The Servant of Truth, new exclusive Mtsar content

The task of 'the servants of truth' (Copyright Mtsar, available now at $39.99) is made unbearably difficult due to lack of money for fictional authors and the knee-jerk fear reactions that automatically inhibit a regular broad from buying my book after I give them my impressive 500 page length.

'The Servants of Truth' know from experience that few friends are won without severe control of copyright, by swordcraft if necessary, and that we should endeavor to expose the dirty little secrets of David Ickes arthritic ramblings. No man with swollen fingers should ever be trusted. In East Belfast that only means that you have been up to no good. Listen David, the Moon is not a fucking Spaceship you moron, it is a divine body. It houses the brilliant power of Shiva and charges the blood of the man as he writes his fictional scholarship into the night (in the Bay Area). How does David know this? Has he been to the moon to check? Well, people, eons of prophecy have foretold that the moon is not fictional. And who are we to argue with fable?

Nevertheless, a Servant of Truth is not permanently daunted by the discomfort caused by the presence and proximity of a beastly truth. The Servant of Truth is brave, aware that the price of ignorance is ultimately far greater than the price paid for knowledge. Where copyright is concerned, the price is always right. Go forth, be bold and brillaint and howl with the inner joy you feel, naked as the day you were born. Do not fear consequences, and remember safe sex and condoms are vatican propaganda - when the beastly deed need done, take your bare length and mount your maiden with only the sweat on your back as lubricant. Jesus does not love you, Jesus loves maidens.

The Servant of Truth knows that freedom is never free and that silence is most definitely consent. He comes to realize that, on the great board game of life, if he fatally chooses to not occupy the white squares of knowledge, he will be manipulated by those who will. So people, when you are walking down the sidewalk, stay on the white squares - ya hear? Icke would charge you $40.00 for a book full of shite, but Mtsar is giving away this knowledge for free. Gratis. Nada. So please do buy my book.

My Latest Ware, now available to ye all for $166.66

Obama is the Anti-Christ

Yes folks, I have secured exclusive access to Obama's private gmail account.

You will notice that if you add up the third letter of every line it spells 'EVIL BLACK MAN NOT HALF BROWN, ATLANTIS RISING 666'

This is very serious. Obama is most certainly the Shivan antichrist, the Atonist megalord come to enslave humanity. We must stop him at once people. Take to the streets and demand a true blooded half-brown gippo to be your king.

Can you imagine the freedom America would enjoy if all the nations children were led by the Great Mtsar, and provided with free mystery school tarot educations instead of the mainstream fascist education they get now, sponsored by pepsi and zion?

'mystery', 'gippo' and 'Obama' are copyright Mtsar Incorporated. 'Mtsar is copyright the Jordan fatimus Maxwell Foundation, Class of '74.

The New Mtsar Single, now on youtube

Yes yes, I have been in the recording studio laying down some fat ones, and also some tunes. This will not be available on itunes or in record shops, just through taroscopes.com as I'm very protective of my copyright. This is sure to keep the honey's coming back to Mtsar for more sweet half-brown lovin.

The B-side will be 'Biggaungaummagumbaummaburrgagullla'. An ancient Irish Druidic chant that brings the brilliance of Shiva through your veins and aligns you with Aquarius.



Ciao, and keep on rockin' in the NWO.

'youtube' is copyright Mtsar

Sitchin is Not Wrong

http://conspiracyclothes.com/nowheretorun/

http://www.sitchiniswrong.com/

What utter garbage. Who do these 'researchers' think they are undermining my documented fictional research? do they not know how many hours I spend making this stuff up and then copyrighting it? Listen ,this is how scholarship and documentation goes: If someone writes it in a book, its true. Don't you all know that you fucking darwinian rejects? People spend a lot of money hiring me to teach their children this kind of valuable truthism. You can find my details on Taroscopes. Now booking for special Year of the gippo specials. Payment can be made in part by blood sacrafice or bringing a few willing broads along. I havent been banging as much lately - I could do with a bit of lemurian lady juice.

