Stuck in the Muck: Musings and Ramblings About Conservatism These Days, part 1

by John Massaro

I MOVED FROM Long Island to rural upstate New York two years ago. I have an 86-year-old neighbor down the road named Walter who lives in a nice house with an American flag hanging on the front porch. He recently drove by in his pick-up truck, and seeing me standing outside, pulled over to chat about a trivial issue. He was wearing a baseball cap with the words “Jesus is my Savior,” and below that, “Trump is my President.” I wouldn’t wear that thing in public for a minute if you gave me a hundred bucks. For a thousand bucks, maybe — as long as I could take it off after ten seconds. Walter is a nice man who still has all his marbles, but I thought to myself, “What is it like to live in the dark for so long — to be such a mindless human fossil? Do people like this have any future?” Walter is married to a pleasant woman, maybe ten years younger, whom I’ve met, but I don’t know if they have any children or grandchildren, so I can’t answer the second question. The houses on my quiet country road are spaced one to two hundred yards apart, so I don’t have much interaction with my neighbors, but those I’ve met all seem to be good people somewhat sharper than Walter.

Earlier this year I went to a pancake breakfast at the local firehouse, just to connect with the townspeople, get to know my community a little better. It was a nice social event and a first for me. It seemed like everybody knew each other, everybody but me that is. After waiting in line, we were seated at long tables in groups of twenty or so. I surveyed what may have been half the town, all White and basically sturdy looking — the salt of the earth, if you will. Everyone at my table was polite, but I wasn’t too impressed with the conversations, and less impressed by the fact that half these folks, including children, were drinking Coke with their breakfast. Not a sign of intelligence if you ask me.

Yet I must also say that, in chatting with a few neighbors and the local automobile mechanic about my move, I detected a sound survival instinct not often found on Long Island or in the suburbs generally. I’m a deer hunter, as are millions of American men who live in the countryside, and my area is overrun with deer; I see them on my property almost every day. When I said that Long Island would not be a good place to be if the shit hits the fan, that I could always survive up here by shooting deer and drinking from the stream behind my little house, I never got a suburbanite smirk as a response but usually an understanding nod.

There are some advantages to living in the suburbs, but being close to Nature and being able to live off the land are not on the list. That feeling of vulnerability hit home during the hurricane of October 29-30, 2012 called Superstorm Sandy. We’d had other hurricanes on the island, but none compared to Sandy. What distinguished it was the incredible tidal surge, which wreaked havoc along the south shore of Long Island where I lived. Some streets a mile from my home were under six feet of salt water. The coastal areas of New York City and New Jersey were also hit very hard. Had the flooding been a little worse it’s likely that local major highways would have been impassable, and since all commodities reach Long Island by truck — well, you get the picture. The 2020 Saint George riots were another wake-up call, but by then my country house was under construction. Negroes are ten percent of the population in Nassau and Suffolk counties, scattered about, and an island-wide chimpout during desperate times always weighed on my mind, but watching a protest march and hearing the chant “No Justice, No Peace” a hundred yards from my front door made it real. Surviving a race war simply by being far away from the battlefield was something my upstate neighbors instantly grasped. I might add that rural Whites had a clearly lower Covid vaccination compliance rate than their urban and suburban counterparts which points to sounder survival instincts. Nevertheless, they’re clueless about an awful lot.

I’ve taken numerous road trips around all 48 lower states, staying at cheap motels and campgrounds. Some campgrounds are better than others, but I’ve never had a bad experience in any of them, one reason being that camping is a virtually all-White activity, and from all appearances predominantly conservative. Campgrounds are safe, wholesome places where it’s nice to see friends and families cooking dinner outside or gathered around a fire at night, and children puttering around on their bikes or tricycles or playing outdoor games. I always put up a tent, but I’m in the minority; most “campers” sleep in their recreational vehicles. I have nothing against RVs, but it would be nice to see more of these presumably middle class conservatives forgo the comforts of home, including television for crying out loud, for a week or so and rough it. And really, is a little rain at times such a terrible thing? I enjoy the pitter-patter of rain on the flysheet, and my made-in-China tent still hasn’t leaked after nine years of use. Okay, that’s just a pet peeve of mine. Another one is that most of these RVers put up an American flag somewhere on their campsite, occasionally adding a sign reading “God Bless America” or something. It would be nice to see a confederate flag now and then, but I never have. Parenthetically, in New York it’s a felony to display the stars and bars on public property, and if you do it in a state park campground you could go to prison for five years. I’m not kidding.

