Admitting I'm Jewish

Coming to terms with my roots

So a lot of you jackanapes will recall I initially rose to prominence on Substack in early 2024, when one of my maiden articles—a renunciation of White Nationalism in which I lowkey didn’t renounce much of anything really so much as enumerate all the various things about life in Omaha I found especially pestiferous (and came to read as proof white people as a collective aren’t much worth saving tbh)—ended up going massively viral on Twitter and bringing me back as a public figure basically overnight.

This had the immediate impact of landing me both a) an engaged and loyal readership of heterodox worthies unusually friendly to pluralism / unconstrained debate; as well as b) bitter and aggrieved contempt from a discomfiting number of once-kameraden from the Alt-cum-Dissident Right—who very soon, shall we say, begin to notice certain things about me that to them read as either Jewish or (more typically) Mischling-Coded.

Most of which you can probably infer: my gatling gun cadence; basal affect of slippery cerebral rootlessness; preference for legibly transactional coalition politics; deep and intuitive comfort with complex metadiscursive frame games; and above all a certain aggressive propensity for commerce / self-promotion—hence ya boy landing that orange check at light speed and shortly thereafter monetizing his community with unusual alacrity through a racist pirate-themed professional fraternity called Tortuga, which despite a hefty and perennially-increasing entrance fee swelled by end of year towards a triple-digit member count, and even while promoting itself as an overtly pro-White and right-identitarian fraternal order managed to attract multiple Jews and Indians into its ranks, and even a handful of brothas.

Because my marketing, quite frankly, was really fucking good.

More importantly, it was honest—hence those Tortuga Testimonials I published in early 2025 managing to at long last knock that “grifter” aspersion from my name like so many months of coagulated filth from the flimsy dirtbag of a second-rate vacuum, all the while ensuring nothing of its like could ever stick again. It was a real display of force—of legitimacy and fraternity, which for Tortuga’s founding cadre at least served as the long-awaited culmination of eight months equal parts trying and euphoric of meticulous institution-building from Theon Ultima, judicious coalition management from Rajeev Ram, and not a little swashbuckling entrepreneurialism from yours truly.

By anyone’s standards it was a resounding and unambiguous win.

Yet in the weeks that followed I began to encounter failure modes—though sadly not that infamous Semitic paranoia and vindictiveness so brutally effective at times for keeping the Chosen on course amidst choppy and irregular waters, instead being cartoonishly Hibernian Saving Mr. Banks foibles a la affective volatility, perennial escapism through narrative and myth, a certain niggerish / grasshoppery tendency to assume the very best and squander one’s lucky breaks, a propensity for self-indulgent brooding… I mean, thank God I’ve never been a drinker is all I’ll say.

Which for sure isn’t to suggest all talk of Walt as Mischling-coded evaporated; it’s more that now even the meanest of skinheads would have likened me less to Shylock himself than to his autistic Tay-Sachs rabbi, my overlarge braincage no longer at that point having much capacity at all for business amidst such a hurricane of boundless rumination—hence my eventual decision later that summer to abdicate captaincy to my Cook/Iger-coded WASP underboss Theon Ultima while shifting my own energies first into art and thereafter into high-impact sociosexual heuristics workshopping.

And it’s that same process I’m elated to announce has after almost a year of intense—and at times, perhaps, redundant—effort resulted in the piece now before you.

The piece, that is, in which I’ll at last come to terms with my past, my deeper nature, and the person I’ll always see in the mirror whenever the fog of performance dissipates.

Which if I’m entirely honest with myself is a Jewish woman.

---

nah I’m fucking with you fags.

For the most part I kind of just needed a catchy title for this article so precognitively hypersalient to you chodes as to make clicking into the piece operatively automatic—and also I guess which lends itself to a tight and coherent preamble still embodied enough to retain the attention of serious readers.

The reason being that wily old Uncle Walt approaches you today animated not by his usual heart of gold but a meaner and flintier impulse of coin; commerce; competition; carrying neither screed nor sonnet nor mythopoesis but an entirely lucid and practical business proposal directed at precisely anyone reading this who might be interested in partnering with Tortuga long-term (all under NDA) via our external staffing agency.