Additionally what is the man supposed to do with the tattoo he invested in if this fictional turns out to be untrue?

I wouldn't take the time to wipe these flies off my brown arse if they so happened to stick to it after I shat my ring after too much curry. Only Shiva knows of the howling glory a lamb vindaloo can bring to a conspiracy genius.

You know, I've been reading this alternative internet blog scene for a few weeks now and I'm sorry to say that all the posters here are human filth, wasters drifting in a sea of intellectual sewage. All of you, scum. I'll bet not a single one of you would pay a penny for a piece of copyrighted scholarship ... or a dodgy home produced DVD boxset with me talking utter baloney for 459 hours... it figures.

Stop wasting my time, I have better things to do. The Rapture is but days away and i'm coming up so you better get this party started. Losers.

'vindaloo', 'Shiva', 'gippo', '459', and 'DVD' are all copyright Mtsar.

Mtsar Does Travolta - Exclusive!

Forget about dancing with the stars ... those losers refused to have the man on the show - they knew I'd dance them into the new age. How the fuck they can have one legged gippo Heather Mills (I'd still bang her disabled ass) on there but not a half brown renowned fictional scholar with riverdance in his genes... I dont know - though I suspect this has something to do with the symbolism in the CBS logo.

I have been a life long fan of dance, especially the Riverdance - watching all those Paddy broads in spandex lifting their leggies up.. phew... it takes a lot of rapture juice to keep old paddy in his pouch watching that stuff. Equally, nothing did it for me more growing up on the streets of East Belfast than watching that poofter Travolta showing the world how to dance like a beast of a man.

So, myself and Jordan knocked up a great one hour feature-ette in which the man runs down through the whole Saturday Night Fever routine in my brilliant white Atlantean suit. There are extras too - including a Mtsar approved naked yoga dance instructional video - great for the maidens out there who want to learn to bend into sexual brilliance. And directors commentary by Jordan Maxwell in which he extends the visual dance to incorporate the symbolism of the dance moves and how it relates to the fictional pie in his mind.

This DVD is available for the limited special offer of $3 when purchased with my full Origins and Oracles 679 DVD set, (coming soon in Blu-Ray).

Get yours now from Taroscopes.com.

More Filthy Images of Mtsar Proliferating

Listen, more of this filth is popping up on google every day. I'm sick of it.

My image is copyright Mtsar incorporated. Who do these punk's think they are defaming and ridiculing the man like this eh?!

If the Rapture doesnt get you then the copyright warriors will in the Lower Astral. Watch out scumlords.

Damn Atlantean Scum took me off Facebook

Holy Shiva, look at this disabled midget go!

My fans will know of my midget employment opportunities - these little guys are great for domestic work. They can really get into the hard to reach places. If anyone knows where I can contact this person, or if he has an agent, please do get in touch.

Mtsar doesn't discriminate.

Drunvalo Malcheezedick and the Flower of Shite

Just a quick note readers: I have just finished a Sedona colonic retreat with Drunvalo Malcheezedick, the great alien master of the realm of the Plaiedes. It was a truly revelatory experience, he described to me that you can see the flower of shite in everything, even in words.

Now, listen here, this idiot might be a fictional scholar of renown, but to tell me that theres hidden codes in my fictional works is clearly not welcome to the man. There is no hidden symbolism in my work, just good honest off the top of my head rubbish. Just so you know Ciao

The Mtsar August Newsletter

please read my new articles and visit my store on taroscopes.com

This month we have several new exclusives including a review in the 'smell like the new age' quarterly newsletter on the new range of vegan, vedic cologne that I am manufacturing from my kitchen in the Bay Area.

We are also offering the chance for devoted fans to receive genuine Jordan Maxwell body pieces, which will be removed as part of his imminent autopsy. Details on the website.

There is also an article about a recent USA visit by UK comedian and fellow David Icke-ette Russell Brand.

This Russell Chap, yes... very funny. When he came to the Bay Area I was charitable enough to give him my sofa... when I woke up he had emptied my fridge of coconut milk (excellent for ascension symptoms) and stolen all my black clothes....


