Daygame Infinite review #4

June 29, 2018

Daygame Infinite has been out for six months now [1] and people are starting to form a mature opinion of it. I’ve already seen reviews one, two, and three. Now Nash from Days Of Game blog has written a fourth.

Infinite Blog Sidebar Image

And my, he’s really thought it through. It’s quite a thorough treatment. So, go and read it over at his site. Here are a few select highlights….

“For serious daygamers, this is top-shelf education. For me, it’s a 10 out of 10. And I’ll add that it is possibly the best combination of theory mixed with examples I have ever seen in pickup coaching.”

Yep, I like that. Is there more? Why, yes there is…

“As you read the opening section, and you’ll feel Krauser putting you into a kind of trance, setting you up to absorb his notes on vibe. And as I read those pages while I was in Japan, it had an immediate impact on how I carried myself on the street.”

Indeed, that’s what I was trying to do with the early sections. It’s about helping the reader put himself into the right frame of mind. He has this to say about my section on Pre-Approach:

“I have never seen this material anyplace else, and for me… this is all dynamite for game.”

Anyway, check out his full review because he goes into detail on what he thought on each chapter of the book and how he applied it to his game. You can buy Daygame Infinite here (and also the new reformatted colour Daygame Mastery second edition if you wish)

[1] Just about enough time to actually read it all, given how long and deep it is.

#58 – The Destroyer Death Check, Warren Murphy BOOK REVIEW

July 23, 2018

Destroyer Death Check

I should know better by now

When I was a teenager, I was a far-leftist. This isn’t surprising generally, because children are brought up in a bubble where everything is provided for them, they don’t need to work, and they must obey the authority of a controlling force (parents and school teachers). Upon approaching adulthood the child realises they’ll have to fend for themselves and, usually, that’s a frightening thought. Few teenagers know what they really want to do in life, and fewer still feel confident in achieving it.

So, much easier to vote Leftist and ask the government to keep giving you free shit.

“If a person is not a liberal when he is twenty, he has no heart; if he is not a conservative when he is forty, he has no brain” is a quote attributed to many wise men and it’s true. Nothing cures Leftism faster than looking at the tax deductions in your first paycheck.

Given that I was brought up in the People’s Republic Of Northern Britain by Lefty parents, I had no hope of thinking straight. So I got into radical politics, starting with anarchism and then the various fringe issues of the day. One of them was the anti-McDonald’s campaign. We were told that McDonald’s were an evil multinational corporation who treated workers like shit, murdered millions of animals, cut down the Amazonian rain-forest, funded death squads in Brazil to clear tribes, and made unhealthy food that was killing the West.

Suppose for a minute all that is true, as I did. I once asked the middle-aged Lefty organiser [1], “Why are we only protesting McDonald’s? What about Burger King?”


Is he the ONLY cunt in this game?

He didn’t have an answer for that. Every charge levelled against McDonald’s could be levelled against Burger King and Wendy’s yet it was only Ronald McDonald who drew the fire. Why is that? It struck me as rather unfair.

I bring this up because is there any group in history that has been more unfairly maligned than the Nazis? You might well think they were bad eggs but the only bad guys in history? Come on! Stacked alongside Stalin, Mao or Hirohito, Hitler was almost benign. Look further into history at the Ottomans, the Mongols, the Mohammedans, or the Aztecs and you realise the Nazis were far from unique in their savagery or territorial ambition.

And yet the Nazis are the only group in the whole of history about which ANY lie is allowed. Satanists? sure. Sexual Deviants? sure. Genociders? sure. ID Software made an entire franchise, Wolfenstein, from presenting the Nazis as occultist sexual sadists opening the portals of hell to command an army of demons.


Although I suppose it makes them look cooler than the commies

Really? Why wasn’t it Stalin doing that? Or Idi Amin?

Few people [2] realise that the traditional Left/Right split in politics is nonsense as traditionally conceived. Yes, there are basically only two types of human and they instinctively align along the same fault lines: r-selection vs K-selection. But that’s not Left vs Right. L/R is a completely fabricated split to disguise the fact that Nazis and Socialists are almost the same thing. You can even prove it historically, looking at where these things came from. I’ll recap for you [3]

“Enter Benito Mussolini. Notice his given name is not Italian. It would have been Benedetto. He was named after Benito Juarez of Mexico by the admiring Mussolini Sr. a Marxist of the 1st International and acquaintance of Marx. He groomed Benito as a full blown Marxist. Young Mussolini was an active member of the Politburo of the Socialist Party of Italy and, for +-16 years, editor of its publications.”

Mussolini’s big ‘aha!’ moment was in realising that the socialisation of the means of production recommended by Marx and carried out in the USSR was not necessary. You could achieve the same ends by simply regulating production. It didn’t matter whose name was on the shareholder’s certificate – government or a private individual – so long as the whole enterprise was tightly controlled. So, how would that control be effected?