Two years ago I went on a five-day jaunt with my son on the back roads of Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania is bigger than it looks on a map so we stuck to the northeast quarter which, outside the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre metro area, is as White as it gets. Notwithstanding the many pleasant little towns and friendly people, however, the general IQ level worried me. This is hardcore MAGA country. I saw at least fifty “Trump 2020” signs — in 2021. Entering a family restaurant in Kingsley, we were greeted by a larger than life-size cutout of Donald and Melania. And I’ve never seen so many tattooed women. I don’t mean one small, discreet tat, but arms or legs or both heavily scrawled upon, and sometimes a foot, neck or torso as well. Like everyone else I’m accustomed to the sight these days, but not in more than half the female adult population. It’s worth mentioning that when I was growing up in the 1960s, I never saw a woman of any age with a single tattoo. It’s a small way, among many big ways, that the country has gone downhill. To get inked here, there and everywhere shows lemming behavior at its worst, and in most cases, probably, lack of fitness for motherhood, and fatherhood too for that matter.

When planning a trip I go on the Internet to see if there are any upcoming events where I’m headed. I found a fair in a little town with the unusual name of Wyalusing. I like these quintessentially American country fairs; it’s good to see children and adolescents engaged in husbandry, often competing for the biggest zucchini or prettiest heifer instead of staring at their smart phone screens. We walked through a few pavilions, checking out the local livestock and agricultural exhibits, then we played a few games of bingo. I sat next to a friendly middle-aged woman and made small talk. Americans are friendly people, as friendly as you’ll find anywhere.

The only place to stay here is the Wyalusing Hotel, which looks like something from a 1940s movie set. It was only $85 a night for a large, comfortable room, luxurious by my standards, and there was a balcony overlooking the quiet main street where we ate breakfast — an excellent deal. I often wonder how most people in rural areas like this survive, what they do for a living. That question answered itself in Wyalusing when we drove past a large Cargill plant and a packed employee parking lot. I looked into Cargill. It’s one of those global mega-corporations with its tentacles in various commodities, the principal one being unhealthy food. They’re the ones who make all those chicken McNuggets for McDonalds. What will life be like in these conservative parts if Cargill ever shuts down, I wonder.

I found an outdoor music festival near the isolated village of Forksville on the Internet. It was in a meadow down a long dirt road. Two morbidly obese young women were collecting the entry fee. I was astonished when one asked for my driver’s license and wrote down my personal details in a log book, and more astonished to see armed security guards patrolling the grounds in ATVs. What the hell? Did they think this was Baltimore or Chicago? Is this what the most conservative areas of the country have come to?

There was a local country rock band, which seems to be the only kind of music played at these venues, and they’re usually pretty good, as this one was. There were a lot of people selling handicrafts in their allotted spaces. Among other wooden items, three intricately carved tool boxes, each with a different design, caught my eye, as did the price tag of $30 for each one. I stood there looking at them, telling the woman sitting by them, “You know I’m gonna buy one of these, dontcha?” I forgot what she said, but she had a good sense of humor. All three were quite beautiful and it was a tough choice, but I finally picked one out. Her husband, who I’m sure made them, sat in the background smiling. Each toolbox was a work of art and each must’ve taken at least two hours to make. For thirty bucks. Not to press it, but both had given their local tattoo parlor an awful lot of business.

