darkmoon.me — April 5, 2015
We have received hate mail and death threats from a Zionist troll called “Aavi Kastner”, probably a false name. We have reason to believe that his partner in deception is the writer Ellie K, aka “Madame Rothschild”, whose articles we have published on our website in good faith—under the pen name of Ellie Katsnelson. We have been guilty of a serious error of judgement. For this we apologize.
— John Scott Montecristo, Editor
—–
By Lasha Darkmoon
I have finally reached the sad conclusion, after much soul-searching, that the beautiful woman known as “Madame Rothschild”, whose articles we have been publishing on our site, is a fictitious character. She does not exist. She is a figment of the Jewish imagination, a cartoon character created by some unknown entity employed by organized Jewry.
Her anti-Semitism is so strident, so extreme, so over-the-top that it is almost laughable: a parody of anti-Semitism that only a clever Jew would be capable of creating.
In Madame Rothschild’s case, we already know she is Jewish. She admits it. She claims to be the illegitimate daughter of Jacob Rothschild and a German multimillionaire heiress called Diana Kleist. Her beloved mother Diana, she tells us in her biography (scroll down to bottom of page here), died in a skiing accident in the Alps in 1989 when Ellie was 19. Only her mother didn’t die in the so-called accident, Ellie claims, but was actually bumped off by Rothschild assassins. Heartbroken by her mother’s murder, Ellie decided to devote the rest of her life to avenging her mother’s death and hating the Jews.
An excellent storyline for a bestselling novel or blockbuster movie. Curiously enough, there is no newspaper account of any such skiing accident in the Alps in 1989. If it ever happened, it’s a crime that has been covered up perfectly.
Madame Rothschild is apparently worth $5 billion (see here) and resides primarily in Paris, though whenever I hear from her she is gadding about in some far-flung corner of the globe—Borneo, Sydney, the South Seas—engaged in various business deals, consulting with international lawyers, dispensing lavish sums of money to worthy recipients, and snorting cocaine.
She has four passports in false names, each name so ludicrous that only a comic novelist like PG Wodehouse could have invented it. Always on the run or in hiding, a fugitive from Rothschild assassins herself, our Ellie Kleist—for that is apparently her real name—travels to America as Beatrice H. Klopp, to Canada as Eleanor Schleswigg Beyersdorf, to Australia, the Far East, and Africa as Ellie D. Fenstermacher, and to South America as Ellie Heppenheimer Schmidt. (For further details, scroll down here).
In her earlier articles, Madame’s anti-Semitism was relatively muted and restrained. Publishing her work was therefore possible. She seemed a plausible enough character. The lady’s mother is killed by Jews, so she becomes a Jew hater. You follow her logic? Because someone she loves is assassinated by Jewish thugs employed by the Rothschild family, it follows that all Jews without exception are evil and deserve annihilation.
In her later articles, the lady’s anti-Semitism became so wild and hysterical that it was painful to read her dreadful diatribes. We had no alternative but to reject three of her articles in succession. This drove her to distraction. This is because she considers herself a literary genius superior to Voltaire and Proust. She railed at us for this rejection of her articles, telling us we were inferior hacks unworthy to judge her sublime works of genius.
Later on she turned even nastier, accusing my editor of angling for a large donation from her in advance of publication. Upon receiving a substantial sum of money from her as pre-payment, we would then be prepared to publish her articles without further question and dance attendance on her like lackeys. I confess I was absolutely revolted by this suggestion. At no time had we requested a single penny from her. In fact, I had turned down all offers of money from her repeatedly. I even sent her an email with the subject heading in capital letters: I DON’T WANT YOUR MONEY!
Our disillusionment with Ellie K, aka Madam Rothschild, stemmed from our perception that her anti-Semitism was a put-on act. My editor cousin Monty said to me: “The woman’s anti-Semitism is bogus. It is a fake, ersatz, simulated anti-Semitism designed to give anti-Semitism a bad name.”
I couldn’t help laughing at that.
We know from experience that numerous anti-Semitic incidents are perpetrated by Jews. So often it is Jews who are caught scrawling swastikas on walls and gravestones (see cartoon) and vandalizing Jewish cemeteries. No one does anti-Semitism better than the Jews. The object of the exercise is to create sympathy for Jews, forever perceived as persecuted and oppressed, by showing what subhuman scum all anti-Semites are.
Oh, these despicable “Nazis”! See how they deny the Holocaust and say bad things about dear old Israel! Come, let’s criminalize Holocaust denial in all countries! And anyone who dares to criticize Israel or offend a Jew in any way, let him be punished severely.
This is what the Jews want: to turn the clock back to the 1920s, as in Stalin’s Soviet Union after the Bolshevik Revolution. Anyone caught reading the Protocols of the Elders of Zion was put to death in those days. People who complained about the Jews, or even asked if a particular government official was a Jew, were marched off to a cheka dungeon and tortured by a Jewish commissar. This is a fact. An indisputable fact.
Let me begin now by offering the reader a series of emails to me full of hate speech and death threats. It will soon be seen that Ellie K, aka Madame Rothschild, is not the fabulously wealthy multi-billionaire she claims to be. She is a self-invented fictitious character. She is about as real as Vampirella or Lady Dracula, the Transylvanian femme fatale.
