American Terror

April 19, 2001 Boston, MA 

White supremacists Leo Felton and girlfriend Erica Chase are arrested following a foot chase that began when a police officer spotted them trying to pass counterfeit bills at a Boston donut shop. Investigators quickly learn Felton heads up a tiny group called Aryan Unit One, and that the couple, who had already obtained a timing device, planned to blow up black and Jewish landmarks and possibly assassinate black and Jewish leaders. They also learn another amazing fact: Felton, a self-described Aryan, is secretly biracial. Felton and Chase are eventually convicted of conspiracy, weapons violations and obstruction, and Felton is also convicted of bank robbery and other charges. Felton, who previously served 11 years for assaulting a black taxi driver, is sentenced to serve more than 21 years in federal prison, while his one-time sweetheart draws a lesser sentence and is released in 2007.

From:
The Second Wave: Return of the Militias
Southern Poverty Law Center Special Report

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73 Responses

  1. Are you sure you’re not a militia mole, Grumpy? 😛

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    • Shhhhh! What’s it going to take to buy your silence?

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      • The amount of our deficit. But if you car jack the Koch Brothers and Buffet, I’ll take your take. 😉

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        • Let’s negotiate. My people and your people can do lunch. How about at that cheap diner in Omaha?

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          • I don’t do cheap. Nicer place, please. 😉

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            • No, not you and me. Just our minions for the initial negotiations. You do have minions, don’t you?

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            • Isn’t that a given? OK, since it’s them, we’ll send them someplace cheap. You and I both don’t want shocking expense reports.

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            • Not doing cheap disqualifies you from evil, subversive underground movements. It’s in the manual, page 23, about halfway down.

              On the other hand we leaders have to do the good stuff occasionally, if for no other reason than to keep the minions hopeful (see footnote on page 57).

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            • These confusing, contradicting rules are the reason why entitled, elitist bitches such as myself are needed to shake up the system.

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            • You could rewrite the manual and submit it for approval to a committee of elitist, entitled bastards.

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            • It might work if you help me co-author it. I’m worried about the gender bias of the committee.

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            • Not to worry. They don’t like women. They’d rather play with each other’s guns. That’s why I work alone.

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          • Oh well screw the manual then. I’ll just go the independent contractor route like you.

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            • It’s the only way to go. Better hours, better pay, less bullshit. Gotta watch the minions though. They can get a little snarky with the guns and explosives if you don’t have an organization backing you up.

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            • Ah what are you going to do? They have a tendency to go rogue. At least they can’t unionize.

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            • I try to use zombies, the fast kind. They’re thorough and they don’t leave bodies lying around when a mission gets… messy.

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            • Above market pay rate though, I hear. Doesn’t it get expensive?

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            • Nah. I use immigrant zombies.

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            • Aren’t you worried about a raid?

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            • Nope. Half the local ICE guys work for me too. (They’re actually a higher form of zombie.)

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            • Very nice, but the higher form means an even higher rate of pay. You gots a lot of overhead. militia man.

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            • Since I only use female agent/zombies the cost is less. I’m sure it’s my charm and good looks that keep them loyal.

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            • Exploiting the gender pay disparity. Nice.

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            • What can I say? I’m a nice exploiter… ummm… guy.

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            • Haha careful with the Freudian slips.

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  2. I’m moving to Baltimore this summer, can you give me their crime stats? I bet they suck too.

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    • There is no Baltimore. It was spirited out of the universe when the Colts left.

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      • That’s good! I hear it’s now a wasteland filled with weird evil purple crows or something.

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        • Not only that, but they’re worshipped by evil pagans who have forgotten the noble cult of Colts and the demigod Unitas.

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          • Hopefully they wont notice my Detroit Lions tag on my truck and stone me in the public square.

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            • Be advised that they only do stonings on Tuesdays between three and five in the afternoon. Other than that you should be relatively safe.

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            • City council will be voting on a new proposal. Saturdays during the same time frame might be added to accomodate work schedules.

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            • That’s not right. Business can’t be conducted on Saturdays. The Stoner’s Union won’t put up with that. Strike! Strike!

