The Good Citizen is honored to publish this 3-part guest post by World Technocracy Front (WTF) founder and President Klitz Schlub. I’ve invited him to respond to my criticisms of him and his organization and express his views openly and even personally so the world might have a better idea about Klitz Schlub the man.
His work is dated from February because it took a month to compose and another two months to go through vetting by his army of lawyers. After reviewing his submission I found it best to read it in my head phonetically, exactly as I would imagine the sound of his Z-heavy slurring Germanic accent.
Part 1: From Retard to Bruiser
by, Klitz Schlub
4, February 2022
When the Good Citizen invited me to author a piece about myself I was very apprehensive. Usually, I have a team of researchers and writers preparing written works that have my name attached. They are often highly skilled in their respective fields of behavioral psychology, biotechnology, business entrepreneurship, communication, and my personal favorite, eugenics.
I accepted Mr. Citizen’s invitation on the terms laid out by my team of personal advocate representatives specializing in contract law at Meyer, Schwartz, Rubenstein & Goldfarb of New York Metropolitan City who worked in collaboration with my Avocats personnel of the Genevan firm Lavigne, Toussaint, Deja Vu, Chanel, Garnier, et De Rigueur.
The terms of my request as formulated by my team of representatives to Mr. Citizen was simply that he must publish my words unedited and as he receives them from my representatives. In exchange, I would agree to his request to be one hundred percent open and honest about myself, my background, and my intentions and submit a written work that was composed entirely with my own hand. I intend to make here my best effort to satisfy the terms of our agreement and set my reputation straight for Mr. Citizen’s readers who no doubt hold a very misguided view of me.
Recent events have made it possible for me to see beyond others’ limited view of myself and instead see myself as the world ought to see me: a loving husband and father, and a professional organizer of public and private stakeholders who have a social responsibility to improve life for all human beings on the planet.
I wasn’t always one of the most powerful men on the planet. How I ended up in this esteemed role can be partly explained by an extraordinary childhood.
From a young age, the children mocked and chided me. I was the last to solve a problem in class, and the last to finish a test or project. One teacher at Grundschule, Ms. Müller announced to the class that from that moment on they would move on without me while I concluded an exam or quiz and that I would sit in the back of the room as long as I needed to complete the tasks. She thought she was helping me by making this very public pronouncement of my “special needs” as she called them. One child in the class then blurted out a question for her, “Why don’t you send him back one year since he is so obviously a retard?”
From that day on the other children called me The Great Retard due to my larger stature from an early growth spurt and rather heavy middle section from an insatiable desire to consume plum dumplings. But I never forgot that day or that teacher. Poor Ms. Müller died in a tragic skiing accident in Garmisch Partenkirchen in the 1970s. Along with her husband and three Yorkshire terriers. It was surprisingly easy to short circuit the investigation into their tragic deaths with the local authorities. In fact, all it took was one phone call to my friends on the board of Bayer AG who specialize in these sorts of jobs. I learned from an early age that having many important friends in positions of power could be valuable.
When my father found out about my nickname, he was furious. He was a temperamental man whose father raised him to reject sissy behavior and stomp it out whenever it revealed itself. He told my mother that if he ever saw another plum dumpling or any other sugary treat in our home he would burn the whole house to the ground with all of us inside. I was forced to do a hundred press-ups and sit-ups first thing each morning and my father hired a private tutor to help me catch up with my school work. Slowly I gained back some respect from my peers, but by age nine I was still mostly a loner. The term Great Retard never really bothered me so much. In fact, I credit that entire period of my life for molding me into one of the most powerful men in the world. Without that abuse, I would probably be just another useless person working a regular job for a useless institution with a useless family and no great purpose in life. Still, I was determined to earn the respect of everybody, by any means necessary.
