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6/3/2011:
Disgust in my throat. I return from Orient to find Green Ant daring to speak against BDK. The bottom fighter in the
bottom clan of CHIKARA has no right to words against Tursas or Jakob. He pretends to our throne as King of Trios when
Claudio, Ares, and Tursas already won battle against Ants long ago. He boasts for small victory in a great war. One
small blow does not kill great warrior, child Ant. There would be not even small victory without black magic of your
steel arm.
You are prime face of USA. No honor, no battle scars, no standing. But you think otherly and speak as though seated
at head of Valhalla's table. Like America, your great weapon is ignorance. USA is vile, awful land. USA may be Helheim.
Stench rises high, villages crumble unattended, while goblin things roam streets and surround rings of CHIKARA fights as
spectators. I yearn for clean coasts of Finland, or Deutschland, or even Nippon. But die Bruderschaft must complete work
here first. USA stands on ant-mound and thinks it a mountain. Humor exists in this. Soon though, humor goes away. You
will be taught a lesson in warrior code, apprentice Ant. Painful lesson. Open jaws are quickly snapped. Raised hands are
easily severed. And black magic steel bones will be ripped from skin and melted down. Then made into spike where your Ant
head will reside as trophy of conquest outside my homestead in Finland.
Im namen der Bruderschaft,
TURSAS
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