It's 2008, and you're ten years old. Your dad owns a trucker business, your mom is a nurse, and they live in a townhouse in Brooklyn. One day, you'll learn it was "rent-controlled", and that will make you very, very angry — but for now, you're just a ten-year-old boy. 4th grade is going well, and you hang out with your friends at the park every Saturday. Most of the girls think you're "weird", but that's okay; you have better things to worry about than girls.
You've just finished your homework, and you consider turning on the TV, but it's mostly cartoons. You're too old for cartoons, aren't you? So instead, you hit up YouTube, and check your favorite channels.
Not much, unfortunately. That one Mario 64 Blooper channel you like's been doing more vids on some kiddie game called "Roblox". A few Youtube Poops, kinda funny but nothing special. Another rant about Camp Jesus — feels like you've seen the whole movie at this point. Jeez, how can the biggest video site on the net be so boring?
Might as well go with what you know.
creationism vs evolution
Your parents can get a bit lame about Christianity. They're not… "bible thumpers", no, but they're always nagging you about what you're reading and how you're not cheerful enough at church. It's not like you believe any of that crap, no. Besides, they watch Fox News.
It's the usual. More Jesus Camp videos, some Thunderf00t ones you've already seen, a video called—
Christian pastor schooling creationist; must watch!
…huh. Might as well.
You click on the video.
Split screen, two men sitting down. One of them's every creationist weirdo you've ever seen, pressed suit, funny hair, glasses. The other is… odd. He's big, tall and wide like a football player, but quite a bit older. Honestly, he's kinda scary… but then you hear him speak:
"I think it's bit silly, honestly. What part of Christ's sacrifice precludes the possibility of evolution?"
There's something to his voice that just… sticks with you. He's got a lot of, what's the word, "charisma"? There's a draw to him. He sounds like the kind of guy who's supposed to be your dad, smart and caring and protective, and that's not even getting into how good he argues. I mean, you never thought of it like he's putting it before, but it makes a lot of sense how those parts of the bible could refer to science and evolution.
The way he talks, it's hypnotizing. What's his name?
"Elder Joseph Rockwell"?
It's 2010, and you're twelve years old. You're going through puberty, becoming a man. Your parents still treat you like a child — that's not fair, is it? Fuck that. You just finished 6th grade, and you're about to become a teenager! Sure, you're not as tall as Matt, or as experienced as Jake — honestly, you're still not good with women — but can't they trust you?
It's time for you to be a man, according to Rockwell. He has quite a few videos on masculinity, mostly sermons but the occasional debate, or lecture, or weightlifting vlog. You're also weightlifting; real men lift weights.
You've just finished some sets when you hear your dad come home. He calls you and your mom down — he sounds excited about something.
It does sound exciting at first. Someone bought his business, and your family was now rich. Some kind of… storage company? He'd still be managing trucks, but he'll be doing it at a larger scale. Moreover, they'd given him permission to show his family something that would "change their lives forever." Something about… proof of God?
This was stupid. You turn to leave the room and go back to your homework, but then he pulls you back, and shows you a slip of paper that…
…no. The words are moving. That's not possible. You touch the paper, certain he's just showing you like, a smartphone or something, except it's bending at your touch, moving around your finger.
Magic is real.
Is God real?
You barely notice when he tells you that you're moving to Louisiana.
It's 2011, and for the next couple of weeks, you're still twelve. Your family moved to a cul-de-sac outside of Baton Rouge. You have no friends outside of school. You have no girlfriend.
Without a park to walk to, you've been spending most of your time online — and naturally, this means you've been spending a lot of time listening to Elder Rockwell. He doesn't do as many creationism videos as he used to; seems like he's moved onto debating feminism and muslims. You're learning more from him than you're learning from school.
Thing is, you're spending a lot of time on the regular internet. Some time after your family moved, they installed a secret, weirder internet connection in your home. Your dad doesn't let you use it, but more often than not he comes home hours after you. It's making you a bit curious.
On a cold January Thursday, just after you finish your homework, you decide to check out his computer. It's password-locked, but he always uses the same password anyways. You're in.
You spend the first half hour exploring the set-up. It's a lot different than a normal computer, both in layout and interface. None of the programs are familiar — you open a few word processors before you finally get to the web browser. Even then, it's more than just a simple search bar — there's a bunch of parameters to the search. It takes a while even just to open a video site.
The videos are longer and weirder than on YouTube. Robot bands, sermons for religions you don't recognize, debates about issues you couldn't wrap your head around in a million years. It's too much.
You go back to the search engine.
elder rockwell debate
You don't know why you expected to find Elder Rockwell on the weirdweb, but… but he's there. He's even got a long-form vlog show, it looks like. Something called… "Kindred Talk".
