Area Neo-Nazis Accuse "Liberal Jew Media" Of Discrimination

BRADFORD, PA- Reports are coming in that resident Carl Strugler, a local neo-Nazi, feels his way of life has been under attack from what he describes as a “Zionist Liberal Jew media conspiracy.” Strugler, 43, has lived his entire life in Bradford, which as of the 2015 census, has a 97.4% white population. “I don’t know what it is, but this place just seems wholesome and quaint,” said Strugler about his hometown, which currently has a 14% unemployment rate. “People seem to have their priorities in line around here.” Lately though there has been trouble in paradise, as Strugler feels  he has been disrespected by the way the “Jew [sic]” media portrays people like him of Nazi heritage. “It wasn’t my fault I was born white,” he remarks while using a Hitler Youth knife to pick his teeth. “Or that I wielded my whiteness as a symbol of superiority and victimization.” It’s not just him either. Every week, Carl dresses up and meets with a similarly minded group of friends and together they share personal stories, discuss politics, and contemplate the expulsion of all non-Whites from the United States. “It’s a real relief to have a place where we whites can feel welcome,” comments Tyler Hocksen from the inside of a WW2 gas mask. “We’re simple people, with simple, regressive views.” As they go around the room, they each discuss the feelings of fear they’ve had in the recent political climate. “It’s like ever since Trump got elected, it feels like I’ve had a target on the back of my head,” confesses Hocksen. Indeed, there might be one there, hiding behind the flame engulfed swastika tattoo. But Hocksen, Strugler, and their clan hope that one day they’ll be treated fairly, and equally. “All we want is for everyone to be treated the same,” he muses as he dumps gasoline on a cross, later adding “Because we’ll all be the same.”



Ok. Here are my thoughts that nobody asked for.



The shooting in Orlando was another installment in a long saga for the United States. One of fear, anger, hatred, and violence. And one that sadly seems to have no end in a foreseeable, or, due to rhetoric from both sides of the aisle, even a hypothetical future.


We have come to accept this as a society. We are used to these outbursts. We call these tragedies “unthinkable,” even though we don't have even have to imagine them. They've become part of our near daily lives. They only register on our radar when they're so large, when the crime appears so egregious, that it warrants additional attention. And too often, after these events transpire, we go back to our normal lives. The very day of the Orlando shootings, people went back to normal, tweeting about Game of Thrones and the Tonys. Not because they do not care, or because a tragedy of this magnitude has a shelf life,  but because we have all accepted this as normal, and we have all collectively agreed that in order to feel safe, to feel happy, to not constantly scream and relinquish hope for functionality, we resume in acting “normal.” We continue to enjoy the things we enjoy, to ignore the cancer that lurks beneath skin of our culture. We treat the symptom, and ignore the disease.


To my friends and loved ones in the LGBTQ community: I love you, and I will do my best to support you. If there's any way I can help, if you need someone to talk to, let me know. I will try to refrain from the choruses of “I am human” and “This was an attack on America” because I believe that minimizes what actually happened here. When the shooter entered Pulse, he did so not with the intent to kill Americans, but to kill members of the LGBTQ community. Were there cis/hetero people killed/injured? I'm sure there were. But I doubt he asked. This was not an attack on all people. This was a conscious attack on a specific group of people.


To those who believe this to be the fault of religion. Stop. That is, once again, a minimizing statement. There is no doubting that the world has seen a rise in the incidence of (or at least reporting of) Islamic extremism and terrorism. But to write this off as the flaws of religion is both arrogant and myopic. The conditions in which these extremists incubate are complex, and individuals like this are not born in a vacuum. To say it is merely their religion is to ignore nationalism, economics, global politics, and just sheer bigotry/hate/prejudice. Blaming a centuries old religion for the acts of an individual is a way of washing one’s of the social climate that creates the individual. A social climate which we, as a country, are part and parcel to. Sure, the shooter’s anti-LGBTQ  motives MAY have been religiously motivated, but so were the baker’s boycotts of a few years ago, and most likely a large amount of the anti-Trans bathroom legislation. Christianity is a religion bathed in just as much if not more blood than Islam. The privilege of labeling the shooter’s motives as religiously motivated is a luxury exercised by those who have never had to apologize on behalf of their identity.