The basic model is our partners on the ground directly connect us to decision-making and entity-level actors… think hiring managers / internal recruiters at your firm working on specific, locally-targeted roles ideally either in tech or financial services, though we’re ultimately quite flexible about industry in practice and likewise retain access to significantly wider pools of talent should the need ever arise to fill something niche.

Point is we’re at last in a steady growth phase, and thus superbly calibrated to upscale extant operations while taking on a lot more volume overall… hence the firm recently doubling down on a medium-term comp schedule in which all partners on the ground irrespective of identity or when they first made an introduction will all operate under a structure with fees split 50/50 —a ratio that in light of modal placement fee means as a rule each placement results in a five-figure lumpsum payout to YOU, the reader.

And so frankly if you’re unironically like Mad or indignant or what have you because I had a halfway coherent strategy to get such a winsome proposal in front of your fugly face to begin with then you’re not just a huge fag tbh but lowkey sort of antisemitic as well given it transparently shows you haven’t any operative respect for chutzpah.

Which speaking of… there’s actually an interesting argument buried in there.

Because certain modes of chutzpah e.g. false confession of Jewishness in a heterodox space with nontrivial and esoteric antisemitic elements—and specifically when deployed as high-salience chutzpah-driven clickbait—feel in essence sort of “ontologically Jewish” (maybe not elite Jew though so much as kind of the declassee 2010s Buzzfeed register) which means of course that its performative adoption for instrumental ends is sort of tantamount to fabricating one’s Jewishness in an inextricably Jewish way.

…and so perhaps, then, is not automatically and totalistically a lie?

If so one would imagine it might proffer at least as much runway for appropriation as e.g. Eminem routinely enjoys from blacks when it comes to saying nigga, right?

In practice it’s a pretty instructive analogy all considered… because just for one thing I’ve almost certainly been called a Shifty Kike now more than basically any of the ackshual Jews reading this, and by this point am easily history’s most prolific 100% goyish composer of klezmer music by a wide margin, and there’s likewise no denying the evidentiary force as to my Jewishness of this here current paragraph’s final clause.

But anyway enough about Jews—let’s talk turkey, shall we?

TERMS AND CONDITIONS

• Theon and I are working to place qualified Tortuga Society members in cushy sinecured remote roles through an external staffing firm only we know about.

• All transactions occur behind an NDA—that means you’re protected and so are we, and information is able to flow freely in both directions sans opsec paranoia.

• Right now we’re looking mostly for demand-side leads—most particularly from firms trying to hire data analysts and software engineers, though anything adjacent to such roles in tech or financial services will be reasonably straightforward to fill.

• Again—you’ll get 50% of the placement fee (usually $10k-20k) for connecting us with a hiring manager and 20% of the same for connecting us with an internal recruiter

• To ensure the roles actually land past the offer letter stage we’ll at times need you to help shepherd our boys through any internal red tape or obstructionism—note I’m by now quite seasoned at this, and can guide you through each step of the way.

• If interested then…
  email: wb.vitalist@gmail.com
  cc: theonultima@tortugasociety.biz

---

Anywho I’ll wrap this up by noting I lied about lying to you earlier.

Because there is some very real sense in which I see a Jewish woman in the mirror.

Only not in some tranny / otherkin way so much as because I’m entirely certain at this point my Jungian Anima takes the form specifically of a hyper-critical and nagging yenta who both A) automatically and precognitively occupies a position of self-evident and totalistic moral righteousness in my unconscious and as such registers practically any appetitive urge within my conscious apparatus as immediate proof of corruption and (quite direly) grounds for credulity ipso facto towards whatever particular fake and gay moralistic narrative is presently being spun by the highest status / most fuckable chick in close proximity; and B) once unleashed has a tendency to neurotically catastrophize about worst-case scenarios in a monstrously paranoid way not unlike Roberta Kaplan seeing Himmler in every pair of truck nuts at Charlottesville.

Note meanwhile both of these failure modes are correspondent with the INTJ shadow of my ENTP cognitive function stack, where on one hand the baseline absence of Fi naturally leads to intense quasi-romantic friendships with INFP and INTJ chicks I inevitably let Fruma-Sarah possess in high salience conflicts which of course makes me too invested in Owning Fruma-Sarah by theatrically performing the exact opposite of Fi Chick’s values which needless to say always ends somewhere fantastically gay.