Of course you click on it.
The episode starts normally enough, a short instrumental jingle over two cartoonish caricatures. One's of Rockwell, smiling; the other is an angry-looking blonde woman. Some kind of feminist?
The video opens on the two of them in what appears to be a voice call. Rockwell stands at a microphone with a headset on, grinning his usual grin. The woman, rail thin, sits with a blank face. She's unusually still.
A bunch of squiggly lines flash over the stream, before Rockwell begins:
"Well met, gents and ladies, and welcome to Kindred Talk, a kindred discussion on America's future. I'm your generous host, Elder Rockwell—"
"—And I'm your mean host, Dunst Amherst—"
"—and today, we're gonna be having a kindred debate on what feminists are calling, what was it, rape culture?"
Elder Rockwell chuckles, and Ms. Amherst doesn't.
Right, okay, so this was standard. Rockwell was going to school another feminist. That could be fun, but you've seen it a million times, right? Eh, you might only stay long enough to see her reaction.
Elder Rockwell is eloquent, as usual. He lays out the problem: these days, everything is "rapey" to feminists. Looking at them, talking to them when they don't want to talk, even asking one out could get you into trouble with them. Now, he's against undue actions towards females — we gotta be "Christian" about these things — but can't they realize what this hypersensitivity is doing to society? They're teaching females to hate male attention, and men to be afraid of their own feelings.
Ms. Amherst barely responds to any of this; no nodding, no shaking her head, not even moving much, really. She's clearly not listening, and when Elder Rockwell cedes the floor to her, you just know she's going to be a harpy about it.
"First of all, you're beating around the bush again. All sex is rape, which is why the Biblical proscription for rape is marriage."
This is lame. She doesn't even seem that angry! You go to click off—
"Secondly, you give these cows a good rape, we're dealing with a lot less degeneracy."
You blink.
"Third, you're burying the lede by not mentioning the culture of critique behind this movement." She finally moves, tapping her nose and smirking.
Elder Rockwell chuckles again. "Are you naming what I think you're naming?"
"Are you?"
No, this… this can't be right.
Can it?
You keep watching.
"Suddenly, all those Jews contracting Blacks, recording Blacks, putting Blacks on Broadway, you're no longer allowed to criticize them. They can do whatever they want. Fifteen years later?" Amherst shrugs. "I'm just saying."
"I mean…" Elder Rockwell chuckles, and shakes his head. "They're so bad with money, you'd think it's the Mexicans pulling those strings."
"Complete non-entity. They couldn't conspire to run a lemonade stand." She shakes her head. "Speaking of places that should've kept their Hapsburgs…"
It's 2013, and you're fifteen years old. You still live in a Baton Rouge cul-de-sac. You have very few friends. Despite your good looks and fortunes, girls don't talk to you. But you're learning how to fix that. Good things come to good people.
"Don't it seem a little too convenient, Dunst?" Elder Rockwell leans in. "If all that lynching really were what they say it was, why, we owe 'em a lot more than just reparations. Black-On-White doesn't seem so unreasonable if White-On-Black were the law of the land."
"Point of clarification." Amherst raises a finger. "Are you saying they didn't happen, or they deserved to happen? We know Treyvon Martin charged Zimmerman."
"Knowing them?" He chuckles. "Maybe both."
Do you agree with Elder Rockwell on everything? No. Not at all. He has good points on feminism, Islam, black crime rates, and Israel, but the solution to those problems is a lot gentler than what he and Amherst are discussing. Besides, he's almost certainly joking; he makes a lot of funny jokes.
"Speaking of." He smiles. "What's the difference between an Ethiopian and an American?"
"When Ethiopia drives out the muslims, they stay out?" As usual, Amherst barely moves or cracks a smile.
Rockwell laughs. "Sure, but I was gonna say 200 pounds."
But fuck the nonsense. That's all that is, just playful nonsense. Rockwell's going to teach you how to be a real man. You just pick out the gold — and there's a lot of gold — and everything's going to come together. You've been dreaming of the waters. Fucking foolproof.
"Okay. Let's make something clear." Amherst scoffs. "I don't care about rape. I don't give a damn about rape. You can put as many numbers up as you want, you're not going to make me care about some coalburner on the cock-carousel." She leans forward. "It's not a problem of rape, Rockwell. It never is."
Rockwell blinks, twice, and then smiles. "You're always mighty spirited on the topic of rape, aren't you?"
Amherst smiles back.
It's 2014. You're almost sixteen. Dad is teaching you how to drive. You have very few friends, and no girlfriend. It's frustrating, the way they look at you, but you just need to work on your grooming and social skills. That's it.
