TODAY it seems to me providential that Fate should have chosen Braunau on the Inn as my
birthplace. For this little town lies on the boundary between two German states which we of the
younger generation at least have made it our life work to reunite by every means at our disposal.
German-Austria must return to the great German mother country, and not because of any
economic considerations. No, and again no: even if such a union were unimportant from an
economic point of view; yes, even if it were harmful, it must nevertheless take place. One blood
demands one Reich. Never will the German nation possess the moral right to engage in colonial
politics until, at least, it embraces its own sons within a single state. Only when the Reich
borders include the very last German, but can no longer guarantee his daily bread, will the moral
right to acquire foreign soil arise from the distress of our own people. Their sword will become
our plow, and from the tears of war the daily bread of future generations will grow. And so this
little city on the border seems to me the symbol of a great mission. And in another respect as
well, it looms as an admonition to the present day. More than a hundred years ago, this
insignificant place had the distinction of being immortalized in the annals at least of German
history, for it was the scene of a tragic catastrophe which gripped the entire German nation. At
the time of our fatherland's deepest humiliation, Johannes Palm of Nuremberg, burgher,
bookseller, uncompromising nationalist and French hater, died there for the Germany which he
loved so passionately even in her misfortune. He had stubbornly refused to denounce his
accomplices who were in fact his superiors. In thus he resembled Leo Schlageter. And like him,
he was denounced to the French by a representative of his government An Augsburg police
chief won this unenviable fame, thus furnishing an example for our modern German officials in
Herr Severing's Reich.
In this little town on the Inn, gilded by the rays of German martyrdom, Bavarian by blood,
technically Austrian, lived my parents in the late eighties of the past century; my father a dutiful
civil servants my mother giving all her being to the household, and devoted above all to us
children in eternal, loving care Little remains in my memory of this period, for after a few years
my father had to leave the little border city he had learned to love, moving down the Inn to take
a new position in Passau, that is, in Germany proper.
In those days constant moving was the lot of an Austrian customs official. A short time later, my
father was sent to Linz, and there he was finally pensioned. Yet, indeed, this was not to mean
"res"' for the old gentleman. In his younger days, as the son of a poor cottager, he couldn't bear
to stay at home. Before he was even thirteen, the little boy laced his tiny knapsack and ran away
from his home in the Waldviertel. Despite the at tempts of 'experienced' villagers to dissuade
him, he made his way to Vienna, there to learn a trade. This was in the fifties of the past century.
A desperate decision, to take to the road with only three gulden for travel money, and plunge
into the unknown. By the time the thirteen-year-old grew to be seventeen, he had passed his
apprentice's examination, but he was not yet content. On the contrary. The long period of
hardship, endless misery, and suffering he had gone through strengthened his determination to
give up his trade and become ' something better. Formerly the poor boy had regarded the priest
as the embodiment of all humanly attainable heights; now in the big city, which had so greatly
widened his perspective, it was the rank of civil servant. With all the tenacity of a young man
whom suffering and care had made 'old' while still half a child, the seventeen-year-old clung to
his new decision-he did enter the civil service. And after nearly twenty-three years, I believe, he
reached his goal. Thus he seemed to have fulfilled a vow which he had made as a poor boy: that
he would not return to his beloved native village until he had made something of himself.
His goal was achieved; but no one in the village could remember the little boy of former days,
and to him the village had grown strange.
When finally, at the age of fifty-six, he went into retirement, he could not bear to spend a single
day of his leisure in idleness. Near the Upper Austrian market village of Lambach he bought a
farm, which he worked himself, and thus, in the circuit of a long and industrious life, returned to
the origins of his forefathers.
It was at this time that the first ideals took shape in my breast. All my playing about in the open,
the long walk to school, and particularly my association with extremely 'husky' boys, which
sometimes caused my mother bitter anguish, made me the very opposite of a stay-at-home. And
though at that time I scarcely had any serious ideas as to the profession I should one day pursue,
my sympathies were in any case not in the direction of my father's career. I believe that even
then my oratorical talent was being developed in the form of more or less violent arguments
with my schoolmates. I had become a little ringleader; at school I learned easily and at that time
very well, but was otherwise rather hard to handle. Since in my free time I received singing
lessons in the cloister at Lambach, I had excellent opportunity to intoxicate myself with the
solemn splendor of the brilliant church festivals. As was only natural the abbot seemed to me, as
the village priest had once seemed to my father, the highest and most desirable ideal. For a time,
at least, this was the case. But since my father, for understandable reasons, proved unable to
appreciate the oratorical talents of his pugnacious boy, or to draw from them any favorable
conclusions regarding the future of his offspring, he could, it goes without saying, achieve no
understanding for such youthful ideas. With concern he observed this conflict of nature.
