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Welcome to Racist Food An’ Danger! A safe space for “white people(1)” to indulge in ethnic consumptions of all kinds.

 

My first “taco” was a butter and cheese slathered flour tortilla, which Charley and Chewie’s mom cooked on a flat burner plugged into a line that tapped into a telephone pole, in kitchen whose walls were covered in black charred soot and strips of cheap yellow brown and champagne pink flowered wall paper, sprinkled with char black furring strips nailed to two-by-fours polking out from between holes in the plaster. The house, as I recall had been “condemned by policia” after it had burned a few years back; and their families came there every year to live off in te woods, where everyone knew where they were, but where no officials ever went unless their was a murder, or worse.

As it happened, I was a wimpy child, and though I had frequently been invited by the bigger boys to take part in plucking and eating feathered fowls, or “eating the pig’s eyes(2),” and jowls, and entrails, or, failing that, throwing the eyeballs onto the roof “por dios,” I was always easily intimidated into the kitchen, where one or another mother labored over flat griddles and boiling pots, with immaculate aprons that matched the wall paper; or seed sacks.

Keep in mind, this was in the era of Cesar Chavez, and women still sometimes wore reused things like table clothes as clothing; and today, most Mexican’s have no idea that my friends and extended temporary families looked like this:

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Mexican Migrants from the era just before my own.

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Workers in the Time of One Cesar Chavez. [photo credit NPR: Memories of a Former Migrant Worker]
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The  house sat off in the little woods at the edge of Lake Zurich Illinois, which was surrounded by strawberry fields and apple trees in the nearby orchards, and surely they picked a host of other crops, which I was then, at four years old, just learning about by reading Richard Scarry and watching America’s first multi-cultural programming, Sesame Street.

And, as it happened years later, it was positioned between the swamp, my route to my first school, the forbidden tree fort, Sue Rendon’s house (she was the local fertility goddess) and all of which was surrounded by the territory of one “Bully Schultz”, an aptly named boy who was “from there.”

 

While Chewie’s families were migrant workers who came north to walk and pick, harvest and crawl on their knees through fields, and climbing the trees of every picking season, I was the lucky kid in their eyes, and a “townie” from a rich family who didn’t have to work the fields. Yup. I was lucky-my dada was a garbage man. Years later, as I picked rocks in th fields of the farmers who are “from there” I didn’t fel so lucky, but my white skin, lobster red, made me so.

Here, have a look at our rich-people’s house, where I lived for a coupe of years (most places I lived were for a couple of years):

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This is the house I lived in for a few years when I was a rich white boy. I remember my dad sawing the head off of a deer in that shed to the left, because mobsters had fire-bombed him. He was going to throw that head through VanDer Mollen’s window. I don’t know if he ever did that, but after he cut the head off thatndeer, the whole shed smelled like congealed death. Then, he became an FBI rat for awhile, wearing a wire, which, may or may not have ben the prudent choice.

Men were seldom seen in Chewie’s house, and when they were, they were  sleeping on couches that had been dragged out of the trash-big over-stuffed couches whose arms smelled like feet-and dirt; that sour smell of foot-dirt that gets tracked in between toes that worked 14 hour days, six or seven days per week, depending on the age and marital status of the male. And the mothers and daughter’s hushed us with finger’s at their lips, invoking the potential fear of death, maybe the wrath of Dios should these men awaken due to our child’s play.

So this was where I grew up for awhile, and where I began to learn that I was lucky, and white. Where I was caught between Bully Schultz and  a smelly swamp, and centered myself some Sundays at the burned out house i the woods. Yet I remember someone pointing to my lucky house one day trying to explain it, my luck-it was one of Charley’s cousin’s, from deep Mexico who was not aware of the rules. He said “you are white like the house.”

Lucky me. In that moment, probably around six years old, I had this flash of awareness-in that momet it was explained to e why my mother always admonished me to keep my sleeves rolled down. She didn’t want me to get burned by the sun, maybe. Or maybe not.

(1)I have never know what white people are, other than a reaction formation between racists of other stripes who brutalize the lower classes of “white culture” with this memetic, in order to gain social advantage. There is a LOT of money to be made exploiting race in America-but WHO is exploiting and cashing in on that? I just have never found it in me to do so. UNTIL NOW!!! As I watch the money roll in to this (free) blog!!!!!

(2) there were always jokes about the pigs eyes. No one that I know actually eats them now, or did then.

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Muse Around and Get Shot. Los Angeles, 101, a primer in the value of individual expression.

