And last Saturday, April 14 - for the first time ever - that long-secret rite was witnessed by a team of outsiders, including this writer.
Using high-tech night-vision video equipment able to peer through the gloom into the inner courtyard of the Skull and Bones "Tomb" in New Haven, The Observer team witnessed:
- The George W. effect: intoxicated by renewed proximity to Presidential power, a robed Bonesman posing as George W. harangued initiates in an eerily accurate Texas drawl: "I'm gonna ream you like I reamed Al Gore" and "I'm gonna kill you like I killed Al Gore."
- Privileged Skull and Bones members mocked the assault on Abner Louima by crying out repeatedly, "Take that plunger out of my ass!"
- Skull and Bones members hurled obscene sexual insults ("lick my bumhole") at initiates as they were forced to kneel and kiss a skull at the feet of the initiators.
- Other members acted out the tableau of a throat-cutting ritual murder.
Further revelations turned up by the Observer Bones Investigation Unit include:
- The words to the secret Skull and Bones "death mantra."
- Copies of the Skull and Bones tax returns, obtained through Freedom of Information Act requests, raise questions about the legitimacy of the secret society's claim to charitable tax-exempt deduction status - particularly relevant considering recent criticism of the Bush tax plan for favoring the privileged few.
- A possible explanation emerged in the course of the initiation ceremony for George W.'s decision to run for President in the first place.
The Observer Mission Impossible expedition had its inception several months ago with a phone call from Peggy Adler, the research associate on my previous Skull and Bones piece in The Observer (July 17, 2000). She is the demon investigator and former Iran-contra committee staffer who, among other coups, cross-referenced corporate boards to crack the 'RTA code', the corporate shell game by which the corporate shell of the Skull and Bones society, the Russell Trust Association, shielded its paper trail from prying eyes by changing its name to RTA Inc.
Ms. Adler said she had been approached by a member of the Yale community who wanted to share with us a remarkable coup of his own: He had found a way last year, in April of 2000, to audiotape the Skull and Bones initiation ceremony. And he wanted to know if we'd be interested in an attempt to videotape it this time.
And so one afternoon last December, shortly after the Bush electoral victory had been certified, I met with the intrepid fellow; he booted up his laptop and let me listen to the sounds of a ceremony that had been the subject of fevered speculation for nearly two centuries now.
Of course, there is more to Skull and Bones than the mystical mumbo-jumbo of its rituals. The rituals are less important than the relationships - the bonds of power and influence that develop between Skull and Bones initiates after they graduate. But the relationships are first forged by the rituals and the fact that the founders of Time Inc. and the C.I.A., as well as several Secretaries of State and National Security Advisors - the men who made the decision to drop the Hiroshima bomb, invade the Bay of Pigs and plunge us into Vietnam, the Tafts, the Bundys, the Buckleys, the Harrimans, the Lovetts - all took part in this initiation ritual may have something to do with the real world power of those bonds. The unspoken understanding, the comfort level with the clandestine, the nods and winks with which power is exercised.
The initiation ceremony begins the process of inculcating into the elect of the elite (just 15 out of 1,300 in every Yale class) the same mystical sense of mission that allowed the British Old Boy network to rule a worldwide empire.
The whole phenomenon is rarely looked into beyond the exotic ritual trappings (although Evan Thomas and Walter Isaacson talk about the world-wide web of Bones foreign policy mandarins in The Wise Men). But it's something I've been investigating off and on for a quarter of a century now. I am the Ahab of Skull and Bones, pursuing the white whale (or white male) leviathan to the utmost depths. As an undergraduate at Yale I lived next door to the Skull and Bones Tomb, and back in 1977 I published the first outsider's investigation into Skull and Bones, its rituals and its influence on American political culture (an updated version of that piece, revised to include my chilly exchange with George and Barbara Bush on Air Force Two, can be found in my recent nonfiction collection, The Secret Parts of Fortune).
And so it was momentous for me to actually hear the sounds of the Skull and Bones initiation on that laptop. But in listening to it, awe gave way to a mixture of puzzlement and embarrassment - and an even deeper, unsatisfied curiosity.
In part it was the fact that the ritual was heard but not seen. My Yale source had found a previously unexploited perch from which to record the sounds of the ceremonies, but could glimpse them only incompletely. He reported a figure dressed like the devil, another one in a hooded-skeleton costume and others in robes. The thing that stood out for me, listening to it, was what I've come to think of as "the death mantra."