As it happened, my temporary aspiration for this profession was in any case soon to vanish,
making place for hopes more stated to my temperament. Rummaging through my father's
library, I had come across various books of a military nature among them a popular edition of
the Franco-German War of 1870-7I It consisted of two issues of an illustrated periodical from
those years, which now became my favorite reading matter It was not long before the great
heroic struggle had become my greatest inner experience. From then on I became more and
more enthusiastic about everything that was in any way connected with war or, for that matter,
with soldiering.
But in another respect as well, this was to assume importance for me. For the first time, though
as yet in a confused form, the question was forced upon my consciousness: Was there a
difference -and if so what difference-between the Germans who fought these battles and other
Germans? Why hadn't Austria taken part in this war; why hadn't my father and all the others
fought?
Are we not the same as all other Germans?
Do we not all belong together? This problem began to gnaw at my little brain for the first time. I
asked cautious questions and with secret envy received the answer that not every German was
fortunate enough to belong to Bismarck's Reich..
This was more than I could understand.
It was decided that I should go to high school.
From my whole nature, and to an even greater degree from my temperament, my father believed
he could draw the inference that the humanistic Gymnasium would represent a conflict with my
talents. A Realschol seemed to him more suitable. In this opinion he was especially strengthened
by my obvious aptitude for drawing; a subject which in his opinion was neglected in the
Austrian Gymnasiums. Another factor may have been his own laborious career which made
humanistic study seem impractical in his eyes, and therefore less desirable. It was hus basic
opinion and intention that, like himself, his son would and must become a civil servant. It was
only natural that the hardships of his youth should enhance his subsequent achievement in his
eyes, particularly since it resulted exclusively from his own energy and iron diligence. It was the
pride of the self-made man which made him want his son to rise to the same position in life, orJ
of course, even higher if possible, especially since, by his own industrious life, he thought he
would be able to facilitate his child's development so greatly.
It was simply inconceivable to him that I might reject what had become the content of his whole
life. Consequently, my father s decision was simple, definite, and clear; in his own eyes I mean,
of course. Finally, a whole lifetime spent in the bitter struggle for existence had given him a
domineering nature, and it would have seemed intolerable to him to leave the final decision in
such matters to an inexperienced boy, having as yet no Sense of responsibility. Moreover, this
would have seemed a sinful and reprehensible weakness in the exercise of his proper parental
authority and responsibility for the future life of his child, and as such, absolutely incompatible
with his concept of duty.
And yet things were to turn out differently.
21 comments
6 bonecrushingkisses 2015-04-23
Joe Derosa told me there was a meeting here tonight.
2 CHINKY_NIGGER_CUNT 2015-04-23
-Joe Derosa
6 SpudsCuckley 2015-04-23
Niggers smell funny.
5 homerj123 2015-04-23
That's why police dogs lick their balls. To get the nigger taste out of their mouth.
4 NickCarpinelli 2015-04-23
Also, this is a bit off topic, but I hate the Jews. And faggots.
5 TriangleDimes 2015-04-23
Fair enough.
