What It Means To Be White…

When I promised to write something on the subject of being White in my earlier post (Let’s All Mate With The Negroes! II), I was thinking about the usual history of the White race — all the stuff that people hate having to learn about in High School. That’s right. Most of the history of Western Civilization is really and truly some serious White stuff. That pisses off some people. Not that I really care.

And sure, I could try to wax eloquently on Pericles, Michelangelo, Leeuwenhoek and Galileo. Or go on about Sir Isaac Newton’s giant leaps in understanding gravity, the physics break-throughs in Quantum Mechanics by Werner Heisenberg or the prodigious inventions of Thomas Edison, to name but a few.

Now, I do know that the World had many great non-White civilizations; we were not the only ones. China, Japan and ancient Egypt, come to mind. Or the great Mesoamerica, Amerindian civilizations like the Aztec, Toltec and Maya. The things non-Whites gave us: Gunpowder (China), Corn (Amerindians — it’s actually an amazing feat of agricultural genetics), the math concept of “zero” (Semite Arabs), the Pyramids (Semite Egyptians), early writing (Cuneiform — Babylonian Persians).

But what I really wanted to talk about was MY White stuff, what I like and where I’m coming from. After-all, this is my blog and I’ll talk about whatever the hell I want. I like talking about my White old self – most people do. Plus, the following seriously White stuff are my kind of subjects. What I get off on. “These are a few of my favorite things, la di da dah.” If you don’t like it, well, just click on your favorites and leave! Sayonara. Maybe some other time I’ll do a high school history lesson that might interest you. Read on.

 It’s a White Thing — you wouldn’t understand!

Believe it or not: I am not sitting here wearing some Bavarian Lederhosen outfit, feathered green felt hat and socks to my knees — laugh out loud. I’ve just got on a faded red Ron-Jon Surf Shop T-shirt (with the art on the backside like it used to be and still should), some old jeans, tan Richard Petty Racing baseball cap and cheap Rose’s department store green flip-flops — from back when there was a Rose’s. I haven’t shaved, either. Yeah, I’m a bum today, alright.

What the hell. Here’s a few things about this proud and surly mess of a once perfectly good White guy; just so you know where I’m coming from and for me to gab about:

One branch of my heritage was traced as far back as the Jamestown settlers. Although it’s pretty murky, it appears that one of my distant ancestors married some widow woman in 1650, whose parents evidently had come over around 1610. They were Quaker and in case you don’t know, the Quakers didn’t keep slaves. Of course, some people think if you’re White, you’re guilty of slave owning and being generally evil. Total BS!

Another of my North Carolina ancestors (I’m a Virginian, but also a North Carolinian in a way) marched under General Lee’s confederate army during the 1862 Peninsula campaign and was mortally wounded during a valiant, almost suicidal charge, against a heavily defended Yankee position at Mechanicsville. He died in a Richmond hospital some two week later. Southern White men fought against great odds and came close to winning their Independence — it took White Yankees four long years before finally getting the South to surrender. Remember that 600,000 died — virtually all White men — this fact alone deserves us freedom from all the constant racism BS we have to listen to 24/7, these days.

These were brave and tough White men, Yankee or Rebel. They believed in something, rightly or wrongly and were willing to put their lives on the line for it. For people to ascribe evil to these once living men, simply to show a Politically Correct viewpoint, reveals how woefully ignorant they are about real history, as well as being shamefully arrogant. And it was 143 years ago for chrissakes!

I know I would be equally proud to have a Yankee in my ancestry. Well, almost as much. No offense, my White Yankee readers.

And still another part of my lineage comes from the mountains of Virginia’s Blue Ridge. That’s right: I’m what some people might call a “Hillbilly.” But what a lot of these morons don’t get is that those “Hillbillies” where some of the most adaptable and creative folks in human history. Ever. Those mountain people never had any Walmarts or a Home Depots to go to — if they couldn’t make it with their own two hands, well, they probably didn’t need it anyways.