“[I give you warning] we are going to attack your site soon, something which the IDF ALWAYS DOES before attacking the Palestinian Terrorists [i.e., give prior warning before an attack] …. Soon the Sons of Judah will descend on you and you will see then how you will spew Jew hating crap. Nazi! WHOEVER MIXES WITH NAZIS IS A NAZI! AND TO ALL THE NAZIS — DEATH !!! — Aavi Kastner, in an email to me (see below).
FROM: Aavi Kastner <kastner@mail.com>
SUBJECT: Article
SENT: Thu 1/22/2015 11:37 AM
TO: darkmoon@darkmoon.me
Well, Lasha Darkmoon, whilst you have been infamous since the day you started your anti-Semitic website, you should know that it’s only when you began publishing the writings of your lesbian mistress E. K. [‘Ellie Katsnelson’] that you have really sunk at bottom low.
You, we merely laugh at and consider a clown; it’s that despicable bitch we hate!
Wonderful thing, money, eh? Do you charge her per words or per article? We know who and where E. K. is, but even we can’t describe how she makes us feel and what we intend to do to her.
E.K. is dirt. A fucking rich wreck. a worthless piece of scum who says and does nothing but demonizes the Jews. That you are in league with her, just shows to prove how deep up her ass you are in.
I refuse to post on your site, as I find both of you disgusting.
___________________________________________
FROM: Aavi Kastner <kastner@mail.com>
SUBJECT: Comment
SENT: Thu 3/26/2015 5:37 AM
TO: darkmoon@darkmoon.me
I am warning you that the Jews around the world will soon be targeting all the Jew-hating websites, and yours will DEFINITELY be one of the first to be hit.
You accuse the Jews as NOT BEING THE SAME AS US, by which you imply that we are animals, since to the said article you attached the image of a Neanderthal man, which is more than suggestive that Jews are yet to evolve. (The “said article” he refers to was written by someone else, not by me. LD)
Yes, you criminal English slut, we who have given you your SOUL Did you forget that before Jews came to the world scene man had no soul? And which race has most Nobel Prizes under their belt? Is it your race or mine? Your miserable nothing!
As for you making it known to your fellow Jew-hating followers what I have said in the emails, quite frankly I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK, as the way I see it it’s not me who should be fearing exposure and sabotage but YOU.
WHOEVER MIXES WITH NAZIS IS A NAZI! AND TO ALL THE NAZIS: DEATH!!!
____________________________________
FROM: Aavi Kastner <kastner@mail.com>
SUBJECT: Poetry
Fri 4/3/2015 2:06 PM
TO: darkmoon@darkmoon.me
Lasha Darkmoon filling up the comments space under the names of Seymour Zak and Sardonicus. Even when you make a typo I can pick out your Jew hating voice, you Hitlerite piece of shit. Soon the Sons of Judah will descend on you, and you will see then how you will spew Jew hating crap. Nazi!
_________________________________________
FROM: Darkmoon <darkmoon@darkmoon.me>
SUBJECT: Aavi and Ellie have been outed!
SENT: Fri 4/3/2015 6:00 PM
To: ‘Aavi Kastner’
Give my regards to Ellie K, your troll partner and accomplice in crime! — and tell her we don’t publish pornography! LD
A note of explanation is needed here.
Ellie K had just sent our website a new unsolicited article for publication that consisted in large part of a long description of bestiality combined with lesbianism, probably copy-pasted from an unpublished pornographic novel of hers. This description consisted of Ellie K being asked to spread her legs wide by her lesbian mistress, Madame d’Anguille, in the snug basement room of a French chateau and there experiencing the Ultimate Orgasm when a long, glistening black serpent insinuates itself into her vagina.
”Spread your legs, Ellie,” she said, helping me make myself comfortable again on that fateful old velvet Bergères, ”and let go of all your fears, my love. Here,” she said, ”place them onto the armrests, and close your eyes, my darling, for I assure you that, il n’y a qu’un bonheur dans la vie, c’est d’aimer et d’être aimé.” [There is only one happiness in life: it’s to love and be loved.]
The object of love, in this case, is the amorous serpent winding its way into the inner recesses of our Ellie’s womb.
As our website does not wish to be associated with a female pornographer who has taunted us in several emails that we would be only to pleased to publish her sub-standard, unpublishable articles in exchange for generous donations from her in advance — donations which we have never requested from her at any time nor received—let me provide the reader with a sample of her latest pornographic offering.
This article, we are told, is a work of consummate genius; and if we don’t accept it, she says it’s only because we are waiting for a generous donation from her in advance. Once we get a donation, no problem! The article will then be published in the shake of a lamb’s tail and we will be fawning all over her lapdogs.
Lip-curling insolence, it seems, is this detestable lady’s stock-in-trade.
Here is Ellie K then, aka Madame Rothschild, with her legs splayed wide in the basement of a French chateau. She has just taken a rare drug available only to the elite ones of the world, a drug known as monatomic gold. A fire crackles in the hearth. Velvet curtains keep out the garish daylight. Her lesbian mistress, Madame d’Anguille, stands by Ellie’s side as the serpent slithers toward the yawning portal of Ellie’s welcoming womb.