Still, we had a great evening out in the slut joints, drinking paddy power, picking up broads and banging them up the brown into the wee small hours. Russell has agreed to co-produce and finance my next DVD boxset 'The Mtsar Guide to Banging Broads in the Age of Aquarius'. It will include a bonus section on how to cope with hairloss, mainly by dangling gippo trinkets all around your face and neck to distract the honeys from your glorius half brown scalp.

Ful details can be found on Taroscopes, and hopefully I will feature on next weeks Russel Brand Show. I would love to get a chance to share my origins of disability research.

I am now endorsing the ipod touch, as it is black and shiny, like Shiva in the new moon. Nothing beats seeing your manly stare reflected in one of those beasts as you listen to metallica and sepultura in your inner ear phones (hidden from view by your glorious side mane of course). They are also a great way to store sick porn shit so you can jack off when and wherever you feel the schiziod burning need to do so as your atlantean side manifests. Some say 3.5" is too small... i say fuck them.

I take my music very seriously

this post is copyright mtsar incorporated. '3.5"', 'shiva', 'fictional scholarship' , 'disablity', and 'sepultura' are registered trademarks of mtsar

Exclusive Email Correspondance between Mtsar and David Shite

Mtsar: Tell me more about this brilliant full brown warrior Credo Mutwa.

David Shite: I see you're talking about my very special friend Credo! I was being interviewed by James Whale on talksport radio a little while back and I related this story of how I watched - in absolute astonishment, it has to be said - Credo literally battering to death five CIA agents with a dark mars bar. Now, trying to imagine that in your bloody head is something, but seeing the little shaman go chocolate ninja with your very own eyes brings a whole new meaning to the term problem-reaction-solution.

So, what I'm going to do is, I'm going decided to dedicate a chapter to this in my next book, which will be over 600 pages long and will retail in all good bookstores. Only good bookstores and not those ones that are run by the Illuminadee. The price will come in at around £17 and will include a free cd sampler of my son's new album, entitled It may be bollox, but it sure beats botox.

Mtsar: I have heard this 'dark Mars bar' myth in the past, I have actually decoded it though analysing the symbolism. It is in fact a chocolate snack with no milk in the chocolate.

'symbolism' is copyright Mtsar.

If I find who made this I will rearrange their face

Listen buster, If you want to call names then be man enough to draw your blade in person. Do you understand? I will fucking stab you, and you will die in a bloody mess.

This picture is no laughing matter, if not for any reason then for the sake of copyright, my face is copyright mtsar. And my earring was cut out of the shot - completely shattering my image in the process of violating my copyright. Have you any idea how much i get paid in sponsorship from 'Gippo relics and trinkets' in South LA for wearing that stuff??
No, i didnt think so... just rape and destroy the man who has given you all so much, all for the price of a brilliant DVD boxset.

Exclusive Guest Post from David Shite

Copyright David Shite, 2008. All Rights Reserved.

David Shite Snoozeletter revisited, March 16th 2008


Rules R Shite!

Pile of stinking shite, that's what it is.

Hello all ...


Inside my head lies a place where, collectively, little bunnies dance and flowers grow to be big and strong, basking in the glow of a golden-baked sky. But enough about my illness, let's talk shite.

What goes in, must come out. Or, shite, as we like to call it over on this side of the World. Not only am I shite, but my son, Gaymie, needs shite.

'You've got your father for that.' A crude little joke.

'If you don't do the potty, the botty will explode,' I told Gaymie. He just looked at me. And, oh, how he adores me. I can feel it in a kind of form that I can only describe as 'vibration'. It's the same feeling I get when I look at pictures of roadkill and the like.

'Oi, bollocks, mate!'

So there we were, me and Gaymie, Gaymie and me, the son and I, sitting in a car, out on the Motorway. When the need for dropping his baggage arose. We pulled off and spent the next 25 minutes searching amid the residential streets of a place called Bogleigh in Hampshire - until there it was, like an erection in the condom of love ... a petrol filling station and shop called 'Blackies' on Shaftfield Avenue.

