Most of the humanoid beings on this made-wretched-on-purpose earth cannot truly be considered human. After all, what species is stupid, mercenary, selfish, and egotistical enough to destroy its women and girls, wipe itself out through various terroristic means, create amazing beauty and innovation and then destroy it to gain yet more currency, and still call itself the most evolved?
People reveal themselves pretty early on in the game. I have many anecdotes about libtards spewing their regurgitated bullcrap in my face mere seconds after meeting them. Their programming is as intractable as it is weak. When their overlords brainwash them into thinking something radically different then whatever issue du jour’s got their panties in a wad, they accept it unquestioningly. (The same ‘people’ who, mere months earlier, were parading their lazy arses through the street in support of amerind criminals shutting down the rail system maintained, paid for, and created by White Canadians, are now parroting the fascistic (((stage directions))) of their fav’rit group evar.)
Who can take these human impersonators seriously, or want them to be happy, or care about their wellbeing when they don’t even care about themselves? Yes, they spend every waking moment of their lives dwelling and obsessing over their looks, their weight, their hair, their intelligence, their tiny dick, their small/large tits, their White skin, etc, etc, but they have nothing in the way of actual coping or self-preservation skills. They are merely narcissistic and addlepated by meeeeja-hewn anxieties. Humanoids seem to be a holdover from a cruder, earlier stage in our evolution. If you try telling them this, they’ll rip you a new one (not in the way a lion rips her prey apart, but in the way a tiny, yappy Chihuahua rips your socks to pieces). If the meeeeja they worship tells them this, they’ll be yapping about it for weeks on end, or until the fire ceases being stoked. C’est la vie.
(For the sake of brevity and to accentuate their lub of Gawd’z Chozynn/state of not-quite-humanness, I shall refer to these creatures as Oyds.)
Some Oyds have convincing facades, and are attractive, funny, intelligent, and even great in bed. A lot of Oyds have good work ethic (well, the White and some of the East Asian ones do), and even possess unique skills. Unfortunately, when you really, really start sharing yourself with an Oyd, you can practically hear the doors of their mind slamming shut. It shows in their eyes and in their expression. Even if they don’t want to hurt you, their programming won’t allow them to accept you as you are. It literally cannot be helped. They are Oyds. You are Human. (For all their yelping about racemixing being good and rayccizzmm being bad, they sure don’t like to mingle with actual human beings–especially the White ones.) Occasionally, they may make jokes that are “offensive” to blow off steam, but this not the human trait of holding nuanced, seemingly opposing worldviews in equal measure. They’re just venting to keep their brains from overheating.
Perhaps a few of the older Oyds can be salvaged, but you really can’t help the younger ones. They are steeped in the most evil, fetid, foul cocktail of propaganda, “secular” politics, entitlement, self-hatred, and bizarre hybrid of oppression and blinding privilege this world has ever seen. Their justified hatred of the state of things is taken out on White women and girls instead of the males of all races who actually make things terrible. Why, a brown mudmale takes his aggression out on fifty gay folks at a nightclub, and they see it as an unfortunate side effect of whiiite sooopremassy. Yet you will never see these folks in a crowd with more than two or three black and brown people combined, unless they have a race fetish, are deeply self-hating, or both.
When an Oyd hates you, see it as something to be proud of, or at least neutral on. They cannot be converted to humanitarianism; they can only be trained to regurgitate less nauseating slogans. They do not exist on a plane of reality. Next time one of these meatbags gasses on about something of which they understand not even one word, just tune out and go to your happy place. You won’t miss anything. When their droning ceases, you can either regurgitate a “safe” slogan to validate them (Oyds speak in anti-human code–more on this later), or confuse the hell out of them by pointing out their doublespeak and lack of logic. Their brain will encounter a programming error, and smoke will almost visibly come out of their ears. The rusty gears in their “brain” will creak and clatter, momentarily relieving you of their bilious mushmusings.
Don’t be upset that you’ve cut them off–you’ve done them a favour. If they had even a fifth more honesty or modesty, they’d admit five minutes with a human would teach them more than a lifetime of (((programming))). Of course, they don’t have the capacity to admit when they’re wrong. They are right. Except when they’re not. But they always are. No, wait, they’re not.
Fuck ’em. Keep on with your bad self. If we humans ever take what’s rightfully ours, we need to start putting up signs that say OYDS STAY BACK TWO METRES (SIX FEET) FROM NORMALS AT ALL COSTS. With the right propaganda campaign, we won’t hear a peep from them about this “mistreatment” and “human rights violation”. And that’s a good thing. The footsoldiers of the world may not be outright evil, but they always support those who are. Who cares if those who willingly enjoy being cannon fodder continue on this path? Will you truly feel human if you spend your entire life cleaning up the Oyds after they inevitably shit their gubmint-issue diapers?
These program-a-rinos are a gyp on all possible counts. It’s not just the ollygarkz we’ll have to get rid of if we want to even think of building a working civilization, but also the boring dingbats whose only topic of conversation is whatever they’ve been forcefed. And it ain’t conversation so much as acid reflux: impossible to stop. Difficult to treat. Easier to prevent than endure.
Far be it for me to criticize you hypochondriac, hypocritical beasts of self-loathing, but that’s what I’m gonna do. If you don’t like it, too effing bad. You can spend your whole life being sent to your room without supper by the gubmint that hates you and wants you dead–some of us just want to leave the goddamn house.