The Bernie Boys are back in town

InkedFord Wenty profile image_LI

A Doom and Reprisal editorial from Ford Wenty, Ale 81 Inn field correspondent



Friends and countrymen, we have entered the surreal landscape of The Wonderful and Frightening World of The Fall. We have encountered the dark and moldy night of Mark E. Smith’s Bug Day. Once a fitting soundtrack for Poe or Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, it now chitters at us from dark corners at all sides; like colonies of roaches waiting for the rest of the lights go out. It would seem that it has become Bug Day in our cities across the nation. As the sun sets mindless swarms descend, devastating all in their path; unopposed by pesticide or natural predator.

You, the good citizens, have as the serfs of olden tymes, paid your tribute to the lords of the manor in exchange for their protections. Who among you now believes that you are getting your money’s worth? Please raise your hands now, lest there be any future doubt among us where fools reside. The fools who wear the crowns are already known. In the worst case these guardians have embraced the hoodlums with a mere au fait to the fact these are vandals, offering at least lip service to their solidarity with peaceful protestors. In the best case they are so naive as to sincerely trust that these are indeed peaceful and honestly aggrieved citizens, exercising their constitutional right to peaceably assemble in the pursuit of redress to an injustice. There is little credible evidence to show that there are many of this latter category. Honestly. How could any of them not know that these demonstrations had been hijacked by more nefarious players?  Speaking only for myself mind you, I will not be surprised to learn that some public officials have been rendered impotent by these thugs because they are politically compromised by prior association. My feelings won’t be hurt if I am proven wrong on this, nor will I apologize when in the position to say “I told you so”.

Martin Luther King. There was a peaceful demonstrator against racial injustice. John Lewis and Elijah Cummins, forgiving their later partisan foibles, at least had the cred of actually having been present, and they were peaceful protesters. These and many others from the historic era of the Civil Rights struggle in America marched to assert their liberties. They understood that Liberty is something which only survives in the light. They did not wear masks and they assembled, not at night, but in the light of day.  The common thugs that are being beamed into your homes, whether by television camera or smart phone video on social media, are not peaceful protesters. In one city after another it becomes painfully obvious that these mobs, like insects, prefer to come out at night. One mayor after another issues nightly curfews; a tacit admission that they are either unable or unwilling to gain control of order on their streets. Welcome to Bug Day in America.

Little drops of truth have begun to emerge. Evidenced reports of pallets of bricks, crates of Molotov Cocktails and other logistical support to these nightly assaults. And from those apprehended we get to learn who is posting bond for these people. It is undeniable that this is organized and it is supported. Even in the largely incurious mainstream media one will occasionally find this question, albeit accidentally, now being posed: where is this support coming from? There may be other parties in play, but this is chiefly the work of antifa. The moment this amorphous collection of miscreants are mentioned for possible classification as a terrorist organization, the usual class of jackals and vultures reflexively lurch to their defense.

It is always helpful to any cause to put a face on the enemy.  What does antifa look like? Well I am going to do our readers a favor and go back just a few short months into the Doom and Reprisal archives.  We need only hearken back to our posting of 20 January of this year, Bernie Bros Ballyhoo. Please allow me to reintroduce Messrs. Jurek et Weissgerber:

That is if you don’t recall, or if you care to take the time to refresh your memory. And there is this:


Now that is only a modest sampling of the two parties mentioned in our feature of 20 January. I believe it is possible to go back into the Project Veritas twitter feed from this January past, if you’d like to hear more from the big mouths on these two bags of shit.

Following their exposure during the early primary season their accounts on social media were clamped down tight. Jurek, I suspect, may be out of commission due to some pending charges in Iowa that have surely been adjudicated by now. There seemed to be little doubt of a conviction in that jurisdiction. To be fair and honest I have to say that I do not know this for certain and I don’t care enough about such a shit stain to expend the effort required to find out for sure. This Mr. Baird, from the Veritas video, is a later addition not featured in Bernie Bros Ballyhoo, but his name does come up again elsewhere. And Mr. Weissgerber. I thought it prudent to check up and see what he had been doing since we had last heard from him.