Finally, there are the gun people. I have many friends who are pro gun, some of which may read this. Let me say, my thoughts here are not to say that I love you any less, that I wish to cease our friendship, or that I think you're an inherently immoral person. In times like these, I would hope not to push away those who differ from me, but rather embrace them, so that I might better understand the complexity of these times.


But I must say this. Your politics scare me. They scare a lot of people.


I can understand why you may be defensive. If there is one group that has to apologize or rationalize as much Muslims in the wake of events such as this, it's responsible gun owners.


I see many gun owners and supporters of 2A post online. They will often defend their stance with much research. Their arguments will be often be coherent, fact based, and usually civil. And I admit, as not a gun person, I am often under informed about gun regulations, what constitutes an assault rifle, licensing, etc. I am underinformed because I do not identify as one of those people. This is a blind spot caused by a bias that I have, and I freely admit it. If you have information, I am hungry for it. I will gladly do my best to try to understand the facts, and be sympathetic to your emotions.


But something I do find a bit revolting is that whenever an event such as this happens, and in emotionally reactive periods people rail against guns, when pro-gun advocates complain about their rights.


I understand, the 2A is a constitutionally guaranteed right. It's a talking point that is reiterated so often, it has become (forgive the pun) bulletproof.


However, in light of this recent tragedy, and many before it, it seems insensitive.


Many of the people in that Pulse that night would not have been able to get married a few years ago. That is a right they were not entitled to. Some of them surely still find themselves denied services from businesses, or health care benefits from employers. I found out today that the victims of the LGBTQ victims of the shooting can, in the state of Florida, be fired by their employer for identifying as LGBTQ. And that night, many of them were simply trying to engage in their God-or-whomever given right to dance, drink, and congregate with friends.


Until a man exercised his right to buy two guns, and murdered 50 people.


It isn't that the common person wants to strip a gun owner of their rights. It's that the rights of gun owners seem both pragmatically and morally incompatible with the rights of those who simply want to live, free of fear.


Yes, the constitution guarantees the rights of most people (see ex cons and such) to own a gun. But the conversation has simply stopped. Whenever any common sense gun law reform is proposed or discussed, rallying cries of 2A rights silence them, and prevent constructive discourse. Last year, a law could have been passed that would have stopped this man from buying the two guns he used to kill 50 people. It did not pass. Would he still have been able to obtain a gun? Of course. But you know what, it probably would have been harder. See, most people don't know where to get guns illegally. And the only reason illegal guns even exist is because they're initially manufactured legally. More guns made always equals more guns owned, whether legally or illegally.


To hide behind the constitution is to ignore one of the core principles of that documents; that it is amendable. Yes, we have a constitutionally guaranteed right to own guns. But to understand, we must also admit that it was a provision from an infant nation, a nation without a decent organized military or police force. And if we kept the constitution as originally written, we'd also still have slaves, and women wouldn't be allowed to vote. We have allowed to the constitution to change with the times. And when it comes to guns, these are certainly different times.


A common defense I hear, often from but not limited to pro gun people, is that guns don't kill people, people kill people. Which is true. People kill people. With guns. People with guns kill people, who sometimes have guns and sometimes don't have guns. Not all people who kill have guns. Not all people with guns kill people. But all people who have used a gun to kill someone, have had a gun. That might seem like a petty,  juvenile argument. But the only common factor between all shooting is guns.


And people know guns kill. That's why people buy guns. If a gun wasn't good at killing, people wouldn't buy it. That's the gun’s main selling point.


Another defense I hear often is that there are other complicating factors when it comes to shootings. Mental illness, crime, hate, prejudice, etc. People will say that criminals will always find ways to commit crimes. They'll say we need to reform mental health care to properly address issues that would make someone want to do this. In a rush to defend, some will even say that the very thought or desire to kill is in and of itself a sign of mental illness (to which I would say, the act of purchasing a gun would then also be a symptom) The lists and arguments go on.


But we will never be able to end crime. We will never be able to end mental illness. We will never be able to truly put an end to prejudice or hate.


But we can stop making and buying guns. And as long as we ignore that, we ensure that people who are predisposed to violence, be it because of crime, mental illness, prejudice, or whatever, we ensure that those individuals are that much closer to owning a device designed solely for violence. They may have the ideology, but we, culturally, provide the tools.