Yes, the death mantra - here it is, the three-line Skull and Bones initiation-ritual theme that has bound three Presidents (including the present one) to their secret society:
'THE HANGMAN EQUALS DEATH!Most of the speculative lore about the Skull and Bones ritual has centered on its death fixation. Beyond the obvious skull-and-crossbones insignia, of course, the most persistent story is that initiates spend their senior year in the basement crypt of the Bones Tomb taking turns lying in a coffin and, in two long, intense, psycho-drama autobiographical sessions in said coffins, recount their personal and sexual history to the other 14 chosen ones. The better to bond for life with those they know best and prepare for their destiny as stewards of the ruling class.
THE DEVIL EQUALS DEATH!
DEATH EQUALS DEATH!'
The death-centered imagery, the injunction to initiates that they must 'die to the barbarian world' and be reborn in the Elysian company of the elect of 'The Order,' as they call it, is what makes Skull and Bones as radically different from a college fraternity as the Gambino family is from the "hunting and fishing club" that was their nominal headquarters.
The hangman equals death. The devil equals death. Death equals death ....
What the hell is going on there? Is it a puzzle in logic, like "All men are mortal. Socrates is mortal ..."? Does it solve out to "The hangman equals the devil?"
Could one detect a capital-punishment theme here - the hangman as executioner presaging George W.'s prolific execution rate as Texas governor? "George W. equals death," you might say.
And what about the devil? (Well, the figure dressed like the devil.) Is that the secret they've been covering up ever since the society was founded in 1832, the offshoot of a German secret society: devil worship? A fulfillment of the paranoid fantasies of the fundamentalist right, who believe the Eastern establishment is a front for Satanic conspiracy.
Probably not, but it made me more eager to participate in this year's caper: the attempt to see as well as hear it, to capture it all on video - for educational, historical and journalistic purposes to document a defining rite of passage of the American ruling class.
Oh, yes - before we get to the night-vision videotape, there was one more thing, the embarrassing part of the audiotape, the OOGA-BOOGA part. Part of the ceremony on the tape involved an initiation master ordering the neophytes to fetch bones and uttering the (I guess) fake Tarzan-movie "native" chant "OOGA BOOGA." It left me feeling embarrassed for Skull and Bones. Hard to ever take seriously again anyone whose defining life-mission moment includes an OOGA BOOGA.
But as it turned out, "OOGA BOOGA" was not evident in this year's ceremony, as far as we were able to tell. Perhaps it was an improvisation, like this year's impersonation of George W. ("I'll ream you like I reamed Al Gore") was.
The Observer Mission Impossible Force met to plot strategy an hour before sunset on initiation night, Saturday, April 12. It is not widely known, but Tap Night, which occurs on Thursday, is not generally the same as initiation night. The good stuff happens on Saturday night, and already limos are cruising the quiet streets that crisscross the Yale campus, conveying initiates of other secret societies to their rituals. Bones initiates come on foot, knock on the massive triple-locked wooden door of the Tomb and are conveyed to the first stage of the ritual. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.
Let me just mention how much I admired the intrepid Yale members of the Observer Bones Task Force for displaying the kind of curiosity, initiative and heretical, skeptical impulse apparently absent on most Ivy campuses, if you believe David Brooks' recent Atlantic Monthly cover story on get-along-go-along premature careerists. The guys on my team will make more of a real contribution than any of the smug secret-society types.
First on the agenda was a quick examination of the Bones income-tax filings, which an outside consultant to the team had obtained through Freedom of Information Act requests. He and Peggy Adler pointed out to me a couple of dubious assertions on the Form 990's (Return of Organization Exempt from Income Tax), which called into question certain of the grounds for charitable exemption. In particular, there was the assertion in the 1997 RTA Incorporated filing (Part VI, line 80b) that the organization was not "related ... through common membership, governing bodies, trustees, officers etc. to any other exempt or non-exempt organization."
Contradicting that assertion is information on the filing of the Deer Island Club Corporation. Deer Island is the private island of the Skull and Bones Society, located in the St. Lawrence River. It is the place where Bones members bring their families for summer get-togethers. It is wholly owned and run by Skull and Bones members, apparently contradicting Bones' claim of "no relationship" to another exempt organization, and appearing to contradict the strictly educational and charitable mission for which RTA gets its exemption for Skull and Bones.
