There once was a cisgender named Sue, his name was controversial to people like me and you. Everyone hated him and called him a kike, until the day he showed up with a spike. We were all wrong assuming he was cis, he proved us wrong with the point of his shiv.
He proudly declared at the end of the stabbing that he had begun dabbling in transgender babbling. His transgender name was the same as the cis, at the end of the day he would have some tits. Sue was glorious, a female/male to behold, though many began to cop feels oh no.
To get back at her former cisgender friends, she beaned them upside the head. She declared they were fags for their societal norms, beat them savagely back to their dorms. There they drank until no one could see, they all banged Sue in her fake pussy.
This was revenge, to her cisgender friends, to have sex with a trans disgusted them to no end. She cackled and laughed as they broke off the caps of the cyanide pills they had stashed.
Tommy In Paradise
An ode to the life of Tommie Flannery, monarchist blogger of the Floridian wasteland.
The bass thumps, the bodies grind. A mindless machine writhing to the music. She stops and looks around, popping pills as she walks to the bar. To drown oneself in the world of ecstasy and mindlessness is to be free from the troubles of the world for just one night.
The woes of the world rest on her shoulder, the weight of the hopelessness has been unleashed upon her torn soul. the ringing grows louder in her ears, an incessant buzzing bringing her back to reality, from the brink of losing her edge she sees that consciousness is waning and the slippery slope towards blacking out fast approaches.
Breathe. Sigh. Collapse.
A blank page, devoid of all meaning. Canvas unfilled untouched, covered in the gayest font, that of nothing.
The spikes they drive deep…. Crushing they rip through the flesh, tearing apart the sinew, the skin and the microscopic bonds. Bleeding and wounded grievously the man gasps for his final breath as his words are extinguished in the sputtering cough.
Political correctness is the iron maiden of the modern age, ripped straight from the horrors of the Middle Ages, and with the bite of the Spanish Inquisition. To speak ones mind is heresy, to offend is preposterous. To do either can mean social suicide in the wrong circles. The thought police watch and wait, biding their time to sink their hooked claws into any poor soul which dare speak the wrong way.
Why must speaking ill of society garner such fierce retaliation? Simply put, the hivemind is in control. To break free is to break from the collectivist society, and to blaze a path towards and individualistic world view. To keep a society reigned in, measures must be taken to ensure that they all think the same.
Think of political correctness like brainwashing, instead of using sodium pentahol and hypnosis, instead ideas are drilled into the young so much that even thinking of a topic and discussing it with a parent could have drastic consequences.
However solid thecasting of the iron maiden eventually it shall fall into disuse, as the users will realize that they must evolve and move past their sordid history. So friends, we must endure through the period of use of this iron maiden, or find a way to melt through its thickness.
Woe is the man with the empty wallet, who shall he hire to clean his house? Shall he do it himself? Nay! Nonsense, man shall not stand for that! But who to hire as he has little money? Alas no man will take this job! Only the likes of an ugly woman shall thirst for his money and his scrotum. These voluptuous and curvy demons of scorn will work twice as hard as the wenches with features of goddesses.
From his wallet come forth mere nickels, which the dog happily laps up. For too long has his wallet been sucked dry by succubuses which lack wit, but are gifted buxomly. He shall learn from his mistake, save his hard earned scraps for other worthy establishments.
Gladly they work, gladly they slave, for it is solely attention that which they crave. Forgotten by the upstanding men of society, and shunned from the jobs which pay well, let he stimulate the economy on a microscopic scale. Dispersing with cash for the endeavors of the home is a duty which must be fulfilled for the single man. Why slave over a building when for pennies on the dollar one can hire a wench to clean and cook?
The curvy demons of scorn pollute the city, but the ineptitude of these few can and will drive forth the lives of the single man who chooses to take part of the life of simplicity. With time saved, his excursions can venture forth into the territory in which the wench goddesses reside.
Quit thy drivel, thy slacking, thy incessant bitching. Get up off thy ass and off the porch ye cowardish slug. Why must ye take risks when ye know not the outcome? Could it be that thy only problem is not with the game but of ye the player? The rules must change, but who amongst the world can change them?
Pencil in thy own rules, let naught others write thy own destiny. To adapt is to survive, to survive is to conquer. Conniving, sneaking, manipulating, do what thou must to succeed in the world of the morrow. Lay not down for them to trample, stand up and die on your feet! Take that which is thy own, and take not no as an answer! Thy voice shall resound when ye whisper, make ye enemies feet flee!
