Last June, just under a year ago, I was diagnosed with metastasized pancreatic cancer.
Thankfully, I have had enough energy to continue blogging, though not enough to write full length articles or engage in real debates. On occasion I’ve let an issue go because mustering the evidence and arguments to respond to an opposing position was beyond my capacity. This is not because my brain is not sharp, but simply because I have lacked the energy to do the intellectual work that is needed for certain kinds of writing.
Another way the illness and treatment have affected me is that I avoid things that are very stressful or upsetting. For example, I didn’t write about the Ground Zero mosque issue for months last year because I found it too stressful, though I did start writing about it in August, partly because I was feeling better and could handle it. Similarly, I avoided writing about the movie Machete last year. I just didn’t want to deal with something that evil.
Also, as a result of my condition and inability to handle stress, I have become more intolerant than before of correspondents and online commenters who, instead of dealing with the issue at hand, make negative comments about my personality or ad hominem statements of any kind. I have zero tolerance for that now and I simply stop communicating with people who do that.
It’s a bit premature, but here’s my epitaph for him: Here lies Lawrence Auster, a full-blooded jewish convert to Christianity, a jewish fifth columnist who never forgot who “his people” were, who on a weekly if not daily basis tossed off sweeping, grandiose, negative, zero-tolerance comments about Whites, blacks, muslims, Christians, liberals, conservatives, Europeans, the French, the British, the Germans, the majority, and last but certainly not least, the “anti-semites”, all self-righteously counterposed with a talmudic, hair-splitting, eggshell-walking, anally-retentively-qualified, infinitely-tolerant circumspection concerning the jews and Israel.
Where did you get the hippy picture of Auster?
LA in 1973
Top on the list of things Auster is no longer healthy enough to even think about:
Tim Wise is a fellow Jew.
Schadenfreude?
I agree with your politics, Tanstaafl, but the guy has cancer, give him a break. Auster may be my enemy, but I don’t wish metastasized pancreatic cancer on him.
Tim Wise might be another story, though.
I care as much about Auster having cancer as your typical Jew, knowing my politics, would care about me having cancer. Well, probably more, but that’s my official stance and I’m sticking to it.
Auster complaining about ad homs, there’s a friggin’ laugh.
Way to go Tan, now Auster will fucking live forever just to spite you!
Turnabout is fair play. I trust Auster will finally take up residence in some circle of hell or another. I don’t really concern myself which.
I agree with ‘Thripshaw’ regardless of what you think of Auster, cancer is not something to wish UPON ANYONE.
PERIOD. That’s just sick.
Can you get even creepier?
Here lies Larry Auster, a typical whiny, rude New York City jew who spent his adult life complaining about being criticized while continuously attacking, smearing, denouncing, insulting, ridiculing and otherwise running down other people, and in the process became a guru to a creepy coterie of equally judgmental and fawning hangers-on.
My two cents on Auster:
The non-discriminatory principle
In Anti-Semite who seeks “jew free ethno state” is married to half-Jewish woman Auster published a comment gleefully fantasizing about me, my wife and my children being lynched.
I haven’t read anything on this site that says that it’s owner is gleeful about cancer. I think though, Tanstaafl declines to let Auster get away with his anti-white spiel, even though he says he has cancer. Fair enough!
I hope Auster suffers no more than what he’s already gone through. He’s by no means the kind of personal enemy I’d like to harm or see suffer unduly. But I’m happy to see no punches being pulled here. The fucker certainly isn’t retiring from doing what he does best – popping off:
“”Hey, let’s have three cheers for those far-seeing American colonists in the 17th and 18th centuries who thought that bringing African slaves to America was a neat idea.”
I hate to have to say it, but it must be said: Southerners too lazy to do their own work.”
Always so quick to blame non-jews. The guy is poison to any conservative movement, the way jews were poison to American blacks.
Auster, from the link above:
“It is ironic in the extreme that his fellow white nationaists [sic] must now (according to their ideology) condemn TANSTAAFL for race mixing. The more rabid of them dream of hanging him, his children and his wife from lamp posts on the day of retribution for race-traitors (per William Pierce.)”
This is Auster’s straw-man fantasy. No WN has ever dreamt of “hanging him, his children and his wife from lamp posts”. And in Pierce’s novel no children are killed in the Day of the Rope.
(The fictional “Day of the Rope” was mainly retribution on white women who had Negro or colored pleasure beasts as boyfriends.)
It is clear that Auster (1) didn’t read Pierce and (2) invented “the more rabid of them dream of …”
Auster attributed the comment to “Richard W.”