It's hard to think that so many years after Columbine, this is still a recurring problem. One would think that high school students would be enough to enact change. Or college students. Or people at a bible study. Or kindergarteners. Hell, we've had presidents shot, and nothing changes.


We've surrendered to our barbarism. Regardless of politics, or what your stance on guns is, we have resigned to the notion that violence is inevitable. That our world is filled with an unstoppable evil. An evil that will find a way, regardless of whatever obstacles we throw in its path. We have lost to ourselves.


This rant has been the product of much lost sleep and endless reflection. Reflection on the number of times I thought a tragedy of similar magnitude would FINALLY be enough to inspire change. And the revelation that that hope is a fallacy.


If you are still reading this, I'm sorry. Sorry it's been such a long rant, sorry it's not exactly the most informed, sorry that it offers no solution, nor even a particularly positive outlook.


Most of all, I'm sorry to those who have ever been the victim of such a tragedy, for it truly has no purpose in this world.


I would say my thoughts and prayers to those affected, but it's not enough.


We need to think differently. We need to stop thinking we need violence to protect us from more violence.


We need to pray differently. We need to stop praying to Gods that treat certain individuals as sub human. We need to stop dividing ourselves based on who we pray to. We need to stop praying as an excuse for action.


Most of all we need to act differently. We need to ACT like this is inexcusable, and not simply another spike in our google searches for “shooting.” We need to ACT as if we are aware that we enable violence, both in general and specifically to disenfranchised groups. We need to ACT as if we are not powerless.


We need to act in love, not in preparation of hate.

OBAMA TO USA: 'We Will Do Anything To Prove We're Not Afraid'

WASHINGTON-  In the wake of the recent terrorist attacks, the president addressed the nation from an underground bunker, and assured a frightened public “We will do whatever it takes to not let these extremists win.” The

President laid out his plan, which began with numerous new security measures. “If it means  longer TSA checks, closing borders, or increased monitoring of phone conversations, America is up to the task,”reassured the President. “There is no sacrifice too great for our continued freedom.”

Shifting to foreign policy, the President hinted at overseas militaristic actions “Whoever carried out these heinous acts will pay,” the president stated bluntly, “No matter what the cost.” He continued by assuring the population that whether overseas actions took one year, 10 years, or 1,000 years, the USA would not back down until every perpetrator was eliminated. “We’re fighting a war against an elusive and undefinable enemy,” the President added, “and our results will also be elusive and undefinable.”

The President cited the success of the past two wars as grounds for continued overseas action.

“We refuse to live in fear,” concluded the President, before turning off the lights of the White House, and hiding it under a blanket.




Toon Town Confidential

The film "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" was actually based on a novel., written by acclaimed crime author James Ellroy, who has also penned LA Confidential, The Black Dahlia, and American Tabloid. Below is an excerpt from the original version of the book, before it was adapted for a children's movie. 


Chapter 2


10:48 PM. Dark. Late. Couldn’t sleep. Nerves shot to shit. Bad dreams. Visions of red eyes, a piano, my brother in a pool of blood. That was the last time I was in Toon Town. Until tonight.


I was at Porky’s Diner, scarfing late dinner of Franks and Beans. Porky came in. “Youbida youbda youbida There’s a call for you Mr. Vailiant.” Grabbed the phone. Lt. Jack Santino on the line, slipped me the skinny. 187 on South Arden, Mickey Park.


My voice into the receiver. “Forget it Jack. It’s Toon Town.”


Santino, apologetic, pleading. “Look Valiant, I know you don’t come around here anymore. We all loved Teddy but-”


Cut him off quick. “Don’t say his name.”

Silence. Dead air.


“Like I said,” Santino resuming. “We were all shocked by it.” Silence. Tick tick tick. Seconds, a minute.


My move. “What’s this about Santino?”


“This 187 Eddie. It’s pretty burtal.”


“So call Sid Reigle. He loves Gore jobs.”


“No. It has to be YOU. I think you’ll want to see this. You might take a...special interest.”


Clicks. Things making sense.


“You think this has something to do with Teddy?” I said.


