KITCHEN NIGHTMARES

KITCHEN NIGHTMARES

Nationalists would be well aware of the range of propositions and inducements offered to workers by the supporters of multiculturalism, chief among them and a seemingly unfalsifiable retort to opponents of mass immigration is “the food”.

Indeed, in their darkest hours, the globalists and their supporters have relied upon the symbolic breaking of bread (or a suitable ethnic analogue) as a means of repairing the many flaws and rips in the great rainbow tapestry which is the “nation of immigrants”.

The ridiculous Sam Dastyari wields his halal snack pack as if it had been cooked by the prophet Mohammed himself (PBUH); the plate of greasy lamb, chips and garlic sauce is thus imbued with almost supernatural peacemaking properties, all unbelievers should immediately submit to Allah upon tasting such a delicacy.

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TV for the self-righteous bourgeoisie

Who can forget the time a well-known civic patriot was alleged to have purchased and eaten a Doner kebab on his lunch break? In contrast to the purely utilitarian view, most of us have of takeaway food the anti-racists, judging by the way they carried on, must have expected the lad to have spontaneously combusted via the hand of the almighty, or to have erupted in religious ecstasy, seeking out the nearest Imam for further instruction.

Magic dirt is a staple of the globalist dogma, we suppose it is also reasonable for them to swallow the idea of magic tucker; whereas the dusky skinned third world ragamuffin, upon de-planing at Tullamarine is instantly reborn as a dinky-di Aussie, the native is made a true believer of multiculturalism after his first sip of curry Laksa.

Indeed, in their darkest hours, the globalists and their supporters have relied upon the symbolic breaking of  bread (or a suitable ethnic analogue) as a means of repairing the many flaws and rips in the great rainbow tapestry which is the “nation of immigrants”.

Lately, though, the Sushi and Sake lunch has turned to ashes in their mouths as a stream of revelations concerning the poor condition of the, now globalised, restaurant and food service industries have hit the internet.

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The ritual of the Magic Tucker

Who would have suspected that having suburban shopping strips packed with identical Asian themed cafés serving identical dishes at the same ridiculously low price would be leading to rampant abuse and underpayment of workers and some appalling food safety issues, due to lack of investment in proper staff training?

The globalist chain junk food outlets and their many immigrant franchisees represent the lower end of the spectrum, they are the ultimate sucker deal for the gormless Oriental rube with dollar signs in his eyes; the Dominos pizza scandal is probably only the tip of the iceberg.

The rot, however, has worked its way right to the top of foodie culture with the revelations concerning the plight of workers in the top line businesses of George Calombaris and Adriano Zumbo.

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Sweets flavoured with the tears of the working class

Now we are led to understand that the grub at the Hellenic Republic is really very good, if out of reach of most working folk and that Zumbo’s cakes are worth every cent, but in an oversaturated market with cheap Chinese knock-offs of everything including fine patisserie the squeeze is on even fine dining.

Who would have suspected that having suburban shopping strips packed with identical Asian themed cafés serving identical dishes at the same ridiculously low price would be leading to rampant abuse and underpayment of workers and some appalling food safety issues, due to lack of investment in proper staff training?

This is far from the most upsetting aspect of the scandal-plagued restaurant scene, Fairfax media and Overland, which are both enthusiastically pro-globalist in outlook, have presented exposes of the allegedly rampant sexism, abuse, and intimidation of female workers in the hospitality industry.

There are lurid tales of payment in kind, favouritism shown to male workers who are willing to put in unpaid overtime in exchange for workplace privileges and the full gamut of unpleasant sexual harassment allegations, enough to cause a fatal blood clot in any committed Feminist.

The anecdotes offered as supporting evidence of corruption of the restaurant industry by these ostensibly left-wing publications all seem to come from young women employed in the relatively well-policed hipster coffee bar end of the market; we might shudder to think what the situation is like for those girls slinging Pho on Victoria St Richmond, where the margins are tighter and the black economy is the norm.

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Low-grade food, low-grade workers, low-grade corporate culture

The enhanced range of dining options brought by immigration is no longer a viable argument for the opponents of our brand of Nationalism if anything it’s an emphatic validation of our positions on both immigration and industrial relations.

Like everything else globalism has wrought the once trendy dining out scene is has degenerated into the same excruciating race to the bottom as every other sector of the economy; at least as far as quality and workers rights go.