This is the post excerpt.

If anywhere in America could carry the title of “crusher of real talent” or other honorifics like”the garbage disposal for authentic expression” Los Angeles and it’s corporate butties would be the perfect spokespeople. Oh, wait: Hollywood already said that. With a little help, from their creative lil’ pal’s in Virginia, of course!

Related Stories and good books: The CIA in Hollywood: How the agency shapes film and television. and : Inside the CIA’s troubling collaboration with Hollywood Moghuls and the MSM

Muse Around and Get Shot: if you said that on Twitter, the local Fusion Center would monitor you. If you said that while organizing a protest, the fed’s would add you to a special list.

While any moron can pick up a mass media product anywhere, as MSM products literally litter sidewalks and garage sales all over this city, and the effete’ actually have turned garbage into art, the real talent is everywhere, unseen, because it lurks in the heart of those of us who-somehow-still believe that our individuality, and the ability to express it has meaning. And, those of us who got caught up in ‘the streets’ or whatever, before we could become the effete’.

But too, individuality is all that we have-guaranteed by our Constitution, and the rights of due process-and all that we have worth fighting for as so-called collectivists and their associated banksters prey upon each one of us down to the most strained tendons and the sorest bones of our identity  and by purchasing our police outright, cheaper than bath-tub crack, with politically divisive politics that are co-opting our institutions of government through blackmail and subversive spying, destroying our Constitutional liberty.

As such, I am occasionally thrilled to meet those who have maintained the best of what that is supposed to be- a risk taker, and a dangerous photographer, disguised as a retail worker:

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I can’t speak for you, or REnneB featured above who blogs at RenneB.com, but it’s a great leap of faith to think that when citizens alow their government to spy on them without warrants, pretexts, or probable cause-it’s a great leap forwards to imagine that good things will happen.

And I can’t speak for the internet switch in my head that is connected directly to Hollywood via sattellite feed, and programmed in Langley Virginia when it is shouting “NOOOO! Individuality must die before the OCTOPUS can live!!!! Did Holden Caulfield stand at the edge of the cliff for naught? And: look what happens when you do your own thing with “your” talent!” without allowing one or another tentacle of the HYDRA to wrap itself up in your butt-strings ( this is a cautionary tale of journalism, individuality, creative expression, and the power of the written/spoken/song/image/ word to get the authoritaaaaaays!!! all hopped up about turrerrrisms and other important state created BS)”

And then, of course, Holden responding:

“The mark of an immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.”

– The words of poet and psychoanalyst Wilhelm Steckel, passed on to Holden by his former teacher Mr. Antolini

I dunno. Maybe it was all in my head, that weird voice constantly nagging me about the rights we hold dear, impaled by the surveillance state thathas not only crossed the Constitutional line, but ALSO has gone to the next level, trying to program us all like little, easy to lose Micro-SD cards. Or, maybe it was me, and that one, actual photoo that RenneB gave me where I said to myself: wow-one transaction, one human to another, is the ONLY way we can preserve either art, or liberty.

But you can decide for yourself, if there is a you left when “they” get done with our Constitutional liberties.

Please, Arab/Chinese/African/’Other’ World, come, and take these ‘progressive’ white women off our hands. I am begging you.

Moroccan Slave Dresses are in this year! [Real Moroccan Dresses here]

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In the western world, with its prison industrial complex, and it’s shortage of unbiased media, there is a tendency to privilege one narrative over another, with the net sum effect of having a flock of Mockingbirds that create an echo-chamber, each voice reflecting only it’s own tone, and each song it’s same note. The western, progressive white woman IS that ‘voice,’ and be worried-very worried- if she raises that voice at YOU.

Revolution NOW! Save the Western White Woman-please take her off our hands! Please! Please! Please!!!! Western men are literally dying for her, but you can do if you play your cards right! (Please take her off our hands!)

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When the revolution succeeds, cut its thorns off! (image credit RFAD)

Related Story from Bitch Magazine: White woman’s tears and false feminism-a bankster play for your heart, with an interesting sojourn through your wallet. “Get Out” And The Ineffectiveness of Post-Racial White Feminism

In the west, 30 something “progressive” white females are that sum and total gaggle of mind stifling noise. Being that most of them are women from single mother households, raised on state dollars, and all the other freebies that the international banksters fed them (which is why one of their chief issues is body image, and fat).