This past summer my son and I made a short trip to New England, which included three nights at a lakeside campground in New Hampshire. Way back when I lived in Connecticut for three years and near Boston for a year, and have crisscrossed the New England states many times. Outside the few big cities the quality of life is good and the population overwhelmingly White, mostly old stock. Maine has the honor of being the Whitest state in the nation, just recently nudging out Vermont, while New Hampshire comes in at number four (West Virginia is number three on the list.) I especially like the area I know best, the Connecticut shoreline north of New Haven and into Rhode Island with its wonderful ocean vistas and great fishing, a most underrated state. New England has a deserved reputation for being oddly liberal, but even though you’re sure to see a disturbing number of queer flags and “Black Lives Matter” signs, it would be absurd to paint the whole region liberal, including Massachusetts, the most liberal of the six, if that even means anything outside the Boston area. I always like to drive on roads where I’ve never been, and so I did this time, heading north to New Hampshire on rustic Route 32, through Ware, Barre, Petersham, Athol. There were American flags galore in these small Massachusetts towns. I despise that burial shroud, but for clueless conservatives it shows a little sign of life, and let’s face it, the stars and stripes beats rainbows, stars of David, and hammers and sickles.

The campground, just north of the state line, was festooned with American flags. Lots of flags but no fags so who am I to complain? The guy in the site next to me, with his big RV, wife and two children, was not only flying Old Gory but he was stringing red, white and blue lights from tree to tree. “Getting an early start on Christmas?” I smiled as I walked past his site. He chuckled. A week before we arrived I had called and made a reservation for three nights. No credit card number needed, no penalty for cancellation, just call us as soon as you know you can’t make it. I liked that. When I checked in at the camp store and office, the owner had my name on an index card, not a computer. I liked that too. On the second morning we rented a canoe for five dollars and paddled around the scenic lake for a few hours. What a deal! I liked that the best.

That afternoon we drove maybe a hundred miles with no destination in mind on roads new to me. We drove through the little town of Hinsdale, where a sign outside the post office proclaimed it to be the oldest continuously operating establishment of its kind in America. I looked into it later, and sure enough, mail has been delivered out of that same clapboard building since 1816! Now I wish I had gone inside to take a look. Drive the backroads of America and you’ll come across unknown gems like this from time to time.

There was a fair taking place in Swanzey, twenty minutes north of the campground, so we headed up there. Once again it was nice to see, in this day and age, young folks involved in raising plants and animals because they’ll be feeding us in ten years unless Bill Gates gets his way. I didn’t see a single non-European during our three days in New Hampshire, not even a lone Indian at the two gas station/convenience stores where we stopped. Yet in that state, and nowhere else, I saw about ten small roadside signs that read simply: “Truth. Vivek.” You gotta be kidding me with that smooth-talking brown clown, I thought.

I began 2023 with high hopes of spreading the message of my book Will Vaccines Be the End of Us? — a message which has been tremendously amplified by the Covid-19 vaccine fallout — to influential, open-minded people, even if they had no plans to read the book. But it’s been a frustrating year. I started out in February by mailing a long letter to twelve sheriffs in upstate New York. Although I’ve personally known many cops who were good guys, and am sure that most of them fit that description, I’m wary of all law enforcement these days. Nevertheless I do believe, rightly or wrongly, that elected sheriffs in rural counties represent the best of the profession, the most sincerely committed to serving and protecting their communities. And they have the authority to disregard any law as they see fit. In fact, quite a few sheriffs in blue states flatly refused to enforce some of the more ridiculous lockdown measures decreed by their governors. Here in New York in 2020, belligerent punk Andrew Cuomo ordered that Thanksgiving gatherings in private homes could not exceed ten people. Four sheriffs told him in so many words to go pound sand, publicly stating that they were not going to drive around, knock on doors and count heads. “We’re not turkey cops,” one of them quipped. All Cuomo could do was sulk.

In any case, with each of my twelve letters I enclosed ​five pages from an article posted on healthimpactnews.com, listing and categorizing 5,107,883 injuries and 48,817 ​deaths in Europe caused by the Covid shot as of November 12, 2022. These figures were compiled by Eudravigilance, a medical reporting system that works within the European Union, and I have every reason to believe those figures were understated. I covered a lot of ground in my letter, the thrust being that they should never enforce any vaccination directive from Cuomo’s successor, the zombie Kathy Hochul, and to reach their hearts I closed by saying that I was making this effort for their own children and grandchildren.

