The Daily Rake Endorses Active Club as Fastest Way to Get Covid

I’m not a member of Active Club, Canada or otherwise. I wrote two articles complimentary to them, and I remember writing a piece on another member of theirs who got framed up for one of the most ridiculous and unsuccessful anti-White prosecutions I have ever seen, but I can’t find that piece now. It’s probably something I wrote for the old site and forgot to port over.

But I’ve been sympathetic to their project for quite some time. I’ve even got something similar going here in Kelowna, albeit with just two members. We’ve gone for runs to the beach, as well as the aforementioned gym escapade, and it’s good. I strongly support this kind of thing as a great way to build community. And you never know when physical fitness might come in politically relevant when some antifa mutants show up to start something. Even without any concrete political purpose it’s always nice to have a group of likeminded men to train together with, although I personally have far greater ambitions.

I got a message around early August from an Active Club higher up inviting me out. While I’m not an AC member, I’ve been doxxed before, multiple times in fact, and really, if my entire body of work isn’t vetting enough I don’t know what would be. I initially turned down the offer, thinking that my political activities here in BC would conflict with this meeting in Ontario. Upon realizing that they wouldn’t I booked my plane tickets for the morning of September 9th.

And on that Friday morning, September 9th, upon arriving at the airport in my sleep deprived state I learn that I have missed my flight. Or at least that’s what the Swoop Airlines counter worker tells me, since they stopped boarding the flight an hour before. I don’t know why airlines do this, since the trip through security only ended up being roughly fifteen minutes long, but they had stopped physical check ins.

This all ended up being much ado about nothing. I remembered that I checked in to my flight online, which gave me the opportunity to frantically rush through security, only to still wait well over 10 minutes before boarding the plane in the first place and then sit down for another ten minutes on the plane while the last people boarded. Skipping ahead a bit, on my return flight I actually met a women in the airport terminal who was on that very same flight, got there over an hour early, and missed the flight because by the time she got up to the front of the line they stopped check-ins. None of this has anything to do with Active Club, the meeting, or even politics, I just have no idea why airliners are this obnoxious for what appears to be very little good reason.

The flight itself was uneventful, with me sleeping half the time before we arriving at Toronto Pearson. I had a window seat, but anyone who has flown across the prairies can tell you that the view stops being interesting past the rocky mountains.

Before the trip I had been told that I would be meeting a guy named Mr. Black at the airport, and we would collectively be given a ride by Mr. Green. I was given real names, but I’ve decided to use pseudonyms just as an extra precaution. Mr. Black then tells me on the day of that he’ll be wearing Pit Vipers. Initially I fear that I’ve been indicted into a homosexual cult somehow involving the Mixed-Race Mexican Manchild savior of the White Race, but it was actually just a normal White Man who is in Active Club. I walked up to him and said “Mr. Black.” To which he responded “Mr. Amazing?”

Originally I thought he simply found me amazing. Only after a few moments did I realize he was referring to my telegram moniker, The Amazing Broseph Jones. Everyone having at least one pseudonym to go with their real name made for a somewhat confusing experience at times, highlighted by me forgetting my own e-name and wondering why people are calling me Jones.

I introduce myself as Timothy Coish out of habit. Then there’s the Daily Rake, which people know me by, and “The Amazing Broseph Jones,” which I have gone by on telegram for quite some time. I don’t even know why I went by that moniker, but I used to be part of a different group where I used my real name on Telegram, and the operator of that group told me to make a pseudonym, so off the top of my head I picked “The Amazing Broseph Jones.” It seems to have stuck.

Back at the airport, after rendezvousing with Mr. Black we were trying to get picked up by Mr. Green. Mr. Black was given the full description, but my understanding was to be on the lookout for a particularly jacked White Man in an *insertMakeAndModelCarHere, let’s say a grey Toyota Corolla. I was familiar with this car, having driven one myself previously, so I thought it would be no issue finding him. We end up walking all over the airport for thirty minutes in the surprisingly hot southern Ontario day, totally unable to find him. Eventually, in exactly the spot he tells us he’s at we see the right car. 

I go up and knock on the window. It’s a relatively small man next to his wife, with a puppy in the backseat. This was not what I was expecting, but I figured maybe people exaggerate themselves online. I myself may or may not have pretended to be 6’4 on Tinder in a past life, so who am I to judge?