There are lurid tales of payment in kind, favouritism shown to male workers who are willing to put in unpaid overtime in exchange for workplace privileges and the full gamut of unpleasant sexual harassment allegations, enough to cause a fatal blood clot in any committed Feminist.

Less is more, in the old days, when the UNA contributors were youngsters a Chinese takeaway or an authentic Italian pizza were a treat; country folk would get dressed up in their best clothes to go out for a feed of Lemon Chicken and deep fried ice-cream at the local Cantonese café, which was the often only game in town.

The Chinamen and Italians charged a bomb for their fare because it was novel and in most towns and suburbs the only alternative was a night at the pub; we seem to recall that a Pizza or a tub of Sweet And Sour cost more, dollar for dollar, in 1980 than it does today.

Now we are not knocking the old Aussie counter meal, it was cheap and normally well prepared and there were modern French and Italian restaurants about for the big night out. We merely point out that once upon a time there was genuine diversity in dining options and it was possible for everyone to make a quid out of the market, some restaurant owners even became rich, with workers lining up to apprentice in their kitchens or wait on their tables because the wages and tips were so good.

So no, the food is no longer a viable prospect as the great redeemer of the failed globalist experiment, if anything it is a tumour eating away at its innards.

The thin veneer of propriety which allowed the chattering classes to turn a blind eye to the disaster that veteran hospitality workers have seen coming for years has been ripped away, the real worker-parasite dynamic of the black economy is laid bare for all to see and no amount of sub-continental spice can cover the stench of corruption.

Magic tucker is served from the hands of a kid who is likely working below minimum wage, if not for nothing at all or only for his keep; foodies might count themselves lucky if they don’t get a case of food poisoning to go with their smug self-righteousness.

Ramsay

HORROR PICS! TOBY COOK DROOLS IN HIS SLEEP!

HORROR PICS! TOBY COOK DROOLS IN HIS SLEEP!

Being a Peanut is tiring work. Just look at young Toby here — he’s a growing boy (growing from the belt outwards).

Things got a bit much for the young fella when he accompanied the Peanuts to a rally somewhere in Sydney that we don’t care enough about to properly report on. The Peanuts had their placards, their loud hailers, and their sandals.

They yelled at the population of Sydney and when they were done they maybe went off for a few dozen beers and burgers with extra chips. Nick probably ate sushi.

Of course, Tobes had most likely been out on the pingas the night before, so he was especially tired out. But when the Fellowship of the Peanut got back to Peanut Palace, that’s when it all proved too much for our half-Paki White Supremacist. The poor tyke was tired out after yelling at seagulls about halal food, Moslem refugees, ‘what race is Islam’, and all that stuff from the Peanuts’ repertoire.

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Toby dreams about hot curries

He fell asleep, napping on Nick’s garden chair; his manifold chins resting on the airbag of his enormous belly. Toby started to dream. We can only guess at what he was dreaming about — it might have been Nick dressed up in Lederhosen leading the Peanuts in a victorious parade while he stood at his side. He may have been dreaming that Penny Louise had asked him to do her laundry or he might well have been dreaming about one of those yummy curries his mum used to make when he was a boy and they had just arrived in the country from Pakistan.

We guess he probably was dreaming about food after all because once the sandman had finished sprinkling his daylight dust on Tobes’s hefty eyelids, dribble issued forth from his lips, captured by someone on their phone… or maybe on their camera.

Yep, looking at Tobes is a major gross-out at the best of times, but to witness this snoring gorgon dribbling spittle down his flabby chins is enough to kill a person’s appetite for at least 72 hours. Once seen, this image cannot be unseen. There were distressing images doing the rounds after yesterday’s horrendous truck attack in Sweden — victims splattered all over the road in a sprawling pool of nauseous pink paste. But even that paled next to the sight of toby drooling like a mental patient.

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WARNING!!! THE FOLLOWING IMAGE WILL MAKE YOU LOSE YOUR LUNCH!

It really isn’t normal behaviour. The average person doesn’t drool in their sleep, only people on heavy psych meds salivate helplessly like that.

We are feeling pretty sick right now, folks, so you will have to let us end this write-up here. There is only one bucket in the UNA Towers’ office, and right now Chris Shortis is heaving uncontrollably into it.

We might even have to call a doctor, but the only one we know is Dr Jim Saleam, and he’s too busy running the Internet to see us now. He’s not a doctor of medicine either.

