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'Ethno-Nationalism' By Definition/Practice (Jambo's World)

Mowl

Member
This one's for Jambo. What we're examining here is not the belief in 'Ethno-Nationalism' but rather the daily practice of same. For the last couple of years we've had Jambo screaming about ethno-nationalism as an ideal in his vision of future Ireland, but the question here is (I've actually asked this same question more than a few dozen times, but he refuses to answer) how does an ethno-nationalist manifest the beliefs belying the ideal?

So Jambo: how does an ethno-nationalist go about their day?

Does it involve refusing to shop anywhere that's not owned by an Irish person?

Does it involve refusing to get into a taxi or a bus driven by a Somali?

Does it involve refusing to eat any foods that have been prepared and served by a non-Irish national?

Does it mean that if ethno-nationalism takes off and there's a political party formed to represent ethno-nationalists, would their getting into power mean that every non-Irish person would be (a) sent home, or (b) shot in the head from seven paces? How would ethno-ntionalists in general behave towards anyone who isn't also an ethno-nationalist? Is there a code book that explains what ethno-nationalists should do or would it be every man for himself?

If you ordered a pizza and some bloke from Pakistan delivered it to you knowing that you were a card-carrying member of the ethno-nationalist party, would you refuse to take it? Take it and check that he hasn't hogged up a looey and spat it into the tomato sauce? Drag him indoors and beat him death? Then steal his electric bike and sell it on Facebook? Take the pizza, have a chat, hand him a tip, and wish him well? Tap his skull with the baseball bat with the six inch nail in the top of it that you keep behind the front door?

Quiz him about Nehru and tell him you think Gandhi was a great man?

Offer him a pamphlet about the Irish ethno-nationalist party and their general manifesto?

Start crying?

Shit your pants?

We're all curious, so you might even get some followers of your brand of ethno-nationalism if you can lay your answers out clearly and precisely.

Failure to do so of course makes you look completely foolish, naked, of little consequence, and obviously slavish and moronic.

 
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Does it involve refusing to eat any foods that have been prepared and served by a non-Irish national?
Seeing as Jambo bowed out.

One thing to understand about Jambo's cult is that they are trying to start a race war.

Read Breivik's or the other manifestos and apart from being struck with how exactly they mirror Jambo's slogans and forum postings, the reason they did what they did was to start a race war.

So presumably, once Jambo has inculcated slogans like "anti white" in enough heads, or possibly followed in the footsteps of the members of his cult who decided they'd had enough of "shitposting" and needed to go out and actuslly do something, and his hoped for race war is actually begun, well then whites wouldn't be able to eat food prepared by non-whites for fear of poisoning, would they.

It is easy to under estimate cult thinking and the leaps their logic goes to. I would say Jambo cares nothing for such apparent conflicts of logic as that he currently happily consumes the services of non-whites and takes advantage of the benefits to his own pocket.

As all he's interested in is sowing the seeds of his hoped for coming race war. (Personally I see plenty of those seeds taking root, there are saplings taking hold in many places.)
 
Seeing as Jambo bowed out.

For the last several months he's refused to explain how his version of nationalism works.

So the conclusion is, like himself - it doesn't.

One thing to understand about Jambo's cult is that they are trying to start a race war.

Republic of Ireland versus the world.

Read Breivik's or the other manifestos and apart from being struck with how exactly they mirror Jambo's slogans and forum postings, the reason they did what they did was to start a race war.

Must be galling for Brevik to find himself sitting permanently in the lap of luxury that is a Norwegian prison, watching the internet and realizing he's last year/decade's news.

Perhaps Jambo might take a RyanAir budget ticket to Oslo to visit him.

So presumably, once Jambo has inculcated slogans like "anti white" in enough heads, or possibly followed in the footsteps of the members of his cult who decided they'd had enough of "shitposting" and needed to go out and actuslly do something, and his hoped for race war is actually begun, well then whites wouldn't be able to eat food prepared by non-whites for fear of poisoning, would they.

Anti-white doesn't mean anything - it's been kicked around so much it's lost all meaning.

Like Jambo himself.

It is easy to under estimate cult thinking and the leaps their logic goes to. I would say Jambo cares nothing for such apparent conflicts of logic as that he currently happily consumes the services of non-whites and takes advantage of the benefits to his own pocket.

I hope they make a point of spitting into his food, adding snots to his latte, and laughing at him in public.

As all he's interested in is sowing the seeds of his hoped for coming race war.

Which he'll shy away from like a bullet from a gun.

(Personally I see plenty of those seeds taking root, there are saplings taking hold in many places.)