The consultant argues in a memo that the purpose of the 80b question on the Bones deduction claim form "is to prevent tax exempt charities from undertaking non-charitable activities by hiding them in another corporation. This is of course precisely what RTA Inc. is accomplishing through the Deer Island Club Corporation. In order to conceal this arrangement however RTA Inc. denies its connection to the DICC."
In fact, he goes on, "RTA and the DICC are so closely linked that for all intents and purposes RTA Inc. does own Deer Island despite its claims to the contrary."
I'm not going to go into the whole tax issue here. Perhaps the Bones shell corporation has a good and valid reason for claiming that it has no connection to the Bones private-island country club. Perhaps this sort of thing goes on all the time among the private charities of the privileged. I don't think Deer Island will become George W. Bush's Whitewater. But one might think that a scrupulous White House counsel would want to look at the kind of tax information George W.'s secret society is filing on his behalf. Particularly since he's promising enormous windfalls for the privileged, the tax breaks his secret society takes should be utterly beyond suspicion. Does the President, I'd like to know, claim his Skull and Bones dues as a charitable deduction, when the only charity seems to be providing a club house and country house for the privileged? The RTA filing claims Skull and Bones exists "for the benefit of Yale University." But Yale - which celebrates three centuries of luminous atainments this weekend - ought to question what "benefit" it gets from chants of "lick my bumhole" and the mockery of Abner Louima.
Anyway, as night came falling and we choreographed the evening's caper, I felt that we were carrying on an old-fashioned, longstanding tradition: the natural reaction of the democratic (small D) tradition to elitist power that conceals itself within the cloak of privilege and secrecy. And for me, it was a culmination of my own quarter-century quest, one that had become personalized lately by the fact that our Skull and Bones President had been a classmate of mine at Yale.
'Run, Neophyte, Run!'
At last, zero hour approached. For two centuries, the outside world had wondered and fantasized about what was about to happen, what actually went on in the fabled Skull and Bones initiation. There's a long tradition of Yale secret societies (including Bones) raiding other secret societies to capture their ritual artifacts. In the 1970's, an all-woman break-in team published photographs of the Bone's Tomb's interior. But tonight, for the first time ever, we would attempt to capture the actual secret initiation ritual and bring it to light for anthropological study. Our team's equipment included three night-vision-capable digital-video cameras, one tape recorder, a stepladder and two walkie-talkies. (I could never get mine to work.) Because of a recent injury which limits my mobility, I was stationed at a listening post with my tape recorder while the video-cam team proceeded to their more perilous perch at the forward base (as those of us in special ops call it). We planned to rendezvous afterward for me to view the tape.
We split up just as the whoops and groans, the screams and moans began to emanate from inside the Tomb and the masters of the Skull and Bones initiation began establishing the posts they'd man for the occult psycho-drama to come.
From my post, I could see through an open window shadowy figures walking very close above my head. Later I'll put my audio impressions together with the video-cam record the other team obtained for a more complete picture, but first let me transcribe some of the notes I made from listening in. Fragmentary as they are, they capture some of the strangeness, and perhaps the kind of disorientation the initiates themselves experienced there in the courtyard of Skull and Bones.
First, there was the guy posing as George W. He seemed to be a bit disgruntled at being given this role - a feeling he expressed by calling out in his George W. drawl to another "Patriarch" (as they're called): "I got the power to bomb the crap out of China and they give me this station."
Then someone - one of the initiates? - called out "Uncle Toby!" (Many Bone ritual personae are taken from Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy - you gotta give them credit there for good taste.)
"Uncle Toby!" the cry repeated.
"Shut up, neophyte."
"Take that plunger out of my ass, Uncle Toby."
Presumably, this mocking Louima reference was a ploy to scare initiates into thinking Uncle Toby was going to give them the plunger treatment.
That cheerful rectal theme was followed up by:
"I'm gonna ream you like I reamed Al Gore!" from the George W. imitator.
Followed by "Help me! It's the devil!"
And then "George W." really getting into it: "I'm gonna kill you like I killed Al Gore."
Silence. Then a door opened. Voices - half of them, it seemed, women - were screaming: "Run! Neophyte! Run, neophyte!"
(The neophytes are, of course, the new initiates.)
