Archive for August, 2011


August 8, 2011

Having read the articles of Charlotte Iserbyt, it struck me that my marxist indoctrination began in boot camp.  The previous twelve years seemed gloriously Christian and politically incorrect.  Our school was fine by me.  I didn’t notice anything commie about it back then.  Perhaps we were too far off the main road.

Charlotte Iserbyt worked for many years at the U.S. Department of Education.  Her job was to instill marxist ideology throughout our public school system.  She reached a point where her outrage outweighed her willingness to continue.  Then she began to expose what she knew with the passion of Elizabeth Dilling.

While reading Iserbyt’s potent discussions, I canvassed my memories spanning 20 years of government work.  Seeking to compare notes, I found ample proof of her thesis.  In both enlisted military and subsequent civil service, I was bombarded by strong-arm brainwashing.

In contrast, throughout public school I recall a strident deference to Christian precepts in our homogenous Bible Belt town.  Up through my senior year, they were still reading Bible verses to us over the school intercom.  I looked forward to this because it made me feel good inside.  And comforted me marvelous much.  It felt like the right way to start the day.

Each morning we would get a little prayer said by a different school kid along with a verse from the King James Bible.  “We’d like to congratulate the Raiders on a very fine victory last night.  Now here’s today’s Verse read by…”  We began our school days with mindful  Christian solidarity.  There were few among us who were not cultured in the fear and love of God.  Those who were not of our cloth stood out glaringly.

It was a sheltered upbringing in our little town.  Everybody knew your Daddy.  Daughters were guarded like prize platters locked in china cabinets.  Our cabinet had thicker glass than most.

It is of import to note how Daddy’s house rules were in lock-step with the ideology of Islam.  He even told me so as he read about the Muslims in those days.  He pointed out how Christianity and Islam were governed by the same Law.  I noticed his chair when he said this.  A distinct memory.

He sat in the arm chair in the corner by the reading lamp.  It’s what the psychology department labels “a flashbulb memory.”  In college lectures, they used the Kennedy assassination as a case in point.  Everybody remembers where they were and what they were doing when they got the news.  Just like 9/11 was for us.  I can tell you exactly where I was, how we got the news, who was sitting next to me, etc.  So what Daddy said had to be of great import and beyond my ken.  Because nothing about what he said at the time was sensational or traumatic to me.  I gaffed it off as another of Daddy’s acerbic, old-fashioned comments.  But it stuck like a zygote in a fertile womb.

After high school graduation I rushed off to the recruiters.  They all vied for my pen-hand, save the Marine Corps.  Any realist knows that women have as much to offer Marines as they do commandos.  So I wasn’t insulted, not fancying a life of blood & guts combat.  I just needed practical skills for future employment.

Opting for the Navy, they flew me to Orlando for basic training.  Arriving at night, we were collected at the airport by military people.  They carted us off in a school bus.

Bouncing along, the full bus was ominously quiet.  In five minutes we arrived at a military base.  There was a brief pause at the guard station and a few seconds saw us to our final destination.   Horror stuck me as a masculine woman entered the bus, barking orders.  Her artificial voice smote me like an iron gauntlet.

Stricken with fear, I jumped to my feet and followed the girl in front of me.  We were herded like heifers into a slaughter house.  Beset from all sides by angry shouting voices.  Their yells felt like electric prods.

They told us to dump the contents of our hand-bags in front of us on tables.  Nail clippers, aspirin, glass containers and anything pointy was confiscated.  Then we were ordered to strip naked and take a shower in a large brightly-lit room.  There were shower-heads lining the walls and no privacy of any kind.  There must have been 60 or more of us herded into this room.  There were not enough shower heads for everyone.  So some of us stood in the center of the room, waiting our turn for further humiliation as we got stared at.  Everything was white.  I went into shock.

I don’t think that shower was about hygiene.  It stripped us of more than our clothes.  Nudity can be used for psychological purposes.  It is sometimes used during torture. That sadistic shower laid the foundation for something.  I notice those who were weeks ahead of us in “training” had blank stares as they marched by.  Their movements were mechanical and didn’t seem human any more.

My autonomic nervous system went on skeleton crew.  Digestion shut down.  After two weeks they detected my condition and marched me off with others of my kind for medical evaluation and treatment.  They called it “culture shock” and said that it was common in military basic training.

We stood in ranks for long periods.  One morning I heard teeth hit concrete.  “Don’t lock your knees,” they barked, as the smell of blood mounted thick air.  Some got shin-splints and other injuries.  They were weeded from the ranks.  Not fit for duty.