Mussolini set up “Unions” of workers, industrialists and workers who, under the direction of a National Labor Board, would achieve “Social Peace” through “Social Justice”. This reverses the antagonistic proletariat vs bourgeosie relationship under capitalism with one of collusion between workers and owners.

“Every worker would get health benefits, vacation time and a retirement pension. And a minimum salary, established through collective bargaining sessions between the “unions” that represented the universe of a particular sector of the economy (auto makers, restaurants, doctors, lawyers…) under the watchful eye of the National Labor Board.”

Put that way, you can see why in 2008 I was telling my colleagues at work that Obama was a Mussolini style Fascist. The unions were called “Fascio” and it stuck. It was passed into law in 1927 as even Wikipedia notes. Go here for the principles: that’s what fascism is [4]

“Lenin lamented the departure of young Benito as an irreparable loss to the cause of International Socialism. “With him we could have had Italy.” Mussolini’s brand of Socialism caught on and, of course, the first thing he did was clear other socialists off the field, much like the Bolsheviks did with the Mencheviks in Russia. This some idiots point to claiming he was against socialism. He wasn’t. He was against anybody but him claiming the mantle of socialism. The same happened with Hitler, who created a third form of Socialism, mixing it with Bohemian nationalism, hence National Socialism.
Mussolini, who was actually quite intelligent, despised Hitler. After their first meeting describes him as an imbecile who sounds like “a broken gramophone. Jews here, Jews there, can’t he talk about anything else!””

So far so good. Anyone who paid attention in Politics class at a decent university [5] knows that fascism and socialism are basically the same thing. But how did the terms get so corrupted now that most normies think fascism is “far right” as opposed to the reality of it being “far left”? The same way all the other terms got corrupted – by a sustained communist subversion campaign waged by the KGB and their traitorous agents in the West [6]. To finish this train of thought, we’d better call Saul:

“After the war, Soviet propaganda went overdrive to distance the “good” Socialism — Stalin’s if you can believe that! — from “bad” socialism, Hitler’s and Mussolini’s. Painting them as “extreme right wing”, that is, of all things, capitalist pigs. Roosevelt, himself a full blown Fascist and Truman, who could not distance himself from Roosevelt, let it be.
So Nazism and Fascism stopped being Socialism to become… right wing Capitalism courtesy of Soviet propaganda and the apathy of our own American fascists. Hayek warned us about this in the 50s. But nobody gave a crap.
And under Roosevelt’s protection, hundreds of Marxist scholars who lost the tug of war with Hitler and Mussolini came to our Universities and trained two generations of intellectual morons committed to the destruction of our free society. We are now well into the third.
Are they left? Are they right? Paraphrasing the Bard, A turd, by any other name would smell as foul. It is a struggle between Liberty and slavery. A Free Society or Metropolis.”

McDonald’s, Burger King and Wendy’s are all doing the same thing. They are fundamentally the same businesses so there’s no reason to single out one for a pile-on. The only important differences between the types of socialism are in their territorial ambition. Stalin changed USSR doctrine to be “Communism in one country” whereas Hitler wanted his socialism throughout Europe and Mussolini wanted to rebuild the Roman empire for his. Those who believed in global communism became globalists and infiltrated the USA as Neo-Cons (because that was the most powerful nation and thus prime lever for their evil plan) and then later in Europe as the EU.

Saul Alinsky wrote in his Rules For Radicals [7], ““If you push a negative hard enough, it will push through and become a positive” and the Left managed this by switching ownership for Hitler and the (supposed) holocaust. A quote attributed to Nazi propagandist Joseph Goebbels is “accuse the enemy of what only you are doing, when you are doing it, to spread confusion” [8] and it would seem the commies live by it. Nazis are now of the Right, according to modern culture.

Saul Alinsky

You knew there was a sneaky Jew behind all this, didn’t you?

We own all of their atrocities, not the Left. So not only has the Left managed to keep attention off the incredible barbarity of Stalin and Mao, it’s managed to switch all the blame for socialist Hitler onto the right. Sneaky communists.

So, what’s this long-winded preamble got to do with the second book in The Destroyer series? Only that this book is all-in on the weird fascination with Nazis for invented fetishes. The premise is this: a security guard at an isolated think tank is found dead from a heroin overdose and medical examination shows he was likely murdered with a hot dose. A close search of his clothes finds film negatives stitched into his collar of extreme blackmail photos of the think tank staff. Given that this think tank is a high-end government research facility theorising advanced strategy for world domination, the President needs to be sure it’s not compromised and their plans given to the enemy. So Remo is called in to take the security guard’s vacancy and infiltrate, to have a sniff around.

It turns out there is an escaped Nazi, a former prison doctor who tortured inmates, and his young daughter on the small think tank’s staff. Remo has to smoke them out but their identity isn’t clear to Remo or the reader until the final act plot twist.