I don’t know what any of them thought of my letter because I got no response despite providing full contact information. It may be that none of them could think or act in a way contrary to the System that issues their paychecks. Or that the points I made weren’t part of the conservative credo. Or that nothing I wrote could possibly be true because it wasn’t on TV. Or that they thought I was a nut. Or any combination of the above. In July I wrote back to three of them. I’d had two large sidewalk signs with provocative anti-vaccine messages made, along with a banner to hang on the side of my van with the photographs of 33 young people who were killed or severely injured by the Covid jab. Above their photos was a message vilifying the CDC, FDA and news media. I mentioned that I wanted to set up this exhibit somewhere in their counties, but wanted to make sure I was complying with local laws and would like to stop by their headquarters and get acquainted. Again, none of them replied. Well, I wasn’t visited by a SWAT team so I guess it was a victory of sorts.

Let me back up two months to May. Needless to say, I have no hope in anything good coming out of Washington, but we can all agree that some lawmakers are not as bad as others, and a very few have an ounce of integrity. From several failed schemes going back thirty years, I’ve learned that if you cast a wide enough net, if you contact hundreds of people, you’re likely to catch a prize fish or two even if they end up getting away. So I vetted about twenty Republican conservatives, some of whom I’d never heard of, narrowed my choice down to twelve, and mailed four of my books to their D.C. offices and three to one of their state offices — 84 books in all. I was hoping against hope that just one person would read it, see the light, and maybe, just maybe, this would lead to some landmark legislation coming down hard on vaccines. My choices were Ron Johnson (WI), Rand Paul (KY), Andy Biggs (AZ), Dan Bishop (NC), Jim Jordan (OH), Marjorie Taylor-Greene (GA), Josh Hawley (MO), Harriet Hageman (WY), Thomas Massie (KY), Paul Gosar (AZ), Alex Mooney (WV), and last but least, Colorado Congressbimbo Lauren Boebert, the 36-year-old gunslinging divorced grandma of recent public groping fame. I got one reply, an email from a female staffer who works for Ron Johnson, thanking me for the book and telling me she’d read it that weekend. I sent her a cordial email in kind saying that I looked forward to her reply. I never heard from her. My guess is that she freaked out when she turned to the chapter titled “The Jewish Factor,” in which I expressed my unstinting admiration for Adolf Hitler and George Lincoln Rockwell, and included photographs of both men. While working on my book I knew I was taking a risk doing this, that it would horrify some if not most readers, but I also knew that it would distinguish my work from every other anti-vaccine book ever published, and I have no regrets about doing it.

In August I happened to come across an organization called Moms for Liberty, which was founded in early 2021 in response to mandatory face masks and other draconian measures, along with degenerate literature, adversely affecting children in the public school system. I was amazed that I’d never heard of MFL, and I imagine that most people still haven’t — a tribute to Jewish media censorship, though there have been a smattering of hit pieces about them these last two years. Based in Florida, MFL grew rapidly, and now has chapters in 45 states and boasts 120.000 members. It’s mostly moms, but dads and grandparents are also encouraged to join. The hearts of the leaders and members are in the right place, but their judgment? God help us.

MFL tilts heavily to Republican conservatism, flavored with Christian incoherency at its worst. It seems fitting that they originated in Florida, which has the most chapters (Pennsylvania is second) under the wing of that state’s rabidly Zionist governor Ron DeSantis. MFL is big on diversity. The line-up of speakers at their 2022 and 2023 national summits was more cringeworthy than the two recent televised Republican presidential primary debates, and included some of the same people. Also speaking were yeshiva boy and neo-con man Dennis Prager, some Chabad rabbi who lectured the goyim on family values, Martin Luther King’s niece, deranged dot Nikki Haley and huckster Vivek Ramaswamy. Adopting the language and thought patterns of their enemies, I noticed that many chapter leaders prohibit “hate speech” in their followers’ Facebook posts. In his powerful speech at Brown University in 1966, and in his writings, the great George Lincoln Rockwell blasted the hypocrisy and cowardice of conservatives. It appears that political conservatism, whatever it pretends to be, has sunk much lower since then.

