Sisson’s Stump: So I’m an EXTREMIST Now, Eh?

15 06 2009
Stump

By Stump Sisson

“Klan don’t show up for a few years and people say the Klan is dead.  Fact is, it just looks dead.  The Klan has always been right there under the surface just waiting for the opportunity to deliver God’s justice.”

-Me, A Time to Kill (1996)

Hello, my name is Stump Sisson, and I am the Grand Dragon of the Greater Mississippi state chapter of the Ku Klux Klan.  I’ll start this off by saying that the rumors of my death that have sprung up since I was attacked with a molotov cocktail a few years ago are completely untrue.  Well, mostly untrue.  It’s true that my heart stopped, that I was covered in burns from head to toe, and that I’m not entirely sure how I woke up completely intact in my coffin a decade later, or how I mustered the strength to claw out of my grave.  Point is, Stump don’t show up for a few years and people say Stump is dead.  Fact is, he just looks dead.  Stump has always been right there under the surface just waiting for the opportunity to deliver God’s justice.

I am a voice for the beleaguered white man in America, the most endangered minority the world has seen since the white Protestant Christian man lost his battle to the Papists in the 1950s.  It also bears mentioning that, per the agreement I signed with this site’s administrator, I can’t use any racial slurs to describe the filth that’s ruining this damn country for the whites.  It may sound at times like I’m describing the cleaning of a dirty sink, but I assure you that I’m actually talking about cleaning all the non-whites out of this country.  Unless I do talk about cleaning a sink, that is, but I’ll be sure to clarify if I think there’s any kind of confusion.

Well, I suppose I’ll get to talking about the subject at hand, and that’s the recent labelling of good, God-fearing white Americans as “extremists” by the Thief-in-Chief and his administration.  I won’t go into my beliefs about this monster’s legitimacy as President of the United States, but I could rant for hours about that one.  Instead, I’ll say this: since when does owning a gun and making plans to exact moral vengeance on a country full of foul-blooded usurpers make someone an extremist?

Take the Klan, for example.  Within a mere century, the Klan has gone from the greatest political power in the country to a genteel, race-specific social club for the politically active Southern rural caucasian-American.  Now, I’m not happy that we’ve lost that political sway, but there’s something to be said about being the power behind the throne.  Somehow, though, our loss of clout has led to a bit of nasty name-calling on the part of the liberal race traitors who disagree with some of our basic tenets.  They call us racists, Nazis (not true), rednecks (mostly untrue), backwards, meanies, and most insulting of all, extremists.

Is it extreme to think that this country, and the rest of the world, should be rebuilt and reorganized based on the racial purity of certain people via an earth-scorching global race war?  Is it extreme to think that there is nothing more important than the color of a person’s skin, barring albinism and other hexes?  Is it extreme to advocate the murder of those who disagree with us, and whoever else is in the blast radius?  Is it extreme to actively seek out the least-sane members of society to join our concerned, well-armed social club?  If dreaming of naught but rage-filled, blood-soaked orgies of racially-motivated mayhem on those few nights when the white-hot anger in my soul is dulled enough by grain spirits for me to catch a few hours of sleep makes me an extremist in this country, I can’t say that I’m entirely sure it’s the country I think it is.

The Klan: like the Shriners, only with burning crosses instead of little cars.

The Klan: like the Shriners, only with burning crosses instead of little cars.

People look at the fellow who gunned down the abortion doctor and the other guy who shot up the Holocaust Museum and say, “That’s not right; they were extremists”  But when you think about it, those were just like any other crime, motivated by any other reason.  It’s like when a member of an inferior race shoots up a gas station because his animal brain doesn’t know what’s going on, or when another member of another inferior race drives drunk and kills a family in a wreck.  These things happen.  What’s really “not right” is that there’s an entire museum dedicated to the greatest hoax the world has ever known, or that women can just go have sex willy-nilly and not expect to be punished by the Good Lord with a baby!

Finally, people always talk about Timothy McVeigh.  Yes, I think he was right to do what he did.  And yes, he blew up a building full of innocent civilians because of his moderate-to-intense feelings of discomfort with the direction the country was heading.  But what about the Muslim and 9/11?  That was way worse.  Well, I hear it was.  I was taking what I call my “dirt nap” when that happened, so I didn’t catch it.

