Steve Baldo Auto Group Blacklisted

The Journal basking in Years of greatness as a preeminent news publication has blacklisted Steve Baldo auto group, including Steve Baldo Chevrolet. Any idiot choosing to buy a car from such an unprofessional company deserves the crappy service they will receive. The Journal highly recommends choosing another dealer local to the Buffalo NY area and discourages all readers to avoid Steve Baldo at all costs. If they can't tie up loose ends in simple matters, you might drive away without an oil plug. Don't take the risk. Shop at a Journal Approved dealer such as Towne.

Ferro's Famous Pizza of West Seneca Covers Up Potential Health Violations and Food Poisoning

The Journal with its 191 year track record is displeased to report this. Ferro's Famous Pizza of West Seneca NY is sweeping the issue of food poisoning under the rug. Pizza should be kept out no more than two hours. This is fact. They delete the comments for their Facebook regarding bad reviews. This is fact. Nice to know the owners care. Like other Journal articles this will linger on the internet for years. . Visit ANY competing establishment instead. These people are dishonest liars, why do you think they get all 5 star reviews? Food poisoning. Pizza left out well over two hours. If you like hanging over a toilet or sitting on it eat there. Be my guest, get fucking food poisoning. Don't come crawling to me telling me they covered it up cause I told you so. If you die from eating here, which you could, don't complain. You were warned.

Sincerely, Charles J. Willington Editor In Chief

The 2013 Journal Year End Awards!

Man of the Year: John Agar (25th straight year)
Publication of the Year: National Journal of Truth (190th straight year)
Editor of the Year: Charles J. Willington (18th straight year)
Sportswriter of the Year: George Schmidt (7th straight year)
Best Speech Giver: Lyndon LaRouche (3rd straight year)
Worst Sports Team of the Year: Buffalo Sabres (3rd straight year; 1st as the lone winner)
Worst World Leader: Balack Obama bin Laden/The Queen (3rd straight year, 1st for Queen)
Television Set of the Year: KTV
Wine of the Year: Thunderbird (2nd straight year)
Cologne of the Year: Royal Copenhagen
Coach of the Year: Ron Rolston of the Buffalo Sabres (hired and fired within 2013)
Job of the Year: Unemployed (4th straight year)
Worst City of the Year: Syracuse, NY
Best Ethnic/Racial Group at Smoking of the Year: Asians (4th straight year)
Commodity of the Year: Rare artwork (unseating 3-time champion Gold)
Song of the Year: "Hail to the King" by Avenged Sevenfold (2012 winner: "Headlong Flight" by Rush")
Worst TV Show of the Year: Storage Wars (2012 winner: Basketball Wives)
Sexiest Woman of the Year: Malena Morgan (previously won in 2011)
Non-Wine Liquor of the Year: Jeppson's Mallort (3rd straight year)
Sports Team of the Year: Houston Texans (2012 winner: Kansas City Chiefs)
Thrift Store Find of the Year: The Stinger (2012 winner: Mattel Aquarius)
Meal of the Year: Anything at Iola's Diner in Syracuse, NY (2012 winner: Eagle's Nest in Brockport, NY)
Restaurant of the Year: Moon's Pizza (2nd straight year)
Best Beard of the Year: John Hoefle (2nd straight year)
Store of the Year: Sears (2012 winner: Overstock Outlet)
Funniest Thing Fed to Tim This Year: Silkworms
Philosopher of the Year: Lyndon LaRouche (2012 winner: Moon)
Car of the Year: Super Deer (2012 winner: Suzuki Kizashi)
Laserdisc of the Year: Hulkamania (2012 winner: Shy People)
Road Trip of the Year: Rochester
Sport of the year: Kneeball
Video game system of the year: 3DO
Random bizarre comment of the year: "they're killing people around you all over the place" - Michael Steger
Vacuum Cleaner of the Year: Fantom Fury
Quarterback of the Year: Fence Noll
Worst Cable Company of the Year: Slime Warner (since inception a new record)
Stock of the Year: Western Graphite
Best user of Charts and Graphs of the Year: Cody Jones
Videogame of the Year: Legend of Zelda The Wand of Gamelon
Best TV show of the Year: Container Wars