I introduce myself and Mr. Black, only to see the confusion plain as day on their faces. They tell us they don’t know who we are, and that they’re not a part of Active Club, which they didn’t seem to have ever heard of. I leave, walk a few steps and then come back, half convinced that they’re pranking us. We had already walked a mile or two and, having little to lose, I went back and asked them again. But no, it was a pure coincidence, and they were just a random couple in the same car that we were getting a ride in, in theoretically the same spot.

But not actually the same spot, because it turns out that Mr. Green had been told to go to the wrong side of the airport. Finally we get this sorted out, and in about ten minutes we see a *MakeAndModel* car. Sure enough, a White Man who looks like he could bench Manhattan is behind the wheel. He stops, gets out, shakes our hands, throws our gear in the back and we hop in. 

My apologies to Mr. Green if he’s reading this. The constant walking to and fro had taken its toll on me, and I can only imagine the strength it must have taken to withstand the smell of my half stale sweat in the backseat. I tried rolling the window down, but this only served to dry up my right pit, with the left side of my body sweating like I had just finished a nice brisk jog and then let it ripen for a while.

During the ride to the hotel I explained to Mr. Green that I had forgotten to pack my running shoes and workout shorts, and he graciously offered to drop me off at a local store and wait for me to purchase some replacements. I declined, because I realized I could just walk to a local sporting goods store that was just over a mile away from the hotel in the morning, which would be easier for everyone.

So instead of that he dropped us off at the hotel, where we all immediately packed into the same seemingly random room that everyone else was congregating in. Like I said, I kept introducing myself as Timothy, which lead to some delayed reactions as people eventually figured out that I was The Daily Rake Guy. Or in some cases they had never heard of this site, so it didn’t much matter. Weirdly, I noticed that there was a tendency for the more jacked and late thirties guys to have the most positive impression of my work, with one guy, also the father of *insaneNumbersOfChildren* and clearly a powerlifter doing the masculine version of fanboying out after meeting me. Another guy who looked like a Greek God figured out I was the Daily Rake Creator the next morning, and had a similar reaction.

And speaking of looks, I was almost immediately voted the guy who looks the most like a leftist.

Well I sort of brought it upon myself. The day we arrived at the hotel we were all sitting in a makeshift circle. One of the guys said that it was pretty clear he was in the right place when he saw a few of the guys walking in. I then asked him who he figured looked the most the part, and he mentioned a few guys, including the Extremely Fertile Powerlifter Who Loves My Work.

I had been explicitly voted “looks the most like an antifa,” in the last real life group I was a part of, and I couldn’t help but ask, “so who would you least suspect of being a member of Active Club?” You’ll never guess who he pointed at.

I’m sure it didn’t help that I was wearing my reading glasses, looking quite similar to how I did in this picture. But really, I think it highlights the quality of the men in Active Club. I’ve never been one for weird borderline homosexual Bronze Age Pervert-esque appreciations of the male body or anything like that. Having said that, there was a sense I got from being around those guys this past weekend that I hadn’t felt aside from being on a competitive hockey team a decade prior. It’s natural to enjoy the company of a good group of guys.

Contrary to what my self-deprecating humour, parodies, or stories of getting bullied at the gym might lead you to believe, I’m not really some effeminate soyboy. I played hockey at a high level for a number of years, and have always been a pretty decent athlete at any sport I choose to play. It is the highest compliment given to the quality of guys in AC that I stood out from the crowd in this way. I think. Or maybe I need to go hit the gym more and get a skull tat. 

That first night I also met my longest term supporter in person. Mr. Orange wrote the article on the Lobster Dispute in Nova Scotia, back before this site even existed. It’s published under my name, and I edited it, but he wrote it. He’s also helped me by providing various resources numerous times, something he continues to this day. It was nice giving his hand a shake and then talking about whatever, not necessarily even political topics with the Maritimer who looks like he could dunk on Shaq.

Active Club had organized a pro-White get together for that first night at a private venue. So we packed into the van and went out to a certain ethnic retreat, where by ethnic I mean European, and not as a euphemism for non-White. And it was nice meeting the guys who weren’t at our hotel, which was quite a few. It was also nice to see men who had actual families, replete with children, and weren’t just constantly online weirdos. I don’t have anything against unmarried men of course, especially being one myself, but I’ve grown extremely skeptical of political “moobments,” that consist entirely of single men. If you’re serious in any way you’re going to attract people from a variety of ages and social backgrounds.

