Among the fastest-growing segment of the so-called "white power" presence on the Internet is the so-called "Creativity Movement." These guys used to be called the World Church of the Creator, until they were successfully sued for trademark infringement by a different religious organization that called itself the Church of the Creator. When the judge ordered them to cease using the name "World Church of the Creator," their leader Matt Hale tried to hire a hit man to murder the judge. Now he's in prison for it. What a genius!
What these guys don't tell you is that the proliferation of Web sites dedicated to this nonsense isn't due to their questionable popularity. Nope, it's because anyone can start his or her own "Creativity" Web site and be counted as part of the "movement." That's right, folks: this is actually yet another of those so-called "cyberspace religions" that consists of nothing but a few blowhards who know how to put up Web pages to make it seem like they're actually doing something in their pitiful crusade for "white power" and the domination of the so-called "white race." They've even got their own cute little slogan, RAHOWA! ("RAcial HOly WAr" – how original!), which lets them sound big and tough and mean as they preach their gospel of beating up on the evil, despicable black people and Jews.
- A short story by Reverend Susie the Floozie: "I found a book by the founder of the Church of the Creator at the thrift and bought it, mainly to yank it out of the stream before some local delooniac snagged it--but when I cracked it open to give it a skim, I found it to be the darkest comedy story full of idiots and buffoons and amped-up morons. This guy, Ben Klassen, apparently invented some revolutionary can opener and was wealthy from it (the can opener isn't mentioned in the book, I did some research), so he threw himself into establishing this white Aryan cell. He was a failed writer of bogus health books (with titles like Salubrious Living) with a wife dying of cancer whom he was feeding fucking grapes in a misguided attempt to cure her (!). He set up some church compound in North Carolina and began to make it a real deal. He sat around thinking up fancy Latin names for everyone--he was the Pontifex Maximus, and he was looking for a Hasta Prima, or "first spear," an able assistant who could sort his manic screeding into church dogma…but all he got were skinhead fuckwits, losers, and in one case of a battling couple, with the husband's suddenly dead body turning up in the office Klassen had had built over the garage. It's so hard to find good help when you're a blathering white supremacist yoyo!
- "Then he goes out driving all over the desert southwest in his RV, listing every meal he had at every Stuckey's (mmm! shrimp salad, AGAIN!!!), as his wife slowly dies in the back bedroom of the Winnebago, surrounded with goddamned grapes.
- "It was a fucking laff-riot, and I'd love to see a movie made of this."