September 02, 2007


I wasn’t going to post until Monday due to wanting to sit and do nothing after a very long week of work. But, I came down with some kind of flu bug and a fever does’t mix well with wandering around in 100 degree heat. We’ve been in the middle of a heat wave for over a week and I live in one of the hotter areas of greater L.A. Yeah, I’m full of excuses. I guess I need to find a way to dedicate a couple of hours a day to the blog AND get an editor. Because my posts are long. As in Steven King long. But I’m trying to show the problems that are out there, problems that are growing day by day. I figure personal experiences might be a good way to connect with people.

Today I was going through the comments sent my way. Lots and lots of comments for more beach pictures. People find them fascinating. I’m not going to publish those comments because they’re all the same for the most part. I guess the fascination is due to people finding it hard to believe that some beach areas (and other tourist destinations) in Southern California are infested with brown invaders. But they are. I’ve said before that most of these non-whites wouldn’t even exist had it not been for “White charity” (meaning money stolen from Whites) and these “never-should-have-beens” are all over the place. Whether they work or not most of them are receiving some kind of government assistance from Uncle Sam. That includes some of the "good ones" you people know who have good jobs. They're laughing up their sleeve, making 75k and up and making sure their kids get that free lunch and breakfast at school. I know. I speak passible Spanish because I grew up around these people. No, they don't realize I can understand them when they jump into Spanish. Many of your hispanic friends and "good" latinos see you, Whitey, as a naive joke. Better get active and start networking for when it all hits the fan. Because there’s little doubt the government is actively spreading this plague of brown stubbies all over the country. I’ll post more pictures in the coming week.

I was going to hit the news like some of the other local blogs around the country do, you know, pull stories from the LA(tino) Times and local TV “news” and rip the media a new one. The local media is an endless source of material and examples that prove that LA Sucks. Just like (most of) the rest of the country. But even more so!

Then I took another look at some of the comments that have been posted, and a fellow local who goes by the name “Sudaev” mentioned his experiences while on jury duty in downtown LA a couple of weeks ago. I had to serve during July and I took notes intending to use them in the blog I was getting to ready to create. This blog. I was going to use the notes and observations down the line, as they are lengthy, but rather than wait anymore, I figured why not let people know what’s in store for them in the not too distant future? When they are called upon to serve their civic duty in the downtown areas of the nearest Urban center. Downtown areas that increasingly resemble the film “Bladerunner” in terms of population demographics and sheer disorder.


LA has it down pat for those lucky folks who are sent a summons for Jury Duty. If you are summoned to go to the Criminal Courts building, you have hit a double jackpot: First, you have reserved, free parking. It’s just a little over a half mile from the Court building. It’s not only free, but you get some exercise! There’s more than just walking involved in this short workout. You get to dodge the homeless who are hanging around the various government buildings. They are more industrious than their cohorts in other parts of LA. Up and at ‘em. They have their hands out and ready for change at 7:30 in the morning. It’s good to see the American Worth Ethic still exists some places. I’ll bet it’s probably more fun for the people who have to make the trek during a rainstorm.

The second part of the jackpot is that the walk to the courthouse is educational. For White people who don’t have blinders on, that is. You get to see that the majority of workers downtown, City and State employees, are not White. Lots of mexicans and blacks. In suits. You realists out there already know that dressing these people up like a successful, intelligent White person will not make them perform like a successful, intelligent White person. If you’re thinking “Cargo Cult” then you’re on the right track. Therein lies one of the points of today’s rant. Whites have put different systems in place and now they have armies of non-whites running different aspects, sections or “entrances” to those systems. None of them operate the way they are supposed to. The fluidity is lost when you have mexicans and africans in the driver’s seat. And EVERY honest person knows this.

I’m doing my county-mandated workout, walking with the city’s overly tanned employees and a herd of grumpy “civilians” who have been pulled from their regular lives to perform jury duty. I realized I was on a lucky streak while taking my walk. I counted the two-legged toll booths ; seven on one block alone. Lucky seven. All of the panhandlers lining the route to the court were the same that day. All male, all in their thirties, and all black. Every one of them. No doubt they were all victims of racism as we’ve been taught by watching TV. Everything on TV is true, right? Each one of these unfortunates was no doubt 3 to 5 credits short of a PhD in Engineering Physics (from nearby Cal Tech!) when a racist disaster struck and put them out here on the streets of the concrete jungle, fighting for survival every day, the deck stacked against them in a world run by Whites who live only to create misery for the noble black man.

The first six bums on that block weren’t saying anything to me, they were too busy hassling the well dressed men and women walking by. Most of the people you’ll see working downtown or reporting to jury duty are fairly well dressed. I noticed that the blacks, whether well dressed or not, were not hit-upon by the panhandlers. I thought about it for a second, then remembered that blacks don’t leave tips in restaurants. (I was a waiter while in college. That gives me an idea for another post, how tips vary by race. Blacks don’t tip.) Besides not leaving tips, blacks apparently don’t give money to panhandlers either, at least rarely. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Dressed like a bum or in a suit, the panhandlers generally ignored their racial brothers.