2 Jewsus_H_Kike 2015-04-23
/r/gasthekikes
3 CHINKY_NIGGER_CUNT 2015-04-23
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https://github.com/shutterstock/List-of-Dirty-Naughty-Obscene-and-Otherwise-Bad-Words/blob/master/en
3 NitratePrint 2015-04-23
TODAY it seems to me providential that Fate should have chosen Braunau on the Inn as my birthplace. For this little town lies on the boundary between two German states which we of the younger generation at least have made it our life work to reunite by every means at our disposal. German-Austria must return to the great German mother country, and not because of any economic considerations. No, and again no: even if such a union were unimportant from an economic point of view; yes, even if it were harmful, it must nevertheless take place. One blood demands one Reich. Never will the German nation possess the moral right to engage in colonial politics until, at least, it embraces its own sons within a single state. Only when the Reich borders include the very last German, but can no longer guarantee his daily bread, will the moral right to acquire foreign soil arise from the distress of our own people. Their sword will become our plow, and from the tears of war the daily bread of future generations will grow. And so this little city on the border seems to me the symbol of a great mission. And in another respect as well, it looms as an admonition to the present day. More than a hundred years ago, this insignificant place had the distinction of being immortalized in the annals at least of German history, for it was the scene of a tragic catastrophe which gripped the entire German nation. At the time of our fatherland's deepest humiliation, Johannes Palm of Nuremberg, burgher, bookseller, uncompromising nationalist and French hater, died there for the Germany which he loved so passionately even in her misfortune. He had stubbornly refused to denounce his accomplices who were in fact his superiors. In thus he resembled Leo Schlageter. And like him, he was denounced to the French by a representative of his government An Augsburg police chief won this unenviable fame, thus furnishing an example for our modern German officials in Herr Severing's Reich. In this little town on the Inn, gilded by the rays of German martyrdom, Bavarian by blood, technically Austrian, lived my parents in the late eighties of the past century; my father a dutiful civil servants my mother giving all her being to the household, and devoted above all to us children in eternal, loving care Little remains in my memory of this period, for after a few years my father had to leave the little border city he had learned to love, moving down the Inn to take a new position in Passau, that is, in Germany proper. In those days constant moving was the lot of an Austrian customs official. A short time later, my father was sent to Linz, and there he was finally pensioned. Yet, indeed, this was not to mean "res"' for the old gentleman. In his younger days, as the son of a poor cottager, he couldn't bear to stay at home. Before he was even thirteen, the little boy laced his tiny knapsack and ran away from his home in the Waldviertel. Despite the at tempts of 'experienced' villagers to dissuade him, he made his way to Vienna, there to learn a trade. This was in the fifties of the past century. A desperate decision, to take to the road with only three gulden for travel money, and plunge into the unknown. By the time the thirteen-year-old grew to be seventeen, he had passed his apprentice's examination, but he was not yet content. On the contrary. The long period of hardship, endless misery, and suffering he had gone through strengthened his determination to give up his trade and become ' something better. Formerly the poor boy had regarded the priest as the embodiment of all humanly attainable heights; now in the big city, which had so greatly widened his perspective, it was the rank of civil servant. With all the tenacity of a young man whom suffering and care had made 'old' while still half a child, the seventeen-year-old clung to his new decision-he did enter the civil service. And after nearly twenty-three years, I believe, he reached his goal. Thus he seemed to have fulfilled a vow which he had made as a poor boy: that he would not return to his beloved native village until he had made something of himself. His goal was achieved; but no one in the village could remember the little boy of former days, and to him the village had grown strange. When finally, at the age of fifty-six, he went into retirement, he could not bear to spend a single day of his leisure in idleness. Near the Upper Austrian market village of Lambach he bought a farm, which he worked himself, and thus, in the circuit of a long and industrious life, returned to the origins of his forefathers. It was at this time that the first ideals took shape in my breast. All my playing about in the open, the long walk to school, and particularly my association with extremely 'husky' boys, which sometimes caused my mother bitter anguish, made me the very opposite of a stay-at-home. And though at that time I scarcely had any serious ideas as to the profession I should one day pursue, my sympathies were in any case not in the direction of my father's career. I believe that even then my oratorical talent was being developed in the form of more or less violent arguments with my schoolmates. I had become a little ringleader; at school I learned easily and at that