The Inside Assyria Discussion Forum #5

=> Re: The Gulag and Private Manning

Re: The Gulag and Private Manning
Posted by Marcello (Guest) - Thursday, March 17 2011, 14:55:22 (UTC)
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Yes, you're right about Armenians also claiming that they're Aryan.

I have white hippie friends that go to India often and bring back alot of art with swastikas on it - not Nazi swastikas, of course.

I did have clue of Dr. Oz being Turkish. Isn't his name Mehmet?

I want to share this dream I just leaped out of:

I was making love to a beautiful, sweet, tender girl. We were kissing, laughing, rolling around in bed. I felt warm, happy, she was angelic as was each moment I shared with her - but then there was an interruption: right wing radio blasting from outside in the street. I get up to look out the window. There's a ford pick up truck with some white militia types sitting motionless in the back with a big speaker pointed at my window. "TURN THAT SHUT OFF!!," I yell.

I get back into bed, the kissing, the warmth laughter once again.. but now, it's a old Assyrian relative I've not seen kicks open the closet door, pissed-off, suitcase in his hand: "You're very rude!" "This is how you treat your guests?" He spits on the floor and leaves out the bedroom door. "Wait!!" I run after him.

Now I'm in a room full of Assyrians drinking tea with pastry. I'm naked, caught off-guard. A woman with big breasts, big, gold star of Assur around her neck, thick-dyed hair, asks: "What's your name?" I reply "Marcel". "Do you also go by Marcello?" her eyes fixed on mine. "Yes," I say. "YOU'RE VERY RUDE!!" "YOU AND THOSE OTHER ASSYRIANS ONLINE!" another one yells: "HE'S NOT ASSYRIAN... NOT ONE OF US, LOOK, HIS CURCUMCUMCISED!" I was looking for a way out and as I turn there's Michelangelo's David with the penis broken off. The woman comes nearer with the crowd of Assyrians behind her: "Fred breaks off the penises of his scuplutures.. he's against circumsision". Confused, the scene changes.

Now I'm in a dark, wet, dank, cell. I smell piss and cigarettes. Across from me, my father sits in the darkness of smoke, hiding his angry eyes. "What did I tell you about Marx?" I hear a scream. I wake up from the sound of my own muffled, gargled, voice. Fuck!


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