Introducing Desmond

Please give a big hand for our latest Emerald Hammer recruit, and the man who (should have) personally silenced the eternal Desmond debate (TM):


Carl L. Congdon
Subject: Re: DG: Notes on the Karotechia
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1999 20:14:52 -0600

Jesper Anderson wrote:
> > A fundamental part of military training is the "breakdown." Intimidation,
> > Shock and horror are used to remove any misgivings about the training that
> > a recruit may have. This allows instructors to rebuild the psyche of the
> > trainee from the ground up. The white neo-Nazi's trained by Humboldt will
> > be too busy eating human flesh, doing painful repetitious physical
> > exercise, not to mention whatever it is they are being trained for to
> > question his racial origin, even assuming he's appearing as a black dude.
> > The Latin and Arabic Bauer will care even less.
>
> The goal of military training is not insane soldiers. It's motivated,
> skilled individuals with capability of independent action and to follow
> orders. The nazis were experts at this, without using cannibalism.
>
> And you didn't answer the question. How does he get to *start* training
> them? Who gives him the authority to smack the racism out of the obedient
> neo-nazis? At every step, the reason they're there is questioned. This
> will weed out those who are *most* dedicated to the Aryan ideals, and
> keep those who don't care about Nazi dogma. A lose-lose situation, if
> I ever saw one.
    Forgive me for intruding this never-ending and almost pointless-seeming debate, since the both of you are obviously pursuing it with such enthusiasm and bandwidth, but I think I see where the breakdown is occurring:

    When was it stated, and by whom, that our cuddly widdle Desmond would ever actually *lead* any of the men on any missions? If I'm understanding the MiB correctly, the recruit's first encounter with Monsieur Humboldt would go like this.....

Scene: Inside a large hangar in an undisclosed South American location. A group of twenty-five recruits is led in by one Reinhard Galt. All (except Galt) are in fatigues, bald, surly, and groggy: they'd been woken up before dawn, which was about a scant ten minutes ago.

    Galt goes on ahead into the hangar, and flicks on a dim light. The recruits move forward, and stop....in shock.

    Sitting at a large table is the hugest African they've ever seen, dressed in a bloodstained fur toga and tribal scars. None who accidentally meet the African's eyes can match his stare for long, or suppress the chills running down their spines. Even more grotesque is the African's meal: the corpse (sex now impossible to determine) looked and smelled mostly raw, as if the unfortunate victim had been killed a little while ago. (Some recruits, who couldn't stops staring at the grisly feast, swore later on, in hoarse whispers that occasionally it still twitched.) The African, done surveying the recruits, went back to his repast.

    Many of the recruits, remembering their first "coon hunts", were wondering if they were going to be allowed the option of tranquilizers, tack nukes, or maybe a LAW or two. Even at twenty-five to one, it looked dubious.

    Galt spoke. "Achtung! The man you see before you eating his breakfast is known to the outside world as Desmond Humboldt. He works for us....and with us.
It is his job to interact with the black extremist groups such as plague America's inner cities, in order to hasten the separation of the races. It will be his duty, when we are triumphant, to run the nation of Africa, where we will exile the undesirable races. There, they shall do as *he* sees fit. Oh, and for your immediate concern, he is in charge of your basic training for four weeks."

    It seemed like they all gasped at once. Galt smiled; one could barely hear the sound of their grumbling over the fierce pounding of their hearts. It was a wonder these kinder hadn't shat themselves already. These were supposed to be hardened men?

    Galt resumed. "You are, of course, during this time free to try to match your innate white superiority against Mr. Humboldt. You are free to ignore his commands; to call him 'nigger', 'monkey', 'junglebunny', 'spearchucker'; to tell him to go back to Africa, and even to attack him. Just be warned that, should you fail to kill him quickly after doing so, you will be tortured and eaten alive by him, as that unfortunate was."

    Desmond Humboldt looked up at that moment and belched, the resonation vibrating off the rafters overhead. A piece of fatty tissue slid out of his mouth and onto the table, still thinly connected to his bottom lip by a red string of blood and saliva. Ignoring it, Humboldt returned to his repast.
    "Ah, that reminds me: If you fail to perform his commands to his satisfaction, the same fate befalls you. If you show cowardice, the same. If you try to escape, the same. If you disobey us, even after leaving the training camp, the same. If you betray us either deliberately, or through stupidity....we have even *worse* ways of making our displeasure felt."
    "But if you can put aside any unnecessary pride for the moment, you will soon see what a beneficence we have offered you. Wild, savage, bloody, and brutal, Desmond Humboldt is the zenith, the very ideal made flesh, of his homeland....and much, much more. Training under him for a month will be a baptism of blood and fire; those who survive here will survive anywhere we need you. The desert, the swamp, the projects of a degenerate American city....these will be as nothing to you."
    "Well, ladies, I leave you to the tender care and instruction of Mr. Humboldt. Do let me know if we can do anything to make the next four weeks more comfortable!" With that, Galt turned to leave them. The recruits eyes followed him, as though he were the last ship of safety from a dark land that had suddenly turned hostile.
    Suddenly, Humboldt stood up. With a fierce wrenching sound, he tore the left leg from it's socket with both hands. The brutal snap almost pushed the less hardened men to nausea. Standing at his full height, the African boomed a flawlessly pronounced hearkening, in German, to the exiting Galt. Humboldt entreated of Galt to please take this morsel away with him.
"AFTER ALL," the giant rumbled in his flawless Teutonic, "IT WOULD NOT BE PROPER TO DEPRIVE THESE FRESH ONES OF THEIR TRAINING, SIMPLY BECAUSE I HAD A FULL STOMACH AND BECAME LAZY."
    Galt, grinning from ear to ear, responded in his own fluent German that yes, it would make a fine portion of his morning meal, and many thanks for your generosity. All of the recruits, most of whom were backwater Americans who didn't fully speak their own language, let alone a second one, got the gist of the conversation when Galt took the leg from Humboldt, swung it over his shoulder, and left. The hangar doors closed with the sound of a tomb door.

    Five seconds later, everyone's attention had returned to Desmond. The giant had assured this by picking up the table with one hand and throwing it over his shoulder. The clatter and splatter of trays, plates, cleavers, wood, and the remains of the body echoed through the hangar for two minutes.
    The bloody African behemoth grinned, showing a few morsels stuck in his teeth. It rumbled, this time in flawless English, "I WOULD LIKE TO GET TO KNOW ALL OF YOU MUCH BETTER....ONE WAY, OR ANOTHER."
    For another bunch of Karotechia recruits, a Month of Nightmares had just begun.


Well, if DH's influence goes much beyond what I outlined here, I'd have to agree with Jesper that he's overused and would cause too much tension. But if this was the MiB's idea of how to use Humboldt, I see it as an *excellent* way of getting the troops to fall in line properly and with the minimum of fuss.
    Yes, they're all racist scum, and yes, most of them don't have the IQ of a warm bucket of piss or the flexibility of a stone wall. But if they're to function properly on the international scene, they'd better damn well get their egoes out of the way and learn to adapt to sticky, ethically dubious actions in a hurry. Fanaticism or not, sometimes unpleasantness (associating with others outside one's own race, or posing as a cheerful liberal, frex). I see a month with Desmond as a great way to bring this home.

But that's just me. 8D
--
A friend in need's a friend indeed,
A friend with weed is better
A friend with breasts and all the rest
A friend who's dressed in leather
 -Placebo, "Pure Morning"

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