Here is the white progressive female’s philosopphy as stated by their iconic Fertility Goddess, Andrea Dworkin:

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You don’t have to believe me-have a look at white female writing, and white female philosophy-and keep in mind that here is an entire industry-the Rape Hysteria Industrial Complex– that feeds these morons even MORE pabulum than a real life mind controlled CIA zombie, but because these women are products of trance formation, they have the exceptional privilege of credit cards with which to shop(yours).

Fertility Goddesses in the west are VERY hungry-our national debt-have a look at this number $18,152,809,942,589, which represents how much these women will cost YOU as they build new Rape Industrial Complexes (RIC), Domestic Violence Industrial Complexes(DVIC), and more in YOUR town or village-and then have a look at ths girl below-she is their secret icon, and the only church she will ever attend faithfully:

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The great majority of these women are just ripe and ready- for you to get them the hell out of here-because no one wants them, not even you, once you figure out what they are, and your paychecks, and hard earned family dollars become theirs, due to our other industry- the Domestic Violence Industrial Complex.

SO don’t take my word for it-peruse their philosophy, read their writing, and watch the things they watch; consume the things they consume.

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Then compare it with what you know about reality-or what other women think about this other moronic incarnation of state-sponsord, white-privileged “woman,”(and her, designed to entrap the dollars of new immigrants like you,maybe.)

 

And remember: in America, women with children (yours maybe) are ALWAYS right, even when they are wrong/on crack/convicted felons/meth dealers-and look who’s coming after you if you make her mad!

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This is what assinine sheriff’s all across America will do for the women who work for the International banker’s and Domestic Violence industrial Complex (DVIC) dollars.

From Debbie Schlussel.com

There’s a picture of a burly sheriff in a smokey-the-bear hat, lacing up knee-high, high heel boots. If he had to actually chase a criminal, I would LITERALLY fall on the ground laughing at him.

Many – not all, maybe not even most, but many – sexual offenders have been emasculated by somebody in their past….mother, ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, etc. So we’re going to HELP sexual assault victims by PUBLICLY emasculating more men? There’s definitely some unwashed, female PhD in Women’s Studies wearing a hemp dress thinking this crap up.

 

Related Story: The True Story of a Manchurian Candidate: Ted Kascynski, the Unabomber

How White Women’s Tears oppress women of color

Whiteness is an Asian thing: “She may not look Asian but she’s definitely more Asian than I am!”

While many were sickened with dissentery over the fake-blackness and cultural co-option of the ever-morphing white women of election season 2016,and white women who choose their race(…) are a hot ticket in “progressive” neo-con politics, Lisa See gets rave reviews from Asian-American women who don’t feel Asian enough. Why is that, I wonder?

“She may not look Asian but she’s definitely more Asian than I am!”

The odd paradox of white women who “choose” what race they want to be, no matter what others see.

 

What You See is Not What You Get: Meeting Author Lisa See, her Movie and Latest Book UPDATED

What nationality do you think Lisa See is? Would you be shocked if I said she’s Asian American?

Lisa See author Asian American Snow Flower and Peony Secret Fan JadeLuckClub

I went to Lisa See’s book signing last week with two work friends, Nat and Annie, both Asian. Confession: none of us had read her books but we’ve all heard of them and even were planning to read them someday. We were a tad late so we had to sit in the aisle on stools because  the room was chock full of Empty-Nester aged women, some who seemed to have traveled a great distance to see Lisa See. An introduction was made and Lisa See stepped out. We all did a double-take … WTF? Lisa See is not what we expected to see. Described as an Asian American author, she didn’t look Asian at all. Furiously typing into our iPhones, we Googled her nationality. Yes, she is indeed 1/8 Asian (and we calculated: so that means a great-grand parent is Asian), and then, over our initial shock,  we settled down to listen to her speak.

She’s fascinating and lovely. And in fact, more Asian than I am though I am 50% Chinese and 50% Chinese (and married to a Korean). She grew up in Los Angeles’ Chinatown. That alone makes her more Chinese than I am. I grew up driving one hour once a month to eat and shop there. (I wonder if we ate at the same restaurants??) She spent 5 years learning and speaking Mandarin. I spent one tortured year studying Chinese from a group of cold calling Tiger Moms  and remember nothing.

OK, we’re the same. Lisa claims to retain nothing as well. I don’t believe her. She does speak her family’s dialect which I didn’t catch. I don’t. In fact, I don’t know what dialect my father’s town speaks. She knows an amazing amount of Chinese history. I studied Japanese history in college because it was a shorter period of time.

She may not look Asian but she’s definitely more Asian  than I am!

Read the rest of the story here!