From my post, I could only see hooded figures racing about in the darkness above my head, accompanied by cries of:
"Run, neophyte!"
"Find the femur!"
And (again): "Take that plunger out of my ass, Uncle Toby!"
Then silence for awhile. The neophyte seemed to have gone back inside the Tomb. After which one of the Patriarchs complained, "We ought to get better blood than this fuckin' syrup, man."
It was only later that I learned what the blood was for: the whole throat-slitting "barbarian" tableau after the skull-kissing.
But first there was a different kind of kissing being referred to. There were cries of "Lick my bumhole, neophyte!" "Lick my ass, neophyte!" "Do you like my bum, neophyte?" (Despite these heartfelt pleas, we did not witness any of those acts being consummated.)
The bumhole tribute was followed by more cries of "Get the femur!" and at least part of the death mantra I'd heard before: "DEATH EQUALS DEATH."
Following which, "George W." chimed in with "I'm the President of the motha-fuckin' U.S.A." - apparently just for the sheer pleasure of saying it. (He was sounding more like the real George W. all the time.)
It began to be clear that what was going on outside in the courtyard was the climax of an initiation ceremony that began inside the Tomb. There, it's reputed, the initiates must first enter into a coffin and "die to the barbarian world," to the world of "savages" (all but the Skull and Bones elect), in order to be reborn as a member of "The Order." Then comes the skull-kissing and the throat-slashing.
Two hours later, after all 15 of the initiates had burst out to be harangued and scared, I approached the rendezvous point with the night-vision camera team. This was the moment of truth: The night-vision team wasn't sure what their digicams had picked up. With their own eyes they'd gotten evocative glimpses, but the playback on the camera's swing-out view screens would be the first time, so far as we knew, any outsider had really seen the legendary ritual. A ritual three Presidents, a few Supreme Court justices, maybe a dozen Senators (including 2004 Democratic Presidential contender John Kerry - which would mean a head-to-head, Skull-to-Skull smackdown with George W.), several Secretaries of State, literary and cultural luminaries including John Hersey and William F. Buckley, had all undergone.
The footage was ghostly, it was grainy - but from the angles of the night-vision cams, we were able to piece together a narrative of what happened when the initiates emerged one at a time from the preliminaries inside the Tomb.
First they were led forward by a figure in a devil costume. Not really a sinister, Satanic-looking figure but, as one of the team put it, "More like Satan's Little Helper."
A shrill, menacing and sometimes blood-curdling chorus of cries and screams and imprecations accompanied the emergence:
"Hurry, neophyte! Run, neophyte!"
"Find the femur, neophyte!" Along with the occasional "Lick my bumhole! Remove the plunger!"-type outcries.
The devil figure pulled them into a white tent in the courtyard where, we think, they found their femurs and emerged with what looked like a thigh bone, although it was impossible to tell whether it once belonged to a human or not.
When they reemerged from the tent, they were led to the centerpiece of this part of the ritual.
They were forced face-to-face with a shocking tableau: a guy holding what seemed like a butcher knife, wearing a kind of animal-skin "barbarian" look, stood over what seemed to be a woman covered in fake blood and not much else. The neophyte then approached a skull a few feet away from the knife-wielder-and-victim tableau. The neophyte knelt and kissed the skull, at which point the guy with the knife knelt and cut the throat of the prone figure. (Well, pretended to cut the throat.)
I'm not sure what it all means. I've yet to decode the mystical significance of this, although I do love to think of former President George Bush kissing the skull. Obviously, it has something to do with subservience. Kiss the skull of power. Bow down to The Order. But what about the "barbarian" cutting the throat of his victim?
Does it mean "One dies to the barbarian world"? Does it mean "Death to the barbarians"? Does it endorse cut-throat tactics? Is that how they enforce silence and secrecy?
I plan to continue my relentless study of the hermeneutics of the Bones rituals, myths and symbolism based on these new revelations, and perhaps with the help of a Bones graduate who feels the time has come to lift the veil on the silly (and no longer even secret) symbolism of their society. (Contact me privately c/o The Edgy Alliance, 577 Second Avenue, Box 105, N.Y., N.Y. 10016.)
All that death imagery, though: Maybe it's meant to be a first ritualistic confrontation with Mortality, the skull as a memento mori designed to instill in the "neophyte" a sense of the gravity of one's mission in life.