The covers rock, though

This would be a normal pot-boiler for any other series but in the strange hands of Warren Murphy, it gets very weird very quickly. Firstly is the unusual focus on sexual deviance. The director of the institute is a deranged narcissist obsessed with control, one of the senior staff is a big fat puff who plays pocket billiards in public, and all the other staff are seriously weird in one way or another. All are being blackmailed due to being caught on camera doing sick sex acts. Murphy clearly has no respect for academia or intellectuals [9] so the think tank is presented as a pointless talking shop of fruitcakes living on the taxpayers dime.

There are a couple of murders and Remo does his usual thing of beating the shit out of everyone with ninja death moves. One scene has him cripple a biker gang who ride onto campus at the fat puff’s call, and that same fat puff is masturbating while it happens. There are faculty events such as a chess tournament and an open-mic.

One thing the book does fairly well is introduce the theme that Remo has been overworked by his boss, who has kept him on high alert for three months straight. This causes him to come off the boil and make mistakes. Still, this whole book smells of weirdness.

For example, the final showdown has Remo sit down for a game of chess with the old Nazi poisoner. His chair has hidden needles that spring out to inject the unsuspecting victim but Remo sees them and subtly moves his wrist to avoid them penetrating the skin. He then shams being poisoned so the Nazi gloatingly reveals his plans [10]. He “hypnotises” Remo into fucking his daughter while he watches. Not only is that odd, but the way it is written is downright freaky.

“Remo moved on. Harder. Faster. His mind sensed the heavily calloused skin on the tips of his fingers.
Her groans grew in intensity, raised in pitch. She was in pain now. Suffering. She would soon shout and stop and Remo, under drugs, would have to obey.
He leaned forwards heavily onto her body and smashed his heavily muscled shoulder down into her mouth, chipping her front teeth. Hard. Stopping her from calling out the command to stop.
Her voice was muffled under his shoulder.
Stohrs had stopped taking pictures. He was now just a spectator. The Nazis had killed by gang rape. Stohrs was watching that fate overtake his daughter, a death administered by a one-man gang.
Then Stohrs called out, “Stop.”
Remo stopped. And the bitch lay semi-conscious, bleeding from the mouth and groin.”

I don’t know about you, but I find that unpleasant. It’s like the author is getting off on it rather than presenting it as the sickness in the characters themselves. Yet there’s something oddly compelling about these Destroyer books compared to the Mack Bolan books. The latter have a clean-cut heroic jib where Bolan is absolutely beyond reproach and takes no sick pleasure in exterminating baddies. In contrast, both Remo and his writer Murphy seem like rather sick puppies who get off on it all. I’m reading these books with the same morbid fascination I’d watch a Johnny Berba or Deepak Wayne video: what will these fruity retards conjure up next?

Ilsa harem keeper of the oil sheiks

I consider myself above such sensationalism

Speaking of getting off on personal dysfunction, perhaps you’d enjoy reading one of my memoirs. Start with Balls Deep for just ten english pounds in PDF or twenty in paperback.

[1] Who with the benefit of hindsight, I’m sure was a pedophile.
[2] Though it seems to be rapidly changing
[3] This specific rundown owes a lot to Saul Montes-Bradley on Twitter. His was the most pointed listing of relevant facts I could find. Thanks pal!
[4] It may surprise you that fascism doesn’t mean “anything a Leftist disagrees with”
[5] Such as myself
[6] Academics, journalists, politicians
[7] The book Hillary Clinton did her thesis on, which she dedicated to Alinsky.
[8] Ironically, it seems he didn’t actually say it and it’s just another lie about the Nazis.
[9] Nor do I. Good on him
[10] This was written before Despicable Me was released and thus baddies didn’t have the injunction against monologuing.

#57 – Uncharted Seas, Dennis Wheatley BOOK REVIEW

July 22, 2018

I’ve heard lots of uncomplimentary things about the former best-selling Dennis Wheatley who is now one of my all-time favourite authors [1]. Obviously I brush aside the modern soyboy comments that he’s racist, sexist, homophobic and whatnot. I mean the criticisms of him from a literary point of view.


First among these is his turgidness. He has a tendency to overly describe things in precise detail including all the various reflections a character makes before his action. Wheatley could spend two pages outlining the thought process behind Duke De Richlieau brewing a pot of tea. I don’t mind this at all. I’m one of those rare readers who didn’t feel Atlas Shrugged got bogged down and I’m finding the same pleasant pacing to War And Peace now. Slow patient exposition doesn’t bother me when it’s done well.

A second criticism of Wheatley is his ‘make it up as you go along’ plotting. It’s entirely valid but I like it. Most experienced writers will have a general idea where a book’s plot is headed and they’ll go back into early chapters to add foreshadowing and background for later plot twists, once decided on them. Wheatley writes as though he doesn’t even re-read a chapter after writing it. His books exist entirely in their present.

