Australian aborigines have never forgiven the white man for bringing air conditioning to the arid wasteland they call home. They have a median IQ of 62, which explains their eternal plight far better than dim intangibles such as “racism.” Their ghastly prehistoric visages qualify them as the most punishingly ugly people in world history. And when I say “punishingly ugly,” I’m not suggesting that they be punished for the way they look; all I’m saying is that having to look at them is its own punishment.
They eat giant disgusting moth larvae and play the only musical instrument in world history which may be less versatile than a kazoo. They evolved all on their own, with obviously no help from any other human or divine entity, for 65,000 uneventful years on the Australian continent. They are thought to have the oldest continuous “culture” on Earth, which only proves my long-held maxim that when it comes to culture, first is worst. They currently number around 840,000 down in Oz, which is likely more of them than were squatting around there smelling up the place when the mighty English arrived in their large, handsome boats, so you can take your phony “genocide” slander and stick it up your didgeridoo.
Australia’s most striking geological landmark is a giant orange sandstone monolith smack-dab in the middle of the continent that a white Aussie explorer christened “Ayers Rock” back in 1873. It was mostly known as Ayers Rock until 2002, when at the request of the local government in the town of Alice Springs — which is nearly 300 miles away, but is the closest city to Ayers Rock because that part of the Outback is one parched, undeveloped nest of poisonous snakes, deadly insects, and prehistoric humanoid monsters — it was formally renamed as “Uluru” (“ooh-luh-ROO”) in honor of its traditional moniker among the naked and stupid local tribes. It was the same deal as when the blubber-chewing Eskimos and their neo-Bolshevik enablers up in Alaska rechristened Mt. McKinley as Denali.
Aborigines only comprise about 3.3% of Australia’s population, but with the help of non-aboriginal coastal elites, they are forcing the nation to shed the cultural yoke of the pasty-white colonial invaders who trampled the shit-colored packs of indigenous morons underfoot so easily back in the 1700s.
You heard me right: Australia is going trad. And that does not bode well for the easily sunburned.
I visited Australia in early 2006 for a week. I spent it mostly in Melbourne, although I managed to sneak one glorious night out on the coast near the 12 Apostles. I don’t recall seeing a single identifiably aboriginal face the whole time I was in Oz. I spotted only one black person, who appeared to be a Somalian bulbhead, ambling outside Melbourne’s Flinders Street railway station, but that was it.
What I noticed almost immediately after landing in Melbourne was that all public messaging incessantly bludgeons you with the word “multicultural.” If I was the paranoid type, I would have thought it was some kind of government-directed brainwashing campaign. The 2005 Cronulla riots, which started between Anglo lifeguards and Lebanese thugs over somethin’-somethin’ regarding rape, were still a fresh wound in the nation’s psyche, so maybe the Aussie government felt compelled to keep slapping everyone upside the head with the idea that squeezing fundamentally incompatible people together and expecting them to get along was actually a good idea.
I returned to Australia — okay, I tried to return — in April 2007 to act in an independent film that would have had me stationed Down Under for six weeks. I intended to use my free time to swim the Great Barrier Reef and conquer my fear of sharks. I also planned to travel deep into the Outback to see Ayers Rock and conquer my fear of aboriginal faces, but it was not to be. On a layover in Honolulu, the authorities forbade me from boarding a plane to Melbourne. I presume it was related to the fact that upon my first visit to Australia, I’d gone on national TV to discuss my criminal past, and this time around, they decided they weren’t gonna allow no convicts back into their penal colony.
Around the time I was denied reentry onto that strange floating desert on the other side of the planet, the Australian authorities enacted a race-specific form of Prohibition on specific aboriginal communities in the Northern Territory, outright banning the sale of alcohol. At the time, Prime Minister John Howard claimed that “rivers of grog” had led to rampant sexual abuse of aboriginal children. In tandem with the effort to prevent deranged abos from raping their spawn, pornography was also banned in these tribal locales.
After 15 years, the ban was lifted last July. The moment that it was legal for abos to get their paws on booze, crime soared in the Outback. The town of Alice Springs — population about 24,000, 21% of which consists of aborigines — has seen successive waves of burglaries, attacks, car thefts, and roving packs of increasingly belligerent young, dark indigenoids who, the social workers assure us, are merely coming into town to blow off some steam and avoid getting ass-raped by Mom and Pop again tonight.
The hype about Alice Springs had gotten so bad that last Tuesday, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese deigned to step his toes into the dusty shithole for a grand total of four hours. He promised to slightly restrict alcohol sales and also pledged to siphon about $50 million of taxpayer money — you see, Australian aborigines don’t pay taxes — toward what will likely be meaningless and ineffectual feel-good arts-and-crafts programs for the locals. He then jetted back to the coast to eat ice cream and watch the Australian Open for three days.
Last Thursday was Australia Day, which marks the landing of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove in 1788. While the Prime Minister was watching tennis in Melbourne, pro-aboriginal agitators across town held their own protests against what they called “Invasion Day.” Australian Senate member Lidia Thorpe — who is a mixed and clearly troubled mud-puppy of both European and Australian aboriginal descent — rallied the crowd by declaring that her white ancestors had been waging centuries of war against her black ancestors:
[It was] a war that was declared on our people more than 200 years ago. . . . This is a war. They are still killing us. They are still killing our babies. . . . They want to put the colonial constitution on top of the oldest constitution on the planet . . . we are sovereign and this is our land. And we deserve better than an advisory body. We have an opportunity to have a treaty . . . that could put ten independent black seats in the parliament today. We want real power, and we won’t settle for anything less.
