101. Title: The Rewriting of History by The Masters of Disguise (Part Three)

 3.18.2016

 

Down to the Nitty-Gritty – Whose Bones Are Which Please?

The Gollywog the world must bow down to is now up for review. There was a construction site dug up and filled with bones from head to foot, one piled upon the other, the action-takers Albino jewry (jewry being a verb an action word and not a noun nor a race) made ready for camera and script to say: "All bones found in Germany were belonging to the poor Hebrew race."

This, in fact, further prepared the way for substantiating a homeland not in the jungles of Brazil where plenty of woodsmen and their wives were buried, the clansman of the outback, and not in the highlands either of Ethiopia, in the great wide expanses of Africa’s north country, but rather right on top of the greatest oil wealth in the world, the Saudi-Iraqi Gulf Enclave with the Red running waters of the channel or corridor to both India as well as China, Asea, pulling all in together from Egypt the crossroads of Africa, the entire Middle East down to China and India with full access to all other ASEAN NATIONS.

(The following is a scribed portion given to me by the Sirs. The light italic is what I saw as the words came streaming down to the tip and point of my pen with resourceful impeccability. – Uthrania Seila Sentana-Ries Cortez)

“We have bones everywhere, we did, quip the resourceful entrepreneurs of all historical remains.”

“Bones categorized. Bones catalogued. Bones galore all over the world.

“But the bones unburied in Germany, photographed, gruesome, tired old bones.

“How many? Not really sure. They are in a jumbled mess. Aye, Sir, many bones. Here is one bone. Here is another. Gad, scads of bones, and they are all over the place, Sir, even in the nice concentration camp with the livery station, the hospitals, the marriage steeples where each prisoner received a dowry toward their marriage bed. Aye, a nice way to live, Sir, if it were me in a time of war.” (Dougy drags on his pen).

“How many bones are they, Sir? I can’t rightly say, Sir. No Sir. Can’t rightly say, but what I’m wonderin is … whose bones are they in the deep trenches, Sir? For they don’t match any Hebrew DNA. (Doughy quizzically recalled the poor white bones) “and the war wan’t even over yet!” (Dougy drags as on a pipe on his sorry ol’red pen).

“Do you know what happened in Poland, Dougy?”

“No Sir. Matrix or sompin’ I guess.”

“Dougy, son, where did you hear that word? Matrix?” (they pronounced the word ma soft a trix – Uthrania)

(Dougy scruffed his boots on the ground an bent down to pick up a blade of short wired grass) “what happind in Poland, Sir? Some invasion or sompin?” (Dougy looked uncomfortable).

(The Major Lenex leaned back on his stub of a chair and with one long deep but short breath he began to recall the horror of those days. His face deep with worn lines and leather-type skin, crinkled beyond the eyes. The Major looked sad and worn. But he glanced sideways over at the young man and began recalling a part of the story which he knew would one day free the Hebrews from their lying supervisors and shock the world).

“The vades invaded Poland, aye, son, but they did not. The land was taken as injury from the German Reich and they let it be lest a war make it worse, but their voice was not to be silenced for many more years for the war on county claims broke out and Poland claimed the verst for its own jurisdiction, but them bad boys over there they came running ‘cross the border, the new border they had made with Germany and took those poor German children, them boys and little girls and tacked them to the very walls of the barns and business which they created while their parents stood watchin.’ Son those bones were never found up there either in the north but some say, may be a story, I don’t know, that the skeletons died by night and an injurious fall did them in. Over a cliff they say. But, son, lots of stories go round and ‘tis better to recall history the victor’s way and then just turn it around and dig.”

- Scribed by the hand and pen of I, Uthrania Seila Sentana-Ries Cortez, a representative of the Federation of Unified and Free Planetary Worlds Sela.

 

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