Not around here thankfully: maybe over on Arsefield's.
 
Jambo The Clown

I'll tell you the story of Jambo the Clown
A white supremacist that came through town.
His head was too big and his dick was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't credible at all.
And every time Dan and Val made him into a lick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he talked about "woke",
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he talked of the Jew,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he wished the world dead,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he posted a heap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he told a lie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Jambo could not make any money grifting
Simply because he was not credible.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be a not credible clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Jambo stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Jambo the Clown sat down and cried.
 
99% of Arsefield's is too hungover to attend real world protests whenever they occur. So arguing with Jambo all day long is their way of compensating. If they laid off the Dutch Gold...they might just be able to make a difference. Arguing online with Jambo will only result in an even worse headache than the one induced by the morning after effects of cheap lager.

After all, who cares about the housing situation when Val can prove all of those pesky physicists and astronomers wrong about the moon landing?
 
Val went hyper on this one with the 'hoo-hoo, ahahaaa-hah-hah-hooolly-doooly-hee-hee-hoo-hoo-what?-ohooo-hooo-hoooo.. ...er, ..err, yeah..'



Now you know why he's living in the shack on the edge of the slurry fields, just east of the shitting ditch.
 
There must be a special sort of clothes shop for people like Val. Black Friday sales on shit-coloured collars, stripey jumpers from the 1980s, terrible jackets that were once from terrible suits. Trousers that look like they were from Beirut.

I wonder if there is a sort of style guru. He's gone to all the trouble of making up a sign tacked to the wall behind him and then selects clothes to present his tellywidgeon show from the Peig Sayers Rainy and Windswept Autumnal 1984 collection. An offer from the Late Late show cannot be far off.

He should be condemned out of hand by the Local Authority and scheduled for demolition. They'll have to bury him in a cowpat shaped coffin.
 
There must be a special sort of clothes shop for people like Val.

The St Vincent De Paul in Cavan town are doing a sale on used farm wear.

Wellies half price.

Just the one leak in each, but they'll provide you with a bicycle repair kit to sort it yourself.

Black Friday sales on shit-coloured collars, stripey jumpers from the 1980s, terrible jackets that were once from terrible suits.

The camera can't see around corners, but you can rest assured that the elbows have giant circles of suede sewn over them.

Trousers that look like they were from Beirut.

Val said he went to Oman once. The locals took him down to the beach and tried to get him to swim. He refused point blank stating that the salt water wasn't his type of thing. In reality, they were trying to get the smelly cunt to wash himself. Two thousand miles from Ireland and he still smelled like shite.

I wonder if there is a sort of style guru.

There is. It's this guy - Richie Kavanagh - 100% pure bullish culchie: dumb, and proud of it.



He's gone to all the trouble of making up a sign tacked to the wall behind him and then selects clothes to present his tellywidgeon show from the Peig Sayers Rainy and Windswept Autumnal 1984 collection.

Val thought Peig Sayers was an autobiography.

Went all over the Skelligs looking for her to see if she'd sign his copy.

And maybe spend the night...


An offer from the Late Late show cannot be far off.

Given their budget, Val's a perfect choice.

They could get a good thirty-five minutes out of Val before sending him back out to the Green Room.

Val?

In a free bar?

Jaze, now.

He should be condemned out of hand by the Local Authority and scheduled for demolition.

Squeeze the fucker through an old mangle and I swear the slurry will come running out.

They'll have to bury him in a cowpat shaped coffin.

Line it with big rocks and then slowly sink him into the slurry as the band plays The Last Post and chorus (Val's a plant after all: Martin - an English name).
It'll absorb him entirely in three minutes flat.

Clapboard coffin and all.
 
I reckon Jambo misses Isle all the same.
Jambo replied to that, saying, "... Ehh, no. Isle misses me...".

I replied back:
You were the site's plaything right enough, Jambo. Comedy does require its halfwit father Dougal character. Though the joke wore thin after a while, to the point of boredom, you wore out your welcome, the laughs turned to irritation at your mindless stupidity and inability to say anything original in your own words. Good riddance.

Censored though. Obviously a view not permitted to be platformed. Another one that didn't make it past the post approval button.

I guess Hans didn't like the implication that Jambo was the class dunce on this forum, while he manages to tower intellectually over the worse dunces gathered on his forum (and Dan's).

Not saying much.
 
Gas the way the thread title never actually defined anything bar Jambo's rabbit-holing?

The gombs on the gay bar site STILL haven't figured out his game.

Poor Jambo.

All he ever wanted was to be 'LIKED' and to make some new pals.

Look at him now, but.
 
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