Why, then, did I take an interest in MFL? Well, two reasons. First, many of these mothers are actually doing something rather than just complaining like all too many of us, including me. Infuriated by books celebrating all kinds of sexual perversions that their children are bringing home from school, they’re raising hell at school board meetings, often reading the most obscene passages out loud to stone-faced administrators. I don’t know how successful they’ve been at having these books removed from school library shelves, but I wish them well. Second, one strange episode stays in my mind, because it tells me that some of the rank and file may not be so kosherized after all. Someone in Hamilton County, Indiana quoted Adolf Hitler on the front page of that chapter’s newsletter: “He alone who owns the youth gains the future.” I don’t know if the person who picked that quote was expressing admiration for Hitler, or likening his program to poisoning the minds of youth in American schools. Whatever the case, one of MFL’s founding members, Tiffany Justice, brought the matter up on stage while speaking to a large audience at the group’s 2023 conference in Philadelphia. She said, “One of our moms in a newsletter quotes Hitler. I stand with that mom.” Many loudly cheered. Whoa! What was that all about? Making it weirder still, there was a huge screen behind Justice with a quote from the Jews’ bloodthirsty Book of Esther. Crazy stuff!

Well, as sure as two follows one, Jewry went bananas and MFL issued the usual groveling apology, affirming that Hitler was a monster after all, and that the quote was taken out of context, which may be true. Maybe I’m being unrealistic, but I’m banking on the possibility that that applause expressed a desire for genuine leadership and a sneaking admiration of the Great One. With that in mind, on September 16th I emailed another long letter to the leaders of eleven chapters in New York. I didn’t mention Hitler, but I did mention my Web site, the “Race War” page, and the chapter titled “The Jewish Factor” in my book. But my strongest emphasis was on the fact that New York is one of only five states that, since 2019, does not allow religious or philosophical exemptions to vaccines for schoolchildren, and current state law mandates 41 doses from pre-K to high school senior year. Face masks and poisonous indoctrination pale in comparison to this insanity, I pointed out. As with my letter to the sheriffs, I wrote quite a bit and appealed both to their emotions and to reason, but more to the latter. I recommended that they just pull their kids the hell out of the schools, never vaccinate them again, and either homeschool them or educate them in community centers. I’d be happy to assist them with a wholesome curriculum, I added.

Surprise, surprise, not one reply. Me and my schemes. Will I ever learn? For now, I’m going back to the drawing board. I may or may not contact MFL and sheriffs in New York again with a modified, briefer message. At some point I intend to communicate across the state line with the same groups in Pennsylvania. I don’t know if it’s possible to impress it upon any of these people that this country is finished, that the future, I believe, if civil war can be avoided, is secession of counties from states and states from the Disunited States of America. It may prove to be another unproductive idea but I have no others at the moment.

I wonder what kind of conservative solution these sheriffs will implement if and when the thing in Albany dumps thousands of black, brown and yellow invaders in their counties, now that New York City is literally sinking under their weight.

The 2024 presidential election, if it even happens, portends to be like no other election in U.S. history. I have a book entitled From Under the Rubble, which was published in 1974, seventeen years before the Soviet Union, another victim of the Jewish nation wreckers, imploded from the strain of so many lies. It’s a collection of essays, the main contributor of whom is Alexander Solzhenitsyn. One author, who identified only as A.B., wrote a few lines that I remember well. He wrote: “We are haunted by an obscure but insistent feeling of impending historical change. It manifests itself in the general feeling that ‘things cannot go on like this’ and as yet has assumed no fixed shape.” I can’t think of a better description of America in 2023.