Wal-Mart Customers are Fucking Retards

The headline of this article says it all. If you shop at Wal-Mart you are a Fucking Retard. No apologies. You are a RETARD. Everything, EVERYTHING at Wal-Mart can be had cheaper by any common peasant who has more than 10 seconds to take the time to figure it out. If you're a fucking idiot than by all means be my guest and continue to shop there. The Journal laughs at such retards. If you want to take your hard earned money and shove it down some chink's ass then by all means shop at Wal-Mart. If any Journal staffer becomes a higher up in Washington you can bet your damn ass that you will be DEPORTED if you were found to be a Wal-Mart customer. So, since most likely if you're reading this you're a Wal-Mart customer fuck you you fucking scum ass fucking scum. I hope you rot in hell.

Sincerely, Charles J. Willington Editor in Chief

Editorial from the Desk our Esteemed Editor Charles J. Willington

Guns, what do they mean to you. In olden times someone decided to take a long metal tube put some explosive down the tube then put a ball inside. With that was born the gun. British and Mexicans don't like guns. When the United States was born, the founding fathers, some like Ben Franklin who fatherly founded Lightning, decided that we should be unlike the British who hated guns, and everyone should have a gun. So they wrote this on the piece of paper that became known as the Constitution. The Constitution became law of the land. It stayed that was for many years. Many a president died without changing it, a few trying to and often failed miserably. What good can be had out of changing stuff written on a piece of paper hundreds of years ago? Very little.

Occasionally some bright politicians decide they think they can override these laws. Such is the case of Andrew Cuomo, a treasonous bastard following in the footsteps of such illustrious dictators as Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin and Chairman Mao. Men like him have been thrown out of office before and in light of his recent gun laws the same should happen to him. No harm can be caused by a metal projectile coming out of a metal pipe unless some equally evil character as he is pulling the trigger. Of course he must submit to the will of our equally evil Kenyan president, that being Balack Obama Bin Laden himself.

Obama wants to take the guns away. He wants to do this because he isn't a sporting fellow. The only sporting he does is sit at his desk and sign useless pieces of legislation into law. These useless pieces of legislation do things like raise taxes, and print more money which leads to inflation. At the culmination of his term in office it would not be all that surprising to see a loaf or bread cost $20, or $52596 for the unlucky Canadian folk who decide to venture into our once prosperous capitalistic society that is quickly becoming a socialist dictatorship from their 34th World country.

The only way to change this is through action. The Journal has always highly supported mass public demonstration. This is the perfect time to do it. First everyone should write their congressmen. Use paper letters mailed postage due with one cent stamps. This will help dig the post office out of its hole and make the fat hoglike politicians squirm as they have to pay all this postage from their already incredibly high salaries. The Journal recommends even if you hate guns to do this. You might hate guns, but guess what after they take the guns they'll be taking your children, taking them to the military and sweat shops to make war munitions. Don't believe it? Look at Nazi Germany. We're only half a stone's throw from the same point.

The second immediate action should be a recall election of both Cuomo and Obama. Cuomo is evil. You can see the evil in his eyes. He's like the little pawn of the larger dicator. He's like the Josef Goebbels of the United States. He should be removed in a recall election and tried for High Treason, of which his is clearly guilty. He can spend the rest of the days talking about his treasonous activies in a Supermax prison with other traitors to the nation such as the Unabomber, as he has a lot more in common with the Unabomber than he does with the American people.

Crime doesn't pay, or so the message they keep telling us even when they're the worst criminals out there. One crazed person might shoot a couple of people. These crazed politicos have shot your rights, your paycheck, and your livelihood. They're killing YOU without a gun. 300 million of you. That is crime that should be punished.

The third action is mass public demonstration. Gather on street corners, roofs of buildings, bars, schools, churches. Take to the streets before you lose that freedom too. Pretty soon they'll be dropping like flies and it'll be 10 years mandatory in the military for your fealess dictators.