Let me give an example from this book. It begins, in 1938, with a cruise ship halfway from Cape Town to Rio De Janeiro. The first chapter sets us in a wild storm with driving winds and huge waves, the ship on the verge of sinking. Wheatley introduces us to his vast (and very interesting) cast of characters huddled up in the lounge bar and the Finnish crewmen battening down the hatches. All kinds of intrigues are set up here. There’s the twice-divorced thirty-year old beauty who seems to have boarded under a false name to flee South African police, and the sleazy greasy Venezuelan mine owner who knows her dirty secret and will blackmail her for sex. There’s the dissolute disgraced British trustfunder drinking himself to death, and the waif-like society debutante he fancies. Lots of interesting backstories and characterisation.


Wouldn’t scare me

The order is given to abandon ship and everyone piles into two lifeboats. One of the boats is immediately caught on a wave, smashed into the ship’s hull, killing everyone aboard. Like that, in one paragraph, half the cast is killed off. It’s extremely rare to read genre fiction nowadays where a writer would have such redundancy in his writing. I love it, because you really can’t predict how things turn out. Only the main hero is ever guaranteed survival.

This type of plotting continued throughout. So the first few chapters are a disaster movie, like The Poseidon Adventure, the ship’s crew battling a storm and the passengers keeping their spirits up. Then it becomes Castaway, as a lifeboat drifts aimlessly in searing heat as the survivors run out of water and are soon at each other’s throats. Then they find the ship again but their triumphalism is abruptly cut short as they become trapped in supernaturally thick sea-algae and are attacked by kraken. They drift towards two uncharted islands and the book shifts tone again. One island is inhabited by aggressive negros who use balloons of hot air and stilts to traverse the sea atop the moss…. in order to attack the other island which is a peaceable white community [2]. The next plot twist is they are all attacked by giant crabs.

Yes. Giant crabs.

The Lost continent

They made of movie of it too

I get the feeling old Dennis would just get a bit bored with his current plot trajectory and think of silly ideas to spice it up.

The thing about Dennis Wheatley is that he has the unmistakable genius for compelling writing. He could write about going to his corner shop for a pint of milk and make it exciting [3]. Despite every single element of this book being utterly preposterous, his writing makes it thoroughly believable. I couldn’t put this book down.

I really ought to do a more in-depth review but I read this in St Petersburg a month ago and left the paperback in my hotel room when I checked out. I instead direct you to a much better review of the same book here. Sadly, that reviewer is a bit of a faggot and seems to support Wheatley’s modern editor SJW-ifying the master’s prose to make him palatable to a new generation of traitors, cucks and soyboys. Still, a good review.

[1] Alongside Sven Hassel, Robert E Howard, Agatha Christie and Alexandre Dumas
[2] You see where the ‘racist’ accusations come from.
[3] He’d likely encounter a sinister communist plot to create aggressive gerbils to assassinate the Tory prime minister or something.

#56 – The Executioner Volatile Agent, Don Pendleton BOOK REVIEW

July 22, 2018

There’s an old ex-pat joke: What’s the difference between a tourist and a racist in Africa? Two weeks.


He looks a bit scared, I think

Africa is a disgusting shithole. This is exactly what you’d expect when many countries have an average IQ of 68. In contrast, Koko the Gorilla tested at 85-90 [1] and was considered typical of the species. It’s the average IQ that mostly determines the quality of life in a country, as the smart tend to isolate themselves in enclaves [2]. None of this is surprising because Africa doesn’t have cold winters and thus the environment, unlike Europe, never culled DNA of people either unwilling or unable to plan ahead for lean times. Also unlike Europe, Africa never had a severe criminal justice code that literally executed and deported all the savages from it’s own population [3].

Africa was never supposed to have a big population. Unfortunately for Africans, do-gooders in the 1970s invented modern agribusiness and exported it to Africa via transnational corporations, United Nations aid, and NGOs [4]. World grain produce was quadrupled in less than a decade and for the first time in human history, there was a global food surplus. In the West, that meant everyone got fat. In Africa, it wiped out the subsistence farmers who used traditional methods and put a rapidly expanding population into food dependency. We are reaping that harvest now, as the continent is swollen with hundreds of millions of low IQ individuals unable to feed themselves.

It’s not surprising many seek to escape, and invade Europe. Thus the Soros-created “migration crisis”.


While I’m sympathetic to how Africa has been completely fucked over by do-gooders and socialists [5] there’s also the fact that the continent is a cesspit of tribal warfare, slavery, and unbelievable fuckwittery. They have 68 IQs, after all. Not just that, but Africa is an extremely dangerous environment for humans. Nature is deadly there: mosquitoes, desert, hippos, lions…. and fucking hell, no wonder black people don’t swim. The water can kill you, so any African DNA that liked a frolic in the water was soon weeded out by the crocodiles [6]

So, I’m sympathetic but I swear there’s one thing I simply love to do when video gaming: gunning down Africans.