Boot camp is a physical and mental screening process.  If your body and mind cannot take the punishment, the government doesn’t want you.  Sorry about the front teeth, kid.

It dawned on me many years later that anyone who volunteers for military service is expendable.

Yesterday I read an article by J. Bruce Campbell in Veterans Today.  I guess Bruce is old and bold enough to not give a damn.  He wrote that not since the war for American Independence has our military engaged in a justified battle.  That means somebody sacrificed centuries of American sons in wars with exo-American agendas.

Who called the shots for all these wars into which my kinsmen shouldered rifles?  Great Grandfather (Confederate Cavalry, 1st Tennessee), Grandfather (WWI Cavalry), Daddy (Korea, 187th Airborne), Brother (Vietnam, USMC).  Who spurred our men off to needless fights?  Who stood to benefit?  Was it the same joker who wrote my boot camp training manual?  The same one who wrote that a soldier who has never seen battle should be armed, pushed into the fray, and let kill or be killed do the rest?  I’m starting to hear the sound of reveille.  Can you?

So while they were wasting our boys in wars for extra-national agenda, they cultivated marxism on the home front.  During our morning drills, we were promised that if we got it right, we could sing as we marched.

It did not sink in while I was singing cadence that there was a message to the lyrics.  “Sailors, you can’t love one.  One.  Sailors you can’t love one.  You can’t love one and still have fun.  So I’m leavin’ on the midnight train…”

Then came first liberty weekend.  With a pal from my company, I got another jolt.  I found myself in a hotel room where she had gotten herself situated with some boys from our brother company.  Her casual whoredom disgusted me even less than her comfortable shamelessness.  As though this was the American norm and I was the odd one.  Peer pressure worked swimmingly on base, but I wanted no part of this shit.

The entire floor of a big hotel in the center of Orlando had been relegated to boot camp sailors and their vomitous revelings.  It had apparently been pre-arranged between the base and this venue.  Could my Navy be fostering this shit?  They kept us to the strictest code of military rigors for eight weeks, then cut us loose on the town.  Booze everywhere.  It was a f**k-fest.

In one night I was shown what Daddy wanted to protect me from.  The following summer on the beach, I learned why the Muslim veils his wife and daughters.  And why the nun wears a black habit. I can think of nothing that stings harder than the ogling stare of lust.

It is interesting to note how commissioned female officers were held to a different code of conduct during my Navy tours.  Lady officers dared not exhibit “enlisted behaviour” for fear of being blacklisted/ostracised/professionally doomed and stigmatised.  Why do you suppose that is?  “Conduct unbecoming…” they called it.

Why would our government stigmatise behaviour in officers that was encouraged and fostered in the enlisted ranks?  Could it be because whoredom destroys a woman’s dignity and self-respect?  A crest-fallen sex slave is easy to trample under foot, command, control or boss around.  Their will is gone and their spirits are broken.  Women who are used as sexual commodities are demoralized.  They become defective articles.  How could a military woman like that give orders to anyone?

The Navy’s creed is “Honor, Courage, Commitment.”  A whore can have no honour.  Sorry to break it to ya, Ms. Magazine.

Take away a woman’s dignity and you have softened her up for further abuse.  Smear her character, defile her honour, tell her there is no God and you have someone with nothing left to lose.  After that it’s just daily bread and getting dead.

I feel the flow of a malignant undercurrent.  Don’t you?  Rendering Christian women into common whores would serve marxist ends.  It also helps to make a ship-wreck of Holy Matrimony.  And thereby also the family.  When you don’t know who your Daddy is, you ain’ got a family, bruh.

At my first duty station, there was a blonde who lived next door.  She was a couple of years my senior and seemed worldly.  One night she sat me down with tears in her eyes and solemnly admonished, “Never let anyone pressure you into sex.  I have had so many men that I can’t remember their names or faces.”  Another flashbulb memory.  We were sitting in my quarters on my room mate’s bed — the one who told me that I should wear men’s cologne.

I didn’t know what she meant by men’s cologne until now.  When a woman engages in adultery, her perfume can be damning when his wife gets a whiff of it.  Not so with Aqua Velva.  To boot, one’s lesbian lovers get a kick out of it.  Yes, they were cooking with gas at the air station.