At some point later in the night I was treated to a certain type of beer, and then treated myself to another, and then another. I’m not a big drinker, so three bears was enough for me and I was having a good time of it. So much so that I got into a two hour long flat earth vs globe earth conversation, only realizing that I was being trolled about thirty minutes in, and then, in my inebriated state, continuing on anyway because I was enjoying myself. It actually wasn’t just me, as I walked away from that circle and came back thirty minutes later only to find them still talking about flat earth and all of that. 

Even though I’m from BC, and should theoretically be able to stay up the latest, my fitful sleep the prior night and early morning flight took it out of me and when the van that dropped us off loaded us all in and took us back to the hotel I went up to my room and went to bed, despite it only being around 9PM EST. It was then that I found out that, in addition to forgetting my shorts and running shoes, I had also forgotten my toothbrush and paste. 

This provided me extra incentive to wake up bright and early and engage in the quite pleasant stroll down to the local Walmart to purchase some shoes, shorts, and a toothbrush and paste. I was starting to sweat fairly hard by the time I got back, but looking at the beautiful blue sky to the soundtrack of crickets on a nice warm September morning was a great way to start off the main event day. 

I got back just in time to enjoy the complimentary breakfast, which consisted of those eggs that are powdered and then reconstituted, combined with very much over-roasted coffee. It was a pretty clear example of the kind of food you only eat when it’s free, but I enjoyed the company at the table. Some guys decided to head out to a local restaurant for breakfast, but by midday we were all in the van, renamed the “hate bus,” and driving out to our group workout destination where we started off by taking the group photo you’ll see at the top of this article.

But even before we took the picture I had been looking forward to meeting perhaps my second longest tenured Canadian supporter. I didn’t know that much about him, except some personal information that I can’t share, but I knew he belonged to the ethnic group that could solve Europe’s upcoming energy problem by wringing out their pillows after a good nights sleep. I had been looking around for him at the previous night’s event, introducing myself to the swarthiest of the swarths only to later learn that he had never been there.

But sure enough, upon arriving at our destination the Brownest White Man Alive spotted me, and Mr. Brown slithered over to me on a trail of grease. I’m kidding of course, he was just a normal White Man, which is what I was really expecting. Still, it was a great experience finally putting a face to the name that I had known for so long, and he even pressed into my hand a lovely gift from his wife, which we’ll get to later.

After the picture came the workout. We got separated into a few different groups for this to be more manageable, with circuits like boxing, kickboxing, calisthenics, and street situational awareness. I did think there was a bit of a missed opportunity, since it would have been great for everyone to do a nice team warmup jog, although there wasn’t a huge amount of physical space in this area. We also had a slight problem with the calisthenics, with me being in the group that did that first. As a result, the guy running them thought it would be best to take it a bit easy on us so we could do the boxing and kickboxing without already being utterly destroyed already. 

It was still pretty damn hard, it just meant that he took it progressively harder on the next groups that went after, poor bastards. We said afterwards that it might have been better to do group calisthenics at the beginning or the end. Maybe the beginning, since we did a group pushup competition at the end, and we were doing pushups for the calisthenics. 

I enjoyed the boxing and kickboxing quite a bit, with it mostly being pad work. The kickboxing reminded me of just how little I’d enjoy fighting a big guy who knows what he’s doing, as I had precisely that kicking the inside of my thigh repeatedly. I was holding the handpad up to my inner thigh, but even still ended up with slight bruising on the inside of my leg.

The situational awareness (SA) training drilled one thing down in my mind beyond anything else, which is to never fight someone who’s armed with anything. We were shown some basic techniques, but even the relatively low stakes training really hit that part of your brain that screams “TIME TO LEAVE.” This was something of the point of the training, with our instructor stressing that you only do any of this if you don’t have a way out. 

After that it was on to the pushup competition. I felt pretty good, what with our group having done calisthenics first, and having our arms being the most rested. When I say “felt pretty good,” I don’t mean I felt like I had a good chance to win, I mean I was moderately confident that my chicken arms lithe figure wouldn’t be the first to quit in the competition. The guys in charge were laughing and making jokes about how there was no prize for second place, and all the time I’m thinking “the real prize for me is not coming dead last.”

We all line up side by side and get down into our stance. The man running it then starts slowly counting our first chest to the grass pushup, and waits about five seconds in between reps. My entire upper body was shaking after about three, but I managed ten pushups. This was one more than the last guy, and might as well have been a million since my one and only goal was achieved.