So, my fellow Americans, this is the bottom line: don’t be afraid of ol’ Stump Sisson and the Ku Klux Klan.  We may be armed to the teeth with weapons that aren’t even legal in Turkey, where the government is about as effective as alcohol prohibition in backwoods Alabama, but we mean you no harm.  Unless you’re not white, not Protestant, not conservative, or you voted for that God damned Obama.  So I guess the chances are pretty good that we do actually mean you harm.

But it’s not because we’re extremists.





Kreese’s Korner: R.I.P. David Carradine

8 06 2009

John KreeseI never thought I was the kind of guy who sat around thinking about shit.  I always figured that sort of thing was something pussies did instead of kicking ass, or as a direct result of getting their ass kicked.  But here I am, sitting in my crib, constipating my mortality.

It all started a few days ago.  I was channel surfing for some UFC when I saw one of those yapping-head channels showing David Carradine’s picture.  Those channels usually makes my head hurt like an untreated case of syphilis, but that dude’s old show Kung Fu was a big influence on me, so I had to see what was going on.  After about five minutes of hearing the pencil necks flapping their gums, I finally figured out what happened: David Carradine was dead.

Like I said, his show made a big impact on me.  I still remember hearing about it for the first time: a white dude who does karate and shit!  I was so excited, I talked about it for weeks before the first episode.  It was like they were making a show about the young Kreesinator!

Then I saw it.  I don’t think I’ve ever been that pissed off, except at the ‘84 All Valleys, but that’s a story for another day.  Instead of being about a guy who goes around kicking the shit out of random pussies because he can, it was some historical bullshit about some hippie bitch boy who wants to find his boyfriend in the Old West.  At the Cobra Kai dojo, I teach only PROactive karate.  It’s the only real karate.  Garbage like Kung Fu is all about REactive karate, which is only good for one thing: getting the piss stomped out of you by a proactive karate master.  It’s a good thing I never crossed paths with David Carradine, because I would have gone ape shit on him.  He helped sully the name of good martial arts (which was founded back in the day by some rowdy, shit-kicking Chinese dudes who smoked opium and rode dragons and shit) by turning it into fucking pussy boy figure skating.

Anyway, I was totally stoked about David Carradine dying.  FINALLY, right?  Then the bombshell dropped: he didn’t kill himself like they originally thought.  No, he died doing one of my signature sex moves, the Kreese Double Choke!

For those of you reading this who aren’t up on my sex life, I have several signature moves.  With the bitches, I’m like a pissed-off badger in leather bag full of nails and badger drugs and badger Viagra and badger Jell-O shots.  I guess those would just be smaller Jell-O shots.  Whatever.  I’m a fucking madman, both literally and fidgetably.  I devised the Kreese Double Choke one night when a bitch I was cock-slaying started choking me after I called her vag saggy or something.  See, in the few seconds before I passed out, I dumped a huge slurpy, the biggest I’d ever managed, all over my waterbed.  After experimenting a few more times, I figured out that declining your head of air before you make a #3 is like taking some kind of crazy jizz drug.  I didn’t even think about trying it without another person present, but that brings me back to what I was talking about earlier.

Ever since then, I can’t stop thinking about stuff like, was David Carradine cooler than I gave him credit for?  Was he smarter than me for figuring out that the Kreese Double Choke could be done lone wolf-style?  What would you call that variation?  The Kreese Single Double Choke?  That doesn’t make any sense.  Should I try it, or is it like opening Panera’s Box, where you regret something because you did it or whatever?  Would that be the best way EVER to go out or what?  Does thinking about making a dick slick in my boxer briefs before I croak make me suicidal?  Should I risk such a dangerous move when it could kill me?  What’s the point of living if your entire existence is spent avoiding peril, when peril is a primary component of adversity, and overcoming adversity is the only true way to achieve greatness?

Ugh, I’ve got a fucking headache.  I need to go spank the phlegm out of baby Kreese’s lungs and go get drunk.