Pretty much every video game lets you gun down any other nation. Call Of Duty has you fighting Russians, Homefront has you against the Koreans, and Max Payne 3 pits you against Latinos. But if you want to gun down Africans it’s really really hard. Resident Evil 5 was set during a viral zombie outbreak in Africa and immediately drew “racist!” cries from the SJWs. To my knowledge only Far Cry 2 is the only AAA game to bite the bullet and throw you into the midst of an African civil war where you kill mostly Africans. And even then, white mercenaries form an unusually high proportion of your enemies.

Still, I loved it. Setting fire to villages with my flamethrower and then gunning down everyone who ran out.

Far Cry 2

Enrichment goes both ways, pal

But I digress.

Africa is constantly in a state of war. In the immediate post-Colonial sixties you had genocide in Burundi, or the Mau Maus kicking off in Kenya, and the USSR meddling with the MPLA in Angola [7]. In the 90s was the “Third World War” in Congo as everyone fought for control of the former Zaire’s vast mineral wealth. I think nine different countries had a dog in that fight.

This is an extremely fertile setting for action stories. You have an exotic location, rival factions, blood diamonds, and hordes of bad guys who you don’t feel the slightest guilt in wiping out by the hundreds. This Mack Bolan book takes full advantage.

The set-up is that there’s a border war between Burkina Faso and Ivory Coast. A Cuban agent, Marie Saragossa, has infiltrated a small town on that border and seized blueprints of a secret military installation making deadly chemical weapons. The Chinese are after it, as is her employer. While holed up in a broken-down hotel, the border war swept over her town and she’s trapped there. Bolan is sent by the US to get the blueprints so that the military can locate and destroy the facility. He is in a race against time with agents on the other sides, including a South African mercenary bringing his own team of yahoos – this is the main antagonist.

LIberian monkeys

This isn’t Far Cry 2

Bolan gets into the town just ahead of the mercs but Saragossa is fatally wounded. Bolan grabs the plans and fights his way out, injuries and fatigue almost killing him as he’s left hiking through the brush to an unlikely ex-filtration point and a ride home.

I really enjoyed this book. The set-up works, giving good reason for everyone’s actions, clear motivations, and lots of action bubbles. That action is described crisply and evocatively, the whole time within a tropical rainstorm I could almost smell. Yeah it’s a silly action story, but the level of competence by the writer is very high for the genre. It was a page-turner.

The scenario reminded me a lot of two memoirs I’d read by mercenaries fighting with rebel armies of Africans. One, My Friend The Mercenary, described a rebel army fighting by way of Equitorial Guinea attempting to oust the Liberian dictator Charles Taylor. It’s comical. The writer is a journalist who accompanies a South African mercenary hired to train, equip and lead the rebels. Upon arriving in the base camp in the north of the country, it takes two weeks to leave because the entire army is just sitting on their ass smoking weed [8]. The convoy of jeeps and trucks sets off and at the last minute the journalist is asked to change jeeps. Just as well he did, because a minute later a child soldier in his first jeep is playing with a grenade and drops it, pin out, in the foot-well where it blows up killing him and the driver.

A week of driving on jungle tracks gets them to the first battle line. The journalist describes running to the battle past a teenage soldier who is fiddling with an RPG. He drops it and it goes off, firing into the sky. The back blast kicks up dirt and gravel which blows the soldiers legs off.

IQ of 68 and an AK47

That’s an AK-74 but only an IQ-68

The mercenary sets up his side’s forces in defensive positions facing Taylor’s army and is confident they can hold out for two weeks while waiting for reinforcements and heavier munitions that are en route from a base in Equatorial Guinea. However, his troops fire off all two weeks’ of ammunition in one afternoon and are left helpless. Luckily for them, Taylor’s army are also retarded and have done the same thing. So the two sides settle down to stare at each other for a while.

A week later there’s a huge boom and flash visible over the horizon. It turns out that was the supply train. They find out later that a soldier was smoking weed while driving an ammunition truck. He flicked the joint out the window but it was caught by the wind and blown into the ammunition, setting it off. Lol.

It is such incidents that decide African wars.

Anyway, if you like trashy action stories then I absolutely recommend this one. It isn’t quite The Dogs Of War but it’s one of the better Bolan books I’ve read.