In that regard, consider the direct relevance of at least one aspect of the ritual to George W. That recurrent phrase: "Run, neophyte, run!"
Think about it. When George W. was first considering the fairly serious shift from baseball-team owner (whose major achievement was trading away Sammy Sosa) to governor of Texas, or when he was considering the shift from one-term governor of Texas to President of the United States, what decided him - what made him think he could pull it off, despite years as a semi-permanent neophyte? Could it be that what he heard, echoing in his brain, down the corridors of the years, was the injunction from that long-ago April night when he was a Skull and Bones initiate? When he bent down to kiss the skull and heard, resounding in his ears, the command: "Run, neophyte, run!"
The Banality Of Evil Epitomized
It has long been known that evil both lacks originality AND is anti-creative. Such dates back eons before ‘scientific’ studies, under the simpler and more accurate term “common sense,’
It is no surprise how most if not all of worst authoritarian control scumbag societies have and/or had some form of death worship. Life is creation, life must exist for death to mean anything. Rather than focus on the pro (e.g., procreation), (deal with realities of the present, first things first); instead such fools as these attempt to study nothingness/ to use nihilisim to prove nothing about anything.
It’s likewise long been known that evil is boring, and banal. The chanted slogan, is just so weak – it would be nigh impossible to come up with something ‘stoopider.’ It is hardly the stuff of any group of evil geniuses: “'THE HANGMAN EQUALS DEATH! THE DEVIL EQUALS DEATH! DEATH EQUALS DEATH!' “ Say wha???
That’s a real I Q twister, eh? “How about Brooms Sweep Floors, Witches Fly Brooms, Dirty Floors attract Flies!” (You see how hard it is to even get near the bathos and self importance and utter uselessness of their so called ‘rites’ and ‘slogans.’)
I frankly cannot think of anything more banal than these silly rites (wrongs) ‘performed’ by these narcissistic spoiled brats with a cumulative (and self-reinforcing) mental age of a some pre-pubescent hormoniacal boys, and who quite obviously remain stuck there even by their early twenties!?? In College? Their lives seem ready to be permanently blocked and framed by that time – a permanent "Who’s Cool at Jr. High School" mentality – for life! How pathetic!
Contrast the above with a creative mind and true art. E.g., at least in1984, Orwell’s Big Brother could come up with something that would set one to thinking. (Perhaps in order not to lose the reading audience, he was required to make evil – or at least its slogans and claimed reasons - less boring and banal than they naturally always have been, so he gave us: “War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength." )
You know these wimps are actually thinking they are setting out to control the world, and are unaware of the reality that they are riding on the coattails of their Uncles and Grandfathers Cecil Rhodes, Prescott Bush, Adolph Hitler Averell Harriman and the like. I mean, picture President W. at the S&B. When he, through the gracelesses of “our” Supreme Court, was ‘appointed’ president, did he realize that thus D. Cheney/GW Bush were back - as if they’d gone when their Mena flunkie, Clinton was in ‘power.’ (Don’t forget Rumsfeld.) But while he was president, did W REALLY think he was in charge of anything?
Orwell now:
Under this lies a fact never mentioned aloud, but tacitly understood and acted upon: namely, that the conditions of life in all three super-states are very much the same. In Oceania the prevailing philosophy is called Ingsoc, in Eurasia it is called Neo-Bolshevism, and in Eastasia it is called by a Chinese name usually translated as Death-Worship, but perhaps better rendered as Obliteration of the Self. The citizen of Oceania is not allowed to know anything of the tenets of the other two philosophies, but he is taught to execrate them as barbarous outrages upon morality and common sense. Actually the three philosophies are barely distinguishable, and the social systems which they support are not distinguishable at all. Everywhere there is the same pyramidal structure, the same worship of semi-divine leader, the same economy existing by and for continuous warfare. It follows that the three super-states not only cannot conquer one another, but would gain no advantage by doing so. On the contrary, so long as they remain in conflict they prop one another up, like three sheaves of corn. And, as usual, the ruling groups of all three powers are simultaneously aware and unaware of what they are doing. Their lives are dedicated to world conquest, but they also know that it is necessary that the war should continue everlastingly and without victory. Meanwhile the fact that there IS no danger of conquest makes possible the denial of reality which is the special feature of Ingsoc and its rival systems of thought. Here it is necessary to repeat what has been said earlier, that by becoming continuous war has fundamentally changed its character.