“I thought you said we couldn’t say his name.”


“I said YOU couldn’t”




11:03 PM. Toon Town. An out of place Tudor mansion. Black and White cruisers out front. About 30 bluesuits crowded around. A group of Toon mice were playing dice in the gutter. As I pulled up, they grabbed the money and scurried.


Pop the glove box. Wild Turkey. Half pint. 2 shots quick. Warm tingles. Ready now to look.


I badged my way in. No one stopped me. A crowd was forming. Blue suits creating a barricade, keeping out peepers, pushers, pimps, prowlers, panty sniffers, goons, loons and fumin’ toons. Big wide eyes, jaws LITERALLY on the floor, trying to scope what’s hot.


Walk to the courtyard. The smell hit me first. Blood stench. Round the corner. Then I saw it.


Blood. Bone. Flesh. All a twisted mess. The shattered remains of a piano strewn about.


Dizzy. Flashbacks. 1942. My leg pinned under a baby grand. Teddy’s head split in half. Him, looking at me.


Now. Again. Toon perp written all over this mess. Same brand of baby grand. Crossed wires.


“See why I called you?” Santino stepping over black keys.


“See why I hate this fucking place?” I replied. “What do we got?”


Santino, cold and hard. “Piano dropped from about 80 feet. It was being held up by a big roper. We figured the victim walked onto this giant bull’s eye target, then the killer snipped the rope. We found oversized scissors over by the anvil shed. The tech boys’re dustin’ ‘em for prints”


My reply “Did the piano linger in the air for a few seconds before crashing down?”


Santino, right back at me. “Yup.” Silence. “You think it’s the same guy?”


“ I think a lot of things. I think Toon Town’s a shit hole filled with soulless animated goofs who should all go back to where they came from. I think whoever wanted this guy dead wanted it bad cuz you don’t drop a piano on a guy for chump change. And I think I’m too close to this.”


I eyedballed the corpse. Knotted flesh, river of blood Nice suit, what was left of it. Slashed up with piano wire. Giant wood shards protruding from the skin. Piano keys jammed in the mouth where the teeth should be. Dental identification impossible. The vic looked like he was smiling.


Satino, thinking out loud. “You see this kinda shit in the movies all the time, they never show what it’s really like.”


“Who’s the stiff?” I said.


“Dig this. Marvin. Acme.”


“The Toon mogul? Jesus fuck. The scandal sheets are gonna have a fucking field day with this.”

Black. White. Red all over.


Chapter 37

2:15 PM. The Honeymoon Hotel. No sleep. My eyes burned. I checked my coat. Sap. Brass knuckles. .45 revolver. Tools for a strong arm job.


Roger eyed me. “Follow my lead. Go easy on him. He used to be my partner.”


No words. Just a nod.


Door open. Enter. Dig. Baby Herman sitting in a chair, right arm handcuffed to the chair leg, left hand cradling a giant cigar.


“Roger! My lagamorphic friend. It’s been a dog’s age.” This 37 year old boob fiend. A righteous perv in a bonnet and a diaper.


“It’s been a while Herman. How’s the wife?”


“She left me when she caught me feeding off another woman. What can I say, I’m a slave to y dinky. Who’s your friend here?”


“This is Eddie-”


“My names Eddie Valiant. But you can call me ‘Go Fuck Yourself,’”


“Geez, short fuse. Valiant. I know that name. Weren’t you that hero cop who’s brother-”


Quick smack across the eyes, Baby Herman caught air, shut up fast.


Roger: “My colleague will be...assisting me with y questions. Remember Herman. I’M your friend. HE’S not.”


Herman: “Jesus, ok.” Already sweating. “My stogie went out, can you help me with a light old friend?”


Roger lit the cigar. Baby Herman puffed. I breathed fumes.


Herman: “Thanks pal. So what’s this all about”


Roger: “Unions. Blackmail. Marvin Acme.”


Herman: “Yea. I heard it, uh...rained pianos on him.”

Roger: “Yea. And I’m A Number One bait for the blues cuz of beef I had with him.”


Herman: “Whattsa matta Roger? Did Acme stiff you on your contract, or did he stiff something else?”


Roger signaled. Two fingers on his bowtie. Hit him. I landed two body shots quick. Baby Herman coughed, spat boogers.