Not this dog of war

And fuck all that shite. Buy my books. They are great. Start off with the brand new full-colour second edition of Daygame Mastery

[1] And likely Harambe scored higher, imo.
[2] Or in the African case, flee to a white country and get a job there.
[3] Don’t underestimate the effect of this. Right up until a hundred years ago, Europeans removed anti-social savages from the gene pool. That left pro-social DNA in it. Sweden is discovering the unexpected consequence: these pro-social people are suckers for when anti-social migrants are reintroduced.
[4] That’s a trifecta of the three most evil organisations in the whole world.
[5] And don’t get me started on that grubby terrorist Nelson Mandela and the white genocide by the ANC. Both whites AND blacks were much much better off under apartheid.
[6] In contrast, Europe has almost entirely benign nature, weather changes can’t kill you, no earthquakes or hurricianes, and all the rivers are easily navigable by boat with no great waterfalls, rapids or swamps.
[7] Forgive me if I mangled the history. It’s been a while since I read about it and I’m going on memory.
[8] Not unlike the whole of South London

#55 – The Destroyer Chinese Puzzle, Warren Murphy BOOK REVIEW

July 22, 2018

Chinese Puzzle

The cover is the best thing about it

It’s funny how a series of books can change in tone as the author struggles to develop them. They’ll perhaps begin quite similar to whatever inspired them, then as the author finds his narrative voice (or responds to reader input) the series can shift. The first Destroyer book was hardcore revenge, as a specially-trained government assassin takes on a shadowy New York cartel. The second book [1] went into oddball sexual fetishes and Nazi occultism. I felt unclean just reading it.

This third book veers even more sharply away from the original. It is now mixing in comedy, with assassin Remo playing the straight man against his ageing Korean ninja death master mentor Chuin’s funny man. There’s also a sidekick Chinese girl ranting Mao-isms so that hilarity can ensue from her being slapped down.

Hilarity does not ensue. This book is an abortion.


The story, set in 1972 when the book was published, is that the president of Communist China is due to visit the USA for an historic peace summit. His advance team is poisoned on a domestic US flight and then when his second-in-command General Liu flies out he is promptly kidnapped from his motorcade and mysteriously disappears. The POTUS sends Remo and Chiun to investigate, with a one-week deadline to find and rescue the General.

Remo enters the fray in chapter two as he and the eighty-ish Chiun are practising running up and down the outside of tall buildings. I quote:

“Fleetingly, he wondered if he really was ready. Were his hands strong enough, his timing keen enough, to overcome gravity, by the disjointed rocking technique perfected in Japan by the Ninja – the warrior wizards – more than ten centuries ago?”

If you think that’s ridiculous, well, it’s just getting started. Remo is getting chauffeured from an airport with the commie chink girlfriend of Liu, who is sent by the ChiComs to aid the investigation. The driver leads them into an ambush, so Remo kills him and gets out the car to face his eight assailants. The action proceeds as follows:

  “You’re all under arrest,” he said. The eight stopped.
“What’s the charge?” one of them answered, in precise English. In the light of the headlamps, Remo could see he was a tall heavy man with a bony face, wearing a snap brim hat. His answer marked him as the group’s leader. That was what Remo wanted to know. He had use for him.
The man repeated, “What’s the charge?”
“Reckless dying,” Remo said. He leaned his weight back onto his hands, then with a push of his arms and a leap his body flashed through the air. The polished tip of his right shoe crashed into the Adam’s apple of the first man on his right. His feet hit the ground, his hands still on the trunk of the cab, and without stopping, he spun about on the trunk of the car and repeated the action, flashing out with his left foot at the man closest to him on the left. This shoe too was christened in the Adam’s apple. The action occurred so quickly that both men fell simultaneously, their throats crushed, death on its way.”

That’s the first two guys. Be sure the other six died in equally theatrical and unlikely fashion as Remo whizzed between them in a blur of ninja motion. That attack failing, Remo’s enemy hires a Puerto Rican super sniper to shoot him from a building across from his hotel. The ninja power of Chiun is so strong that just by sitting in lotus position on his bed, two hundred metres away, he’s able to unnerve the assassin and render him unable to fire his rifle. The sniper gives up and waits in his hotel until Remo comes up and murders him.

This book is filled to the brim with super-Ninja bullshit. It’s unbelievable. What kept me reading is the astonishing lack of political correctness as the Korean Chiun bickers with the Chinese girl Mei Soong, while American blacks and whites do likewise. There’s a constant undercurrent of racial tension in everything – not surprising considering this was the era when major US cities were all like Ferguson in it’s month of riots.

But I stress, the humour is awful.

  “My government has sent me here to officially identify my husband [General Liu],” Mei Soong said in English. “They did not send me here to suffer abuse from this reactionary, meddlesome old man.”
“I’ll show you how old I am in bed, little girl. Heh, heh”
“You are gross, even for a Korean. Do you still remember your last erection?”
Chiun emitted a warlike shriek and then poured forth verbal Oriental abuse.
Remo pulled to the side of the road, “All right, Chiun. Up front with me.”
Stilled instantly, Chiun moved into the front seat and adjusted himself angrily. “You are a white man,” he said. “Like moldy dead grain. White.”