time very well, but was otherwise rather hard to handle. Since in my free time I received singing lessons in the cloister at Lambach, I had excellent opportunity to intoxicate myself with the solemn splendor of the brilliant church festivals. As was only natural the abbot seemed to me, as the village priest had once seemed to my father, the highest and most desirable ideal. For a time, at least, this was the case. But since my father, for understandable reasons, proved unable to appreciate the oratorical talents of his pugnacious boy, or to draw from them any favorable conclusions regarding the future of his offspring, he could, it goes without saying, achieve no understanding for such youthful ideas. With concern he observed this conflict of nature. As it happened, my temporary aspiration for this profession was in any case soon to vanish, making place for hopes more stated to my temperament. Rummaging through my father's library, I had come across various books of a military nature among them a popular edition of the Franco-German War of 1870-7I It consisted of two issues of an illustrated periodical from those years, which now became my favorite reading matter It was not long before the great heroic struggle had become my greatest inner experience. From then on I became more and more enthusiastic about everything that was in any way connected with war or, for that matter, with soldiering. But in another respect as well, this was to assume importance for me. For the first time, though as yet in a confused form, the question was forced upon my consciousness: Was there a difference -and if so what difference-between the Germans who fought these battles and other Germans? Why hadn't Austria taken part in this war; why hadn't my father and all the others fought? Are we not the same as all other Germans? Do we not all belong together? This problem began to gnaw at my little brain for the first time. I asked cautious questions and with secret envy received the answer that not every German was fortunate enough to belong to Bismarck's Reich.. This was more than I could understand. It was decided that I should go to high school. From my whole nature, and to an even greater degree from my temperament, my father believed he could draw the inference that the humanistic Gymnasium would represent a conflict with my talents. A Realschol seemed to him more suitable. In this opinion he was especially strengthened by my obvious aptitude for drawing; a subject which in his opinion was neglected in the Austrian Gymnasiums. Another factor may have been his own laborious career which made humanistic study seem impractical in his eyes, and therefore less desirable. It was hus basic opinion and intention that, like himself, his son would and must become a civil servant. It was only natural that the hardships of his youth should enhance his subsequent achievement in his eyes, particularly since it resulted exclusively from his own energy and iron diligence. It was the pride of the self-made man which made him want his son to rise to the same position in life, orJ of course, even higher if possible, especially since, by his own industrious life, he thought he would be able to facilitate his child's development so greatly. It was simply inconceivable to him that I might reject what had become the content of his whole life. Consequently, my father s decision was simple, definite, and clear; in his own eyes I mean, of course. Finally, a whole lifetime spent in the bitter struggle for existence had given him a domineering nature, and it would have seemed intolerable to him to leave the final decision in such matters to an inexperienced boy, having as yet no Sense of responsibility. Moreover, this would have seemed a sinful and reprehensible weakness in the exercise of his proper parental authority and responsibility for the future life of his child, and as such, absolutely incompatible with his concept of duty. And yet things were to turn out differently.
1 jimcozad 2015-04-23
Great man. RIP
2 Anarox 2015-04-23
listen you nigger jew faggot sandniggering fox hole digging chink darkness looking motherfucker, whats the time?
2 havingmadfun 2015-04-23
Oh wow, this faggot topic again
2 nigger_shit_stain 2015-04-23
Fuck eskimos and dot heads as well!
2 [deleted] 2015-04-23
[deleted]
1 Opprobriousness 2015-04-23
Barbra Streisand!
1 Blockyblizzle 2015-04-23
woow! come on man! no need to throw out such words around here
1 Jewsus_H_Kike 2015-04-23
http://imgur.com/36tl6ms http://imgur.com/7iNWG6s http://imgur.com/Toz22zl http://imgur.com/Klsg5Tu http://imgur.com/30YxOu9 http://imgur.com/4Tjhj4E http://imgur.com/pUadoKW http://imgur.com/HmtT8gP http://imgur.com/PqxSqEl http://imgur.com/Y47GHoD http://imgur.com/D3OcsQE http://imgur.com/m6iG7th http://imgur.com/X3Au3fg http://imgur.com/qxsp3fg http://imgur.com/CNIjedQ http://imgur.com/FQrF4Jl http://imgur.com/36q9lbL http://imgur.com/V982Ygo http://imgur.com/NwTqs0D http://imgur.com/4UCdjwR http://imgur.com/nd779Xc
Niggers and Jews = bad news
2 jimcozad 2015-04-23
Ben Garrison rules
1 [deleted] 2015-04-23
[deleted]
2 Knightscribe 2015-04-23
Been perusing DeRosa's Imgur album, have we?
1 Spokker 2015-04-23
I'm not a racist. I just play one on the Internet.
1 jimcozad 2015-04-23
Fuck you nigger
0 Blockyblizzle 2015-04-23
I don't see how we got 2nd place, we love everyone here, except that unfunny sandnigger kumail nanjiani.
1 Blockyblizzle 2015-04-23
woow! come on man! no need to throw out such words around here