If you ever get a chance, check out a series of books called Foxfire, where a school in the Appalachian mountains of Northeastern Georgia recorded, as an on-going project, all the backwoods skills these mountain people had before they died and took their knowledge away with them. It’s absolutely amazing information.

These people were so incredible that they made their own rifles from scratch. I’m not talking about ordering parts and whittling out a rough wood stock, now (I built one from a kit once). These guys would take any scrap piece of metal, heat it to bright orange and bang out a part. They even forged steel barrels that had to be perfectly straight (natch) and then drilled out the barrel to the caliber they wanted. Afterwards, they scored a special spiral down through the barrel to give the bullet a spin, thereby increasing accuracy and giving it the name “rifle.”

And they didn’t have any fancy store-bought machinery to help them do all this. They built all that from scratch, too. Some of these guys were so good that they actually made the tiny screws and springs that made up the firing mechanism (the lock in Flintlock). Sure, a lot of them had this part shipped in from jolly old England, but some really made the entire thing: Lock, Stock and Barrel. These rifles command incredible prices today. One of the last, great old-timey long rifle builders, Hacker Martin (right), happened to live in the same backwoods my Grandpappy hailed from.

They also made their own gunpowder and bullets. First, they would find a cave with a lot of bats in it (no lie) and dig up the earth beneath where the bats slept during the day. This dirt would be washed in crude wooden “V” shaped troughs and the resulting mixture would be left to completely evaporate in the sun. This would yield saltpeter, or nitrate crystals, which the bats (or you, for that matter) exude in urine. This was 75% of the mix, the 15% charcoal would be made from certain hardwoods and the 10% sulphur was distilled from local mineral deposits.

The lead would be mined, melted down and cast in bullet molds. Some localities built what they call “shot towers.” These were high structures, filled with water and at the top, molten lead was poured over a specially sized steel grates to drip down into the water. As the lead droplets sank downwards in the column of water, they would form perfectly round bullets just the right size.

Besides making their own rifles, these folks hunted game or raised domestic animals for meat, grew their own vegetables, spun cotton and made clothing from it (homespun), distilled their own liquor (moonshine will kick your butt) and danced to music they brought over from the old world or wrote original tunes to play on homemade instruments. American Fiddle Music, or Bluegrass music as it’s known today, is some of the most creative music ever written in America or even the World. I love it.

Hillbillies rule!

Yep, those so-called “hillbillies” were something else. Tough SOB’s, man or woman. Nowadays, people act like they are so high and mighty when they call you hillbilly. Little do they know. Even “rednecks” look down on hillbillies, if you can believe it.

People now think it’s so OK to say they’re better than mountain “White Trash,” no matter where you’re from and who you are. Hollywood makes TV shows like the “Beverly Hillbillies,” constantly belittling mountain folk as dumb and in-bred. Notice that all the scary monsters are now White Genetic mutants from the backwoods of West Virginia or from… hell, anywhere really. That’s because they think it’s fair game to do so and sometimes need non-alien monsters for plotlines. But don’t let that fool you. They love to insult White people whenever they can get away with it.

And these mountain folk exhibited some of the greatest traits of White people anywhere and anytime!

White liberal softies from all over the country will make snide jokes about the so-called rampant incest among these people, saying it was and still is common up in “them thar hills,” when nothing could be further from the truth. They’ll laugh over their lame little jokes as they go down some store aisle looking for a special kind of pillow to sleep on, an ointment for a sexually transmitted rash or a laxative to ease their daily urban stress.

These same kind of people will have conniption fits if they run out of the stupidest little thing and somehow can’t get to an open store. Walking more than 50 yards is out of the question for a lot of people anymore. I once saw a perfectly healthy White man walk out of his house, get into his car and back out of the driveway to drive 50 yards to a ridiculously close 7-11 to get his morning joe.