Lynda June Coe, who has those distinctive aboriginal features that make it look as if someone punched a black woman in the face so hard that it permanently caved in, howled at the crowd:
White Australia, this is the reckoning — 235 years and we ain’t going nowhere. They tried to wipe us out, still here. They tried to breed us out, still here. They tried to commit genocide on us, still here!
Honey, if they had actually tried to wipe you out, it would have taken about five minutes max.
Last Friday night in Alice Springs, Sky News host Peta Credlin went for a ride-along in the downtown area and to her dismay found it shut down and boarded up to save the remaining businesses from being pillaged by roving mobs of aboriginal teens. “Dysfunction is everywhere,” said the alarmed reporter. While driving through the outlying camps later that night, local Senator Jacinta Nampjinpa Price told Credlin, “Cars are I guess treated like traditional tools to a degree, you use them until they no longer work and then just discard them. And quite often kids come along and decide to blow them up and burn them out.”
On Saturday night, a nurse named Rachel Hale, perched in a hotel balcony above a gated beer garden in downtown Alice Springs, filmed several altercations between white bar patrons and aboriginal youth who were taunting and threatening them from behind the gate. Footage shows one aboriginal girl, who at one point referred to herself as an “African queen,” shouting, “You ugly, I’m prettier than you with my black skin, you white bitch.” Another black girl spit through the gate onto a white man, shouting, “You’re a white dog, you are, rooff rooff rooff.” Young aboriginal males threatened the white bar crowd with a long tree branch and a steel garbage can. At one point a young white male decided he’d been bullied enough and fought back against a black teen. He was winning the fight until the abo’s friends decided to join in.
Hale, the videographer of all this multicultural beauty, has toiled as a nurse in Australia’s Northern Territory for 14 years. After filming the racial shenanigans outside the bar beneath her hotel room, she told reporters about how frightening it was to be only a few feet away from the burgeoning race war:
Probably by 7pm it started. The most disturbing part is the taunting by these kids — for the locals it’s like water off a duck’s back — but they stand on the other side of the fence slinging insults. It’s just disgusting, racist. ‘You white bitch, you white cunt.’ Everyone’s sick of it. The patrons downstairs, they were firing back telling them to piss off, but they don’t stop. . . . Everything has closed, police have left, but the kids remain. Not much sleep — one of the most frightening nights of my life. It went on all night long. . . . Kids taunting adults and spitting on ‘white cunts,’ stealing from cars out the front, very young children on the streets, disgusting violence, pack hunting and the level of hate displayed towards people in the firing line will haunt me. . . . People are getting fed up. Someone is going to lose their shit and retaliate and one of these kids is going to die, and it’s going to be splashed all over the headlines.
Hale lives in Darwin, which is nearly 1,000 miles away, but she visits Alice Springs every two months because she owns a business there. The disillusioned nurse says she felt obligated to capture the racial tension on video because “People describe these events that are happening here, but no one’s actually seeing it.” She doesn’t blame the situation on alcohol, but the fact that aboriginal communities, booze or no booze, are fucked-up beyond repair:
None of the children I saw that night were intoxicated, but they were filled with rage and hatred. . . . Some of these houses have 10-15 people sleeping on the floor of a three-bedroom house. There’s no personal hygiene, there’s lice, scabies, fungal rashes, maggots in wounds, perforated ear drums — the level of care is shocking. . . . The wives are being beaten in front of the kids, check any emergency department and you’ll see the horrific injuries. . . . It’s hard to talk about, but the physical trauma that these kids have endured is hard to comprehend. . . . My colleagues told me about witnessing an eight-year-old girl being raped by a man who had covered her lower half with butter. She didn’t scream or cry or resist because she was so used to it. I’ve seen a four-year-old boy in a clinic with anal warts and a six-year-old girl with vaginal sores. I’ve seen babies dehydrated as their mother wouldn’t breastfeed and were drinking alcohol and pregnant women pickling their babies with a bottle of rum each day while six months pregnant.
On Sunday, the day after Hale filmed the skirmishes outside the bar at the Hamilton Hotel, three local youths, one armed with an axe, attacked a 16-year-old Thai boy in a Pizza Parlor in a suburb outside Alice Springs. His mother, who had immigrated from Thailand to work at the Alice Springs Hospital, said, “This town has become a nightmare.”
A nightmare? Is that what aborigines meant when they talk about “The Dreaming”?
On Monday night, after a week of utter chaos, horrified Alice Springs locals gathered at the Convention Centre to address the crime crisis. The meeting didn’t last long and was apparently shut down after “progressive individuals” kept doing that progressive-individual-groupthink routine where they show up and start screaming like mental patients.
An Australian Broadcasting Company reporter, herself of partially aboriginal ancestry, caught up with one of those progressive individuals outside the aborted meeting:
I am far more concerned about the dangers posed by those people in there — those white people have a choice to live here — than those vulnerable aboriginal children whose connection to this country cannot be broken. . . . If they don’t like living here, if they have a problem with it, then leave. . . . It’s a total white supremacist fest in there — and I can tell you — it was scary.
Not a word about the child rapes or the alcoholism or the burning cars or the anti-white taunting or the local business owners who say they’ve suffered through 41 break-ins over the past few years. Not even a word from one of the countless locals who attended the meeting hoping against hope that someone would hear their pleas. Nope — the official broadcasting arm of the Australian government just wanted you to know that the Outback has a problem with white supremacists.
“It’s a kick in the teeth to residents who have put up with this for far too long,” griped Alice Springs Mayor Matt Paterson about ABC’s coverage. “It’s adding unnecessary anxiety when we are all trying to come together to address the issue and here you’ve got the ABC lighting the fuse to have a race war.”
I can’t pinpoint exactly when the fuse was lit. And when the bomb finally explodes, well, that’s anyone’s guess.
* * *
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