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Originally posted by SaviorComplex
And this is where we call shenanigans on the story. Your father would not have had a single friend among Neo-Nazis. He married someone outside of his race, and had a mixed-race child. They would have considered him a race traitor. This story is complete bunk.
Originally posted by aussiejoe
I once made a website attacking my school which appeared extremely violent in nature, but it wasn't, it was just exposing the truth of what happens there, and the media misrepresented the context of what I wrote. I am not a violent person by nature. The woman at the hospital who said she owns me said she knows I want to kill and all that but I said no I don't, I'm not a violent person and I don't want any job she has to offer me and she said I was lying but I know in my heart I wasn't.
Originally posted by aussiejoe
My father used to train me in how to use weapons to a degree of proficiency whilst I was living with him after he and my mother had parted ways. We would shoot indoors with a .22 loaded with Zimmer rounds in to phone books from a range of approximately 7m. The rifle was a Ruger 10/22. It had a 30rd magazine loaded with high velocity ammunition and this was my weapon (dads being the pump action shotgun) if it was ever necessary.
Originally posted by aussiejoe
The 'detective' then apologises to me, I say I forgive him, he tells the lady with the scars that I forgave him and she said she doesn't care, she is coming with him. I say it's not fair what they do to kids like us is it?
Anyway I notice this woman get on the train. The type of woman you see everyday and would take no notice of, but for some reason I just couldn't stop looking at her, and she never once made eye contact with me, which you would probably do if someone was staring at you. Well I'm sitting in the back right of the train, and she gets on and sits about the middle left, but strangely flips a seat so she is facing backwards. It is not an empty train so now her knees will are pretty much touching someone elses.
I don't know why but I keep looking at this woman. Her head was down and her eyes appeared closed, which I find odd as it was early afternoon. Anyway she had a large travel rucksack on her back, which isn't unusual on the train I catch as it goes through the airport and alot of tourists get on/off. What was unusual was that her bag had no travel/airline tags on it. I thought that was odd. Anyway she gets off at the airport, and I'm still looking at her, and she doesn't head in to the airport, she waits on the platform. I didn't think too much of it at the time. But she didn't look like a foreigner. She had an Aussie tan, not the kind you get after 6 weeks on Bondi beach, but the time you get after living here your whole life.
Anyway, maybe a week later I'm catching the train home again. This time I was in a fairly empty carriage. I am immersed in my newspaper and don't really notice what is going on, except there is a man sitting off to my left, and a woman sitting about 4 rows in front.
I finish reading my newspaper and look around. The woman 4 rows in front of me has her chair facing backwards. Her head is down and her eyes appear closed. It's exactly the same woman. I start losing my # here wondering what's going on. I decide to focus my gaze exactly where her eyes would be if they were open. I then stand up holding this gaze and move to leave for another carriage. As soon as I stand up she looks up really really quickly, notices I am holding eye contact with her, gets a panicked look on her face and puts her head down. I change carriages and change my clothes in the other carriage, James Bond style.
Originally posted by NewWorldOver
... Shows how much you know. The Nazis took monumental expeditions to Tibet and India to research the ARYAN bloodline to which they believed they were descended.
The ancient empires fall, the dark-skinned peoples fade and even the demons of antiquity gasp their last, but over all stands the Aryan barbarian, white-skinned, cold-eyed, dominant, the supreme fighting man of the earth. -- Robert E. Howard, Wings in the Night