In we marched, Gaymie with his buttocks ever so tightly clenched. I spied to make sure no one was taking photos from the rear. You got to watch some people, like taking pictures of other peoples' children, they do.

'Oi, bollocks, mate!'

I walked up to the girls serving behind the counter and demanded they find somewhere for my son to drop shite. I asked ever so politely, and all they could do was giggle. If these two had two pieces of rock to strike together, they still couldn't manage a bloody spark between them.

'It's coming out of my bumhole, man!' Gaymie yelled.

'Hey, what've I told you about talking jive, Gaymie!?'

'Sorry dad, but it's coming, as sure as a Hurricane across Louisiana in storm season!'

Just then one of the girls piped up. ' Wot's he on about?' she said, a confused look etched into her sickeningly pale features.

'Oi, bollocks, mate!' I yelled, and smacked her straight in the face. Down she went like the heaviest of all sacks of shit striking the limpid pale. The other girl gasped in horror, and jumped back like I'd just kicked her in the baby hole.

'Man, I need a shit now!' Gaymie cried.

'Don't talk fucking jive!' I screamed at the boy.

Just then, the manageress came strolling out. Looked like she'd just sucked the end of a manky cock.

'What on Earth's going on here?' asked old cock-face.

'My son needs a shite. Do you have a place to let him do it?'

'What?' she said, pretending to have no idea what was going on. Oh, yeah, it's always that way. That's how they're programmed. Don't believe what the eyes see, it's only a deception. Believe what we tell you. Teenage boys wanting to shite aren't really wanting to shite, they're wanting to rob and kill you.

Exterminate! Ex-terminate! Boy wanting shite! Kill! Kill! Kill!

By this point I was getting pretty desperate for a conclusion to this absurd situation.

'He punched Gayle,' the remaining girl said to the manager.

'No I didn't,' I protested.

Her mouth opened as wide as her eyes in surprise. She pointed accusingly at me. 'Yes you did. You punched 'er right in the mouth.'

'She fainted,' I said.

The manager was looking down at the girl. 'But she's got blood all over her face.'

'It was a nosebleed,' I quickly replied. 'She fainted cos of it.'

I felt Gaymie tugging on my arm. 'I've just shit m'self, man.'

'Oh, fucking bollocks!' I screamed. 'What's wrong with you people?! This is a bloody police state! The Nazi's are coming back - they never bloody went away, you mark my words, you jobsworth, you.

'Come on, son.' I grabbed Gaymie, who, by this point was honking louder than the congestion in London streets, midday afternoon. 'We're out of this place. I'll find you a field and give your arse a good wiping with my own two hands. If you want to get something done properly in this World....'




At the weekend, I was out with Gaymie again. He'd just played football and I'd just had a bloody good argument with the referee about taking pictures of other children.

'I like taking pictures of other peoples' kids,' I told him. 'Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.'

'Well, you can't do it here, mate. Piss off!'

Bloody jobsworth.

We pulled into the parking lot of a large Tesco. They're the enemy, of course, but were convenient for me on the day. I decided I needed a little drink after my battles with the state. Being one of the lone martrys for freedom is no easy task, but someone has to gut out all the shite and get the job done.

In I went, bought a case of Super Lager, picked up a 12 pack of Andrex in case Gaymie had another emergency then went to the express checkout.

Oh, but wasn't as simple as that. It never is.

'Can I see some id,' the tall, skinny weed behind the checkout asked.

'Excuse me?' I said, understandably surprised.

'I need some sort of id before I can sell you that alcohol, sir.'

Just then, Gaymie commented, 'Man, that blows.'

'Quit the jive, Gaymie - for fucksake, give it a rest. Who do you think you are? Some big MC Hammer type rap god?'

Gaymie looked a bit puzzled. 'Who's M-?'

'I need id, sir.'

'Persistent little fuck, aren't you?' I said to the lad, pointing at his chest.

'There's a queue forming, sir,' he replied in some kind of robot monotone.