Dressed like a bum or in a suit? OK, I'll tell you how I was dressed. When I called the courthouse and listened to the recorded instructions telling me where to report etc, the instructions were direct in stating that “appropriate” dress is required, wear a suit or casual business attire, and so on. Since I was being pulled from work and NOT receiving pay while being ordered to possibly sit in judgment over criminal blacks and browns, I proudly wore clothing that projected the respect I have for the court system as it stands in the US today; a tattered red wife beater, green camouflage shorts, black crew socks, and a beat up pair of Converse All-Stars (Chuck Taylors!) I bought on-line. Topped off with a very old pair of Gargoyle sunglasses, I figured I was sure to blow a few fuses with this get-up. I hoped my uniform would get me kicked out of the pool in one day so I would not have to go back for at least a year. This was the first time I had been summoned in three years, but that is probably going to change. We’ll go into that later.

I said six of the seven homeless turdbirds on that block didn’t say anything to me. I reached a crosswalk and was a millisecond from starting to cross the street when my number came up. “You got change, bruthah?” I turned and looked at him. “Yes, I do!” Then I turned away from him and started across the street. It took a few seconds for him to let go with an answer to this slap in the face. I admit that despite my vast experience in translating Ebonics I couldn’t really tell what he what he was saying. He sputtered and spit, making the same types of noises Jesse Jackson does when giving a speech. The noise is similar to someone working the throttle up and down on an old Moped. A White Guy in his thirties walking next to me, wearing a suit of course, said “You shouldn’t make them mad.” “Why do I care what some Buckwheat thinks?” This particular example of sheeple-americanus turned his face straight ahead and picked up his pace to get away. I notice a couple of well-dressed blacks looking my way. They heard the “Buckwheat” remark. I kept looking at them and they finally turned away shaking their heads. All except one. He kept looking my way and I kept staring back. They went the opposite way when we hit the other side of the street. These folks do not like White People speaking their mind or standing up to them. They’ve been taught that it’s wrong! Wrong no matter what a black is doing - or any other non-white for that matter. They can be racist eight-ways to Sunday, but that’s OK. Let Whitey remark on some uncomfortable truth about blacks or latinos and they’re up on their hind legs screaming, with the govt holding them by the elbows for support. I didn’t care about these well dressed frauds. They all talk a good game, but without numbers or a distinct advantage in physical size, they will not do anything. Unless they’re armed. That element of black and brown psychology is for another day. Besides, there are a lot of cops and Sheriff’s deputies walking around down here as you would expect and that keeps on the street scuffles to a minimum.

I get to the entrance of the Criminal Court bldg. and I’m confronted with a long line of people waiting to get through a security checkpoint. You could pick out most of the lawyers and potential jurors easily. They stand out in a sea of can’t-stand-still blacks and hispanics who are at the court building for all sorts of problems of their own doing. The security is like going through security at LAX. Metal detectors, hand held metal detectors, X-ray machines, Sheriff’s deputies and last and least… black and latino “security personnel” complete with badges, pepper spray, handcuffs and large chips on their shoulders. I get near the front of the line and I’m treated to classic “NEGRO IN CHARGE” behavior. The deputies are keeping an eye on the lines and the trays, so that leaves the amped up black and latino guards with their overblown self-esteem to handle the metal detectors. Some middle aged White Guy has placed everything he had in his pockets into the X-ray trays as instructed. The tray rides the conveyor belt through the X-ray machine while the White Guy walks through the stand-up metal detector. Whoop, whoop. Something sets off the detector. A 50 yr old, shaven headed, bespectacled black security guard steps up to Whitey, metal detector wand in hand. He runs the wand over the puzzled White Guy. “It’s your cell phone.” The White Guy takes it off and places it on the table. The guard runs the wand over him, nothing. That’s all it was, the cell phone. “Ok” says the guard. The White Guy turns to gather his stuff from the X-ray tray. Not so fast. The guard says, “You have to go through the machine again.” “Why?” “Your phone set it off.” The White Guy is puzzled. “I took off the phone, and you did your thing and said ‘ok’.” “You didn’t do it right. You’re ‘sposed to put everything in the basket and walk through! I need you to leave everything in the basket and walk through.” The White Guy isn’t catching on yet. I wonder if anyone has except myself. A fat assed latino guard moves up behind the black guard. Black and brown united in fucking with Whitey. “You have to do things right. Go back through the machine.” The White guy sees that they are going to gang up on him real quick. Shaking his head at the nonsense, he walks back through the metal detector, then comes through again. No alarms. He moves to get this things. “You still need to be checked!” The bald brother runs the wand over the White Guy, again, even though he and everyone else knows that the guy has nothing on his person. It’s all in the tray. Nothing. The brother now feels he has shown who’s in charge. “Now you can go.” Whitey grabs his stuff and walks off while the two guards give each other a very slight grin. Think I’m reading too much into this? Read on.

