Aryan Queen Jews, Holocaust can you smell the smoke?

I came across a lovely song the other night about Jews and the Holocaust getting cremated. I’m sure you can just imagine how delighted this Aryan Goddess was to find a song about lowly Jews making that last long walk to the crematorium knowing that it was going to be your last day amongst the living. That is if you can call almost starved to death walking corpses still being considered living. Truth be told from the moment nasty Jews were rounded up for that long train ride to the death camps, more then half of you were already considered dead. You were beaten, made to work, starved, and when the thread bear hand me down cloths wore out, you were humiliated even more having to stand in the freezing cold with nothing to cover your lice covered skeleton bodies. So I can well imagine a good many of you were ready by that time to take that last ride on the conveyor belt and have the flames lick your flesh and release you from your long nightmare.

So as I am sure all of you know by now this White Mistress often finds amusement thinking about what happened to all of your ugly race. And since all of you sad slaves know how much I enjoy passing my time laughing at you just picture what a good time I had when I came across the words to that beautiful song about your race going up in smoke. LMAO!

Below are buttons you can purchase to listen to your Queen laugh and make light of your sad races pain.

Under the buttons you will also see the words to that beautiful song that brought me so much amusement.

https://www.niteflirt.com/messages/click_payment_button?id=216489293

http://clips4sale.com/34237/12652146

I’m here in Buchenwald.
My number’s on my skin.
Old Ilsa Koch is here.
The prisoners walk the grounds.
The hounds have killed a girl.
The guards have shot a man.
Some more have starved to death.
Here comes the prisoner’s car.
They dump them in the pen.
They load them down the schute.
The trooper cracks their skulls.
He steals their teeth of gold.
He shoves them on the belt.
He swings that furnace door.
He slides their corpses in.
I see the chimney smoke.
I see their ashes hauled.
I see their bones in piles.
Lamp shades are made from skins.
I’m choking on the smoke.
The stink is killing me.
Old Ilsy Koch was jailed.
Old Ilsy Koch went free.
I’ve got to hush my song.
Here comes the super man.
I’ll see you later on.
I’ve got to duck and run.
Words by Woody Guthrie

9 Responses to Aryan Queen Jews, Holocaust can you smell the smoke?

  • myra tv slut slave says:

    you are so correct. I visualise you dressed in leather whipping jews toward the oven. or maybe in a while lab coat, pure and sexy, experimenting on the j.

    I think you are a great lady ;and as a jew I think to be destroyed by you would be all that I could hope. you are perfect in your image and your Aryan perception

    • mistress says:

      The fact that I’m always correct isn’t a news flash. And when it comes to cooking up some nasty jews I like to sit by the oven with a glass of wine sipping it slowly while another sad jew is baking.

      LMWAO! I suppose time will tell if your sad worthless ass will be up to serving the one true Aryan Queen.

  • myra tv slut slave says:

    Just listened to your ‘jew gas’ from clips for sale – I adore your voice so knowing and superior. I feel you so correct. I would love to be your jew dog. or maybe a waste paper basket. that’s what the Nazis did with jew skin. I would love to serve you.

    your dog
    woof

    • mistress says:

      Everyone loves my beautiful Southern voice, so no big news flash. LMWAO! I doubt you would be up to the task of being my lowly jew dog. I doubt you even know how to wag your tail or bark on command. As for jew shin, I prefer lamp shades made of ugly ass jew skin. It produces such a lovely glow.

  • myra tv slut says:

    supreme Aryan goddess,
    I would love to be your dog. to be trussed, for you to grip my balls and slice them off, stuff them in my mouth as I scream. kick me up the backside toward the noose, slip it over my head, then kick me as I squirm, gurgle and choke.

    you light a cig, laugh and walk away chatting to your fellow Aryans.

    myra dirt box

    • mistress says:

      You have that wrong sad jew. I wouldn’t slice your balls off, no that would be less painful for your loser ass. No, I would rip your useless balls off and hang them on your dog cage door for you to look at each and everyday remembering how good it felt to have balls.

  • mYRA FLECKENSTEIN says:

    Thank you glorious Aryan mistress
    I would love to be your dog and bark a nice tune for you. thank you for replying I feel it is a privilege I do not deserve that an Aryan goddess will touch the keyboard that has produced such a perfect reply. what kind of dog would I be? maybe a bitch so you could have some fun while a big dribbling mastiff mounts me as I squirm. if you had the chance and the world was different would you lynch me. I have a fantasy of being tarred, feathered and lynched by beautiful Aryans like yourself.

    in grovelling servitude

    • mistress says:

      You should feel honored that I would take the time to reply to such a lowly creature as yourself. As for what kind of dog you would be, I think a Poodle would be the perfect dog for you since they’re always in heat. I would laugh while you moaned in pain as that big Mastiff mounts you and fucks you hard and fast.
      Poor stupid Jew, you have no idea how painful a good old Southern tar and feather can be. The tar is red hot. It would be painted onto your tender flesh, burning and blistering your skin, while you scream like the bitch you are. The tar will be cooked into your skin, then the feathers will be thrown on top of the tar. You will die a slow painful death. To me it sounds like a fun night, but for you a nightmare. Be careful what you wish for…

  • mYRA FLECKENSTEIN says:

    thank you Aryan queen for such a fantastic reply. to know you have condescended to reply to a bucket of shit. I t caused me to come in my pants. it would be perverse yet a real fantasy to be sacrificed to my Aryan queen and masters. running about screaming covered in feathers as you cattle prod me. maybe hung by my ankles and dipped in a bucket of tar, or pig shit. I submit to your Aryan beauty and my Aryan masters.

    I could dye myself black and be your maid, maybe branded, what a fantastic way to be, a poodle, yes the perfect little toy dog, fucked silly by a mastiff and then tarred and feathered.

    my fantasy are taking off – maybe tied in a plastic bag with a boa constrictor…

    in completed and utter servitude and adoration




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