Have you ever seen an ice storm or hurricane bear down on a populated area? People act like it’s the end of the world or something. Hell, these people can’t even walk from the store to their cars in the parking lot during a drizzling shower, without getting all bollixed up about a little water on their fancy hairdos. I’ll walk through the rain at a normal pace, with my head held high and a smile on my face. ‘Course, my yuppie friends all think I’m crazy, as they scurry frantically to get to their cars, but I could friggin’ care less.

No, I’m not trying to say I’m some tough guy or something. But I’m proud as hell to be a White man and what I can do on my own. As the Hank Williams Jr. song “Country Boy Can Survive” goes:

We’re from North California and south Alabam
And little towns all around this land
And we can skin a buck; we can run a trot-line
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive

And I pride myself on my abilities to ride a horse, start a fire in a rainstorm, rig-up a fast pine shelter and gut-out the deer that I just shot from a tree stand. I’ve hauled 100 plus pounds of bloody dead deer on my shoulders while humping a half mile over rough mountainous terrain. I can zero a rifle scope dead-on, to put 3 bullets within a silver dollar-sized spot at 200 yards.

Living in the wild is not easy I know, but can be done. I think everybody, I mean everybody, should spend at least one damn night of their lives sleeping out on the bare ground without a tent. I don’t care if that person is the Queen of England, they should do it at least once! You’ll have a much better appreciation of the modern bathroom afterwards. And it’s not all that bad. How do you think people used to live back in the day — the real day. A person just does what he has to.

A few other things about me you don’t know:

OK, so I’m not perfect: I love cigarettes, coffee and cold beer. I know I shouldn’t. But I don’t drink too much (usually), mostly a couple of beers after working outdoors in the sun real hard. I also like fine wines, too, but am no snob about it. I don’t smoke too much (unless I drink), but it’s so damned hard to quit. I avoid hard liquor and gambling – since I know both are dangerous habits. I strongly suspect I could have a serious gambling weakness (I’ve had way too much fun in Casinos for it to be natural). I don’t do drugs of any sort, rarely even take aspirin, but have smoked a little weed in the distant past. Uh-oh, the coppers are at the door now!

Camping, hunting and fishing are the things I like best. I might be terrible at Turkey hunting (since I lack patience), but make up for it by being a good wing shot on upland game, like Dove and Ducks. I’m a fair to half-way decent Fly fisherman and usually fish for trout. I have a special love for deep woods, mountain Brook Trout — these creatures are so incredibly beautiful and live in places equally magical to behold. I don’t know if it’s the fishing or the scenery that I love more.

I remember this one particular pool I managed to get into. It was in this deep gorge, miles from the road, where my buddy and I had to carefully side-step down this steep 60% grade while holding on to saplings to keep from tumbling head over waders. The pool was small, having a long, diagonal waterfall about 4 foot high at the top end and, for some reason, the bottom of the pool was covered in a light-colored gravel. A small juniper bush had eeked out a life on a tiny island in the middle. After admiring the scenery, I flicked my gaudily colored fly over to the base of the falls and let it drift back. Wammo! A tiny Brookie smashed into it. I held him in my hands gently for a moment looking at his iridescent red splotches, circled in bright blue, before releasing him back into the wild.

I still think about that one beautiful little pool often to this very day (amid hundreds over the years). Sometimes I think I remember every dam fish I ever caught. Or lost. I’ll go back to that pool someday and catch one of his descendants.

Another thing about me is that I’m a much better Fly Tyer than Fly fisherman. Oh well. Fly Tying, as a hobby, is hard to explain. It’s both creative and strangely fulfilling — I guess it satisfies some old vestigial itch of fashioning an object to get food with.

One thing about Fly Fishing that corresponds to White people is all the stupid little gear for this and that, you have to have. White people love gadgets to do things with. Anything and everything. They are always tinkering to make things easier. That’s why White people make such good inventers and explains why people’s fly vests, kitchens and garages are such a mess. It’s so bad we have to hold yard sales every so often to keep it all in check.