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UNA’s head of accounts after viewing the above image. He is expected to be off work for at least a week

 

COME IN, RECLAIM AUSTRALIA, YOUR TIME IS UP

COME IN, RECLAIM AUSTRALIA, YOUR TIME IS UP

Reclaim Australia was posed with the unavoidable reality that they could not even reclaim Martin Place at their rally from last Sunday, 29, January. Nope, it was totally owned by seagulls and pigeons and a lot of cops in blue overalls.

But aside from the vast big nothingness that was the (non) attendance is the baffling riddles it leaves behind.

Reclaim Australia adopted a stringent policy of discouraging entry to anyone from the White Pride side of the fence. In fact, it denied anyone from just the nationalist side of the fence. What’s more, it even frowned on avowed civic patriots such as the United Patriots Front after comments made by Blair Cottrell about Adolf Hitler’s bestseller which was re-contextualised by certain grubby ex-comrades of his with an axe to grind.

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Blair Cottrell with a fully Aussie member of Peanuts for Freedom. Remember, you cannot unsee this

The previous Sunday’s showdown with the forces of Islam and the Left was to be the purest of the pure: the super middle-of-the-road, no ‘White Pride’, no ‘Nazi salutes’, no ‘boneheads’ crystallisation of the absolute cream of the mums and dads.This is why nobody turned up. But it was those who DID attend that throw the very logic of RA into a steep perplexing curve.

Aside from an image of Blair Cottrell standing beside an Asian Peanuts for Freedom volunteer was that of Sammy “Hooligal” Binz flanking Rise Up Australia’s Rosalie Crestani.

The previous Sunday’s showdown with the forces of Islam and the Left was to be the purest of the pure: the super middle-of-the-road, no ‘White Pride’, no ‘Nazi salutes’, no ‘boneheads’ crystallisation of the absolute cream of the mums and dads.This is why nobody turned up. But it was those who DID attend that throw the very logic of RA into a steep perplexing curve.

Now, Sammy has a quite visible tattoo of a swastika just below her neck and above her right breast. Sammy is about as 14/88 as it gets. Rosalie, on the other hand, belongs to a ministry run by a short curry who claims to talk to God. Oh yeah, and who raises the dead from time to time in-between bottling chutney.

What’s more, this ministry is totally down with Israel and believes the Jews are the chosen ones who deserve to enslave all of goyimkind. Sammy used to comment on UNA so it would be assumed that she knew this from our endless articles criticising the civics. There is no way she could have missed our denunciations of their denunciations of us nationalists.

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Some geezer, Rosalie “For God and Israel” Crestani, and Sammy Binz, who seems to have forgotten the 14 words

You would have assumed Ralph “the Nazi Hunter” Cerminara who was in also in attendance would have sniffed the Blood and Honour off this girl a mile off. We are not suggesting that any of the cucked civics were aware of her background but she certainly doesn’t look like one of them, with her Skin-girl style.

We do not pretend to have any answers about that, by the way, just questions which we are not overly interested in having answered.

The principle organiser, so we understand, was Scott Moerland who is the absolute personification of zero. He drinks, he peppers every sentence with cussing, and he believes Jews are the duck’s guts. There is no talking sense to ‘Scotty’ on anything. He could be standing there with his pants on fire and if you told him he would deny it. Scotty is as thick as they come.

You would have assumed Ralph “the Nazi Hunter” Cerminara who was in also in attendance would have sniffed the Blood and Honour off this girl a mile off. We are not suggesting that any of the cucked civics were aware of her background but she certainly doesn’t look like one of them, with her Skin-girl style.

Other than that, was the usual attendance from the cast of Peanuts for Freedom. Nick Folkes was there as was his blubbery sidekick Tobes who seems to have ballooned into morbid obesity. As usual, there was no excuse for any of them. Blair seemed to get along with them though, but perhaps he didn’t. Who the fucks knows. Or cares. His presence was unconvincing on a curious level.

But it is time for that lot to face the hard realities that their day in the sun is over. It is kaput. It has ceased to be. There is nothing left but memories and court dates. It is the end of an era, and these brazen patriots, who rejected all association with nationalists, who ratted us out, and made it known we were not welcome at their rallies — totally failed to make a difference.

There is not much else to say but it is over. The fat lady has sung. Come in, Reclaim Australia, your time is up.

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Come to the rally, they said, there’ll be heaps of people there, they said

DON’T BE PATRIOTS, BE NAZIS!

DON’T BE PATRIOTS, BE NAZIS!