The tonal shift from Destroyer #1 is massive. Back then, Chiun was a learned, wise and impertubable martial arts master who could inflict death at a touch. In this scene he’s merely a cantankerous old letch who’s easily phased by a girl’s taunts about his todger.

A bit later, Mei Soong kicks off again and Remo figures the only way to calm her down is to rape her until she likes it. So he holds her down and molests her while she calls him a filthy capitalist swine, but just as he’s about to stick it in she says “Damn you, I want it.”

  “Ah,” yelled Mei Soong, her eyes shut in ecstasy, “Fuck Mao, Fuck Mao,” and Remo suddenly withdrew fully and stood up. Under different circumstances, he would have stayed, but now he needed her to follow him, to be unsure that he would ever want her again. So he left her exhausted on the couch, and zipped up this trousers, having performed fully clothed.
And then he say Chiun standing in the doorway, shaking his head.
“Mechanical,” he said.

The trio have trouble in a department store when Mei Soong is seduced by capitalism’s amazing clothes and handbags, but shit-talks the unionised shop assistant wrapping her purchases. There’s a fight in a Chinatown restaurant and then finally a showdown in a karate dojo that even made me blush for it’s outrageous racism. Remo is lured there by Mei Soong, who is actually working with General Liu to undermine the Chinese peace attempt (Liu had escaped the motorcade deliberately, and was not kidnapped). So, Remo is surrounded by seven big muscular black men, all karate black belts (and Black Panthers, to hear them talk).

Black Belt Jones

“You jumped right out a comic book”

After the leader attacks and is killed by Remo, this happens:

  Then there were six, six stunned black faces, eyes widening. Then someone had the correct idea to attack en masse. It looked like a race riot in martial arts robes. “Get the honkey bastard. Kill whitey. Get whitey.”

Remo chins most of them then picks up two curved gray tiles from a pile as weapons.

  He spun around one blow and brought the two bricks, one in each hand, together, with an Afro between them. Directly in the middle of the Afro was a head. The two bricks made valiant effort to meet. But they cracked. So did the head in the Afro between them.
The Afro with the open-mouthed head went to the mat. The remnants of the tiles went into the air. The last black standing threw an elbow that missed and then said, eloquently:

I think liberals would be unable to finish this book. Remo kills everyone then soon tracks down General Liu who murders Mei Soong before she can betray his secret plan by blowing her head off with a .45. Remo and Chiun are invited to China where the Korean jumps around the presidential palace with a seven-foot sword dismembering Liu’s bodyguards before ramming the sword into his mouth and skewering him vertically to the floor.

It’s so very very odd.


So long as the art is like this, I keep buying

I don’t recommend this book at all, excepts as a car-crash of what happens when martial arts mystical baloney is wrapped up in ludicrous jingoist racism and sadistic violence for the edification of teenage boys who want thrills. I might try one more Destroyer book but if they keep going in this direction I’m going back to the relative sanity of Mack Bolan

If you’d like to read about a forcible seduction of a lippy Chinese girl who eventually surrendered and wanted more, consider volume two of my memoir A Deplorable Cad.

[1] Which I’ll review soon.

#54 – Created The Destroyer, Warren Murphy BOOK REVIEW

July 8, 2018

You thought I’d read a couple of trashy Mack Bolan books about the USA’s vengeful black ops killing machine and then move on to some serious high-brow books, didn’t you? Probably thinking I’d read Taleb‘s Skin In The Game or perhaps some Tolstoy.

Allow me to disappoint you.

Destroyer 1

Soon after finishing my second straight Bolan book [1] I went onto Google and searched “books like Mack Bolan”. Apparently there’s a whole bunch of them of which The Destroyer series is one. What are the others? Well, how about we look at some of my recent text game with a hot chick by way of segue.

Dark Angel

The Baroness

That’s all well and good but I find it difficult to get behind kick-ass whores laying the smackdown on fully-grown men. I’m highly suspicious of any man into that sort of thing [2]. So, I bought the first volume in The Destroyer series. It’s rather more hardcore than Bolan. Really, I was quite surprised. It was written in the late 60s and the authors say it took eight years to find a publisher.

It’s easy to underestimate how wild the 60s were. Leftist terrorists like The Weathermen were setting off literally hundreds of bombs in the streets. The civil rights movement had unleashed huge levels of crime and police were pressured to look the other way.

Remo Williams is a Vietnam vet who was identified by a small shadowy government project. They seek to “balance the scales” now that criminals are able to hide behind the constitution and wreak havoc on the American way of life. Faced with either a totalitarian police state or a surrender to lawlessness, the US government has found a third way: Gulf Cooperation Council Commandos [3] wet works operators who assassinate key criminals and traitors. They recruit Remo by framing him for a murder, getting him the death penalty, then saving him from the electric chair with a sleep drug and emergency rewiring.

Quite why they went to that effort when the program has Presidential approval and thus he could’ve been given a new passport or “died” in a house fire escapes me. This is trash fiction, after all.