And in Pierce’s novel no children are killed in the Day of the Rope.
Are any Jewish people like Tanstaafl’s wife killed in the fictional Day of the Rope?
Did Pierce consider half-Jew /half-Euro people like Tanstaafl’s wife to be Jewish?
Did the Day of the Rope include anyone being killed for having sex, marital or otherwise, with Jews?
If the answers to those three questions are “no”, then “Richard W” can rightfully be called someone who tried to mislead Auster’s readers.
The Turner Diaries – Chapter 23
I’m less concerned about the scenario in this work of fiction coming to pass than I am any number of more realistic scenarios based on the genocidal anti-White regime we actually live under.
I think Auster and his creepy coterie harbor exterminationist fantasies that they can’t keep themselves from projecting onto the people they hate – their vision of a perfect future includes a Day of the Rope for “the anti-semites”, and it’s based on a true story that took place in late 1940s Nuremberg.
White births in the U.S. are now fewer than nonwhite births: what it means, and what can be done about it, Auster writes:
“Only a country of pathetic wusses would fail to identify this fact and defend itself. I think we should stop being a country of pathetic wusses.“
Only a frustrated bolshevist commissar so consistently and dishonestly pathologizes other people for not doing what he wants them to. Who is we? Defend ourselves from who?
Auster wants this “country of pathetic wusses” to stand up and man the ramparts because he thinks it has been, until recently, the best place “the jews” have ever had. It’s clear he couldn’t care less about what’s good for the “pathetic wusses”. He condemns in even stronger terms leaders who more or less do speak in defense of the country, especially the White subset – eg. Pat Buchanan, Jared Taylor, David Duke – and he does so specifically because he perceives them to be bad for “the jews”.
Thripshaw said…
Schadenfreude?
“I agree with your politics, Tanstaafl, but the guy has cancer, give him a break. Auster may be my enemy, but I don’t wish metastasized pancreatic cancer on him.
Tim Wise might be another story, though.”
Personally, i’d lose NO sleep over the fact of every judaic extant, ceasing to exist from metastasized cancers, pancreatic or otherwise.
It would save a lot of spadework down the line.
Call it an “Act of God”, against the work of the devil.
No harm done.
Taken from the online version of The Turner Diaries.
Chapter XXIII
August 1, 1993. Today has been the Day of the Rope-a grim and bloody day, but an unavoidable one. Tonight, for the first time in
weeks, it is quiet and totally peaceful throughout all of southern California. But the night is filled with silent horrors; from tens of
thousands of lampposts, power poles, and trees throughout this vast metropolitan area the grisly forms hang.
In the lighted areas one sees them everywhere. Even the street signs at intersections have been pressed into service, and at
practically every street corner I passed this evening on my way to HQ there was a dangling corpse, four at every intersection.
Hanging from a single overpass only about a mile from here is a group of about 30, each with an identical placard around its neck
bearing the printed legend, “I betrayed my race.” Two or three of that group had been decked out in academic robes before they were
strung up, and the whole batch are apparently faculty members from the nearby UCLA campus.
In the areas to which we have not yet restored electrical power the corpses are less visible, but the feeling of horror in the air there is
even worse than in the lighted areas. I had to walk through a two-block-long, unlighted residential section between HQ and my living
quarters after our unit meeting tonight. In the middle of one of the unlighted blocks I saw what appeared to be a person standing on
the sidewalk directly in front of me. As I approached the silent figure, whose features were hidden in the shadow of a large tree
overhanging the sidewalk, it remained motionless, blocking my way.
Feeling some apprehension, I slipped my pistol out of its holster. Then, when I was within a dozen feet of the figure, which had been
facing away from me, it began turning slowly toward me. There was something indescribably eerie about the movement, and I
stopped in my tracks as the figure continued to turn. A slight breeze rustled the foliage overhead, and suddenly a beam of moonlight
broke through the leaves and fell directly on the silently turning shape before me.
The first thing I saw in the moonlight was the placard with its legend in large, block letters: “I defiled my race.” Above the placard
leered the horribly bloated, purplish face of a young woman, her eyes wide open and bulging, her mouth agape. Finally I could make
out the thin, vertical line of rope disappearing into the branches above. Apparently the rope had slipped a bit or the branch to which it
was tied had sagged, until the woman’s feet were resting on the pavement, giving the uncanny appearance of a corpse standing
upright of its own volition.
I shuddered and quickly went on my way. There are many thousands of hanging female corpses like that in this city tonight, all
wearing identical placards around their necks. They are the White women who were married to or living with Blacks, with Jews, or
with other non-White males.