~ Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh! ~
“Gay” street, aptly named, runs through the heart of Knoxville. This Saturday, it was lined with hundreds of rainbow-clad zombies who were only there because their television and government schools taught them they ought to be there. Cheering the parading deviants, the crowd of mostly teenaged girls, danced and gyrated their whorish bodies while waving supporting signs and memorabilia.
Our folk, about ten strong and surrounded by sympathetic and smirking police officers, held aloft our “pro-traditional marriage” signs and made ourselves heard over the crowd. It wasn’t long before we were able to see the gay-parade approaching – like a faggoty slug that feeds on the death of nations and leaves a trail of poisonous slime in its wake…
“You ought to be ASHAMED of yourself!” I’d yell at a passerby. “What would your mother think of you wearing women’s clothes? What would your father think?! You’re not manly! You KNOW you’re wrong! You’re going to Hell if you don’t repent!” When surprised by this sort of rhetoric, the participants were immediately shocked, jaws dropping in devilish imitation of female expressions, then for a split second, before their moral outrage kicked in, they’d look guilty. A man cannot descend into that level of depravity without being aware of it.
Soon, the church floats arrived, lead by a homosexual Episcopal priest, in full clerical garb, strutting with his negro boyfriend; upon hearing us call him a damnable heretic, he stopped the parade to “shock” us by kissing his fellow deviant.
The worst part about the parade was how many children, from infants to teenagers were either actively involved (they were marching or displayed on floats, etc.) or were present in the crowd. Can a nation that allows its most innocent members to be so thoroughly defiled, remain a nation for long? No. It cannot and will not.
~ But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea. ~
When the parade was over, we walked a few blocks down to where all the deviants were gathering. The police wouldn’t let us into the fence and preferred we stand on the opposite side of the street. An hour-long yelling match erupted. We were spread out thin enough so that each member of our group could carry on his own shouting / debate / argument with the corresponding deviant on the other side of the street.
To my surprise, the majority of the crowd (at least, the ones I argued with) claimed to be Christians. It had never occurred to them that homosexuality was not Christ like. The most oft-quoted Bible verse I heard was “Judge Not!”; I was even told at one point that “Thou Shalt Not Judge” was one of the ten commandments and was the only one we still need to obey.
Facing this sort of Biblical illiteracy was surreal, but that’s just the beginning of this crowd’s level of ignorance. One young lesbian assured me that no one meant me any harm and that we ought to just live and let live. “Oh?” I replied. “What if I’m a Christian baker who doesn’t want to bake a cake for a gay wedding?” Displaying no knowledge of contemporary events, she assured me that in no possible world would I ever be forced to do something like that.
A scrawny 15 year old, with his lips painted purple, nose pierced, and hair dyed in rainbow colors, began ranting to me about how American society ought to function. I asked him why in the hell I should care what some uneducated fifteen year old had to say about the world… “… because…because…I have opinions man!” He was obviously exasperated by my question, never having been checked like that before. “Oh? What’s the last book you read?” I asked. He stuttered, stammered, then began cussing at me before a gaggle of his lesbian friends pulled him away.
This event was also a wonderful time to attack feminism, which we did with relish. I heard Heimbach tell a belligerent old jewess that he rejected feminism…to the shock of all the little feminists around him.
Every block we left behind dozens of gaping jaws.
Another favorite was our yelling at the girls to put some clothes on because they looked like whores. In another repeated incident, a man would stand by, glibly holding his girlfriend’s purse while she engaged in a yelling match with us; when he’d finally dare to speak up, we’d applaud and suggest that, in the future, he be a man and step in to keep his woman from having to argue.
They simply had never been talked to like this before. They’d never had their views ridiculed. They’d never been intellectually man-handled; not just by Christians, but by conservative, antique-European Christians.
I’ll describe one more encounter because I think it says something about the entire event. One harpy, particularly upset with me because I kept telling her to turn off her television and open a book, finally pulled out her big guns and said that the things I was saying were exactly the same as those racists in the fifties were saying! That brought a delighted hush over her group of friends. “Why thank you, ma’am,” I replied, “I *am* a racist…” gasps throughout the crowd. “You… you … you just lost everything,” she said… as if I had been gaining ground with her before hand and just lost all influence.
Another man accused our group of being possibly mistaken for those “Westboro” freaks if we didn’t improve our road-side demeanor. I replied to him and the harpy in the same way… “I’d much rather be confused with them, who are wrong on a few points of activism theory, than be confused with a bunch of sick sexual deviants who poison the minds of innocent children and pollute once beautiful Southern cities with their disease-riddled slime.”
I don’t care about “reaching” that crowd. I care about letting them know they are opposed. I care about God’s truth being spoken out loud on the streets of Knoxville, at least one last time. I care about the Devil looking out from his throne in New York (or wherever George Soros is hosting him) and knowing that he’s still got a few white boys to deal with.
One of the most inspiring parts of the afternoon, was how many elderly baby-boomer types, mostly women, would discreetly approach us and offer a quick thanks. I’m also greatly inspired by the number of businesses with “closed” signs in their windows that morning.
We will not go silently into the night…
Thanks to all who showed up to support the Traditionalist Youth Network, especially the Knoxville 10-Milers who are always an inspiration and constantly remind me of the ideal group of white boys. They retain a rugged sense of Scots-Irish chivalry and a healthy martial spirit (especially the legendary twins). Also, thanks to the National Youth Front guys who continue to impress me with the level of man they’re able to bring to the streets.
I apologize for not recounting more of their involvement in this event, but there were so many people, usually crowded thickly around us, that we each had to fend for ourselves and were lost in our own conversations. What I’ve recorded here is, I’m sure, characteristic of theirs.