There ended up being a nice two horse race for the first prize. Most people were done by twenty, but then these two champs kept going seemingly unfazed past thirty, then forty, then fifty. Finally the second place guy dropped out at fifty five, with the winner seeming to be barely even tired as he banged out rep after rep. As the SA training reinforced the notion that I shouldn’t screw around with people on the street, the pushup competition and kickboxing reinforced the notion that maybe I can leave the MMA to others. We all have our talents, and mine appears to be writing.

And as if to put a bow on that sentiment I decided to do some impromptu BJJ with the guy from Kelowna, who was also out there. Just like in Kelowna, I was mercilessly bullied. Or more accurately I shot in on him sloppily twice and got guillotined twice. In the third round we ended up in what a charitable observer might describe as a scramble, and what a realist might describe as “incredibly sloppy flailing,” and he ended up in my guard as we hit the ground. Moments later my right groin exploded.

It wasn’t being stretched out or anything like that, it just gave up on life, which apparently starts happening when you turn 30. Whatever the cause, that was it for my athletic endeavours for the day, although the workout was already over so it wasn’t the disaster it could have been. As of time of writing it’s only noticeable when I go running, and it’s not that bad, but let me remind everyone reading this of my own advice that I didn’t follow, which is to always take it nice and easy when you’re doing a new activity. There may be some 20 year old men reading this who think it doesn’t apply to them, but you can age your body mighty fast by picking up a bunch of nagging injuries that were entirely avoidable.

Anyway after my groin exploded I parked myself on the bench and enjoyed the BBQ they provided while chatting with everyone again. At some point a weird and very drunk guy from a wedding nearby may or may not have tried recording us. It didn’t amount to anything, but it is sadly something we have to be on our toes for, what with not being Globo Homo Enjoyers.

We then piled back into the van and headed home. They put on the same, or at least similar, heavy metal as before and I have to say, I’m more of a classical music kind of guy. But some of us like heavy metal, some prefer Beethoven. Some of us can do fifty five pushups without breaking a sweat, and some of us top out at ten. I think it’s important for people to have a realistic appreciation of what their talents are, and find a way to contribute to Our People in the best way that we can.

With that it was back to the hotel, and back to Room x, which just sort of turned into the hangout room, seemingly at random. I decided I needed to go on a bit of diet, but it was the last opportunity for us to go out, so when people suggested we hit up InsertRestaurant, I couldn’t say no.

I enjoyed myself even though dinner scenes like that have never been my thing. I feel like gatherings of men should be as quiet as possible to stimulate the conversation. The more noise there is, the more cute girls there needs to be. Then again, considering how, uh, based, the conversation got at times I was somewhat thankful for the ambient noise levels being as high as they were.

When we got back to the hotel I was wiped. I could have gone to bed right then and there, and made a half-hearted attempt to do just that. But it was our last chance to hang out, and one of the guys offered to get me some half-caf, so we ended up chilling in the room for a few more hours. There was actually a really great talk on opsec, that was far more intricate and productive than I anticipated, but that deserves it’s own piece.

I’m not sure exactly when I went to bed, but it was well past midnight when I eased my sore and tired body into bed, and it felt like I had barely started sleeping when my alarm went off in the morning. A few snooze button presses later and I rolled out of bed, and went down to Room x to recover my reading glasses which I had lost sometime during the trip, but which the owners of the room had found for me. This was far from the only thing I forgot in that room specifically, with the Prime Rib I had packed up from the restaurant staying in their fridge, and a sweater I had lost on the first day being found by myself when I went to use the bathroom again. You might be forgiven for thinking this is a running theme for me…

A few of us were offered a ride back to the airport. I had a three hour wait, which I actually wrote about on Poa.st and telegram. Make sure to follow the those accounts if you haven’t already.

I ended up walking my first buddy, the Maritimer Volleyball Star, aka Mr. Orange, to his gate, which was mine three hours later. But then I walked back pretty much through the entirety of the airport to where we started because our other buddy was flying from there, and his flight was an hour after Mr. Orange’s. Then I walked back the entire airport to get to my terminal.

I actually enjoyed this, as it gave me a bit of exercise and let me tenderly work through the groin pull. I was going to be sitting down in the airport for hours, and then on the plane, so I wanted to get as much work done as possible.