There is much ado at present about the use of the word ‘Nazi’. Bourgeois Leftist Globalist Warriors habitually label anyone a Nazi whose politics are further to the right than Yogi Bear’s. But even more opposed to all those goose-stepping, flag-waving, paper-hanging butchers of bagels parading up and down the streets in major Australian cities are the soft-and-circumcised willies on the patriot side.

Never mention the White Australia policy to a patriot because they will have conniptions. We mentioned it to a patriot once and he frothed at the mouth, his lips turned pale, and he tried to belt us. That’s ’cos his Asian girlfriend, who was wearing his patriotic flag like a superhero’s cape, was mortally affronted.

Yes, nationalists, between their parties’ commitments to Israel, and their predilection for yellow cooze, the patriot hates Islam, but everything else about globalisation is OK. And never ask them why, because the mere act of asking is proof that you’re a Nazi… and the only thing worse than Moslems and Leftists are Nazis.

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We here at UNA are fully suss of Yogi Bear

But we reckon that’s a bunch of horse hockey because, well, Nazis are hip. They’re mad. The Holocaust, in which eighteen billion Jews were rounded up and turned into drinks coasters, was like the greatest rock concert on earth.

Face it, if the Nazis won the war we wouldn’t have to suffer through watching one person of colour on our screens. There would be no need for a patriot movement, because there’d be nothing to patriotically organise against. Hollywood would be promoting wholesome, inspirational, and educational entertainment, and no United Nations would exist to fill our countries with millions of Hajis.

There’d be no drug epidemic, you would always find work, and the stinky Chinese wouldn’t own half of our farming land. In fact, China would be one huge smouldering ashtray along with a quarter of this kosher planet. Israel of course would be like a Fourth Reich Disneyland, but with gas chambers and pits full of rotting traitor corpses. There’d also be fun rides and play swings for the kids.

Be Nazis, people, and be proud Nazis! As soon as you decide to be a Nazi they send you a cool badge.

We became Nazis back before it was trendy, and so we look down on new Nazis a bit, but if you prove yourself by killing heaps of Jews and coloured people you will be inside the inner-sanctum before you know it.

Be Nazis, people, and be proud Nazis! As soon as you decide to be a Nazi they send you a cool badge.

WHEN US NAZIS TAKE OVER WE WILL GET THINGS DONE

That’s right. The first thing we will do is tattoo a Star of David on all kosher patriots’ foreheads using ink from inside BLUE SWIMMER CRABS. If you know anything about kosher, that’s a bit heretical, since good kosher people don’t eat shellfish. Then, depending on which camp they are in, and the twisted humour of that camp’s commandant, we will do seriously medieval things to them. We here at United Nationalists of Australia already have an Olympic swimming pool marked out which we intend to fill with crocodiles. Patriots will be made to swim in the pool for so long as it takes a croc to start munching on them. To the best of our efforts we will track each patriot via the croc that ate them, and once they’ve been defecated out, we will scoop up the croc poop and send it to their nearest and dearest in a gelato cup; that’s if they aren’t already being held in one of our camps.

We plan to force Roz Ward to have sex with a dugong, just to break down not only gender barriers, but species barriers too.

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“Sex with a dugong, eh? The primary school kids will love that!”

So basically we will get very creative with our social purification methods. I know some Aussie Nazis who want to test out the theory of feeding a patriot to a flesh-eating plant, and that’ll be grouse. Others want midgets to hack them to death with plastic forks, and one wants to turn a rabbi into a pair of ugh boots.

But it won’t be just Nick Folkes, Mike Holt, Howard Crawford, Ralph Cermenara, Danny Nalliah, Shermon Burgess and Neil Erikson who end-up as expendable entertainment at our lavish Caligula-style colosseum brunches; the leftists will cop payback too.

The point is that being a Nazi makes you a superman, and gives you all sorts of license to get even with everyone who fucked you over when you were a nationalist.

We plan to force Roz Ward to have sex with a dugong, just to break down not only gender barriers, but species barriers too. And Roz will probably enjoy it until we remove her from the aquarium and have her pushed through an industrial mincer. This rancid meat will then be used to feed…

Anyway, we’re getting a bit off track here. The point is that being a Nazi makes you a superman, and gives you all sorts of license to get even with everyone who fucked you over when you were a nationalist.

