large truck was
turning into the street from the parking lot next door. If the girl
reached the street she would be illuminated by the truck's
headlights, and the driver could not fail to see her.
Without hesitation I raised my pistol and fired, instantly dropping
the girl in her tracks beside the weed-overgrown fence separating
our parking area from that of the trucking firm. It was a very lucky
shot, not only in its effect, but also in that the roar from the engine
of the accelerating truck effectively masked the report.

I crouched
in the driveway, drenched in a cold sweat, until the truck had
thundered off into the distance.
Bill and I loaded the six corpses into the back of the Blacks' car.
He drove it off, with Carol following him in our vehicle, and left
the grisly cargo parked outside a Black restaurant in downtown
Alexandria. Let the police figure it out!
The work on the new communications equipment is coming along
quite well. The girls put so many units together before supper
today-and the unfortunate events of the evening-that I couldn't
keep up with the tuning and testing, which is my part of the work.
If I had a better oscilloscope and a few other instruments, I could
do more.
November 30. In thinking over Saturday's events, what surprises
me is that I feel no remorse or regret for killing those two White
whores. Six months ago I couldn't imagine myself calmly
butchering a teen-aged White girl, no matter what she had done.
But I have become much more realistic about life recently. I
understand that the two girls were with the Blacks only because
they had been infected with the disease of liberalism by the schools
and the churches and the plastic popculture the System churns out
for young people these days. Presumably, if they had been raised
in a healthy society they would have had some racial pride.
But such considerations are irrelevant to the present phase of our
struggle. Until we have in our hands the means for bringing about
a general cure for the disease, we must deal with it by other means,
just as one must ruthlessly weed out and dispose of diseased
animals in any flock, unless one wants to lose the whole flock.
This is no time for womanly handwringing.
This lesson was brought home forcefully to all of us by what we
saw on the TV news this evening. The Human Relations Council in
Chicago organized a huge "anti-racism" rally today.

The purported
excuse for the rally was to protest the machine-gunning of a
carload of Black "deputies" Friday, in downtown Chicago in broad
daylight, presumably by the Organization. Only three Blacks were
killed in the incident, but the System seized on it in order to
squelch the seething White resentment against the Human Relations Councils and their deputized Black goon squads.
Apparently these Black "deputies" have perpetrated even more
shocking outrages against defenseless Whites in Chicago than they
have around here.
The Chicago rally, which was vigorously promoted by all the
mass media in the Chicago area, involved nearly 200,000
demonstrators in its initial stage-more than half of them Whites.
Hundreds of special buses, contributed by the city transit
authorities, brought in people from all the suburbs for the occasion.
Thousands of young Black thugs, wearing the armbands of the
Chicago Human Relations Council, strutted arrogantly through the
huge mob-"maintaining order."
The rally was addressed by all the usual political prostitutes and
pulpit prostitutes, who issued pious calls for "brotherhood" and
"equality." Then the system trotted out one of their local Toms,
who gave a rousing speech about stamping out "the evil of White
racism" once and for all. (Note to the reader: A "Tom" was a
Negro front man for the authorities or for Jewish interests. Experts
at manipulating the masses of their own race, they were paid well
for their services. Some "Toms" were even employed briefly by
the Organization during the final stages of the Revolution, when it
was desired to flush millions of Negroes out of certain urban areas
into holding camps with a minimum loss of White lives.)
After that, the skilled agitators of the Human Relations Council
worked various sections of the crowd up into a real brotherhood
frenzy. These swarthy, kinky-haired little Jewboys with
transistorized megaphones really knew their business.

They had the mob screaming with real blood lust for any "White racist" who
might be unfortunate enough to fall into their hands.
Chanting "Kill the racists" and other expressions of brotherly
love, the mob began a march through downtown Chicago.
Shoppers, workers, and businessmen on the sidewalks were
ordered by the Black "deputies" to join the march. Anyone who
refused was beaten without mercy.
Then gangs of Blacks began going into the stores and office buildings along the march route, using bullhorns to order everyone
out into the street. Usually it was only necessary to kick one or two
stubborn Whites into a senseless, bloody pulp before the rest of the
occupants of a department store or building lobby got the idea and
enthusiastically joined the demonstration.
As the crowd swelled, approaching a half-million persons toward
the end, the Blacks with the armbands became more and more
belligerent. Any White in the crowd who looked as if he wasn't
chanting loudly enough was likely to be attacked.
And there were several particularly vicious incidents which the
TV cameras gloatingly zoomed in on. Someone in the crowd
started the rumor that a book store they were approaching sold
"racist" books. Within a minute or two a group of several hundred
demonstrators-mostly young Whites this time-had split off from
the main crowd and converged on the book store. Windows were
smashed, and teams of demonstrators inside the store began
hurling armloads of books to others outside.
After an initial flurry of rage was dissipated by wildly tearing
handfuls of pages from the books and throwing them into the air, a
bonfire was started on the sidewalk for the rest of the books. Then
they dragged out a White salesclerk and began beating him. He fell
to the pavement, and the mob surged over him, stomping and
kicking. The television screen showed a closeup of the scene. The
faces of the White demonstrators were contorted with hatred -for
their own race!

Another incident in which the TV viewers were treated to closeup
coverage was the killing of a cat. A large, white alley cat was
spotted by someone in the crowd, who started the cry, "Get the
honky cat!" About a dozen demonstrators took off down an alley
after the unfortunate cat. When they reappeared a few moments
later, holding up the bloody carcass of the cat, an exultant cheer
went up from those in the crowd near enough to see what had
happened. Sheer insanity!
It is impossible to put into words how depressed we all are by the
spectacle in Chicago. That, of course, was the aim of the organizers of the rally.
They are expert psychologists, and they
thoroughly understand the use of mass terror for intimidation. They
know that millions of people who still oppose them inwardly will
now be too frightened to open their mouths.
But how could our people-how could White Americans-be so
spineless, so crawling, so eager to please their oppressors? How
can we recruit a revolutionary army from such a rabble?
Is this really the same race that walked on the moon and was
reaching for the stars 20 years ago? How low we have been
brought!
It is frighteningly clear now that there is no way to win the
struggle in which we are engaged without shedding torrents-
veritable rivers-of blood.
The carload of carrion we left in Alexandria Saturday was
mentioned briefly on the local news but not at all on the national
news. The reason for the downplay, I suspect is not that sextuple
killings have become too commonplace to be newsworthy, but that
the authorities recognized the racial significance of the thing and
decided not to encourage imitation.