I hopped onto the plane, and started making small talk with my seatmates. As you might expect, to my left was a Sikh guy, and to my right was an Indian Woman. They were pretty chill seatmates though, and we quickly got to making small talk. Even though the flight attendant was literally wearing a rainbow facemask, I decided to pull out In His Own Words, and try to get some light reading in.

I sort of cracked myself up by pulling out a big book with Adolf Hitler written on the front, but I figured they couldn’t kick me off the plane thirty minutes after takeoff, and I’m not actually doing anything wrong. The guy on my left actually said “you a fan,” to which I responded that I was doing a book review, and that was it. He was chill about it, and the girl on my right actually gave me some cashews despite me not asking, and almost forcefed me some cheese pizza that she purchased.

And that was pretty much it for the trip. Or at least it would have been, but apparently we had a plague rat in our midst, and everyone ended up getting Covid-19. I myself wasn’t tested, but some guys did get tested and they had the exact same symptoms as everyone else. I briefly wrote about this, and it really hit me hard the day after I got back, but it did serve as a nice excuse to curl up with a friend and finish In His Own Words, which you can read my review of on this site.

All in all I had a great trip, even if the Covid-19 at the end is putting something of a damper on my current mood. That very same disease, and our governments idiotic response to it, broke up the mens beer league hockey team I was a part of. That companionship, even if fairly minor, is something that is crucial for any normal man to have, and if there’s anyone on the fence about joining Active Club, I can assure you that you’ll find exactly that from these guys.

As I’ve said before, I’m not in this work purely for community, as I’m trying to get tangible political victories. But even if your heart yearns for Total Aryan Electoral Victory, the first step is still grassroots local communities, the likes of which you can find at your local Active Club. It’s always nice to have a group of guys to workout with.

Follow them on telegram and take that first step towards getting vetted.

If you’ve been studiously reading this piece, and not just skipping to the end you’ll have noticed that I briefly brought up a gift that I was given by one Mr. Brown. I didn’t provide a picture of this at the time, and not because I was saving it for later. You’ll also notice that I have thus far forgotten sneakers, running shorts, toiletries, a sweater, prime rib leftovers, and my reading glasses. Well I have some bad news…

The gift I had been given was a roughly credit card sized black patch with golden runes stitched on the front. It was described by Mr. Brown as “like a purity seal on your power armour,” and I had slipped it safe and secure into my travel bag, so as to ensure that I didn’t lose it anywhere. Except that, upon coming back to the hotel room early in the morning I took it out to admire it.

I think most of us know where this is going. After I was done admiring it, I put it right next to my toothbrush in the bathroom. Then I figured that wasn’t so smart, so I placed the patch down right next to my bag, to ensure that I wouldn’t lose it. You might be wondering why I didn’t put it back into the zipped up side pocket it came from. Well I was tired, and that would have made too much sense. And besides, I wanted to look at it more tomorrow morning, and I figured there was no way I could lose it.

But upon arriving back home I opened up my bag to look for it, to find it missing. As the first stage of grief is denial, I assumed that it had to be jumbled up with all the other clothes, in my wallet, or in a sweater of mine. But no, it was nowhere to be found on my person, it had well and truly vanished.

I called up the hotel three times in the next few days, only to have them assure me that nothing was found from that room in the lost and found. It’s heartbreaking to think that they might have just thrown this in the garbage, but I do wonder if I somehow did in fact pack it up and then lose it later. I remember doing a sweep of the hotel room and finding nothing, but even after washing all of my clothes and checking all of the pockets, I find myself empty handed.

Comedy is when someone you don’t like gets cancer. Tragedy is when you lose the Tasteful, Understated White Power Patch that your buddies wife made for you and never even get closure as to whether or not you lost it, or if it will suddenly show up one day. I owe Mr. Brown and his lovely wife my deepest apologies, even if I’m still in that stage of grief where I can’t quite accept that I lost it in the first place.

But it would be typical of me to do such a thing. For example, I realized upon getting home that I had indeed packed my toiletries. I found this out only when I learned that I didn’t have a toothbrush, and had to use the toothbrush I bought in Ontario. You might be wondering where my original toothbrush is. I’ve been wondering that as well, as I haven’t been able to find it even after coming home.

I’ve always been absent minded in this way, which I think is a positive character trait for my writing, or at least a side effect of a fairly creative personality. It’s much less beneficial for every other part of my life. Six things is a lot to forget on one weekend trip, but either I somehow managed, or the Mossad is fucking with me by stealing random things off my person.

I think we’ll go with that. It may not have happened, but it was real in my mind.