Charles J. Willington
Editor In Chief

Journal of Truth Year End Awards!

Man of the Year: John Agar
Publication of the Year: National Journal of Truth
Editor of the Year: Charles J. Willington
Sportswriter of the Year: George Schmidt
Best Speech Giver: Lyndon LaRouche (2 years in a row)
Worst Sports Team of the Year: Buffalo Bills/Buffalo Sabres/UB Bulls (2 years in a row)
Worst World Leader: Balack Obama bin Laden (2 years in a row)
Television Set of the Year: tie between A-Mark and Kawacho (2011 winner: Mona, but it disappeared)
Wine of the Year: Thunderbird (2011 winner: Night Train Express)
Cologne of the Year: King (2011 winner: Joop)
Coach of the Year: Mike Mularkey of the 2-13 Jacksonville Jaguars. Welcome back to the NFL! (2011 winner: that guy from the Columbus Blue Jackets)
Job of the Year: Unemployed (3 years in a row)
Worst City of the Year: Buffalo, New York (38 years in a row)
Best Racial/Ethnic Group at Smoking of the Year: Asians (3 years in a row)
Commodity of the Year: Gold (3 years in a row)
Song of the Year: "Headlong Flight" by Rush (2011 winner: "Undertow" by Mr. Big)
Worst TV Show of the Year: Basketball Wives (2011 winner: Moonshiners)
Sexiest Woman of the Year: AOP (2011 winner: Malena Morgan)
Non-Wine Liquor of the Year: Jeppson's Mallort (2 years in a row)
Sports Team of the Year: Kansas City Chiefs (2011 winner: Indianapolis Colts)
Thrift Store Find of the Year: Mattel Aquarius at Savers (2011 winner: random expensive paintings at Savers)
Meal of the Year: Eagle's Nest at the Golden Eagle Family Restaurant in Brockport, NY (2011 winner: The Slinger at the Union Family Restaurant)
Best Beard of the Year: John Hoefle of the EIR
Store of the Year: Overstock Outlet (2011 winner: Play N Trade Games)
Restaurant of the Year: Moon's Pizza
Philosopher of the Year: Moon
car of the Year: Suzuki Kizashi
Laserdisc of the Year: Shy People
Headphones of the Year: Koss' Tony Bennett Signature Edition


(Originally printed on October 24, 1974)

by Nicholas Freeman

In this time when our nation is in such dire need for some sort of leadership from our government that is not in the form of an outer space alien, the National Journal of Truth has commissioned me to search for who was the greatest President in the history of the United States. In the months following the unfortunate situation when President Richard Nixon resigned after murdering three of his playing partners on a golf course, the country has been thrust into the hands of Gerald Ford, a man who many believe is actually mentally retarded.

I thrust myself quite deeply into this subject, studying many documents, memoirs, and historical works on each of our Presidents. I was to rank them one by one, based on a series of criteria given to me by our editor. Upon carefully studying all the sources and calculating all the criteria, I have come to the conclusion that beyond a shadow of a doubt, the finest President in United States history is our 14th President: Franklin Pierce.

Pierce was President from 1853-1857 after winning the star-studded election of 1852. Here, Pierce easily routed the Whig Party candidate, Mexican War General Winfield Scott. The fact that Pierce destroyed a war hero like the Pittsburgh Steelers' Steel Curtain defense destroys some hapless team shows what a strong character Pierce was. Pierce triumphantly claimed the Presidency, but was saddened by the death of his son shortly before inauguration. Pierce however showed that he was the strongest willed character in the history of time though, as he still became President, and with a newfound zeal that would be unmatched by even the most charismatic hippie of the late 60's.