 

Lisa See’s website, where she discusses growing up in Los Angeles Chinatown.

Related Story: Rachel Dolezal, the now discredited black-white female race poseur as she is confronted about her “chosen” racial identity.

 

I really can’t just make this sh!t up: How Google auto-suggestion covers yer @ss in uninsured motorist scenario’s aka a car “Crash”.

So, I bop into a coffee shop and there is a coupe of young women talking about stuff. Then, all of a sudden the one girl-quick witted, with delicious intelligent flashing eyes, and a map/diagram in her hand says “and he just came out of nowhere and then I hit him! he didn’t have any insurance.”

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Is it time to stop calling car crashes by uninsured morons “accidents?” http://www.crashnotaccident.com/

Fast forwards into several minutes of conversation, some legal scenario’s, and then the bomber: there is indeed a race issue involved, and it appears that girls’ sister-the legal owner of the car- was a bit pissed when she heard that an uninsured Mexican was the motorist who darted of a freeway ramp, crossed a double yellow line, and entereda parking lot in the out lane-just as our Phillipina driver hit his rear bumper.

Without getting into legalities, layers of intersectionality, or plain ol’ rationalization of clas discrepancies, suffice it to say this “accident” ended as most “accidents” with uninsured drivers do: the girls car sustained thousands in damages and Senor’ Sin Seguro got a dent in his rear quarter panel on a beat up truck.

Well, that’s not even the good part, because after we both agreed more or less that Senor’ Sin Seguro likely had enough problems on his hands without a Pinay girl and her sister up in his grill or locking him away indefinitely in the INS holding tank, we had a laugh about something else: Google search results which steer the clever researcher into NOT incriminating themselves.

How’s that you say?

WEll-here, have a look at the joke that Google auto-suggestion is. And, imagine of you were animmigrant, trying to figure it all out? Google could easily mislead you-as easily as it can lead you.

Google “I hit an uninsured motorist” WITH the quotation marks.

You will get seven results- SEVEN, and Google will suggest to you the alternative phrase “I was hit by an uninsured motorist.” Or ” I got hit by an uninsured motorist.”

Yeah, weid, huh? Onlyseven results.

Now- Google “I hit a bird with my car.” Some 9 plus MILLION reults right?

Now Google  “I hit a crippled guy.” 11, 600, 000 results, or so right?

THEN Google ” I a uninsured motorist,” using “a” instead of “an”.

If your results match mine, there will be one-exctly ONE result for “I hit a uninsured motorist.” One-EXACTLY ONE result for that EXACT language.

And of course, after Google picks this article into its picker, there will be two results for this phrase. But as you Google this, say it out loud, in a southern drawl- and the results wil show you to this link, where A country boy hits a cow with his truck.

Do you get it yet?

Let me know if you figure out where the joke is in there, and get back to me-but we sure had a laugh about hillbillies, and Google, suggesting alternative search terms for those with even an ounce of intellect.

The score? Good drivers 1, animals, 2. G Google searchers with a sense of humor unfettered by political correctness? 11 million, six hundred thousand and some odd in change.

Meantime, if you are not bored enough for Google games with language, maybe go rent one of the best movies ever made about LA life, car crashes, and race: Crash, starring Matt Dillon and Thandie Newton.

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And, if you are tired of LA and need a brief break-read about te troubles of the country people,  or asVon Kommanivanh, a Chicago artist who seems to have fallen over a cliff used to call them “the farmers”:

From the online forum of cattle farming, CattleToday.com brings us the thriller “Cow versus Truck.

“Last week I hit a cow going the speed 65 mph at 8:30 pm with oncoming traffic which is why I couldnt see her. It really broke my heart when she looked at me before the we connected….

Related Story: Von Kommamivanh was so disgusted with those who run the art world thathe dropped off a cliff. But you can see his work in the Walsh Gallery in Chicago.

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Maybe Von felt he was being undermined, or undercut by the deep ethnocentricism and nepotism of the art world. Or the covert tribal racism that subserviates other tribal narratives, or tries to overlay poitical bagage onto the shoulders of those who don’t wanna hold the bag.

Or maybe, Uncle Sam. Either way, this piece is “Chopping Legs Off,” at the Walsh Gallery.

AAAAAAAnd, the MORAL of this story is “individuality allows for exceptionalism, exceptions, and car crashes that don’t always involve the police.”

 

 

Who are the Homeboys in YOUR neighborhood? If you see something, TELL A NEIGHBOR FIRST.