Five or six people later, a tremendously fat black woman squeezes through the metal detector. I was amazed her buttocks didn’t get stuck in the machine’s doorway. Whoop whoop! The alarm sounds. The bald black guard runs his voodoo wand over her. Same thing. “It’s your cell phone. Next time make sure to take it off.” He’s the picture of lecherous courtesy as he waves her on to go grab her things from the tray and continue on her way. Three other White People have noticed this. They look around to see if anyone else has noticed. One White woman looks my way and I mouth the word “typical” at her. She looks away, scared. Typical. I saunter through with no problem, but I make sure to barely acknowledge the presence of the bald black mini-mind and his wand. I try to give off an air as if I felt he were a butler wiping dust off my shoes. I can tell it pisses him off but what can he do? Actually he could probably do a lot to gum up the works but a few hundred people are waiting to get through and if things get too fouled up the Deputies will most likely take over. That would spoil the brother’s fun.

The elevator ride to the jury room is short but fun. The car is stuffed with a few prospective jurors and several highly irritated black and brown people who are in court to “support” their “homeys” and “fambly” members who are being victimized by a cruel system that occasionally interrupts their criminal activities. Two black women are discussing the case that will occupy their time today. “Rob da likka sto’? Mufuhkin’ Kelvin ain’ da one! Not dis one! Tol’ me Alton be it.” I wanted to hear more, but the pair having this conversation hopped off at the “first stop”. I always miss the good stories.

I follow the signs to the jury room. It’s already filled with over 250 people. Most of them look disappointed. That's because most people do not get paid for jury duty. Unless they work for the city or county. That’s where most of the brown and black people in the pool come from. Civil service. Especially in Los Angeles. Whites, especially White males, have a hell of a time getting city or county jobs here in Los Angeles. They have to be “connected” the way most people who work in television or the movies out here are connected. What? You thought talent and hard work were involved with Hollywood? Oh, there’s some luck involved for some people, but for the most part, Hollywood’s a closed shop. So’s county and city work. (I’ve worked in Hollywood. I’m putting together a guide to “how it works” that will see its day on this blog at some point)

I find a seat and begin to break down the make-up of the crowd. In our pool there’s over 250 people, about 65% of them are White. Should be less since the majority of the city and county are latino. Hold on. The majority of the latinos are illegals. Ok, that knocks their numbers down quite a bit. You also can’t serve jury duty if you’re a convicted felon, so that knocks the numbers of latinos and blacks down even more. Asians look to be about 15% of the pool, so they’re over-represented just like the Whites. Well, they do work and have jobs. There are only 9 blacks in this pool. I wonder if it’s the same on the other floors of the building? The rest of the pool are latinos. The last time I served jury duty the percentage of Whites was about the same, even though our population percentage is dropping in this part of the State. No doubt we, Whites, will end up being summoned every 12 months like clockwork once the rising latino tide of crime starts to hit full strength.

Who’s in charge of rustling the jurors today? The only people I see are latino. Large latinos. Two men and a woman. All three look to be in their early 30’s, which means they could be in their early 20’s given latino standards of health. What do I mean? All three are grossly overweight. The woman is tipping the scales at 250. At 5’4”. One of the guys is a good 275 lbs at 5’7”. The third is about my height (6’3”) but weighs in at 350 at least. He’s massive. He’s so bloated on a frame not designed to carry such a huge load of fat that from behind his arms resemble penguin flippers the way they stick out. How he can clean up after a trip to the toilet is beyond me. Oops. I forgot that mexicans don’t bother to clean up after using the toilet. See my post from last month - "Bon Apetit":

At a little after 8 am they call us to attention and start giving us instructions. In English! English with the “on purpose” mexican accent so common to LA and other parts of Southern California. What do I mean? There are thousands of mexicans in Southern California whose parents and even grandparents were born here and speak English, and then the kids grow up speaking English - and Spanish. What these mexicans do is put on an accent, make sure they sound like some mexican who’s learned English recently. It’s their way of paying homage to the wondrous land of mexico and also a way to speak English but not bow completely to Whitey. A badge of honor. It’s similar to Ebonics.

I’m getting burned out now from the fever and Day-Quil, sorry about any typos, but I promise to finish this in the next day or so. So you can find out why I titled it “The Pipples Court”. I’ll bet a few of you have figured it out already. Things are running a little bit worse each day as more and more black and brown puppets are put in certain driver’s seats in order to torment Whitey. It’s coming your way. Some of this may come off as funny. But it’s actually very sad and symbolic of incredible evil.