Pierce, however, was subject to the typical mindless nonsense that plagues our political system, as many jealous members of Congress did not appreciate Pierce's honest approach. It was an approach that would be beneficial to the people of the United States, an approach that was scary and dangerous to the mindless politicos dominating the times. Pierce sometimes felt overwhelmed by the changing times, and confided his thoughts into a warm bottle of Wild Turkey on Friday nights. Pierce once stated that the 'Turkey was the only thing he could trust in a world where his colleagues were constantly looking for a chance to stab him to death and take his job.

Under Pierce's watch, the ultra-important Gadsden Purchase took place. It is easily the 2nd most important purchase made in United States history, and it was one last "In Your Face" to the Mexicans, whose faces we had so triumphantly rubbed in the manure in a war less than ten years earlier. Pierce participated in that war, and was one of the most decorated leaders of the military in it. He made Zachary Taylor, the main general of the Mexican War look like nothing more than a pantywaist mama's boy.

Pierce's great Presidency ended up obscured as historians who were tools of the Hidden Agenda refused to write biographical works of him. Pierce's four-year reign ended up as mysterious as to the whereabouts of the gun that Nixon used to murder his golfing buddies. Schools do not teach the history of Franklin Pierce, and entire generations of children are left with absolutely no clue about him. It was quite a clever plot, but as usual, the Journal has uncovered the truth in the web of lies and innuendo. Franklin Pierce was truly our greatest President.


Just issuing an apology to Journal readers for our lack of uploads of recent articles to the Journal website. This is part of our coming transition to our dedicated website where we will eventually upload many past issues of the Journal. I apologize that our archive dating back to 1823 is incomplete but Fred Langley is scouring the world trying to track down old print issues to complete the archive during his free time beteween articles. On behalf of the Journal staff I wish him luck. Our archives are fairly complete as far back as the stock market crash of 1929, but anyone with old issues still in hand, perhaps in your grandfather's desk, please contact us here at Journal Headquarters.

Charles J. Willington
Editor In Chief

Texting and Driving Improves Response Time by 12338%

In response to the recent questions regarding the safety of texting and driving, the Journal commissioned its team of scientists to evaluate the risks of texting while driving. In contrast to previous studies, the Journal's world renowned scientific team proved beyond 12 shadows of a doubt that texting and driving was actually beneficial to the driver, improving their reflexes and response time by a measurable 12338%. Thus we here at the Journal have to denounce previous findings and encourage the use of cell phones to text while driving.

Charles J. Willington


By George Schmidt

Every summer, countless minions flock race tracks such as the infamous one in Saratoga. They act like complete morons and lose money betting on horses, thinking that their measly lives mean something. The horses that are required to run about the track like hamsters in an existentialist wheel are shot up by their owners with doses of every kind of experimental drug, from Crystal Meth to Oatmeal Stout IPA beer to try to get them to run faster. It recently was brought to my attention that the occasional winning wager, sometimes with pay offs in the thousands of dollars, does not fit mathematically with the meager earnings of most of the peasants who flock there. The sum total of what they pay at the track does not account for the total of what is paid out in winnings. It is no surprise, considering that this sty is run by the New York State Racing Association, one of the most corrupt organizations not seen since the League of Nations. Where then does the rest of the money come from?

I hopped into John Agar’s Shelby Cobra that he lent me in exchange for a box of extra-large sized condoms and drove to the track. While it had not yet opened for the season, there were numerous people about, new employees and returning employees for their training sessions, as well as the numerous illegal Mexican immigrants who shovel horse manure all day. I saw a young man, in his late 20s’ sitting on the bench named Adam. He had a somewhat scruffy appearance, with beard and glasses, yet showed some signs of intellect, uncommon in this area, but no real ambition to do anything with his life. After talking to him, he told me that he was a mutual clerk, that is, a teller, whom track goers purchase betting tickets from at the window. He told me that he had actually done this job ten years ago when he was in high school, and that he hadn’t done much since. He decided to go return and beg for a job he didn’t even want because the economy was bad and because it was a job close enough for him to walk to work. He said he was able to convince himself to do this despite the risk.