In the past two years my sources have said that more people than ever are finally waking up to the Jewish problem. I’d like to believe that but I just can’t. True enough, more people have become aware of these deadly parasites, and more have become bolder in speaking out against them. But I don’t see any difference in my admittedly small social circle, which I’m sure represents the generally conservative population at large. They’re as out of touch with reality as they’ve always been. Equally depressing is the number of conservative Web sites which have sprung up like weeds in the past few years, far outnumbering those that focus on the Jewish High Command’s death wish for the White race, though happily these have increased in number as well. Some of these yankee doodle sites are run by Jews who insert the Jewish virus into the befuddled brains of their Gentile readership, while espousing some basically sound ideas that any normal White would agree with. Breitbart.com, which was actually founded in Israel, probably has the most traffic. But most, as far as I can tell, are Gentile operations, too numerous to mention. On most days I take a quick look at some of them, because I often pick up tidbits of interesting news. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I even peek at hannity.com, the site of that disgusting Zionist bootlicker, probably the highest-paid whore of Conservatism Incorporated now that Rush Limbaugh is gone, Sean Hannity. I subscribe to the Epoch Times online which is quite good on bad news about the Covid vaccine. But every one of these conservative sites studiously avoids the issues of race, Negro savagery, and above all the Jewish destruction of civilization. Any mention of this makes them wet their panties as they bury their heads deeper in the sand, but reality has a way of coming back and kicking them in the ass.

Many people have complex personalities. I’m thinking here of country music icon Hank Williams Jr., a flag-waving pest who missed his flight to Vietnam in the 1960s. I hardly admire yahoos like him, and there are plenty more in country music, but I do salute him for the grueling recovery he made from a 1975 mountain climbing accident that disfigured and nearly killed him, and I must say he’s a gifted songwriter and performer. One of his signature songs, a favorite of mine, is A Country Boy Can Survive, recorded in 1982. I really like the official music video too. This song struck a deep chord in me and fanned the survival instincts of millions of rural, forgotten White Americans. Jason Aldean’s Try That in a Small Town, a big hit earlier this year, had the same theme. The lyrics of both songs touch upon violent urban crime but in keeping with conservative cowardice fail to mention the race that commits nearly all of it.

White racial survival is the most important thing in the world. I don’t yet know to what extent, if any, this heavily Jewish Covid vaccination campaign targeted Whites for extermination, though I’m sure it entered the minds of many Jews at the top levels of Big Pharma, the federal public health agencies, and the news media. Based on what I’ve read, and have no reason to doubt, this vaccine has done terrible widespread harm to the reproductive system, among every other body system. The rate of miscarriages, deformities, and heart problems in newborn infants whose mothers were injected during pregnancy appears to be off the charts. You can bet the ranch that down the road there’s going to be an epidemic of infertility in both men and women who made the fatal mistake of getting jabbed. I really and truly hope I’m wrong about that, but I learn from history. Time will tell.

A notably higher number of white collar conservatives living in metropolitan areas were injected than those in rural areas. This doesn’t surprise me because country folks, generally speaking, have better instincts and are more distrustful of a putrescent System that pretends to care about them. Of course we’re only talking percentages and there are plenty of exceptions to the rule. The paradox here is that the dumber Whites, the tattooed class, may outbreed the ones with college degrees. But then we must ask, as I do in my book, what good is so-called superior intelligence if it works against survival?

I had more ideas jotted down but I think I’ve written more than enough to get my points across. There are racially conscious, realist Whites who believe that the great majority of their fellow Whites are not fit for survival in this world of eternal conflict where the iron laws of Nature always prevail, one of those laws being the elimination of the unfit members of any species. Aside from the many genetically defective Whites in our midst, a great number have been rendered totally clueless by a lifetime of exposure to Jewish lies in the schools and on television, the most deadly consequence of which is allowing their children to be injected with forty, fifty, sixty vaccine doses. That in itself will be the end of many family lines, and already has been.

And what of the still biologically viable members of our race blessed with good genes? How will they fare in the terrible times ahead, most obviously with the invasion of colored hordes streaming in from Mexico with no end in sight under a comatose president surrounded by Jewish fifth columnists, not to mention the same kind of invasion in Europe? At the moment, none of our conservative friends are starving, they’re not being butchered wholesale, and actually life is still pretty good for many, but dire times are on the horizon. How will they survive, and will they survive, do they deserve to survive? No one knows for sure, but Dr. William Pierce offered a succinct answer nonetheless: “We’ll see what can be done with them when their refrigerators are empty.”

(Note: I finished writing this longhand on October 4th. Three days later, while typing it, I learned of the Hamas attack on Israel. The frenzied outpouring of support for that country, the enemy of all mankind, among American conservatives who take to the internet, merits further comment, so I’ll break this up into two parts, Part Two to follow.)

To be continued.

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