I have an uneven response to Taki writer David Cole’s articles: sometimes I want to punch him in the face, and others he makes me howl with laughter. This is one of the latter occasions, to whit:
I’m not a man who speaks in absolutes, but here’s one I’ll stand by: If a bus full of black people enters an upscale area and nobody on board is wearing a [sports] jersey, it’s bad news.
His description of a bunch of BLM mopes encountering resistance in the form of Persian Jews is equally funny:
Blacks have gotten far too used to dealing with Woody Allen Jews—weakling, neurotic nebbishes of European descent, people who are either Marxist or have Marxists in their family tree.
Persian Jews are cut from a different cloth entirely. It’s a healthy and virile community that categorically rejects racial guilting and socialist wealth redistribution. So the protesters were met by a bunch of Persian Jewish neighbors who stood against them with zero fear.
“Woody Allen Jews”… [exit, laughing]
It’s no longer just the Persian Jews. Quite a few of the first-generation American Jews, unhappy with the cringing acceptance of their forebears, have adopted King Leonidas’ answer as their motto
As a now-departed Native Angelino, I find a lot of this as humorous as it is sad.
My Father’s family immigrated to L.A. during the Great Depression from KS, settling in East L.A., where he met this Italian family from Cleveland. Long story short, Mom & Dad married and found a house to rent in East L.A. while Dad worked for a local dairy as a home-delivery man.
Then, Selective Service called, and Dad went in for the pre-Induction physical, where the docs discovered a previously unknown heart-murmur and marked him 4F, but referred him to a shipyard in Wilmington for “war work” – home deliver of milk didn’t make the grade.
That allowed them to buy a new house in a new subdivision on the Red Car Line to the Port. It also encouraged his family to move to an older established neighborhood on that same line and buy a house sitting alongside the rail line on about an acre of land, where his dad could take up what he knew – growing vegetables and keeping chickens, the product of which he sold to a neighborhood market owned by Mexican-Americans in a neighborhood of M-A’s.
Now, 20-yrs later that neighborhood was almost solidly Black, and was turning into a joke within a joke as the suburban city it was contained within was doing the same: White, to M-A, to Black, and a rampant crime problem. Before leaving SoCal, I drove back to the old neighborhood where my grandparents lived, and found that it had “gentrified” back to “Hispanic”, as had the city, and as is L.A. County. It’s still one of the poorer neighborhoods south of Downtown L.A., but it is in much better condition that it was just before and after the Watts Riots.
Kim, at the risk of putting us on an Unequal Footing, I remember a time when you described yourself as “a white African-American with a girl’s first name and a French last name”.
In that spirit, I would describe David Cole as “a pain-in-the-ass Beverly Hills Jew, who happens to be a Holocaust Denier”.
I can’t decide which I like more!
My sister in law is an Israeli, a large, well shaped Germanic type, who would be lusted after by our Host Mr. DuToit, out of Alt Wien, now living in Canada married to my very lucky brother. She tells me that Israelis scarcely consider most American Jews to be Jews at all, but rather spineless, dickless, nebbishes.
Odd that she used the same word, ‘nebbish’.
She did her stint in the IDF and is a better shot than I am. Pfah.
In my experience, Israelis feel that way about all non-Israeli Jews.
I see that Taki no longer allows comments on the articles posted by his writers.
Without his stupid commenters, I need to start reading his stable of writers again.