Well funny thing, huh? His social media accounts are still locked down, but…

Earlier this year both he and Mr. Jurek had neglected to erase their LinkedIn accounts. I found some interesting details about each of them on that platform. Upon revisiting these I found Jurek’s page still up, but with no new details. Martin Weissgerber’s page had been taken down, though through a search on the LinkedIn platform there were three results with content about our Weissgerber. I found one of these from Dr. Bikram Lamba, which I offer as worthwhile reading:

This, however, did not shed any light on young Marty’s more recent activities. It did make me go back and make a further query on fakebook to see if there were likewise content mentioning Martin Weissgerber. And I was not disappointed, as you may see below:



I’m certain that we’ll have more to show you soon. Make no mistake that these are the people we are dealing, or as seems more often the case NOT dealing with. Police are paraded before the cameras with all of their expensive and taxpayer purchased toys. While Rome burns. If you are armed be ready. Don’t expect the police. I wouldn’t expect many of these antifa cowards to venture out into our quarters, as they surely know that we are all too well armed and willing. In the event that they do show up at your gates, don’t hesitate. Warning shots are fine. Head shots are forever.


Ford Wenty report end, 2 June 2020



The Wreck of the Garbage Skow Whitmer

With my apologies in advance to the great poet and songwriter Gordon Lightfoot. Even though he is a Canadian. Imagine, if you will, to the tune of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald….


The legend lives on from the Shiawassee on down

of the great bitch they call Gretchen Whitmer

That bitch, it is said, never loses her head

with November defeat surely looming

She’s a load of horse shit piled up past her tits

still somehow that head remains empty

But a miserable cunt never gives up the hunt

when she smells a reckoning come early


She was the pride of the democrat side

like some beast that comes from Ann Arbor

As big liars go she was bigger than most

her lobbyists were all well rewarded



to be continued (come on! It’s a long ballad! No worries. Plenty of material to work with)

The Floyd case through color blind lenses


InkedFord Wenty profile image_LI

A Doom and Reprisal editorial from Ford Wenty, Ale 81 Inn field correspondent


These are indeed troubled times in which we live.  Regardless of which side of the political divide one finds themselves this is a statement upon which we may find a consensus.  Depending upon which side of that divide one may find themselves this conclusion is reached for differing reasons.  Under current circumstances it would be to the benefit of all concerned if we were to unite upon those reasons which we find in common.  There is no doubt that such commonality exists, yet still it seems to elude us. That leaves us with this question: why?

The images of Mr. Floyd are disturbing. They are disturbing not because they show a white cop shoving the face of a black man into the pavement. They are disturbing because this image is emblematic of the state of affairs nationwide.  What I see is an American citizen being crushed beneath the boot of unrestrained and thuggish application of police powers.  The motto of “protect and serve” has long been replaced by “intimidate and extort”. The politicization of police powers and the militarization of police forces has grown unchecked for the past thirty years. This is an unpopular position to take, but I will say it anyway: many of our so called “peace officers” are little more than hired thugs. I know many will disagree, as is their prerogative, but I will stand by this statement nonetheless.

There is an order that has reigned in this nation for a very long time.  It is a corrupt house of cards that is doomed to fall; indeed, it is beginning to crumble before our very eyes.  Those who sit upon these cardboard thrones know it and are scrambling desperately to preserve their advantage. One need only listen to which side the jackals in our media are cheering for to know that this is true.

Do not make the mistake of concluding that I am cheering for the looters in Minneapolis, because I am not. They are not protestors. They are looters, opportunists of the ugliest kind.  They are spreading far and wide beyond Minnesota while the usual network talking heads cheer them on and lecture us about racial injustice.  These are people who are very concerned about injustice, provided it is the right kind of injustice: one which fits their stale and dishonest narrative. From the images streamed to us from Minneapolis, LA, and most recently Columbus, I am left with only one question.  Are these looters wearing masks to protect against the virus, or to hide their faces? You form your own conclusions. I have already reached mine.