And it's… it's not about you. The world's just built like that. Rockwell's pretty clear on that, and as much as Amherst strikes you as a creepy bitch, she's not…. wrong to be mad. The Israel lobby has a tight grip on the geopolitics, and given that Jews as individuals tend to be fairly liberal, liberal things follow. Add that together with feminism, and of course you're going to get a bunch of people like Marc Lépine hitting their breaking point.
Still, though, good things come to good people, and you can be good. You can be good.
When you come home from school today, you crack open a cola and heWater tastes like salt on your tongue.ad over to your computer. It's been a long day, and Kindred Talk is on soon.
There's been a weird shift in episodes, recently. That weird dynamic Rockwell and Amherst have, like they're dating or something, is gone. Good, you never liked it. But now it's replaced by, uh, well now it's replaced by something you can't quite name. They're talking more and more about guns, and communists, and transsexuals. Amherst especially seems agitated about these things — and she's fidgeting. She never fidgeted before.
You play a quick game of Roblox before the main show. You're good at this game. Eventually, however, it's five, and it's time for Kindred Talk.
The screen opens with the usual drawing, and that's the last of the podcast that you recognize. When it finally comes to, Rockwell looks worried, and Amherst — Amherst — is pacing her room.
Rockwell purses his lips, then comes back with his trademark smile. "Well met, gents and ladies, and welcome to Kindred Talk, a kindred discussion on America's—"
"Fuck."
Rockwell blinks, but quickly swerves into a warm chuckle. "Real sorry you gotta hear that, gents. Here at Kindred Talk, we care a lot, and when you care—"
"Fuck!" Amherst stops, pulling at a loose strand of hair. "Jesus Murphy, God damn it!"
Amherst is the last person you'd expect to break the Third Commandment, but right now that's barely the most notable thing about her. She's gotten unusually thin, which for Amherst is saying a lot. Her hair, normally pulled into a neat braid, looks messy and unwashed. Weirdest of all, around her waist is a scuffed red belt — but you're not sure why that sticks out so much.
"Ms. Amherst, we can end the call if—"
"No." She turns her eyes to glare at the camera, and you nearly recoil. "They need to see this. They need to hear this."
Amherst stomps forward, and leans over her webcam until she's taking up most of her screen. "There is a war." Her makeup is smudged and uneven. "There is a war, and it's been going since the Enlightenment. You, me, Rockwell, Christendom, Western Civilization, all of us are at war with the forces of Liberalism."
Rockwell nods, but doesn't look entirely convinced. "Ms. Amherst, is this—"
"Shut up, Rockwell." Her eyes dart to an unseen corner of the screen. "I'm sick to death of your slacktivism. Every week, every day, every minute of this show, I'm the one saying gas the kikes, shoot the commies, rape the dykes, hang the niggers and burn the faggots, while you sit there and act like you can mainstream your way out of the dirty work, like you don't believe every word that comes out my mouth. You know who cared about the mainstream, Rockwell? Degenerates like Galileo, or Paine, or fucking Voltaire!"
She looks straight back into her camera. "And for all the tranny freaks tuning in, I fucking admit it. Every little lie about 'optics' and 'support' and 'movement-building', all of it — all of it — leads back to the vanguard, to people like me. We cannot debate White Genocide out of existence, and every John Stone tapeworm juicer in the movement knows that. Either lay down and die, or pick up your fucking g—"
The stream cuts out. That's the last time you see Kindred Talk, and the last time you see Ms. Amherst.
It's not the last time you see Rockwell.
It's 2015, and you're seventeen years old. You live in Baton Rouge, and you're craving fish right now. Still no girlfriend, and… and honestly, it seems like the few friends you used to have have stopped talking to you entirely. Dry mouth. Nausea.
The first time you saw Rockwell on TV… what did you think? You can hardly remember. No one understands your feelings, and least of all yourself.
He's different, though. More people see him, more people talk to him, more people are listening to him, but he's not, he's not right. The joviality, that's there, and so is that calm and cool demeanor, but he's not saying what he used to say. No, he's sticking to the mainstream narratives, that Fox News journo talkaround basic shit. Salt tastes like water. Where's the fire?
You're sitting at a lunch table when it comes out:
"It's the jews."
That thought takes you through 5th period math. Who owns the media? Jews. Who owns the TVs? Jews. For as long as he's on TV, who owns Rockwell? Those goddamned baby-sucking jews. Of course he's not allowed to speak the truth on television.
That anger lasts longer, longer—
It's April, and you ask Stephanie out to Prom. You're rich, good-looking, strong, and she says no, she still says no. Her eyes keep on you like a scared crab.
Bitch!
The female is the dog of the jew. It was saboteurs like Rosa Luxemburg and Emma Goldman and Lillith who pioneered Feminism, and look where it got the world! All those opportunities wasted on females, while men have to play remora to the fucking globalists, it's sick, it's sick, it's sick sick sick sick sick!