Pregnancy out of wedlock and other issues of enlisted life appear to be by-products of marxist indoctrination.  Whoredom, by my witness, is fostered in the ranks.  Perhaps today’s “lady” officer is given freer rein with her personal conduct.  Unless the commies who run our country are trying to snow somebody about what they think of the expendable “goyische shiksa.”

Naval officers are supposed to be ladies and gentlemen.  Perhaps it has more to do with our placating traditions carried over from aristocratic Royal Navy roots.  Kind of like the lip-service of most churches.  An officer at table, for example, is supposed to know which spoon to reach for first.

Whereas enlisted men are expected to eat at troughs.  Wallowing in the mire, mediocrity and blind obedience are cultivated among them by their handlers.  This appears to have a sinister agenda.  As though today’s Trotskyites are trying to program a counterpart in America — to the uniformed rabble that became a standing army after the Bolshevik Revolution.

The red army of the USSR (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) was comprised largely of an intellectually-impoverished mob that hung on every word of its leadership.  Because it had to.  They were damn-near clueless.  They don’t teach you that in honors history.

According to Iserbyt, President Reagan signed agreements with the Soviets to prepare the USA for seamless union with communist academic programs.  No wonder the Jews sing Reagan’s praises.  He sold us down the river to communism.  And now, like Wilson, Lincoln, FDR and other fine pieces of work — he’s not around to slap.

Communism seeks, thereby, to dumb down the masses.  The public lends itself more readily to their yoke as ignorant rabble.  But above all, as a Godless one.  That way they are spiritually rudderless with no moral compass.  So when it comes time to do what I recently saw in Afghanistan, brain-washed rabble just takes orders.  Shame on them for what they are doing to Afghan civilians and their animals.  They can take down the YouTube footage — but never fast enough.  I saw the whole thing, you bitches.

As I was told often during my Navy days by salty lifers, “Yours is not to question why.  Yours is but to do or die.”  Mantra of the common brute.  This is the desired mindset for our highly-expendable enlisted “troops” today.

Then it was on to Civil Service.  There I saw just how corrupt the government is.  I have never seen so many writers of policy in the driver’s seat who are loyal to a counterfeit state in the Levant.  Nay indeed.  Enter Jonathan Pollard.

Pollard ate lunch in our cafeteria and collected classified documents from my newly-wed husband.  Nobody had a clue that Pollard was a spy for Israel.  He was smooth operator.  Until he got hauled out of our building in cuffs and hubby got subpoenaed.  Next came the polygraph machines and G-men with their probing questions, “Ms. Pearson, have you ever thought about taking something from a store without paying for it?”  I realised that they needed to get a lie out of me so they could compare it to all the truth I told.

Then there was the Department of Education, ah yes.  What a hoot.  I took a promotion to an office I called Sleepy Hollow.  They did nothing there.  My boss sat in his office so stock-still that his motion censor light went out on him.  There was a pervert who looked at porn on his computer all day and sexually harassed us.

I left the frying pan for the next promotion.  Should I say what “Department of…”?  Better not.  I quit wearing skirts and dresses when I learned why my boss kept taking me to the stairwells.

Throughout my Civil Service career I took many jobs in many different Departments.  Political correctitude was pushed heavily in all of them.  Women and blacks were selected for many token positions not because they were good at what they did nor because they were smart.  But because they were female or black.  If they were both, then so much the better.

Being in a position to see how offices ran, I soon learned that it didn’t matter who held a position anyway.  Because the string-pullers were hidden.  Everything was a secret when it came to “who was responsible” for something.  Fingers were pointed at somebody else who pointed his finger at somebody else and so on.  Bureaucracy leaves a wide margin for lies and corruption.  And serves as a perfect duck-blind for the marxist.

Homosexuality was praised and promoted outside of the war department.  The military is “traditionally” supposed to frown on gay’ness like whoredom in the officer ranks.  They didn’t go to my yeoman school then.  Nice boys.  But queens to beat the band.  Big blue sea, here they come.  Lovely hair cuts.  Always sharply dressed and freshly pressed.  Could they dance?  You bet.  I cannot deny that they were fun.  Best girl-friends I ever had.  And even better study partners.  But what they do at sea plays right into the hand of the Cult of Moloch.  And that I will capitalize, Mr. bolshevik.

Charlotte Iserbyte is shooting straight about the Department of Education.  I have already investigated the school system from a consumer end.  They start the marxist brain-washing now in pre-school.

Take a lesson from history and from our experience.  Lest you find yourself the muzzled ox who treadeth out the corn.