Roger: “I think you know what happened, so cut the act shitbird.”


Herman: “Fuck, Ok Roger. Just put a leash on your dog”


Hand over fist signal. Lay off him.


Roger: “A scandal rag, Pen and Ink, hired Eddie here to snap pics of the missus in a...compromising situation.”


Herman: “And?”


Hand on tie. I kicked his knee caps. The chair rocked.


Roger: “And...given your connections to Sid Hudgens, and the tabloids, we believe you know who called the job.”


I Blurted out. “Who really wanted the pics?”


Herman, cool as a cucumber. “I did. I wanted to look at them and imagine Jessica as my own private wet nurse.”


I cracked. Brass knucks. Swift punches to the stomach and back. Roger waited too long to pull me off him.


Baby Herman spat his only tooth. “Alright, alright! I’ll tell ya. RK Maroon.”


My blood boiling. “Maroon? What’s he got to do with this?”


Herman: “He wanted dirt on Acme. Something about Acme blocking a vote to kick toons out of Toon Town to build trolleys. And he wanted to catch Jessica violating her contract. Two birds.”


Roger: “One big fuckin’ stone.”


Me, putting it together. “And they dangled me out as bait in case the shit hit the fan.”


Herman: “Exactly. What I didn’t count on was Acme getting snuffed. Was that really you Roger?”


Roger, calm, cold, precise. “I would say a rabbit is capable of if placed in the right circumstances.”


A bluff. Baby Herman bought it. Sweating. Something didn’t sit right with me.


“Why me? There’s a hundred private dicks out there to take the fall. Why me?”


Baby Herman, mumbling. I heard the word “Brother.”


“What the fuck did you just say?”


Herman: “Go fuck your dog, copper.”


I kicked the chair over. The 37 year old baby ate shit. I pulled out my .45, dumped 5 rounds onto the ground. They all cheered and walked outside. I saved one, the Mexican bullet. I placed him in the cylinder and spun it, the bullet crying “Ay carumba” as it spun.


I thumbed the hammer back.


“WHY ME?!”


Herman: “You won’t do it.”


Trigger pull. Click. Thumb it back again.




Baby Herman sputtering. Pull. Click. Thumb it back again.




Silence. Two clicks. 1 in 2 chance now. I thumbed back it back again. Baby Herman. He made a ca-ca in his dipey.


Herman: “Waahhhh. Ok. Just stop! I’ll tell you. Teddy was working for Maroon when he got snuffed. Same gig, photo work. Scoping out land developers in Toon Town. Told to blackmail some senator who was gonna be the deciding vote on the land development bill. That land is now being sold to the trolley company, which Acme was trying to stop. They probably wanted you cuz you were an easy fall guy.”


“Who killed Teddy?”

Herman: “How the fuck should I know?”


I pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired. The bullet flew out, hooting and hollering, and crashed through the ceiling. Plaster fell on our heads. I heard the bullet join his friends outside. I pulled out another, the Indian one, and loaded it and spun.


Herman: “I don’t know. But that senator that Teddy blackmailed is now a judge. Judge Doom!”


Bombshells dropping. Everything coming together. I pulled the hammer back.


“Who. Killed. Teddy?”


Roger: “Jesus Eddie! He doesn't know.”


I pulled myself off, fists and head throbbing.


Herman: “Fuckin shit Roger, you should learn how to control your dog.”


Roger: “I don’t know how.”


We started to leave. Baby Herman, trying to get the last laugh.


Herman: “Yea. You never could control anyone in your life.”


Roger heel turned, faced Herman down.


Roger: “What did you just say cocksucker?”


Herman: “I heard nobody payed Jessica to play pattycake with Acme. I heard you couldn’t make her laugh anymore, and she just wanted someone to show her some attention.”


I couldn’t grab him in time. Rabbit punches. Face. Body. Roger grabbing Baby Herman’s cigar, burning him on the wrists, under the cuffs. He picked up Baby Herman, shoved him against a wall, his forearm against his throat. Baby Herman literally turning blue. I grabbed Roger by the ears and pulled him off.


Roger seeing Red.

Baby Herman seeing stars.

Me seeing how it all came together.