Nazi Lauck NSDAP/AO


The 27th of January has been put aside to remember the Great Holohoax. You have got to believe it but Members of Parliament and others from ‘the great and the good’ set of establishment clowns, are fighting over the ticket allocation. You couldn’t make it up.

Couldn’t you? Sorry but there is nothing new when it comes to human gullibility and the need of the upwardly mobile to genuflect and prostrate themselves before false gods made from the taxpayers gold.


Hans Christian Anderson’s tale The Emperor’s New Clothes is perhaps the most lucid and amusing parable of holohoax-mania. This once-upon-a-time tale tells of two rogue tailors who on learning of a vain emperor’s fetish for exotic clothes, set out to trick him and his subjects.

They convinced him that their beautiful rainbow-coloured cloth would be so light and fine it would look invisible to all except the dumbest of his subjects. Anyone with half a brain upwards would marvel at the breathtaking raiment made for him alone.


The emperor couldn’t believe his luck. In one hit he would acquire a zoot suit to take your breath away and as a bonus discover which of his subjects weren’t full shilling – or should it be not full schilling?

So the emperor parted with two bags of gold and much gold thread (are you listening, Germany?) and the rogue tailors set about their work.

The tailors, let’s call them Israel and Cohen, closeted away where no one could see their secrets revealed, apparently laboured for weeks.

They were in stitches all right but not the kind of stitches that holds clothes together; they were splitting their sides laughing. What a scream, they could hardly believe their good fortune, verily they had chanced upon a nation of cattle ready for the milking.

Eventually after drying their eyes they emerged and spread the imaginary raiment before the prime minister who had been invited to check progress.

The poor sap, realising he would be exposed as a cretin if he confessed to being unable to see the cloth, praised the product of six million threads and the tailors’ skill and integrity.



When the fawning prime minister said he would convey his admiration to the emperor the tailors had difficulty keeping their faces straight. But full (Deutsch) marks to them, they did.

Before too long the emperor with his entourage appeared in person to be measured up.

Give an inch and they will take the yard it has been said: Israel and Co. sure did. More shekels changed hands.



As the tailors went through the motion of spreading the imaginary cloth before him they invited admiration of the raiment’s quality, colours and imperceptible finesse.

No one, not even the emperor wished to appear foolish by saying they couldn’t see anything so they all cooed and waxed lyrical while the rogues made a few farcical adjustments.

Finally the emperor stripped to his buff and allowed the terrible two to hang the imaginary material over his naked shoulders, fussing as they did so. "You look wonderful." they cooed.



What a sight to behold; the gathering sycophants gushed effluent in their false praise of the finest of raiment. "Oh, sire, see how it hangs’ they said excitedly.

Thanks to the town criers (a rather inefficient precedent to the worldwide web) word had spread about the spectacle created by six million imaginary gold threads.

It was then suggested that the plebeians (plebs to you and me) be given the great privilege of sharing the sartorial glory of their emperor’s new gowns; after all, they had paid for the cloak’s-hoax and the tailors’ labours with their hard earned taxes.

So the emperor and his fawning lickspittles, eyes fixed firmly on the potential re-arrangement of the pecking order, took off down Independence Avenue and Whitehall.

Lining the grand parade the crowds, not wishing to draw attention to themselves by singing out of tune, ejaculated hosannas about the non-existent robes as the naked emperor and his bootlickers swept by.


Unfortunately there is a party poop at every shindig; in this event a mere child named Accurist who could only see what his eyes could see.

"But, dad," the little lad exclaimed wondrously: "There are no six million gold threads, the emperor is naked. It’s a load of bollocks!"

Horrified, his journalist father rounded on the little tyke: "Don’t talk such nonsense, we can all see the six million threads," as he tried to pull the child away.

Alas! Too late! The plebs had heard the lad and his truthful observation. It was all fine words without substance; it was such a hoax that it had to be protected by law. Also in need of protection was the embarrassment of the establishment that had been taken in by Israel and Co. Imprisonment was now the likely lot of anyone who even questioned the scam

Lacking sophistication (or is it sophistry) and the need to protect their backsides the crowds lining the pavements took up the chant: "There is no six million, there is no six million, there is no . . .. it is a load of . . . . . !" End


An expectant hush fell over the assembled crowds as grim faced; the African country’s exalted visitor, accompanied by their president, mounted the podium. With great theatrical gravity he clenched the sides of the rostrum, pausing for added effect as he appeared to wipe a tear from his eye.

Finally composing himself he reminded the sea of faces of the horrors of Hitlerism. As he spoke his speech was occasionally interrupted by the gathered shines who clamoured: "Magumba, Magumba!’

This brought a smile to the speaker’s countenance, stained as it was by crocodile tears, which the natives were quick to recognise of course.

Encouraged, the visitor droned on about the death camps (German ones that is; not Russian, Jewish, British or French) As he spoke the excited crowd shouting "Magumba" punctuated his words

Finally the speech drew to a close; the visitor tearfully blew his nose and stepped down.

An excellent speech your exalted one," murmured the president as he lead the visitor away from the podium by the water hole.

As he took his guest’s elbow and guided him through the dispersing throng he suddenly noticed that his visitor was about to step into a still steaming heap of ox dung. "Oh, mind the Magumba, sir. You nearly stepped in it."


"Why then are they, the Israelis, obstructing all honest research into the six million question? All statistics will so long be controversial until world Jewry and Zionism will be willing to present to the public exact official statistics of the losses. The roadblock to research is die to the fact that from six million dead, one can exact far more reparations than from say 6,000." Joseph Ginsburg, Jewish researcher and survivor, Munich

"There were no gas chambers at Auschwitz or anywhere else in wartime Europe. On that I state my reputation and career."

- Professor Robert Faurisson. French Revisionist Expert.

Michael Walsh

‘History Without The Spin’

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