http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2141930/The-Rochdale-sex-ring-shows-horrific-consequences-Britains-Islamophobia-witch-hunt.html
Sorry Melanie, but no Muslim that follows the teachings of the prophet Mohammed ".. will be aghast and revolted by the behaviour of these men." because these men were just following his example and the teachings of the Koran and the Hadiths.
Better to maintain the contention that this desert cult which places hatred of women far, far closer to its heart than Catholicism has no place in a civilised society.
Thursday, 10 May 2012
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
The Final Shame of the Mainstream Media
With the nasty Muslim perverts now locked away in one of Her Majesty's Holiday Camps, perhaps Leveson might actually do something useful, stop bothering with the phone hacking (which only bothers the political 'elite' for their own devious ends) and have a good look at the tissue of lies, distortions and omissions that have emanated from the MSM and the DTP.
Not one of our august national organs has had the guts to tell the truth. Not one has had the balls to reveal that all the offenders in this (and all the other similar trials) are Muslims. Not one has had the intellectual stamina to look into the reasons why these vile offences are so prevalent amongst the followers of Mohammed (Piss Be Upon Him).
And why should that be? Not because they are afraid of the cult itself. No, its because they know they are part of the problem. They have remained silent whilst this tide of mentally-servile filth has washed across the continent of Europe. To serve their political masters, they have failed to report the root beliefs of these objectionable aliens. How can the likes of Harmen, Abbott and Greer remain silent about their treatment of women? Why are the serried ranks of shirt-lifters so coy about the basic belief of the camel-jockeys with regard to their particular deviancy? Why is Gary Glitter pilloried at every turn whilst the walking turds that bow to Mecca are left to continue their sordid little kiddie-fiddling lifestyles in peace? Why are all the men-in-dresses from Lambeth Palace and Rome so silent?
And answer came there none.
Not one of our august national organs has had the guts to tell the truth. Not one has had the balls to reveal that all the offenders in this (and all the other similar trials) are Muslims. Not one has had the intellectual stamina to look into the reasons why these vile offences are so prevalent amongst the followers of Mohammed (Piss Be Upon Him).
And why should that be? Not because they are afraid of the cult itself. No, its because they know they are part of the problem. They have remained silent whilst this tide of mentally-servile filth has washed across the continent of Europe. To serve their political masters, they have failed to report the root beliefs of these objectionable aliens. How can the likes of Harmen, Abbott and Greer remain silent about their treatment of women? Why are the serried ranks of shirt-lifters so coy about the basic belief of the camel-jockeys with regard to their particular deviancy? Why is Gary Glitter pilloried at every turn whilst the walking turds that bow to Mecca are left to continue their sordid little kiddie-fiddling lifestyles in peace? Why are all the men-in-dresses from Lambeth Palace and Rome so silent?
And answer came there none.
Let The Slaughter Begin.
Whilst I have no time for the socialist mob that is the BNP,
nevertheless, they are being arrested outside the Liverpool court for
seeking to leaflet the truth about the Muslim scum that follow the
desert pervert in their ways.
Let us not forget either that the Police and the BBC conspired TWICE in attempting to imprison Nick Griffin for telling the truth about these ‘Asians’. So, as far as we are able, let us seek to spread the word far and wide:-
Islam is based upon the rantings of a paedophile who sanctioned the rape of little girls'
who decrees women have only half the mental capacity of men; that slavery is permitted'
that Muslim men have the right to rape those they control with their right hand'
that all non-believers may be killed.
This is not a religion, this is a cult of madmen and I believe it is perfectly in order for all westerners to slaughter these pieces of shit wherever they find them in order to protect their wives and daughters and the civilisation that we have evolved.
Bit steep? It is no more than they claim as their right.
Let us not forget either that the Police and the BBC conspired TWICE in attempting to imprison Nick Griffin for telling the truth about these ‘Asians’. So, as far as we are able, let us seek to spread the word far and wide:-
Islam is based upon the rantings of a paedophile who sanctioned the rape of little girls'
who decrees women have only half the mental capacity of men; that slavery is permitted'
that Muslim men have the right to rape those they control with their right hand'
that all non-believers may be killed.
This is not a religion, this is a cult of madmen and I believe it is perfectly in order for all westerners to slaughter these pieces of shit wherever they find them in order to protect their wives and daughters and the civilisation that we have evolved.
Bit steep? It is no more than they claim as their right.
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
Up the Fuckwits - Part, the second
So, if the Earth warms and cools on a regular, demonstrable basis, what the fuck has this got to do with us (thats Mankind!)? And why are dullards like Gillard fucking their own Countries with one-sided, anti-Western taxes.?
Stupid Welsh Muff-muncher!!!!
Tuesday, 1 May 2012
Any Chance the BBC might air the Truth?
Earth temperature over the years
The following are six graphs of earth temperature from JP Attitude.
Look at each graph and see how why the warmists like to start their
temperature records from 1850. JP Attitude have some excellent
descriptions for each of these graphs.
Is
there any chance of the MSM showing graphs such as these to put 'man
made global warming' into context? I think we all know the answer to
that question.
Monday, 30 April 2012
Wind farms cause global warming!
The UK 'Daily Telegraph' reports
Wind farms can cause climate change, according to new research, that shows for the first time the new technology is already pushing up temperatures.
Usually at night the air closer to the ground becomes colder when the sun goes down and the earth cools.
But on huge wind farms the motion of the turbines mixes the air higher in the atmosphere that is warmer, pushing up the overall temperature.
Satellite data over a large area in Texas, that is now covered by four of the world's largest wind farms, found that over a decade the local temperature went up by almost a centigrade as more turbines are built.