How is looting the Target store, or burning down an auto parts store, or torching cars in the street (cars which one must assume are owned by someone) a form of protest? Who do these acts benefit? The looters? The property owners? No and no.  The only people who benefit from these acts are the race baiters and poverty pimps who preserve their own power and influence by continually stoking this racial division. These people don’t wear masks, except when it suits them. You can see their ugly, lying, bare faces on your television screens every day.

The powers granted through legislative subterfuge, or as is often the case simply seized outright, are no longer legitimate. It is time for consent to be revoked. If only a segment of what constitutes no more than fifteen percent of a population can turn out and behave like this,  and the “authorities” are content to sit on the sidelines and wring their hands, what should they do if all of us say enough? What will they do if all of us show up in the streets, with no masks, no social distancing, and assert our constitutional rights? Not to loot or burn, just to show up in numbers and shout with one loud voice: ENOUGH. We don’t trust you, you got it wrong, now be big enough to say so and crawl back to your lairs. We are taking back our lives.  We would discover very quickly whether or not these authorities are truly interested in our safety, or if they are only the same brand of opportunists as the looters.


Ford Wenty report end, 5/29/2020



My friend Fritz, Opus 4

When last met with my friend Fritz it was a somber occasion.  I recall thinking that it would be some time before I might see him again.  I do not know what instinct had told me this.  Perhaps it was only some dark intuition, the sort often associated with his comings and goings. As it happens this was incorrect. I was awakened in the dark of pre-dawn by that familiar voice.



Your sleep is uneasy tonight.

Is it?

You prefer to listen to your music rendered on vinyl. Why is it that you do not prefer to write on paper?

Fritz and I have established a familiarity between us.  His oblique puzzles, though I may struggle to answer, do make sense to me.

I have not considered this Fritz. I actually do prefer to write upon paper.

I see. Is that because you are unable to communicate on vinyl?

HA! He left me an opening!

That is but one of many reasons Fritz.

You wish to speak of this no more?

I wish to speak of it no more today.

Very well.

He then remained silent for some time, though I knew our conversation was far from finished. We both enjoy the silence that we may better hear our inner voices. This is the space where Fritz and I commune.

This tropic choler of your nights do not suit my central European constitution Thomas.

I should have thought you would have grown used to it by now.

Perhaps I shall in time.  You carry a sadness Thomas. Something new, not your ordinary melancholy.

Indeed I do Fritz. It was not my wish to trouble you with it.

Na, was gibt’s?

Girl trouble.

He laughed.

At your age? Ach… it is that curse of masculinity. We are forever in some part that ever eager adolescent.

True enough, but this is not like that.

For an instant Fritz appeared genuinely surprised. That marks a rare occasion. He said nothing more, merely entreating me with his glowing, dark eyes to go on.

I have grown numb Fritz. I am the victim of an innocent, girlish infatuation. A child’s hero worship. This is the type of trusting love that should bring joy to the heart, if one is human. I am able to smile and play the part, yet I only feel fear and dread.

Dread of what Thomas?

He knew the answer, or would not have asked.

It is the dread of receiving this trust, knowing that ultimately I can only disappoint.

As is the burden of Man to receive God’s love. I wrestled with this all my mortal life Thomas.

Indeed you did. And what say you now Fritz?

You were a stranger to yourself for most of your life Thomas. What say you now?

He had me. The bastard had me! He would leave, with that question weighing in the air. I have been awake since.


No tears

Having only some

understanding of your language

there is no clarity

Still don’t trust the message

Masks do not cover

there is no truth in your eyes

Can’t see your lips moving

yet we still know you lie

In some distant future

puzzling over skeletal remains

they won’t tell you from other

lower forms of life

No tears shed for your extinction