White guys, like me (maybe girls, too, I guess), love to “putz” around the garage or yard fixing things up just so. And I love the damdest things. Today, I put in a bed of nice river gravel on a walk-way behind some bushes (that nobody will probably see) and installed a new wooden handle on a sledge hammer. I enjoyed every minute of it.

I can also appreciate good old dirt. That’s right – I can spot a fine top-soil a mile away and when I get some, I carefully pile it separately away from the poorer clay soil that I use just for fill. Don’t get me started on the composting subject. So call me White and weird — what difference does it make? Some of you might hate me anyways!

OK, enough insignificant details about Joe Dirt here. Thanks for reading along as I talked about mostly things that this ol’ White guy digs. If you’re Black or a Jew: It’s a White thing — you wouldn’t understand!

A Message From The Sponsor… Me

If you’re a White person, let me ask you something: Don’t you feel proud to be White? Just think about what all White people have done over the eons. And, if you do, then are you willing to say so out loud, for instance when you party with other Whites or even in front of your own family members? Let’s all start with at least them.

No, I’m not saying that you have to brag outrageously about it, just be willing to express pride in White accomplishments and stand up for the White race, without having to goose-step around the place. I think everyone can do so without being a jerk about it. And it’s well within our rights to do so. Think of all the White men who died for this country fighting in foreign wars for America. Even today, need I remind you?

Hell, the other races do so freely when you think about it. And the media helps them every step of the way! Note the way they show some cat on TV who did this or that, even though it’s really being Black that’s the prime reason for the news report. When you see this happen on TV, ask yourself whether they would be doing the exact same thing for some White bloke who did such and such. That one question will let you see the real deal.

They’re trying to build-up the self-esteem and pride of Blacks, but it’s only making them more spoiled and militant. Black crime is every bit as prevalent and violent as it was fifty years ago and appears only getting worse. The Jew’s and liberal’s social engineering is actually having the opposite effect and puts all of us Whites in danger, both in the short-term personal and as a race long-term.

You think for one minute that when they go on and on about someone — who just happens to be Black — that the person’s race is not really a factor? Of course it is. Now, why do you feel like it’s against some kind of law (yet) that says you can’t do the same? That’s the deal right there. They don’t want you to feel pride in being White. That scares them to death! In fact, whenever you do express pride, people will be shocked with your behavior. Amazing isn’t it?

What really kills me is that White people have so many incredible reasons to sit tall in the saddle. The other races know this too; so that if you happen to express White pride in the least little way, they’ll constantly remind you about the times when we may not have been so nice, sweet and perfect. But the thing is: They’ve done the exact same kinds of things; maybe not as well-known to the general public, maybe not as gruesomely efficient, but they have. And recently too.

Think about this one thing: If we were so evil a race as they say we are, then why the hell are they not all dead by now?

Yep, we’ve been putting up with a lot of pure bull in the last few decades. We may have a slow fuse and are a little confused right now, but when the chips are obviously down and times are tough, Whites put their noses to the grind stone, figuring out ways of dealing with it and ending it in whatever fashion called for.

I love being White, an American and a big-mouthed SOB. I’m proud of it. If you have a problem about it, well, just be patient — maybe we’ll meet up, soon enough, and I can explain it to you in more detail — up close and personal. Nah, I’m just teasing you a little. Don’t worry, I’m really a big pussy cat. Meow.

Anyways, be damned proud to be a White person. There’s no other race that has such a rich history, astounding technological accomplishments and vibrant culture that we do. Really. I know that sounds just so “Supremacist,” but I could care less. It’s a real fact of the World, regardless of what some people want you to think. Those are the people who are either jealous, fearful of us getting together or, if they’re White themselves, totally braindead idiots. Yeah, you know who you are.

Thanks for listening to me talk about me. Me being White. Oh yeah, I clean up nicely when I want or have to. Usually the latter.

– Phillip Marlowe