Homeboy Bakery and Homegirl Cafe items are now available at more than 20 local markets across the city. Our teams of trainees bring fresh baked bread, creative salads and other goods to neighborhood farmers markets throughout Los Angeles. These locations are constantly updated. We look forward to seeing you there!

 

Have you heard about Homeboy Industries? I  bumped into them again, and walked crossed the street to see what they were up to. Turns out, it was the Culver City Farmers market.

While it’s fashionable to hate on Hipsters and gentrification, I remember when that block was just another dirty LA street that no one ever seriously patronized or noticed, tucked in off of Venice Blvd between a bunch of other blocks that no one ever noticed. Except those who lived there, of course.

And, who doesn’t hate crappy neighbors like Snapchat who move in and treat the neighborhood like they own it? Snapchat is part of the “if you see something say something” social engineering scheme that uses photography as a way to destroy individuals, and free expresion by glutting the market with it, while at the same time, encouraging all of us to rat each other out like common snitches.

I can’t speak for you, but I personally believe that rats SHOULD get stitches under most circumstances. And really-what’s up with ALL of American society living by the sae rules that run the prisons? Everyone is petrified that their new neighbor is a otential pedophile-call the cops! Maybe they have something I don’t have-how did they get it? Call the cops!

I dunno. But I do know that Private Prison Lobbyists deserve a few stitches, and maybe, a few senators too.

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Martin holding a loaf of Homeboy Industries white bread. But the real find there was the jalapeno cream cheese croissant. That, and Martin reminding me he is camera shy due to the way that the system treats ‘offenders.’ That, and maybe some old beef (which I didn’t find at the market, though you CAN get great beef jerky there).

And I remember back in da’ day when men like Martin were constant and chronic suspects in a narrative where some social forces exploited others in society, and then stepped back as if they had done nothing wrong and left men like Martin holding the bag-literally(that’s an inside joke).

Related Story: NPR covers a story far too late-the CIA really WAS running drugs in America.

This holding the bag theme is a social constant, one where the truly criminal never get caught or punished, while other’s are scapegoated as criminals. And it is an especially useful tool to all of those in the corporate sponsored private prison industrial complex to point the finger and say “bad menz!” while they turn America into a state of warrantless surveillance, and destroy families. Suuuure. Gentrification is the problem, alright. As long as they (whoever they are) keep US focused on race and other divisive issues that do nothing to solve the crisis of over-policing hre in America, and scapegoating of fathers, brothers, and sons.

Those Homeboys, always up to something-we gotta keep an eye on them and all that. Or, if you have any sense, support them in all they do, providing jobs, and helpingto rebuild communities, and families.

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For the most part, the gentrification issue is a false flag- abunch of beans with a scary name- that benefits no one except large developers like Larry Silverstein, at the expense of old neighbors meeting new ones-and creating mutually beneficial, and locally sustainable economies.

Related story: Does gentrification save or destroy neighborhoods. Or, something in between? The emerging non-troversy over gentrification, a Boyle Heights Coffee shop, and neo-racism and the easily exploited anger of those who have no common sense, from NPR.

Us versus them food: a primer in racist food and danger.

Who doesn’t want to eat dangerous foods? Certainly, the world needs more of those. And writers like Tahlia Pritchard, who herself would taste delicious on a skewer. Where are all the cannibals when you need them? Oh, here they are, quoted in Ms. Pritchards white-phobic, racist article.

I think food should be dagerous-where ARE those guys who will spit a loogie into Ms. Pritchard’s next hamburger, or who will stir some pee into her wine? Her white guilt is so crushing, that she might just need that extra push over the cliff, with the rest of the “white” flock.

And this sort of madness over race is kiling our ability to see that such divisions by design keep us from talking about real isues-like how international finanant stories.e importce, the MIC, the DVIC, and those in media keep us squabbing as real journalists like Michael Hastings are picked off in mysterious circumstances right before they writ

Buzzfeed-the online news service that once hosted the excellent investigative journalism, and the well researched, well sourced writing of murdered Hastings, which critiqued the endess wars that are fought for the white female privilege of Tahlia(a Hebrew name) has now become a sort of repository for these types of women whose whiteness seems to burden them-especialy at binge-eating time (brush after each binge, Tahlia!).

Here-have a look at things that make Tahlia nauseous-and maybe, slip a loogie into her next bowl of Pho, because food should be dangerous-to those who divide us:

17 Foods That White People Have Ruined

Stop that.

Posted on November 16, 2016, at 9:02 p.m.