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Tuesday, 4 October 2011


Written by shaunantijihad
October 2011

William_Wordsworth_120_x_118Well Britons, you did not give a damn about the IslamoNazi colonisation of Bradford, Keighley, Burnley, Preston, Bolton, Blackburn, Nelson etc.

Will you care when you lose the Lake District? For the sublime landscapes that inspired Wordsworth, Coleridge and Shelley are now seeing the next phase of the Religion of Arabic and Paki Colonisation.

Now that the Muslims have many of the major cities of the North it will be easy pickings to colonise the surrounding small towns and villages, some only a few hundred or thousand souls strong, for the complete victory over Lancashire, Yorkshire, and now beloved Cumbria. With families of 8.1 subsidised children per subsidised wife this will be a small matter, and it will happen in a single generation.

After my depressing visit to Leeds market on Friday, which confirmed the Muslim takeover of Leeds is growing strongly, I thought I would relieve my weary spirit to visit one of the inspirations of Wordsworth, a fairly short drive from the Islamic Caliphate of Bradford, and what a beautiful drive it still is past many a small market town, pub and church, for now.

With the best first days of Autumn in many a decade I was so happy to get away for the day from my home town, surrendered as it is without a shot being fired to the King of the Arabs and his stone age cult, and on into Windermere.

Upon entry to the first car park, 3 people carriers simply parked in the entrance road, stopping all exit and entry, as all the spaces were taken. A small army if jihadis and their ghoulish, burkha clad, vulture like mothers exited the vehicles, and had I not shouted for them to move the bloody cars they intended to leave them right there, blocking the way of all.

So they went to the next car park, and I behind, whereupon they stopped their cars to get their tickets before parking, holding everyone behind for the 10 minutes they took. After all, the hated, cowardly kuffar are only despised dhimmies.

During a boat ride watching the Autumn leaves in weather that could only be described as a good day even for Spain, I began reluctantly to think more of the great El Cid than Wordsworth as the sound of Arab or Paki invaders spitting into our once undefiled Lakeland waters behind me forced itself into earshot.

After queuing behind an army of spitting invaders in Ambleside for a coffee and ice cream, I was forced to walk a gauntlet of alien invaders smoking some giant bong like they were in some shithole Turkish bazaar, probably marijuana for all I know, or it was just very smelly tobacco.

I took a chance to watch my people walk by, many with a typical one or two children in tow, who will be outnumbered soon and many probably sold into the sex slavery cattle markets of Arabia, when the black flag flies above Buckingham Palace, if it doesn’t already, least not in the weak mind of the Protector of the Faiths.

Whilst the majority of our people looked sound and healthy, the majority were old and beyond either fighting or procreating, and there were too many girls sporting horrible, masculine or tarty tattoos.

As I pondered on the damage done to our communal body by the Khazars, Marxists and FemiNazis, two white, shaven-haired lesbians ambled by hand-in-hand in Ambleside, tattooed to the hilt, and one of them pregnant. Poor child.

Upon leaving the car park, again with a heavy heart, a unit of some 20 mozlem males, in full battle dress, took over the car park, laid down the prayer mats, and began the call of prayer to their capital city in Mecca, and thanked Allah, asses in the air, shouting out the war cry in the language of the Arabian paedophile, for giving them such a well cultivated land, not only without a fight but actually with the full financial assistance of the dhimmi Marxists and the Khazar Jews. If they weren’t convinced Allah was with them before, they are now.

As I returned to the land that once was British Bradford, to the skyline dominated by some 80 plus mosques, the forward military bases of the invited enemy, I closed Wordsworth’s beautiful “Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey (down on Wye), and considered more the example of El Cid.

Where is El Cid Ingles?