'I know there's a queue forming. I can see that. Heaven forbid establishing freedom should actually take time to establish.'



It's always the way. Take life easy by coasting down the slow lane. It appears to be the fast lane only because it's convenient, but it's really the slow lane. A slow lane for slow-minded people who can't be bothered to take the time to stand up for what's theirs.


"May I have your freedom with that purchase, sir?"

"Will it get me home any quicker?"

"Oh, much quicker." Distracting smile on the face.

"With pleasure!"


'Do you have a form of id, sir? Perhaps your driver's licence?'

'Oi, bollocks, mate!' I yelled, and put the head on him. He went down faster than a 6 pack on Supers on a Saturday night in front of skating on ice. There was blood everywhere. Just looking at it all made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

'Fuckin' A!' Gaymie yelped in excitement.

'Oh, for fucksake!' I screamed, turning on my son. 'Stop talking fucking jive you silly little bastard! Don't you realise all that rap music is mind control? Don't you realise who manufactures it? Why it exists? What the hell's wrong with you? All I want to do is get home, wipe my arse and get pissed! Why the hell is that so difficult?! What the hell is this World coming to - look, there's cameras all over this shop! They're looking at me! Glaring at all of us!'

'You're frightening me dad!' Gaymie squealed.

People were beginning to distance themselves from the spectacle, and I could see someone who looked like the manager, marching across the shop floor. Looked like he had a rake stuffed up his arse.

And then Gaymie shit himself. Out of apparent fear. And it looked like i'd be needing that bumper pack of Andrex after all.

'What on Earth's going on here?' the manager demanded.

'My son's just shit himself in your shop.'

'What?'

'He's just shit himself in your shop and I want to be drunk.'

'Shit himself? ... Drunk?' The manager looked like he'd never fully recovered from being born. I almost pitied him.

'Yes, am I allowed to wipe his arse here, or do I need a form of id?'

What a weekend that was. Thanks for allowing me to share this with you. I needed to get it all of my chest. It's like a form of therapy for me, paid for by you. You should all have a drink on me for this one. Yes, this particular newsletter is free. You can thank me later in the form of donations required to fight my ongoing legal expenses.

Legal expenses? I should laugh it off!

It's a funny old World, this Illusion. Just when you think you've got it licked, up it pops needing its arse wiped.

The Mtsar Guide to Dating, as seen on Oprah and Rense TV

Dating, also known as 'Banging Broads' is a phenomenon that I predict will soon be spreading beyond the Bay Area. In order to get ready for this new age of dating I have provided a user friendly guide for all my loving fanbase, freely here of course on my favourite filth pool, the Mtsar Fringe.

First, you must get your body naked, work up a good sweat....generally not washing for a few days will ensure this look is perfected - and then get a good non gay friend to take some pictures for you. Jordan helped me do the picture below (censored for this forum). These pictures will be broad magnets. no one actually goes out to clubs anymore, that music is satanic and plays tricks with your mind... every song is filled with subliminals making you buy more beer, wear condoms and other such Jesuit propaganda. Its much safer to pick out potential broads on the internet and use your pictures to lure them into your shack. If you're not blessed with the Atlantean charms of a half brown, shiny lengthed, balding beast, then you may have to settle for second rate broads, transvestites or disableds. Still, every man has his needs - so do not be afraid my schizoid fellow men.



Once you establish the date, and get the broad back to your squat, make sure you have a good supply of paddy power and a good set of metal CD's in the player, this shit will get them thinking dirty thoughts and you can get your length out and show that broad what a half brown man is made of.

do not, and I repeat do not stop banging your broad until that bitch bleeds. Modern illuminati's have manipulated the sexual experience to make it unrecognisable from its true meaning - which is to batter the shit out of your broad until she bleeds and begs you to take her into the moonlight and spill your seed all over her face under the winds of shiva. You do not, under any circumstance want to spill your seed inside this maiden, as polluting the gene pool with half brown babies is not good for the Mtsar business. how many more DVD's and useless fictional tat would I have to make then to keep the small ones in rags and such. David Icke knows what i'm talking about, but then he never did take my advice.

