For a "meeting house" for we misfits and social cretins, nothing beats "Ole' Tom Metzger's Shithouse" as you nod your head at some of the finer truths over rotten-barrel whiskey, yonder the other end of the fair grounds at the Red-State carnival of pinwheels and cheap door prizes. Yawp, we put the "trash" in "white trash" as squid-eyed detritus not sure of their manhood, or even their warm-bloodedness as shivering curs dressed there in a raggedy "Tasmanian Devil" t-shirt.

It was like all those right-wing conservative magazines: "The American Spectator". . . . . "The Spotlight". . . . . cartoonish growling from fringe groups up to their ignoble, low-down pursuits, all convinced that the same shadowy cabal of bankers and "money-men" ran everything. One of the founding editors wrote "Boy Clinton" that has our slick, southern "Willie" leaning back like "a horse trader" like he's up against a fence post, goin' "SHEEEEET, man".

That was as of a grim, barrel-pounding piece of low-down Clinton-baiting as I have ever heard. . . . . worse, probably.

But the difference between Tom Metzger and those petty, tight-lipped right-wing types is that he can see "the bigger picture" with a wheezy laugh, like an old cowboy from southern California. He's had his fill of "the right-wing", actually-- and has gravitated more to "the left", even. Whatever is pragmatically best for European-descended people, though he would put it in blunter terms when he describes "our enemies". . . . . too far rooted in attitudes of cosmopolitanism, corporate greed, and indifference to the darkening complexion of America and what this implies for a traditionalist's future.

Many neigh-sayers have a way of pointing out that types like Tom Metzger and Pat Buchanan "were always trying to turn back the clock" when time was marching irretrievably forward. It's kind of like those Greek myths when the original Father Spirit of the Gods swallowed his children to keep them from being birthed into the world but could not stem the tide when he could ultimately not violate the laws of nature's destiny.

But "Terrible Tommy" would throw the fighting cock in the ring, with a wink of amusement and a grimace of a smile, that modern Western society was living an existence that was sheltered and overly denying nature's laws. . . . . and that was the root of the problem. Whether it was "touchy-feely" Christianity, or man sequestered in his living room with his satellite dish, it was quite literally "a wake-up or die" proposition. Hell, ole' Metzger is smart enough to admit that the traditional battle is lost and it doesn't matter what you do, or who you vote for, only that you stay strong for the chaos that lies ahead by educating yourself and keeping amused.

Most folk in any faction may have a point about "this-and-that", but they fall into petty "moral squabbles" about irrelevant issues and grossly miss the point. Leftists, who generally cooperate more amongst themselves, fall into the trap that small-scale organizing and non-profit "culture-jamming" with the filthiest grassroots cretins you could ever imagine "is really going to fix things". If Tom Metzger believes in that at all, he winks and runs a website, tabloid paper, and daily radio show where subscribers send in their dues to a nice, convenient P.O. Box.

Ole' Terrible Tommy disavows strict membership organizations on the principle that such entities are the most easily infiltrated and sabotaged-- whether by COINTELPRO or self-righteous heathen, "and keeps up the suspense" by calling upon "lone wolf activity" to spread the word with an aura of danger, like a heavy metal singer chopping up raw meat and tossing it out onto the audience or even drinking blood from a skull. There's a great deal "of shock value" in the business and the hang-dog media is always looking for an infamous quote to bring to its chicken-hearted readers watching or reading at home like sheltered house cats. There's a large degree of power that comes with this relationship, and Metzger is loathe to give it up.

It's like when you never quite know what to say to someone who wears a "Misfits" or "Charles Manson" t-shirt as they wander through a cruddy, alternative, cosmopolitan shopping district. There's this band out there called "Bad Religion" that has a black Christian cross in a white circle, crossed out. It would probably be more "punk rock" to have an Islamic crescent or "Star of David" in there. But the difference between "bluffing", striking a pose-- and then really following through with something. The average person doesn't like "trouble and danger" and holds up their hands at the first sign of confrontation.

It's like those kids who'd put on their own "fearsome attitude" with green hair and dog collars and an air of langouring, unallayable petulance that had the whiff of a stubbed-out cigarette and you knew not to walk in the line of their jaundiced sight. It was a power they had over we "social inferiors", as hard and certain as a swung truncheon. And you noticed that they always moved in groups, as if decreased numbers "would diminish their power". God forbid, if you should find one alone. . . . . when they were just a scared, not-very-bright, mope-mouthed kid.

That's the true postmodern condition.

When kids without direction form the equivalent of wolf-packs-- when it's not so much whether you believe is "right or wrong", but it's a state of mind given legitimacy by the force of numbers in the pursuit of POWER as the existential silence has no answer to the events on the ground, fighting over honor like rats skittering back and forth over a rotten hunk of cheese.

In the arts and the cultural dialogue, this can either be done in good or poor taste, oftentimes for the latter, cutting to a shot of the gelid, nervous eyes of a fly that flick as it rubs its forelimbs together before oblivion comes with the Nazi jack-boot of overblown analogy that sells in the books, films, and artwork of the pseudo-sophisticated who merely want praise. It's like taking a video by "The Red Hot Chili Peppers" overly seriously and seeing it "as a legitimate cultural statement" when it comes down to the Meso-American, Afro-Caribbean, apolitical communal Trotstykist funk of four white guys giggling, whooping, and flapping around like chickens with socks on their dicks.

Tom Metzger would only lean back in the saddle and ride off, laughing.

If this is "the postmodern state of mind" we've been stuffed into, "a life without borders"-- what you do is either burst through the boundaries and surprise them or turn your back in contempt, doing it "just right" so they begin to follow you. Yes, as if you're the one who has the answer in these lost, aimless times. If they lash out in defensiveness, beat them at their own game of "there is no such thing as absolute truth" by sliding in the shovel underneath their lazy ass of egotistic justification and flipping them over. If they don't run off, yowlin'-- they'll love you for it. In these postmodern times, you didn't fall into the cheap "pin-the-tail-on-the=non-human" artistic cheap-shot of taking someone out to be denigrated, fucked, and destroyed.

It's not necessarily what the man says, if you would even listen to the man, but the fact that the great majority of people are conditioned to leap at "buzz-words" like "hater" or "Nazi", without looking in the mirror and seeing what the lot of them would do with Tom Metzger if the law wasn't looking. And I find it ironic that for all that the left scoffs at religion, they're the ones weak-minded enough to follow messianic figures like Barack Obama like seekers groveling before a piece of "the true cross", which is just a rotten hunk of plywood if you looked close enough.

By the time you want to ask "Terrible Tommy" about this, he has disappeared into the sunset like a cowboy from "Republic Pictures".

    Now you're in on the joke.