At the tenth birthday party of a popular kid, I showed up unannounced and uninvited with the famous German puppeteer Gerhard Behrendt, known for making the children’s animated puppets for the television show Das Sandmännchen, after the Hans Christian Anderson tale. This was the most popular television show for children in West Germany for many decades. Gerhard was the friend of one of my father’s clients who was a topical television show host in Munich and quite famous for his philanthropy and help at children’s hospitals. One day I went into my father’s filing cabinet and read his entire patient profile, learning of his penchant for young prostitutes and hard recreational drugs. I made facsimile copies of his confessions and mailed them to his private residence with a letter saying if he did not send Gerhard Behrendt with his Sandman puppets to Jurgen’s tenth birthday party as my personal guest more facsimiles of his dirty behavior would go out to all the German newspapers, plus his wife and employer. I told him this could be the start of a fabulous friendship between us if he did as I asked.
This helped tremendously in restoring my reputation with my peers. I was the one who personally knew Gerhard Behrendt and I was the one who brought him to Jurgen’s birthday party. That following week I was one of the most popular kids in school and from then on I was invited to all the children’s birthday parties with each of them requesting that I bring Gerhard Behrendt. Through my connection in Munich and those compromising facsimiles, I was able to arrange his presence at several other birthday parties including my own, which was confusing to my father.
My reputation was on the rise, but my revenge was just beginning and would continue until I commanded the total respect of all my peers. At school, I planted homosexual paraphernalia on the other boys. Inside their rucksacks or just below their school books on their desks. I would arrange those books to collapse at just the moment the teacher passed by and reveal the forbidden pornographic materials, usually two adult hairy men in full coitus. The teachers would be in shock and the uproarious laughter from the students was thoroughly invigorating. Several of my biggest enemies were suspended from classes and when they learned it was me who had set them up I sternly warned them that I had compromising photos of them without clothing they surely would not like to have posted around the school.
It’s amazing how quickly a young man can make friends with the power to embarrass and expose others. I learned many valuable lessons during this time that I would take with me through life. The other children ceased their teasing and nobody ever dare refer to me as The Great Retard ever again. Even the children who didn’t like me had to pretend they thought very highly of me. When everyone thinks highly of you it is like a reputational contagion, and everyone follows eventually.
At home, my situation was anything but normal. My mother was a homemaker, loving, tender, and patient. My father was a well-respected psychiatrist but was also a sexual deviant who preyed upon the help. He justified his predatory behavior using the work of Freud’s unconscious mind and the healthy need to engage with impulses and urges to better understand himself. He would roam the kitchen each morning in a sunflower apron and black wool socks and nothing else. From the record players, he danced and switched between records of Wagner and Beethoven. While the young women scrubbed the floors he’d creep up behind them and try to peek all the way up their black leggings.
As a young boy watching this behavior, you can imagine the titillating effect it had on me. Today at the many Schlub estates across Europe, our help does not last but a few weeks on the job, as I have taken all the worst habits of my father and made them much more pleasurable, incorporating leather, whips, and occasionally when my wife is away at the country markets, I will engage in autoerotic asphyxiation while watching the girls clean. This is why I’m so supportive of the Kalergi Plan to replace Europeans with as many millions of poor, disposable, third-world migrant help as we can possibly import. I’m never short of help, and their outfits are never short enough. Desperate people will wear anything. They also consume less meat and do not drive cars, but more on that later in part three.
As my transformation from boy to man began I found myself with an uncontrollable sexual drive. One of my first sexual experiences occurred at a remote mountain lake. I was on a hike alone to a moderate-sized Alpine peak in Bavaria when I came upon an older teenage girl swimming by herself. There was nobody else around. I approached the edge of the small lake to observe her swimming motions. When she noticed me she smiled. I waved at her and she waved back. I yelled at her that she was too far away from the shore and the water was too cold. She just smiled and ignored me so I quickly removed my lederhosen, boots, and underpants and dove out toward her direction not realizing I did so with an erection. I was a much faster swimmer and caught her near the middle of the lake but she kept away from me. The water was cold and my muscles were tightening. I told her she needed to come back and extended my hand but she wouldn’t take it. I turned and swam back to shore.