In past ages, a war, almost by definition, was something that sooner or later came to an end, usually in unmistakable victory or defeat. In the past, also, war was one of the main instruments by which human societies were kept in touch with physical reality. All rulers in all ages have tried to impose a false view of the world upon their followers, but they could not afford to encourage any illusion that tended to impair military efficiency. So long as defeat meant the loss of independence, or some other result generally held to be undesirable, the precautions against defeat had to be serious. Physical facts could not be ignored. In philosophy, or religion, or ethics, or politics, two and two might make five, but when one was designing a gun or an aeroplane they had to make four. Inefficient nations were always conquered sooner or later, and the struggle for efficiency was inimical to illusions. Moreover, to be efficient it was necessary to be able to learn from the past, which meant having a fairly accurate idea of what had happened in the past. Newspapers and history books were, of course, always coloured and biased, but falsification of the kind that is practised today would have been impossible. War was a sure safeguard of sanity, and so far as the ruling classes were concerned it was probably the most important of all safeguards. While wars could be won or lost, no ruling class could be completely irresponsible.
But when war becomes literally continuous, it also ceases to be dangerous. When war is continuous there is no such thing as military necessity. Technical progress can cease and the most palpable facts can be denied or disregarded. As we have seen, researches that could be called scientific are still carried out for the purposes of war, but they are essentially a kind of daydreaming, and their failure to show results is not important. Efficiency, even military efficiency, is no longer needed. Nothing is efficient in Oceania except the Thought Police. Since each of the three super-states is unconquerable, each is in effect a separate universe within which almost any perversion of thought can be safely practised. Reality only exerts its pressure through the needs of everyday life — the need to eat and drink, to get shelter and clothing, to avoid swallowing poison or stepping out of top-storey windows, and the like. Between life and death, and between physical pleasure and physical pain, there is still a distinction, but that is all. Cut off from contact with the outer world, and with the past, the citizen of Oceania is like a man in interstellar space, who has no way of knowing which direction is up and which is down. The rulers of such a state are absolute, as the Pharaohs or the Caesars could not be. They are obliged to prevent their followers from starving to death in numbers large enough to be inconvenient, and they are obliged to remain at the same low level of military technique as their rivals; but once that minimum is achieved, they can twist reality into whatever shape they choose.
The war, therefore, if we judge it by the standards of previous wars, is merely an imposture. It is like the battles between certain ruminant animals whose horns are set at such an angle that they are incapable of hurting one another. But though it is unreal it is not meaningless. It eats up the surplus of consumable goods, and it helps to preserve the special mental atmosphere that a hierarchical society needs. War, it will be seen, is now a purely internal affair. In the past, the ruling groups of all countries, although they might recognize their common interest and therefore limit the destructiveness of war, did fight against one another, and the victor always plundered the vanquished. In our own day they are not fighting against one another at all. The war is waged by each ruling group against its own subjects, and the object of the war is not to make or prevent conquests of territory, but to keep the structure of society intact. The very word ‘war’, therefore, has become misleading. It would probably be accurate to say that by becoming continuous war has ceased to exist. The peculiar pressure that it exerted on human beings between the Neolithic Age and the early twentieth century has disappeared and been replaced by something quite different. The effect would be much the same if the three super-states, instead of fighting one another, should agree to live in perpetual peace, each inviolate within its own boundaries. For in that case each would still be a self-contained universe, freed for ever from the sobering influence of external danger. A peace that was truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war. This — although the vast majority of Party members understand it only in a shallower sense — is the inner meaning of the Party slogan: WAR IS PEACE. [End from 1984.)
If that sounds familiar with our daily news, SOTTypes know why. SOTT trolls are lost before they get here and follow scripts. So, at least Orwell can make some sense – no surprise. I guess I likewise should NOT be surprised at the incredible lack of any original or creative thought in the words and actions of these pathetic little people. But where would be our materialistic and heirarchical society without them? (Smirk.)
All this is far too complicated for the wanna be Nazi brats described in the article. Thus, they deeply study their STUPID word jumble of “Death Equals Death.” ( Well A = A, also. See Aristotle, Syllogism, Logic, Philosophy.)
The more time they waste doing such, the less time they’ll have to get better at hurting others.
Evil little people. I never thought I’d feel sorry for them; but I do.
R.C.