In Defence of Anjem Choudary
The death of Gunner Rigby, mown down by a car driven by two Sub-Saharan Muslims and then cruelly butchered in the street, is not going to go away. And thank god or Allah for that, for the sooner Gunner Rigby is forgotten the more valueless his death becomes.
There are powerful interests working day and night trying to devalue that death, trying to make it seem like a random, trivial act of insanity or a deed of extremism only endorsed by a tiny minority of fanatics; most importantly as an act that must never ever divide the denizens of Britain’s multicultural paradise (now available as a mental implant following lobotomy).
As the cracks continue to appear thick and fast in the crumbling Victorian terrace house belonging to old Mrs. Britannia, the tendency to twitch the lace curtains and paper over the cracks grows strong and intense.
The old lady who lives there, obsessed with the appearance of decorum, has no wish to get the builders or pest control experts in to fix the rot, rising damp, rats in the cellar, subsidence, or other structural problems in the decrepit structure. She feels that might reflect badly on her, and she is hoping to eke out her last few years in calm respectability, even if the rats gnawing away under the floorboards and the cockroaches scuttling around in the kitchen at night disturb her sleep. ...
Yes, if Western governments are going to import people and ideologies that will increasingly hack us to death on the streets, their leaders might as well be out in the open speaking of their hatred toward us, to remind us to throw out our own leaders, stop importing the Third World and begin the repatriation of all the newcomers among us who hate the West and want to see us destroyed.
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