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Crucible
Discussing Life in Post Apocalispic Sissydom
Thu, Jun 4, 8:02 PM (13 hours ago)
The 7-11 on [redacted] had a gang of oppressed individuals come in last night and start looting the place. I got there right after it happened. The mexican kid working the counter had pulled his pistol out and told the boys this was the wrong store to be doing that shit. He then proceeded to hold them at gunpoint and lecture them for a few minutes. I congratulated him and we had an interesting conversation. He's a funny kid.
-Yeti Waters

Big Man, as I answer your message, Emma's grandmother has just texted me that they are pulling into school for a drive-by pre-school graduation.
Months before the hipster ebon-worship forever reorganized the social scheme on the overt level, we had already been subverted and told that we were "together in being alone" and heroes for staying at home.
The Shamdemic was the crucible in which Cunt America was prepared to be re-forged into brittle, gossamer slag, between the hammer and anvil of black and blue.
Our handlers decided back in November and December, that so many of us had been hopelessly indoctrinated in our slave schools and slave churches, that we were ripe for the trans-human stage of social engineering, by which we will be indoctrinated and managed by remote means. Just think. When I was a kid Emma's age I had to be sent to a school all weak long to be beaten, tormented, lied to and taught not to think and then on the weekend I was sent to a church to be indoctrinated in submission, to kneel, to turn the other cheek, to trust in another to deliver me from the suffering I underwent all week in the attached building.
Now that the criminal thugs who have hunted me for most of my life have been deputized to terrorize me on behalf of my owners, my path is clear. I am now assured that God spoke within to me, those many moments in multiple churches, when I was told that the hanged man would save me if only I had the courage to do nothing and kneel. A voice inside—despite my weak and bullied state—always said, "No, don't surrender!"
In my mind now, it is clear that I was saved from slavery under a slave god by the voice of Eternity—of God—echoing within, reminding me that though I was born a slave under the fiction of a lie called liberty, that I did not have to end my life as a slave.
Now, just as I once declined to submit to the ancient lie, I write within earshot of the daily prayer to and worship of Floyd Christ and his sacrifice. A cult of a lie blooms about me and I am free, have no urge to take the knee. The high priest of New York is crooning about the martyrdom and sanctity of the dusky master race, and the pale pod-bound slaves shiver and abase themselves...pale women crying at the plight of their dark god in His many collective tragic forms, killed and re-killed and jailed and imprisoned over and over again [supposedly] by my hated and reviled kind.
Virtually all of America is a cowed slave, mewing in its pen.
That makes this a wolf age. Indeed, the wolves have been unleashed upon us.
I have no leash. No pale master has to release me to hunt like my witless, soulless, meat-puppet foe.
Emma will not have to suffer the torment and indoctrination I did.
She will be able to shape her own world if she decides not to be a slave.
In a world of cowering meat-puppets a soul is not as trapped in its body as previously.
Our sons and daughters have been given back to us by the Keepers of the Lie, because the system trusts us to indoctrinate our children. Humanity has been proven to have 95%-plus herd immunity to reality. So the false delusion descends in open day, clear for the tiny minority to see. Reality is now a vast world ripe for exploration as virtually all people are locked within the tiny, falsehood of delusion. While the meat-puppets lurch into their pods, we can explore the world and enjoy; we can strive.
Just as last night, saw only you, the Mexican and the frail bantus contesting over a vast and empty world, the fact that the teeming subhuman herds who mew in their mind-stalls chained to their favorite indoctrination device, wallow in the lie they worship and fear, for you, and I, your sons and Emma, many paths yawn clear.
You and I are blessed by the same paradigm shift that has cursed the White Sissy whining for a 1950s white picket fence reality, the woman braying for her empowerment fantasy, the feral Bantu who has the wisdom at least to know that he has not been set free and must grab what he can before he is forced to take the knee.
We Irish orphans are finally free at last.
Fuck these white people and the black chumps they rode in on.
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