When I asked him what he meant by “risk” he brought me into the creaky wooden barracks with narrow windows in which the mutual clerks would stand behind what resembled modern touch screen adding machines and print tickets for customers who bet in various races. He explained to me that one of the problems was if a manager or senior track official accused a clerk of either stealing money from the cash box, or giving a generous payment to someone they knew, that the clerk would have to pay the difference. There is no arbitration or chance for the clerk to tell his side of the story. To make this system even more confusing were several complications that appeared deliberately designed into the touch screen betting system that the clerks used. For example, the system will not recognize prime numbers, so a number such as 22 has to be divided into two bets, one of 20, and the other of 2. Another problem is that the system only recognizes amounts as high as $250. With customers who make foolish bets in the thousands, the clerk is expected in a matter of seconds, to divide that number up into smaller increments. I could clearly tell that this was deliberately designed to confuse the clerk after hours of pointless work. To make any error more likely, unlike most cash registers, these did not tabulate the amount the customer paid. So it is up to the clerk to tabulate in their head the exact amount of change that is due.

This seemed odd, because vendors selling sodas at the race track had registers that tell them how much change is due to the customer. Why then would the more important job, involving transactions of thousands of dollars, not use such simple conveniences?

Also, the cash drawer is not attached to the register, but rather is an antique box on the wall next to it. The race track does not even provide locks, employees are expected to purchase their own. Of course the instructor in the training session conveniently forgets to mention this. It was as clear to me at this point, as clear as Crystal Pepsi, that, those huge jackpot winnings that race goers win are actually money taken from racetrack employees. Once the employees have made enough slippery mistakes, the money is deducted from their paychecks. Once their paychecks are no more, employees are expected to pay from their savings accounts or credit, or borrow money from their distant relative. Many employees have already been put into debt they cannot climb out of, yet their desperation to find a job, and the hopes of getting everything right the next racing season, causes them to convince themselves to give the racetrack one more shot. Thus they are thrown into an endless cycle not unlike a bottomless pit.

There are so many options for buttons and touch screens, that if the clerk does not remember to hit the “new customer” button, they accidentally end up paying the next customer in line whatever sum is owed them plus the amount that the last customer received. The customer walks off happy, but to the clerks despair at the end of the day, he or she will have to pay the loss.

The atmosphere in these barracks was hot and oppressive, designed to make the clerks even more prone to such mistakes. There were several ceiling fans which did little more than threaten to blow money around. In some cases, a winner of a larger payoff may be told to go to the IRS window, which is nothing more than a converted horse stable, with a slightly less inexperienced worker, who is even more overwhelmed with confusing responsibilities.

I followed Adam as he had to walk a considerable distance down the track and up a flight of stairs to a narrow grey hall. He had to wait in line for an hour and a half just to get photo id and tellers license, which costs 120 dollars. This doesn’t work out well for most of you, who not unlike Adam, live paycheck to paycheck, if even that. Also, the long lines and oppressive grey atmosphere were designed to rid one of the idea of any sort of humanity. He proceeded to tell me an unrelated story of how last summer he went to the local Performing Arts center, and got lawn seats for an Avenged Sevenfold concert. He described a weird idiosyncratic practice at the gate, where guards go through your coolers, and even though you are allowed to bring bottled water for hydration, the guards immediately throw away the caps to the bottles. Thus, one is forced to drink the water immediately. He also told me about how he paid $12 for a cup of beer, only to have set it on the grass next to him and have someone knock it over. “It was a 5 year old kid, so like I couldn’t get mad at him”. This is despite the fact that no 5-year-old should be attending a rock concert featuring a band with such poignant and classy lyrics like "It's your fucking nightmare."

I had to get out of this place. I hoped into the Cobra and fled down to the nearby city of Albany. I walked about the street with a casual friendliness. I was met by otherwise well to do people who gave me that “I’m better than you look” for no reason. I walked by several sports bars which flanked the main avenue. There, I saw people becoming more and more acclimated as they downed overpriced Coors beers. Little did they know I had a case of Japanese Sapporo beer in the trunk of the Cobra. I proceeded to start vomiting on some of them.

George Schmidt out.