Isn't that why people like Rogers snapped? What tragedy, the violence churned out of this violent machine.
When you get home, you slam the door, and go straight to your room. You sleep for 13 hours.
Nobody cares about you, Donny. It's 2016, and you still have no friends or girlfriend. Aren't you 18? High school is about to end for good, and you're still a virgin. No experience for college, no friends to rely on, nothing but you, yourself, and the truth.
And what a truth it is, Donny. What a truth it is.
Where's Rockwell, Donny? You used to listen to him, to take in every word, but he's been cucked, hasn't he? Oh, sure, maybe you'll hear him talk about the White Genocide every now and then — he never calls it that, these days — but no, no, no no no no no, Donny, he doesn't speak so freely as he used to. He has a career, now. Aren't you proud of him?
Isn't it funny, though? Sometimes, you'll catch him outside of the limelight, and he's just as you remember. He talked about USS Liberty on The Daily Dirlewanger a few weeks back; you saw a clip of him singing of White beauty at something called 'Marble Underground'; he even, once, provided the voice for an animation about… you're not actually sure, actually. He still believes what you believe, and perhaps that's the worst of it all.
Why do you feel so sick, Donny? There were fourteen fish in the fish tank, the day before yesterday, but only thirteen today. What happened? Where did it go? The world, it seems, may never know.
Time for some TV, Donny. Let's see what's Rockwell's up to. Don't worry: you always know which channel to flip to.
Oh joy! Right on the first try, you find him on a channel with no production logo. Giving a speech to who honestly cares, Donny! Pay closer attention to his words: "And it is my pleasures," he grins. "To endorse Mike Pence as Vice President of the United States."
The crowd cheers. Why? What's there to cheer about—
He winks at you.
Why did he wink at you? I'm being rhetorical, Donny, you already know why! All this chaff, the drek and the trash and the anti-human garbage, it's all just a show for them! Deep inside the heart of the machine, your man, Elder Rockwell, is fighting the good fight against the forces of darkness. What else, what else, what else could that mean?!
Come on, Donny. It's time to go swimming.
h0e p;f str upi donny, how old? nineteen? for what donny, for what?
he said it was about to happen! he said that the wall agia nst the hordes would be buold donny and what obe it? thost little bing pixies ares still strutting around liket they own the whol world donny. rockwerll said everything wii;ld be okay, rockwell sayd everything would be okay
just a femonths back your peopls your kin your betheresn marchsed for yheir right to exst and what tid drockwell's man do about it, what did he do? his me, his men whete among those pushing back your brothesr in the aname of ogranized jewry
whers is rockwell? whers is rockwelll?!
DONYOUSHOULDHAVEHADAGIRLFRIENDYOUSHOULDHAVEHADFRIENDSYOUSHOULDHA
VEHADFRIENDSYOUSHOULDHAVEHADTHEMYRIADPOSSIBILITIESBUTYOURE20ANDLOO
KWHEREYOUARE
WHATDIDYOUDOTODESERVETHISYOUVEDONEEVERYTHINGRIGHTARENTYOUAFIGHTER
DONARENTYOUHANDSOMEARENTYOURICHARENTYOUAMAN
20YEARSPENTALONE20CHRISTMASESWITHONLYYOURIGNORANTFAMILYNOGIRLFRIEN
DNOCLOSEFRIENDSNOONEWHOREALLYUNDERSTANDSYOUALWAYSATTHEBOTTOMOFE
VERYHOLEYOUCRAWLDOWN
YOUNEVERASKEDFORMORETHANALITTLEDIGNITY
It's too late for you.
You've been thinking. You're not exactly, shall we say, successful. College isn't going swimmingly. Women… no, everyone looks at you with naked disgust. Your last hope was Rockwell, and where is he?
You've spent a lot of lonely nights, running back on everything he's ever said. What's to be done about the jewish influence over America? After every bite of the kosher sandwhich, why hasn't America revolted? The Whites hate the jews, the blacks hate the jews, and even the asians must have had it with them — so who is going to do something?
A few months back, you saw the livestream. You were shocked at how simple it all looked, how easily he'd been able to do it. Sure, there was that token resistance, but he just… got away with it, at least for a while.
And you're a good shot, aren't you?
You're standing at the precipice, now. Heart pounding, the rifle weighs heavy in your fingers. You're going to die today, but you'll fly on Scarlet wings, as a saint in the name of God's Red Right Hand.
Well, Don Armstrong. It's been a pleasure.
"…and what happened with that young man is a terrible tragedy. You have got to admit, however, that as long as those (((international bankers))) have our nation by the balls, tragedies like this will keep…"