He wakes up in the training facility where a wily old Korean karate fighter called Chiun teaches him the Death Touch and lots of other ninja-level Eastern mystical moves. Perhaps my readers can correct me but Chiun doesn’t sound like a Korean name, and karate is Okinawan not Korean but…. well, you know what, let’s not look to hard at any of these things or it’ll ruin our enjoyment of the book.

After that set-up, Remo is basically The Punisher. He’s then sent to New York to take down a shadowy criminal cartel and eliminate an enigmatic killer called Maxwell. It’s very silly but a lot of fun. The writing carries it all at a nice pace, you get insight into the characters and the whole thing is hard-boiled without any dumb levity. Remo is a bad mo’ fo’.

I rattled through this in one evening, being just 200 pages. If you want high-octane trash I think Bolan has the military angle covered and Remo has the crime angle. Good forgettable stuff for a rainy afternoon.

[1] Review coming soon, don’t worry
[2] I suspect it’s a similar mindset of men into female anime characters and all that kawaii nonsense.
[3] Sorry, been reading lots of Thomas Wictor on Twitter so I’m seeing GCC fighters behind every bush and trashcan.

#53 – Murder Island, Don Pendleton’s Executioner BOOK REVIEW

June 29, 2018

“The world is full of bloodthirsty men, but not all of them are brutal hunters. And those who would betray their brothers, their allies or their country will have to deal with me” – Mack Bolan.

Murder Island

Looking a bit gay now, mind

Who is Mack Bolan? you say.

He’s the guy who starts this book fighting a tiger in the atrium of a penthouse atop a Hong Kong skyscraper, absorbing the tiger’s lunge as they crash through the glass and tumble down a floor into a swimming pool.

Mack has already wiped out all the guards at the penthouse, who were protecting the arms dealer he was sent to kill. That same arms dealer escaped into a helicopter and strafed the building with a mounted M-60 machine gun, so Bolan leaps off the top of the skyscraper [1] into the helicopter, shoots the pilot, and breaks the target’s nose. Job done. Target acquired.

He felt sorry for the tiger and let it limp away defeated after the unexpected dunking in the swimming pool.

So, that’s how hard Mack Bolan is and it’s only chapter one of twenty. This book is only one of over nine hundred “The Executioner” books [2] that have been translated into thirty languages and seen more than 200 million copies in print. That’s a fucking ton of scrapes that Mack has gotten himself into.

They all have a fast-paced high-action style with punchy short sentences and no fucking around with characterisation and nuance. There’s some bad guys, a bunch of henchmen, and Bolan is going to execute every fucking last one of them [3] Just look at these covers, for fuck’s sake.


Do you see any homo bullshit in that?

I’ve read a dozen of them and Murder Island is a pretty creditable entry in the saga. After handing over the arms dealer, Byron Cloud, to his agency at a private airport they are soon under attack by a terrorist-filled truck. Guess how that works out for the terrorists. The plane takes off but goes missing over the Devil’s Sea on it’s way to Japan so Bolan gives chase, as do Cloud’s henchman now hankering after the bounty on their ex-boss’s head. Bolan’s plane is shot down over an unknown island by an anti-aircraft gun [4] and he’s captured by the local militia.

That militia is headed by a lisping upper-class Brit, Sarban Rainsford, who has spent his whole life hunting and has set up the island to amuse himself hunting humans. It’s a bit weird but lots of fun [5]

I really enjoyed this book, as I did the others. It’s short, trashy, boyish fun with no PC bullshit and a very clear white hat vs black hat dynamic. The characters are good enough to survive a two-hundred page book without getting boring and have sufficient separation between them that I never got confused who was who. I started it at 9pm when I was sitting in Caffe Nero with my Kindle seeing what I could download for 99p and read non-stop until 1am to finish.

“As he spoke, a rage began to build in the Executioner. It was not a boiling rage, but rather cold and focused. He had met many evil men over the years, men for whom human life was a token in some incomprehensible game, but rarely has he come across a creature like Rainsford. Beneath his calm discussion of slaughter was the snarl of a rabid animal, one the Executioner must put down at all costs.”

Bolan Save The Children

THAT’S how you do charity

If you’d like to read an ongoing series of books about a man who lets the Executioner go off risking his life fighting bad guys while he skulks around shagging his women, you might like my memoir series starting with Balls Deep.

[1] Without a parachute or safety line, mind you. He’s that tough.
[2] And numerous parallel series in the same universe, such as Stony Man, Phoenix Force, Able Team, and Super Bolan.
[3] I’m hoping that following #MAGA the series is relaunched with him mopping up The Cabal and the Soros network.
[4] He jumps out, puts on a parachute in mid-air, and is attacked by three giant crocodiles when he lands. He kills two.
[5] And no less believable than Casanova’s memoir.