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— by Bel Suave Bel Suave

Now then... where were we? I get a little bit excited... and therefore, absent minded, when the topic turns to 'war,' 'battle,' and military brinkmanship. Was my passion... right outta the crib, so to speak... military history and all the besotted glory and gore that went with it!

Ergo, the reference in the previous post, to waterloo... and the famous dispatch by which the wily ROTTENSCHILDS would conduct a financial coup which took down much of the remaining nobility of wealth in Merry Olde... and set the stage for a build up to socio-economic ascendancy on the part of those judaic gentlemen whose metier was debt/usury/interest, and whose motive was penury for those of us not of the blood.

Dear olde "Wellie:" a military genius if every there was one... but when he came home after, to serve as loyal councilor to the Crown, and prime minister of the country... he was out of his depth. But when the war bug bites me... as when the action in Syria heats up... I prefer not to dwell upon all those dreary political machinations, and instead, seek shelter of sorts in my past adventures... sordid and mischievous as they might be. Did I ever mention my previous life as "BLACK" BOB CRAUFORD? I fail to remember... but even if I did... welll,

there simply cannot be too much recounting of that story! Besides, it forms the perfect backdrop for my long anticipated campaign to attack - overrun - and then send packing...

talmudic bloggers of the disinfo kind;
moronic merikan ceptionalists of the traitorous kind;
kooks, spooks, and pawns, knights, or rooks o the $power

which is now... at last... in full motion! And it was Wellies Spanish campaign against Nappie which formed the template for my plan of attack. A three pronged strategy by which he first

drew the French marchals into Portugal... and inveigled them into throwing their troops against his impregnable LINES OF TORRE VEDRAS, drawing first blood against the previous invincible Franks, and teaching them to begin to fear the one who they derisively called "The Leopard."

So it was that... back in 2014 I started writing in response to what I had determined to be a major amount of misinformation guiding gullible western investors into buying a)the wrong form of gold; b)from the wrong sources; c)at the wrong time;d)for the wrong reasons.  Thus began the attack on the front wheel of the moneypowers' TRICYCLE OF TREACHERY! And it resulted in the impregnably ACCURATE, FACTUAL, and -may I say - very FUNNY fortress of financial journalism I called THE GOLDEN FLEEC[ING].

Through all the years of rabid, spittle dribbling hordes of mind-controlled 'golden zhombies' throwing their wasted minds and bodies against me... that towering fortress not only remained intact... but grew stronger as they indeed grew weaker. And not only did I draw first blood... in outings like [THE ECSTASY OF GOLD          ] ... but, butt... that crew also learned... to FEAR ME.

Once the IRON DUKE had forced the French to give up on holding Portugal, retreating inland to their main bases in the Spanish heartland, he went slowly - ever so cautiously - over to the attack. Although his first battles on Spanish soil were costly in manpower and bore only mixed success, he established among his own troops an unshakeable sense of confidence, durability, and good humor through the worst conditions. Grumble about Nosey they might... be he was the only leader they needed or looked to. Call they "the scum of the earth," in turn, Nosey might...

but after each costly battle, for which he undertook the sole and prime responsibility... he grieved to his very core the loss of those brave warriors he had sent into impossible assault at Badajoz, or seen dead still in their squares in perfect formation at that charnel ground of a victory called Albuera. As their mutual confidence grew in each other, so it receded amongst those of their foe. The grand geopolitical chess board... which till 1812 had appeared to be the possession of Nappie and his Imperial Grand Armee... suddenly started to shift and tilt.

And so it was ... through 2016, as I gradually shifted out of financially centered reportage, into the field of geopolitical analysis - once again, forced into the action by the very weight of incredibly duplicitous, fact-light, mendaciously distorted "alt-media" disinfo-peddling...

I began to strike targets with greater and greater strength... and accuracy. On a two front war, I had the same gold zombies trying to crawl up my rear, while in front of my gaze the howling hordes of a new mutant gang - the DEATH TO AMERICA russo-talmudic crew gestured menacingly from within their castle walls! Gradually confirming to myself that they were all bark... no bite... soley reliant upon 'vote meters' and faux democracy circle jerk sites... I too began to gain confidence... and traction.

The second wheel of the TALMUDIC TRICYCLE OF TERROR had been monkeywrenched by an ink-stained wretch with a mad mission of 'TRUTH IN MEDIA' ... and the world would never be safe agin... for talmudic trolls and fibbin scribblers!

In the third, and last, phase of the peninnsular campaign, the Duke was in his full glory. It began with the stunning victory at Salamanca... where - escrying through his eyeglass his opposite numbers' gambit to cut off his flanking divisions, the Duke suddenly threw down his late breakfast of cold chicken and exclaimed...

"that will do!"

Followed by a methodical flinging of fine-pointed, detailed directions to each of his commanders, by which on that fateful day, not only did the Heavies ride to magnificent victory in the center, but the infantry ground their opponents to shreds on both sides- and the Franks scampered from the field in collapse!

North, and then east, the campaign from that point on was an inevitable scourging of the pretender and his army from Hispania... ending with victory in southern France itself, and Nappies' exile to Elba. A record almost unparalleled since Alexanders' day... and with a reprise on the fields of Waterloo.

"what to do \what to do!>!???

By this time...2016 to the present point... needless to say, the enemy were beginning to mutter in their beards! Still set upon ignoring their nemesis - in vain hope of his 'just going away'... the russo-talmudic scamsters of the 'BRIX N SILKY ROAD MEETS THE YELLOW BRICKED TUNGSTEN ROAD.. MEMETIC CARNIVAL had scrapped together a final fantasy of "EUrassion Integration" or some such tripe... which I scanned for weak points in... and gathered my plans for an assault thereupon. Having noticed that my best work just kept getting stolen by my worst enemies... and that my best friends n allies were getting decimated, turned, or just nullified, I became aware of the need to regroup... and thus started this platform!

In the course of a winters work... not only was a "Salamanca" style victory achieved - when a high flying Saker got shot down to earth... and a fake news storyline about Russkies in Syria turned into a journalistic tour de force by which I gave the russo-tards a coup d grace over their Wagner debacle...

but the actual predictions as to the TRUMP DECEPTION and the course of his REIGN OF ERROR would prove so deadly prescriptive of what has taken place... that the TARDNATIONAL has learned to not only FEAR BUT TO DREAD... the arrival of another salvo from the ARMY OF BOB.

And that's why we are here. To complete the drive by which the pretenders are set packing ... and my Spanish heart once agin glows in the warmth of a Francisco Gustavo Sánchez Gómez/ Paco de Lucias' fingers gliding over the bars of Entre dos Aguas...

whilst a flamin dagger of a dame smashes a heel against floorboard in one glorious thrust of duende...
and the world is set right agin... if only for a moment.

A las barricadas muchachos!

hEY! I never did get to tell the story of BLACK BOB CRAUFORD and his Light Division! ... Comin up next!~