Endure through hardships, learn the new skillsets, drill into thy friends and thy enemies alike and figure what makes them tick. Create a new alabaster world, pure of defect and ripe for the taking. Harvest what thou can, store what thy cannot eat.
Give of thyself freely, a reputation is a golden chalice in the world. A beacon of hope ye shalt be, draw them near, and spread them far, influence those who can be taught, and disregard those who shun the way upon which thy life is lived.
Sesquipedalian Octogenarian Aryan Rhinoceroses are the best kind you see, they’re patient, loving, tolerable and white to some degree. Maybe your children will be able to see them still, unless the blacks poach the last that are living free.
Perhaps the ancient white ones, with tusks so long and white, shall trample down a marauding band of pirates lurking around at night. Think not too hard of extinction, they are the last of a few, maybe we’ll be lucky and we can clone some more for you.
They’re better than the Asiatics, hardier than most, absurdly better than Sub-Saharan, they drink and then they toast. They fight naught and whine none, pure of heart and skin tone the Aryan Rhino tramples on. It creates a path for the blacks to follow, villages these highways make, for without them they would wander and in the sun be baked. The Aryan Rhinos, the life givers under the sun, they lead the way and kill the gay, fucking cheetahs son.
Why wouldst thou hatest upon them, for their way of life? The Aryan Rhino stands firm like a mighty oak, of the woodland northern lands, firm and strong, breaks not under duress.
I knew I was a psychotic menopausal cunt when I was 13. I was proud to be not able to ever menstruate properly and control my angerand I was proud to have a dysfunctional vagina. I went around by myself inschool and I twiddled with clitoris because I no longer lubricated properly. No one would hang around me, but at least I orgasmed twice a day.
The girls locker rooms are full of menstruating young girls these days. They lack the hardcore attitude that makes me the Superior. Diving into the lowest forms of postmodern decadence, they fluff around like the bleeding machines of teenagedom! They are fluffing my pride away from my vagina! I no longer have a reason to be proud have a dysfunctional reasoning faculty and vagina when the young teen girls complain about their periods! The Bleeding Unterfrauen have threatened my menopausal power and it now time to declare war against the Bleeding Unterfrauen.
They are the blood sisters of a new human race. Bleeding vagina, hair braiding. hardcore breeders. They are the soil of a new tampon and Maxi pad filled nation. Get out of the way you bleeding cunts, you’re just jealous of my cunt. I am not interested in how heavy your flow was. I don’t want to know when your periods sync up! I care about hardcore power rubbing my clitoris to orgasmic bliss. Vibrator power. Get away from me with your disgusting outfits that ride up your ass and show your perfect little taints. I bet they are organic in the non-Evolian sense of the word. You fucking perfect pussied bitches.
The Dysfunctional Vagina Bearer is a fearless femdom who is not interested in the boys and their social causes. The Dysfunctional Vagina Bearer knows that might makes right. I need to show the Bleeding Unterfrauen what it truly means to be the Dysfunctional Vagina Bearer.
I need to form a new resistance of Dysfunctional Vagina Bearers. Fighting the Bleeding Unterfrauen, I will take back my pride and destroy these inferior bleeding bitches at hair parties. I do not like Bleeding Unterfrauen. I do not like bloody cunts. It is time for me to take a cue from my menopausal Grandma. I must stand together as the Dysfunctional Vagina Bearer, the taint of glory and non-lubrication, and the taint without the stench of week old blood.
Blood =Period Bitch
The Bleeding Unterfrauen are not proud to be gay. They are proud to be fabulous. What is fabulous about a bunch of bleeders who think glitter is so ever-so-awesome? If you answered “nothing” you may be a Dysfunctional Vagina Bearer.
Icall on the Dysfunctional Vagina Bearers to stop associating with the Bleeding Unterfrauen. It is only us, the Dysfunctonal Vagina Bearers, who understand the true meaning of normative female physiology. Bleeding culture is Impure Vagina. It is bleedist, festering, vaginatarianism.
Tonight we rise our swords in honor of the Dysfunctional Vagina Bearers. We call for war against the Bleeding Unterfrauen.
Woe to thee oh ugly nemeses. I wish thee luck for obtaining thy own personal orgasm! For thy hand may guide you swiftly to the pleasure you may seek, but the intimacy you lack because evolution has thrown you dead last on the heap.