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From: rcgraves@ix.netcom.com (Rich Graves)
Newsgroups: alt.revisionism,alt.politics.white-power
Subject: Re: ? [Turner Diaries]
Date: 11 Sep 1996 13:54:17 -0700
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qut@netcom.com (Dave Harman OBC) writes:
>In  llurch@stanford.edu (Skippy) writes:
>
>! > Could anyone please email me a copy (etext) of the Turner Diaries (I know 
>! > it will be illegal to have a copy of this on disc and distributing it) 
>! > but I can't get my hands on it here in Denmark.
>! 
>! Take anything by Mao, replace "bourgeois" with "nigger," and you've got
>! the Turner Diaries. 
>
>Liar, there's no crude name calling in the Turner Diaries.  Most uses of
>the epithet "nigger" for African Americans is committed by anti-racists.

The Turner Diaries, by Dr. William Pierce, charlatan-in-charge of the
National Appliance. From Chapter 11. 

  "Everyone out of the car and flat on the foor," Bill ordered,
yanking open the door on the driver's side. "Come on, niggers,
move! "
  They looked at the four guns trained on them, and then they
moved, although not without loud protest. Two of them, however,
were not Negroes. When they were all stretched out on the
concrete floor face down, all six of them, we saw that we had
three Black males, one Black female-and two White sluts. I shook
my head in disgust at the sight of the two White girls, neither of
whom appeared to be over 18.
  It didn't take long to decide what to do. We couldn't afford the
noise of gunshots, so I took a heavy crowbar and Bill picked up a
shovel. We started at opposite ends of the crew on the floor, while
the girls kept them covered with their shotguns. We worked
quickly but precisely, one blow on the back of the head sufficing
for each of them.
  Until the last two, that is. The blade of Bill's shovel glanced off
the skull of one of the Black males and struck the shoulder of the
White girl beside him, cutting into her flesh but not inflicting a
lethal wound. Before I could bring my crowbar into play to finish
her off, the little bitch was up like a shot.
  I had pushed the garage door down as far as I could after coming
in, but it still had not latched properly and had meanwhile crept up
about six inches. She scooted through this narrow opening and
headed for the street, with me about 10 yards behind her.
  I froze with horror as I saw an arc of light swing along the dark
pavement just in front of the running girl. A large truck was
turning into the street from the parking lot next door. If the girl
reached the street she would be illuminated by the truck's
headlights, and the driver could not fail to see her.
  Without hesitation I raised my pistol and fired, instantly dropping
the girl in her tracks beside the weed-overgrown fence separating
our parking area from that of the trucking firm. It was a very
lucky shot, not only in its effect, but also in that the roar from the
engine of the accelerating truck effectively masked the report. I
crouched in the driveway, drenched in a cold sweat, until the truck
had thundered off into the distance.
  Bill and I loaded the six corpses into the back of the Blacks' car.
He drove it off, with Carol following him in our vehicle, and left
the grisly cargo parked outside a Black restaurant in downtown
Alexandria. Let the police figure it out!
[...]
  November 30. In thinking over Saturday's events, what surprises
me is that I feel no remorse or regret for killing those two White
whores. Six months ago I couldn't imagine myself calmly
butchering a teen-aged White girl, no matter what she had done.
But I have become much more realistic about life recently. I
understand that the two girls were with the Blacks only because
they had been infected with the disease of liberalism by the
schools and the churches and the plastic popculture the System
churns out for young people these days. Presumably, if they had
been raised in a healthy society they would have had some racial
pride.
  But such considerations are irrelevant to the present phase of our
struggle. Until we have in our hands the means for bringing about
a general cure for the disease, we must deal with it by other
means, just as one must ruthlessly weed out and dispose of
diseased animals in any flock, unless one wants to lose the whole
flock. This is no time for womanly handwringing.

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