NAZIS HAVE THE COOLEST CLOTHES

Yep, no more bogan thongs and corked hats for you, cobber — when us Nazis take over it’ll be brown shirts, black shirts, Sam browns, jackboots and your very own engraved dagger for stabbing cunts. You will march tall and proud and when you’re down at the pisser swigging pints of Dusseldorf, if any non-Nazi looks at you the wrong way you’ll get to smash your beer stein in their eye and blind them and everyone around you will laugh. There will be no bullshit charges, no custody, and no homo magistrates to stand before because we will run the courts and anyone not a Nazi will be guilty on general principle.

But we were talking about clothes, weren’t we… yes…

There is the Heydrich collection, Goebbel’s chic, cardigan Hess, bomber jacket Bormann, and of course the most coveted at all being the Adolf Hitler collection, which is far too hallowed to be making cheap cracks about on this blog.

For the discerning Nazi there will be options. Lower ranked Nazis will get the shit kicked out of them if they try to dress outside their status, but for party officials the sky will be the limit. We will have a fine selection of themed wardrobes for all seasons. There will be the Hermann Goering collection for the more generously proportioned gent. Goering of course was known for his flamboyant tastes and his penchant for the baroque.

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Ugly fat bastards become as cool as thin people when dressed like Nazis!

There will be the Himmler collection of chicken farming gear for a rustic appeal, all embroidered with SS insignia and mystical runes. That’s just one fun outfit more appropriate for family gatherings and executing Jews.

There is the Heydrich collection, Goebbel’s chic, cardigan Hess, bomber jacket Bormann, and of course the most coveted at all being the Adolf Hitler collection, which is far too hallowed to be making cheap cracks about on this blog.

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Yes, Pepe, it feels real good

You get the picture, but… The clothes maketh the Nazi and the Nazi always looks like six million shekels. Take a look at Nick Folkes in his latest video in which he talks about making Australia great again. How’s he going to do that when he’s dressed like the Bunnings Warehouse dunny man? If Nick hadn’t have committed a capital race crime, he might have looked forward to stunning the whole Nazi world by stepping out in the Ribbentrop collection! Yes, Ribbentrop, who dined with the finest, and shared slippery nipples with Stalin himself!

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BE A NAZI ’COS YOU’LL LOSE THAT GUT AND BE ABLE TO SEE YOUR TOCKO AGAIN

Fair dinkum! Aside from the odd Goering who we will keep around for the kitsch factor, fat cunts will be a big NO-NO in Nazi Australia. Nick Folkes’s piss boy Toby whatever-his-name-is will be thanking us big time as he slims down from a size six-million into a sleek and taut size-34 waist!

Fitness will be a big thing with our Nazi regime and lazy pricks will soon be weeded out and put through their paces. No more watching Saturday footy for you, Norm, with your carton of Toohey’s and endless Doritos. We’ll whip you into shape and if we can’t, well, we’ll just shoot you.

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SS stands for “Super Style”

WE WILL DIG UP MALCOLM FRASER AND SMASH HIS BONES WITH A HAMMER UNTIL THEY’RE POWDERED DUST

Anything will be possible in this new Nazi world, except rooting outside your race, and practising communism. And heaps of other stuff too, but why go and spoil a good intro?

Punishing our enemies will of course be considered almost a religious event. It will be treated like high art. For instance, Malcolm Fraser, who probably hasn’t had time to fully rot yet, will be dug up and his bones smashed into a fine powder which we will then mix with cement and use in the construction of kennels for our guard dogs. Yep, the same dogs that will then rip Andy “Rob Sparrow” Slackbastard’s beloved cat into six-million shreds.

WE HAVE RUN OUT OF IDEAS FOR NOW…

Yes, but that’s only a temporary thing. The important point to take away from this brilliant piece of writing is that you should ALL be Nazis. Don’t worry what some grogan with an Asian fetish has to say about your ideological orientation; being a Nazi beats everything — even being a fireman!

So do it now, people! Head on out to your nearest army surplus supplier and get kitted out in the full Nazi garb. Grab a flag and silly walk your way through the streets of your town singing the Horst Wessel, and if you don’t know that, just hum a few bars of an ABBA tune or something… whatever’s right.

You know what to do, so just go and do it!

We are your leaders, and we want to make lampshades. This will mean total war! Do it for the fatherland! Twenty percent off on all Hitler Jugend neckties. Don’t be a wuss. Patriots are like nuns’ piss. Next time you see a kosher patriot, give him an atomic dead-leg.

ZEIG HEIL!

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Be a Nazi. It’s a gas, man!