I myself have nailed at least five of the SOBs in the past four months for doing this to me. I wait until we both are stuck at a light, then I slam my truck into park, jump out and leap to their door and drag the sonofabitch out of his car. I then proceed to pick him up off the highway with one arm and shake him like a rat with his feet dangling, eyes bugging in terror, and mouth agape in shock and surprise. I stick my face right into his and tell him that if I ever see his maggot ass around my turf again I'll pull his head off and crap down the bloody stump. You'd be amazed at just how well this works as an attitude adjustment tool. But you see, at no time do I actually strike him or damage him, only scare the baranca out of him and make him feel lucky he's still breathing. I carry a red crowbar between my bucket seat and the door, and if there's more than one of them I bring it along for an equalizer since wetbacks are cowards and only attack when they have a gang to back them up. So far I haven't had to go that far. Two-thirds of the fight is looking like you don't care what the outcome is as long as you get to kill something. I always make sure I look deranged and bloodthirsty. Haw! If there's one thing wetbacks fear, it's a berserker white man...

And so I patiently played his game until we finally came to the first red light on the outskirts of town. It was a long one at a five-way stop, and there was no place Rastus could go. So once again I slammed my truck into park, got out, went to his truck and jerked his tall black ass physically out of that truck. His eyes looked like two soft boiled eggs jammed in a black bowling ball. I pulled him down to my eye level, which is six feet, stared him in the face and asked him one simple question. "Are you trying to get me to kill you, you stupid nigger?" He stammered, and his big lips flapped like two sheets in a stiff breeze as he answered, "Uh, uh, NO! NO! I wuz jes' funnin' mistah! Honess! Ahhz dinnut mean nuthin' byz it!" He stuck his huge hands out in a defensive motion. I gave him my scariest glare, guaranteed to make him think he was about to go to that Great Big rib restaurant in the sky. There was an older white guy in his late sixties with silver hair and his aging wife in a big Chrysler. He rolled down his window and gave me a huge grin and an emphatic thumbs up sign. I caught this out of the side of my eye and tried not to grin. After all, I was making an impression here. I bared my teeth at him like a hungry wolf and said in a low voice, " You know, I flat hate niggers. You know why I hate niggers?" He shook his head "No" as I squeezed the front of his shirt tighter. "Because all you worthless bastards are nothing but trouble. Every one of you ought to have the shit kicked out of you on a daily basis!" He bugged his eyes even bigger if that were possible. I'm sure he thought I was giving him the prelude to an ass kicking. "What do you think Buckwheat? You think you need to have your ass kicked?"

A lot of my relatives think I'm way too radical, and my own dear sweet old mother thinks I'm a vicious white supremist darky hater.. I still can't understand where she gets that... But even she has to grudgingly admit I'm dead right about the things I say and believe, it's just in her later years she's mellowed considerably. Hell, twenty years ago I used to have to carry a weapon whenever I went with her anywhere. Not for me, but to protect her!! Man, she had a mouth! One time we were at a museum in Tulsa. About a half-dozen nasty bucks were coming down the main ramp and blocking the whole thing from anyone else using it, by walking side-by-side deliberately. Mom took one look at them and yelled, "Hey you damned stupid niggers! Get your worthless black asses out of the way before we kick you out of the way!" Mom is 5' 10", 135 pounds. Not exactly Rocky Balboa. She came within a hair of forcing me into a blood match with this bunch of coons!

But whether it's blacks, wetbacks, queers, liberals, or any of the other assorted enemies of our race, we all need to display a lot more attitude. We need to start instilling fear into all of these maggots. That's because fear is a great weapon. It spreads like a cancer. It jumps from one person to another and it grows in strength the longer they brood on it. Paranoia sets in too. And the more they fear us, the more likely they are to lose in a confrontation with any of us at any time. This is good. We want fear to demoralize the enemy at every turn. When I jump one coon, he spreads the tale. And like all tales it grows with every telling, until I'm ten feet tall, built like a gorilla, tattooed with swastikas all over, and was eating a live cat when I walked up to him. But we don't just target coons and wetbacks. Don't forget we have a lot of other enemies out there that are working hard to bring about our destruction. We need to give them just as much attention. Never miss an opportunity to make one of them fear you. You don't have to actually do one bodily harm, just make him believe you will. That's more than enough to do the job in most cases. Because kicking the ass of just one lowlife may be intensely satisfying, but it can also bring your career to an abrupt end by getting you tossed in the can. And no single maggot is worth that. Make your sacrifices count. Wait until open war breaks out and you don't have a choice. Until then use psychology on them. After all, they've sure been using it on us.

So get a little attitude and start scaring the crap out of your enemies. It's useful..and it's fun to boot..lol.