Madame d’Anguille and Ellie have just enjoyed the languors of lesbian love and are sated by each other caresses and tongue titillations, but hey, that was only the aperitif! The main dish du jour is the black, slimy, erotogenic Serpent with the hooded eyes and long sinuous body.
Reader, take a deep breath! You are about to read the longest sentence in your life: 874 words! I’m willing to bet this qualifies for the Guinness Book of Records as the longest sentence ever written in a pornographic novel.
. . . “I could hear the reptile’s scales slowly, ever so slowly, grate the cold, ancient floor, and move towards me, inch by deadly inch, displaying, in the process, that viciousness, that coldness, that selfishness with which the deadly serpents are known for; and, reaching my snow-white Germanic feet, whiter, if I may add, than those of Madame d’Anguille’s, it rested there first, it thought, and it smelt, and it felt, and when no more thinking and smelling and feeling was done than was required, it penetrated me, deep, deep inside, head first, and then body, followed by its seemingly interminably long tail, forcing itself into those carnal excursions which no man on earth had ever been allowed to force himself in, and embroiled itself within my hot blood, my soft loins, my long convulsing body, utterly unconcerned how I would react, what I would feel, or if I would even survive the deadly encounter…and remained deeply entrenched in my body, the whole of its long serpentine length now invisible to the soft and superintending eyes of Madame d’Anguille, who ever so lovingly kept stroking my forehead, kept holding my hands, asking, enquiring, feeling how I felt, if it was good, if I was hurting, if I felt pleasure, soft and feeling requests to which I was too numb to reply, too mesmerised to respond, for the serpent, the black, glistening serpent, had intoxicated me, it had cut and bruised and poisoned me with its deep penetrating power, without respect, without love, without feeling, and without fear, and now without the slightest cession such as would be expected of even the deadliest predator in the harshest of jungles to show towards its victim, the serpent continued on its upward journey, up, and up, and up, violating all the laws of physiology, of nature, of decency, and coiled itself round the beating sinews of my lonely heart, like a thief, listening, hearing, remembering, stealing all the memories, all the thoughts, and all the events of my life, my contempts, my hates, my loves and my sadnesses, as inseparable to my heart as my thoughts are to my mind, and sucked my heart very nearly dry, that beautiful, black, glistening serpent, whose chief and only aim as I soon learned was to both take away and give power, immense, immense power, power so great and unique, that even the highest degree of intelligence and eloquence could not possibly satisfactorily describe, for what I now had inside me was not merely a penetrating object, pleasuring one now with this movement, now with that, but a god, a dark cosmic god, secured from all damnations, from all the curses, and from all the cutting imprecations which man may hurl at a god, a creature who exchanged my chains for freedom and freedom for chains, and who, oh, so coldly and callously, imprisoned me in my own body, drowned my loins in my own blood, and who made it known, in a manner most remarkably and singularly otherworldly, that as a condition of the wisdom which it would impart me, it must cut me, it must bleed me, it must poison me, for knowledge, deep knowledge, the serpent hissed to me, cannot come without a pain, without a boiling pain, and that even if I hadn’t desired to accept it, it would now perforce instil it within me, for its cutting scales were now too deep within my flesh to be easily dislodged, and its tearing fangs had done their work, had seeded themselves in my stream, and that from now on I would have no more human blood within me than I would have the blood of a serpent, of that serpent, which, seeing that now the theft had been effected, and the deep wisdom and deeper still pleasure had been imparted, suddenly began its downward journey, leaving, as a final instruction to my bleeding heart that, were he to survive, I summon it again, that I call it afresh some other night, just he and I, though never without the presence of that cosmic powder and the planet Earth’s perfect alignment, and slithered itself slowly, each cold move cutting afresh the same path and through the same Germanic loins it had earlier cut and traversed, without the fear of drowning, or the shame of being discovered, and exited it now moist self through the same opening it had earlier entered, happy, invigorated, rich, and full of the Aryan blood on which alone it knows it can feed, and meandered itself atop the same, centuries-old black iron stove as before, positioning itself in such a manner and in such a pose as to make it impossible for me not to meet the eyes of it who had so terrified me, who had so injured me, who had so, so pleased me, like the soft luscious lips of Madame d’Anguille had once terrified me and yet pleased me, at the end of which, and performing its final, remarkable deed, it began its last, short journey towards us, and, placing itself onto the extended hands of Madame d’Anguille, it looked up, rested awhile, and finally, in the manner most unforgettable, it closed its now fatigued black eyes and died.”
Whew! I had to brew a cup of green tea after reading that! The article was then forwarded to my editor cousin Monty, with this covering note: “She will now accuse us of not publishing this crap because we are allegedly expecting a fat donation from her first! A cash payment in exchange for the publication of snake porn!”
______________________________________
FROM: Aavi Kastner <kastner@mail.com>
SUBJECT: Oh, my!
SENT: Sat 4/4/2015 2:25 AM
TO: darkmoon@darkmoon.me