This could have long term effects on wildlife living in the immediate areas of larger wind farms.
It could also affect regional weather patterns as warmer areas affect the formation of cloud and even wind speeds.'
And, of course, it must be true because this is supported by factual data and not by some specious computer programme written to come up with the answer the climatological fuckwits want! Next thing you know, solar panels will be shown to be wearing out the sun!!
Wind farms can cause climate change, according to new research, that shows for the first time the new technology is already pushing up temperatures.
Usually at night the air closer to the ground becomes colder when the sun goes down and the earth cools.
But on huge wind farms the motion of the turbines mixes the air higher in the atmosphere that is warmer, pushing up the overall temperature.
Satellite data over a large area in Texas, that is now covered by four of the world's largest wind farms, found that over a decade the local temperature went up by almost a centigrade as more turbines are built.
This could have long term effects on wildlife living in the immediate areas of larger wind farms.
It could also affect regional weather patterns as warmer areas affect the formation of cloud and even wind speeds.'
And, of course, it must be true because this is supported by factual data and not by some specious computer programme written to come up with the answer the climatological fuckwits want! Next thing you know, solar panels will be shown to be wearing out the sun!!
There is Always Hope
My Uncle was one of the first into Belsen. What was done to the Jewish people must never be forgotten. Those truly of 'the right' know this. The desert sheet-heads must never, ever be allowed to diminish what was done. Iran, especially, must be challenged at every turn. Pricks like Livingstone must be removed from the political scene.
Enjoy the story; go see the movie; never forget.
A Girl With An Apple
(This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman
Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75)
August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland ..
The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously.
All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto
had been herded into a square.
Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father
had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant
through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our
family would be separated.
'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me,
'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.
'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I
might be deemed valuable as a worker.
An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones.
He looked me up and down, and then asked my age.
'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three
brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children,
sick and elderly people..
I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer.
I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.
'No, 'she said sternly.
'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood:
She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once,
she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany ...
We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night later and
were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms
and identification numbers.
'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead
into a hand-cranked elevator.
I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's
sub-camps near Berlin ....
One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.
'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.'
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.
But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work.
And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the
barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily
see. I was alone.
On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light,
almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly
in German. 'Do you have something to eat?'
She didn't understand.
I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish.
She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around
my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.
I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly,
'I'll see you tomorrow.'
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day.
She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread
or, better yet, an apple.
We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.
I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that
she understood Polish. What was her name?
Why was she risking her life for me?
Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of
the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and
apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a
coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia ..
'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'
I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say
good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned,
The girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down
and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.
On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.
In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death
seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.
I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 am there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people
running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.
Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open.
Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers
had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples
had been the key to my survival.
In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had
saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.
My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a
Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived
the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America ,
where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army
during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years.
By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop.
I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.
'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.'
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me.
But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the
Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma..
I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a
nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too,
with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled
with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to,
easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too!
We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the
boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by
the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.
As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much
had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject,
'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?'
'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss..
I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany ,
not far from Berlin ,' she told me.. 'My father knew a priest,
and he got us Aryan papers.'
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion.
And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.
'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy
there and I would throw him apples every day.'
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy.
'What did he look like? I asked.
He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for
six months.'
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.
This couldn't be.
'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?'
Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'
'That was me!'
I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions.
I couldn't believe it! My angel.
'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car
on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.
'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for
Shabbat dinner the following week.
There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma,
but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her
goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come
to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could
never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach , Florida
This story is being made into a movie called The Fence.
Enjoy the story; go see the movie; never forget.
A Girl With An Apple
(This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman
Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75)
August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland ..
The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously.
All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto
had been herded into a square.
Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father
had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant
through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our
family would be separated.
'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me,
'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.
'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I
might be deemed valuable as a worker.
An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones.
He looked me up and down, and then asked my age.
'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three
brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children,
sick and elderly people..
I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer.
I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.
'No, 'she said sternly.
'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood:
She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once,
she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany ...
We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night later and
were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms
and identification numbers.
'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead
into a hand-cranked elevator.
I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's
sub-camps near Berlin ....
One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.
'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.'
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.
But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work.
And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the
barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily
see. I was alone.
On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light,
almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly
in German. 'Do you have something to eat?'
She didn't understand.
I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish.
She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around
my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.
I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly,
'I'll see you tomorrow.'
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day.
She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread
or, better yet, an apple.
We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.
I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that
she understood Polish. What was her name?
Why was she risking her life for me?
Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of
the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and
apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a
coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia ..
'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'
I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say
good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned,
The girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down
and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.
On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.
In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death
seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.
I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 am there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people
running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.
Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open.
Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers
had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples
had been the key to my survival.
In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had
saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.
My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a
Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived
the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America ,
where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army
during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years.
By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop.
I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.
'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.'
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me.
But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the
Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma..
I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a
nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too,
with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled
with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to,
easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too!
We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the
boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by
the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.
As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much
had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject,
'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?'
'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss..
I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany ,
not far from Berlin ,' she told me.. 'My father knew a priest,
and he got us Aryan papers.'
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion.
And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.
'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy
there and I would throw him apples every day.'
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy.
'What did he look like? I asked.
He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for
six months.'
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.
This couldn't be.
'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?'
Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'
'That was me!'
I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions.
I couldn't believe it! My angel.
'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car
on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.
'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for
Shabbat dinner the following week.
There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma,
but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her
goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come
to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could
never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach , Florida
This story is being made into a movie called The Fence.
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