When I arrived at the shore I heard terrible screaming. She was panicked and flailing in the water. Though she was only twenty or so meters away, I enjoyed watching her splash her arms realizing she turned down the opportunity to be saved by me. The fear in her eyes upon realizing her mistake unleashed inside me a kind of perverse pleasure. I still had the power to save her, and she knew her life was in my hands.
Slowly she began to sink underwater. Her body was probably cold and hypothermic and could no longer provide the energy needed to swim. As I put my clothes back on she stopped flailing and the mountains soon went quiet. It was my first naked experience with a woman and one I would mentally return to in my youth for tremendous sexual excitement through different fantasies where I physically saved her and she rewarded me at the shore.
As a teenage boy, my father encouraged me to engage in masculine activities with other boys. He demanded that I be tough and resilient. I did not possess the abilities of the athletic boys or the agility required for the popular sports of the time, football and alpine skiing. I knew I needed to be tough to show my father he did not raise a weakling and to show my peers that I was not a great retard. Though I had by then erased the name from the tongues of all peers and helped them rehabilitate their views of me through various manners of persuasion.
At first, I was confused by my father’s desire for me to engage physically with other boys, so I would simply jump on other boys at the lake in the summer, and wrestle them to the sand. I did not make many friends this way, but I found it quite curious that most would not fight back. They simply looked at me confused, so I would repeat the aggression until they fought back or ran away. It’s quite fascinating how very few ever fight back. Those misguided antics did lead to one assault charge by the authorities with one boy whose father was a judge. Part of his ruling in my case was that he insisted I join something more organized, with standard rules and practices, as an outlet for what he called my untamed aggression.
One Friday when my mother had taken me shopping in town we strolled past the local roller derby arena. I heard the American early R&B music from the speakers inside and became instantly enthralled with the people rolling across the floor on wheels, weaving between other people, spinning in circles, and dancing gayly. I rented some skates and was a quick learner. I returned almost every day for a week until I met the coach of the local semi-professional Roller Derby team The Ravensburg Scratchers. I auditioned for the team and was accepted to the secondary “B” team mostly due to my size and stature. I quickly earned the nickname “Bruiser”.
On hearing news of this, the local judge dropped my assault case. My father on the other hand was quite confused. He did not understand the sport and how difficult it was to physically assault others while rolling across a slippery wooden floor on eight wheels. When he found out that teams had both men and women, he called it a sissy sport. By this time I was bigger and stronger than my father, so I told him it was no different than when he assaults the maids while they are cleaning the slippery wooden floors of our home. He struck me hard across the face with an open hand with my mother watching sheepishly from the corner of the kitchen. I simply smiled at my father and told him there were women on my Roller Derby team who hit harder than him. The fury of my insult raged within him for weeks. I could see it on his red face each time I strolled past him.
From that point on I no longer had any desire to please my father and he was devasted by my newfound independence. Though I did have a tremendous motivation inside me to get revenge on him by becoming more respected, more powerful, and more wealthy than he could ever imagine.
I knew in order to accomplish this it would require having the respect and backing of the most powerful people in the world. Having spent my childhood forcefully earning the respect and admiration of everyone I could, I knew I had the secret recipe to expanding this through my university studies and into the professional and business world. I knew that people were easy to control, and secretly had a subconscious desire to be told what to do. I simply needed to take my business model for reputational success through extortion and bribery and scale it up to the global level.
The great titans of every industry would one day respect me, take guidance and advice from me and come to me on an annual pilgrimage to kiss my ring in front of the entire world.
Part 2: Professor Schlub and The Ultimate Aphrodisiac
Part 3: The Future Doesn’t Need You (but I might let you see it)
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I'm not sure who is more demented Schwab or you for writing this great satire. I now understand what motivates Mr. Schwab. Thanks for the insights. I will always think of him as the Great Retard in charge of the Great Reset. Linking today as usual @https://nothingnewunderthesun2016.com/
Of all the people ive seen associate themselves w schwab one of the ones that disgusts me the most is Yuval Harari. G Cit . U r right. Schwab is a lunatic. If hes doing all of this out of vindictive spite thats one thing, but he might actually believe his own nonsense which makes him dangerous. Love ur work!