The librarian at the junior college was an older woman with big tits, not bad-looking, but not his type.
Excuse me
Smile. Yes, what can I do for you?
Uh, I'm doing a term paper on racist literature for Soc. 101. What kind of reference material do you have?
Let's see. The general references would be in the card catalogue-you could try bigotry, racism? prejudice, possibly ethnicity. How far back do you want to go?
Twentieth century.
Hmm. We also have a special collection of Nazi and neo-Nazi literature just donated a few months ago.
Oh? (I know, bitch. A truckload of stuff donated by the wimps at the Coalition Against Racism. Long-haired kikes and spies and niggers wanting to expose the student body to the evils of prejudice, raise the fucking student consciousness. Fucking candlelight ceremony with some hook-nosed rabbi mouthing off about the peace-love- brotherhood scam. Campus paper covered it big-he'd cut out the article, put it in his research file.)
Is that something you'd be interested in looking at? Smiling. The tits jiggling as she talked.
I guess so.
She kept him waiting, went into the back room and came back pushing a trolley of file cases.
Here you go. It can't be checked out. You'll have to read it right here.
Thanks. You've been a great help.
Smile. That's what we're here for.
He wheeled the trolley to a table against the wall, away from everyone else, opened the cases, and found a treasure trove.
Mein Kampf, in English. Gerald L.K. Smith. George Lincoln Rockwell. The Thunderbolt. The Klansman. And classic stuff: Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Der Sturmer with those terrific cartoons.
Truth-tellers.
Their words gripped him, set off something inside of him that he knew was right and real.
He wanted to eat all of it, chew up and swallow every book and pamphlet, infuse it directly into his genetic code.
But not the liars' books.
Whiny, whimpering shit written by kikes and kikesymps about the SS, the death camps, Josef Mengele, M.D., Ph.D. Photos of twin victims, piles of bodies, supposed to repulse.
But they turned him on.
Among the lies, a find: a book on the Nuremberg trials written by some kike lawyer who'd been there. A list at the back, naming the defendants. Noble Herr Doktor Grandpa occupying a place of honor in the S column. His sweet name shining like a beacon.
A fuzzy group picture of defendants at the docket.
The same face!
Hermann to Dieter to Dieter II.
The seed lives!
He returned to the library, again and again, got the trolley and wheeled it to a quiet corner-such a studious boy. Lived with the treasure for weeks while he copied sacred sentences into spiral notebooks, preserving the words, burning the truth into his mind.
The kikes were behind the drug trade, world communism, diseases of the genitals. War and crime. Out to turn the world hook-nosed and filthy.
Gerald L.K. Smith said so. So did George Lincoln Rockwell, Robert Shelton. They proved it with facts, exposed Holocaust lies, the kike-banker conspiracy.
The Fuhrer, persecuted. Grandpa Hermann, framed, dead in a prison cell.
Daddy Dieter dead in a prison cell!
Crucified by nigger-pimp-pushers and the kike drug bankers who bankrolled all of it.
Heil Daddy! He felt like crying
Thin fingers on his arm brought him back to the park, the night air. They'd reached the end of the pathway. Nightwing stroked his hair.
'Come on, Dr. T., it's cool, no patrols. Nothing to get freaked about!'
He looked at her, through her.
Stupid cunt had her mesh blouse unbuttoned, revealing her tits, hands on her hips, trying to look sexy. The moonlight hit her face, turned her into a skeleton, then back to a girl, then back to a skeleton again.
Shifting layers.
The beauty beneath the surface.
'C'mon, cutie.' Pointing to a cave. Taking his hand and leading him into it.