Though at the same time I ackshully have a preternaturally developed unconscious or half-conscious or w/e the fuck Ni for an Ne dominant… which is ackshully quite a shitty combination in practice is the thing because it functionally enables you to game out what COULD happen before anything ackshully does happen, by which point a lot of times you’ll kind of just want to sleep or jerk off or w/e… and then quite a lot worse than that is in the hairiest of life’s situations where you’ll basically always see the worst possible way it could go right away and then sort of just backsolve for the entire antecedent causal chain so as to avoid routing there—except after that you’ll be so Yentishly fixated on not producing said causal chain it functionally becomes the grammar of your short-term existence and locks in Hell.

And if you go through them you’ll notice literally all the Walt Fucks Up stories in my entire-ass autofictional oeuvre involve some tincture of Fruma-Sarah Failure Modes... which sure as shit have cost me, but mostly in an acute / local sense that most times dissipates immediately as a first order cause given I’ve quite frankly gotten about as talented as anyone can get at metabolizing fallout by way of adaptive mythopoetics.

…and yet that’s kind of the problem.

Because once you’re accustomed to mythopoeticizing your way out of catastrophe it’s sort of convenient to also aim that cannon at e.g. checking the mail or cleaning the litter box or really anything other than maximalist solipsism which is kind of just the terminal point of mythopoetics frankly given a sufficient verbal IQ…. just having the same fart-sniffing convos with ChatGPT every day about your own essays, which btw over time become increasingly stylized to preempt bad faith reads from LLMs and thus eat away at precisely the justification you once had for Muh Myth, namely its operative power in the real embodied world to e.g. in a few short weeks resurrect a mummified microcelebrity and somehow get this cavalcade of white nationalists and liberal wine aunts and heterodox Brahmins and edgy Jews to organically rub shoulders in the same unusually active group chat… and then after closing said chat because my fetishes weren’t being respected enough or w/e monetize the shit out of the private Telegram that replaced it and zap the fucker with enough high-octane meme magick to catalyze a wholly real fraternal order that’s since become a respected entity on Substack, complete with its own philosophy club and publishing house I for sure had nothing to do with, although I did manage to narratively pivot out of some truly shitty bad faith reputational mires that quite frankly would have cooked any of you fags, and so managed to keep Tortuga itself semiotically insulated from the fallout which you know fuck it—I ackshully am proud of that.

Point is tho? It’s real world effects that get people to put up with all the other Waltshit, which by itself hasn’t much compulsive force and sort of reads as Hinckley-adjacent.

And once you stop acknowledging the meat and metal around you and instead try to become a human LLM is when you begin to enter Travers Goff Failure Modes.

…which tbf probs were genuinely quite adaptive in a way for the Oirish to internalize during the ackshual tater famine and shit or like getting sent to munch on secesh artillery fire but the Agentic Irishman e.g. Reagan Clinton Carlin Dillon Mullen and even John Mulaney makes sure to keep his tarded tall tales spinning outward stead of inward, recognizing that his operative role in the WASP power structure comes from spinning workable and portable myths that give meaning and direction to others’ lives and NOT myths that give him personally an excuse to sit around being Dour all day.

That said I think I might actually need kind of a cold turkey break from ontological irishness wholesale for a while just to really keep Travers away and focus in on what ackshully matters—that obviously being Staffing atm, in case I distracted you with my tall tale—and so for at least the next few months I’m going to Identify As Jewish.

Not like in a serious / unironic way, but simply as a fun mental framing device to preempt the Hibernian failure modes of hyperverbalism by foregrounding a very Semitic approach to the same—just really wafting around in textualism as opposed to myth, in correspondence versus affect, in precautionary paranoia and neuroticism as opposed to pigheaded swagger punctuated by brooding overreaction to setbacks.

All in all it feels like the optimal dry corrective.

And who knows?

Perhaps in thinking like a Jew when I’m sane I can get at least a little better at not thinking like a Jewess when I’m less so and thus foreclose some of my life’s needless tail risk—not to mention make the act of fucking at least a bit less semiotically dense.

Because essentially all of us men want to rape our anima, understand—

the thing is once you’re DONE raping her you’re not assured symmetrical risk profiles once the Doordash knocks.

anyway mazel tov fags.

— WB