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            • Deal with it, thug.

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            • It’s on, wench!

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            • I will win you know, because I’m a Koch whore.

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            • Alright, Koch whore trumps wench. You get that one. Wanna go two falls out of three?

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            • Give it up already. We will defeat you union goons.

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            • Never! Stoners Forever! Down with Kochheads!

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            • End of the line for your gravy train, parasite!

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            • No gravy here… the suits took it all. You know, the Kochian suits who bought your soul.

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            • I got a good price, peon.

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            • What, a whole dollar, trailer trash? I’d a paid two dollars to save you from their evil clutches.

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            • In your dreams. I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, paid union goon.

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            • Paid? I’m supposed to be getting paid? Those bastards! They’ve been Koched! My path is clear: revolution in the ranks! Stomp the suits!

              And you, you’re a spy for somebody, aren’t you?

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            • Now if I were a spy, wouldn’t I be on your side, thug?

              The suits always win.

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            • Not necessarily, punk. You could be a double agent, or, considering your devious nature, a triple agent, poseuse.

              The suits don’t always win, wenchette. I was a suit, yet here I am trading barbs in the street with a West Coast pretender. Even the mighty fall. Say ‘Hi’ on the way down.

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            • Well, I guess you’ll never know, paranoid one.

              Even if that were true, it’s not possible to fall subterranean.

              Face it. Suits own you.

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            • Ha! I don’t even own a tie!

              My agents will dig up your birth certificate (we know where you buried it, along with the recipe for your great-aunt’s turkey salad) and prove your duplicity, or triplicity.

              BTW the suits you work for? FBI stooges. Feel one up next time you meet. They’re wired. We have a mole in their org. A rabbit too.

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            • You will never find it, goon. And that turkey salad recipe? You won’t find a hard copy anywhere. I die, it dies with me.

              Oh I know who the mole and rabbit are. Trust me. They don’t get any privileged information from me.

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            • Ah, but we have your great-aunt. If you don’t give it up we’ll marry her to a Tea Party winger who breeds rabbits.

              And you just think you know the mole and the rabbit. Even if in the wildest reaches of your considerable imagination that were true, you’d never discover the other two.

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            • 😯

              I just talked to her last Tuesday. No wonder she sounded “off.”

              OK, goon. Hand her over. You win. This time.

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            • My people will hand her over at that diner tomorrow at midnight. But only if you come alone. With the information. And $2.57 to cover the expense of a burger.

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            • What information, goon? You have auntie and obviously, the recipe. They will get fries. I will bring a buck.

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            • I see what’s happening here. We are obviously the victims of a powerful spell cast by an evil, possibly Republican, wizard, a spell that has hurled us into a mysticomythical psychotautology that has us constantly returning to that cheap diner in Omaha.

              We have to figure out why the diner is important and why we need your great-aunt’s turkey salad recipe (she’s senile, you know – she’ll be no help at all). Otherwise we’ll be locked into the diner tautology forever.

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            • Dangit it’s wearing off. Teaches me never to hire union witches.

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            • She’s melting!

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            • I’ll get you next time, goon. That’s a promise

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            • Many have promised, few have delivered, wench.

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            • We’ll see about that. Look over your shoulder once in a while, thug.

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            • Don’t have to. I have rearview mirrors on my eyeglasses, tool of the corporatist fascists.

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            • Yup and you bought them cheap because they were made in China. You’re welcome.

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            • Wrong! I made them myself. I don’t trust that Chinese stuff.

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            • Mmm hmm. You love that dollar store melamine. Admit it.

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            • Nuh uh. My spending habits are way closer to Erasmus’s.

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            • I don’t buy it for a second. Union goons would never vow poverty

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            • Yeah, well real wenches would never sell out to those Koch bastards.

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            • Only the smart ones.

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            • They’ll betray you, sooner or later. They always do.

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            • And those unions are looking out for your best interest. Riiiiiight.

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            • The Stoner’s Union does. (That’s me and cousin Charlie, of course…)

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            • Man there’s a union for everything!

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            • Even us goons have a union.

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