Once you have finished, leave the broad naked in the moonlight and return to your shack - howling to the moonlight, naked as the day you were born. This manifests a very powerful type of energy from Pluto. With repeated observance of this ritual you too, can become a real man.

Yours in bloody vaginal glory,
M.

'Pluto', 'Shiva', 'sexual', 'half brown' and 'disableds' are copyright Mtsar incorporated.

Children of Mu..... official transcript

This is a transcript of a speech the man made at the Ufocon in the Bay Area yesterday. This is pasted as reported by my personal assistant, who's commentary notes are in red.

Children of Mu,

The world is depressing today. People steal copyright [*laughter*], maidens are slaughtered at pre-pubescent age [*Rockefeller looks down and smiles*], bombs are dropped on the half brown populations [Hell yeah, sandnigger! cries are heard from the rednecks on row 4*], Jordan Maxwell lies dying due to a cancer caused by his weight and poor diet [*applause*], and more importantly no one has bought my second work of fictional scholarship and appendices, The Irish Origins of Civilization, leaving me brokeback as a skint mountain.

The truth is not out there, its in there, in my book [*the speaker points to a mountain of pristine, unsold copies of said book for sale in the theater and displays a slide on a black laptop showing a picture of a storage depot with several thousand books in boxes, appearing to be in long term storage*].

In desperate times like this there is only one recourse. Suicide scholarship [*a picture of Zechariah Sichin is displayed*]

I have been driven to this, you have been warned. from now on all alternative research will self destruct upon impact. we are not worth of the fiction we bring ourselves anymore. We have chosen to spend our money on DVD boxsets of Heroes [*cheering and applause: people are heard mentioning that they only recognise the first series as a quality purchase*] and Stargate Atlantis, and exercise videos ... whilst the man lies starving, rancid, and faces the imminent death of his mentor, Jordan.

Paddy power has never stood at a lower ebb people.

Tomorrow I return to west belfast, to my gippo caravan. I leave the proud man of the Bay area behind, and return to the taunts of the ghetto. Cries and taunts of 'ill pay you a fiver for yer ma' [*Art Bell looks embarrassed*] or 'tarmac my drive' [*Alex jones is overheard telling his personal goatboy, Paul Joseph Watson, to get a quote for his texas ranch after the speech*] will once again belittle the man. But, knowing that every time an alternative video is played on youtube, google, or a website is opened of the conspiracy genre, my well placed operatives will blow the readers/viewers to shiva will give the man recourse to survive through the pure lust of Blood letting [controversy as the attendees fear for their incomes. Alex jones is overheard shouting Super-MEGA-NOOOvaaaaa*]

War is no fun, but I have blood in my veins, and as long as I do, I will slaughter all the ungreatful scum who have robbed me blind and disrespected me. Time to burn fuckers. With Black Sabbath on the sound system, I walk forth to my new life. See you all in hell.

Copyright is copyright Mtsar.

The real truth of 9/11: Hulk Hogan

Now, ye hear do ye, I'm not saying this is confirmed via fictional means - i'm just suggesting that its possible.
This information and the supplied fictional pictorial evidence comes from a good source that I trust. Make up your own minds people. As ever, a good imagination is all thats needed to define the real truth.

Ask Mtsar

Please feel free my children to ask me whatever you want.

This service is offered free of charge, with the expectation that you will enter into a full course at the Taroscopes mystery school© in good faith.

Ciao, M.

Total Hit Piece!

Listen, I was ambushed in this interview, It was a stitch up. They gave me meth and told me it was vapourised vodka, and im not a man to turn down good spirits.
I woke up in my underwear with a used condom on my ring finger hugging a statue of Jesus outside a local bay area church. I have no idea how I got there.

If i find these cowboys ill wring their fucking necks with my bare hands and put my fist throught their heads. with Shiva as my witness, NO ONE takes the piss out of 'the man'. The fictional scholarship will go on, let the vassals laugh in their ignorance of the truths I make up for a reasonable price

'Jesus' is copyright mtsar