Do you wear camouflage?
Do you drive a pickup truck?
Do you hunt?
Do you live in the suburbs?
Are you over 50?
Are you white?
Do you listen to country music?
All these things, and a few more, mark you as a racist and an enemy of all negroes. Wow! I need to get busy here. I can't tell you how long it's been since I went out with the night riders to plant burning crosses and lynch black people! I can't because it has never happened to me. The title is honorary I guess.
This racist gig is going to be hard to pull off though, since I'd be hard pressed to even find a black person to discriminate against here. Another strike against me, that I saw a place where black people are rare and made it my business to live there.
Why would I do that?
Why would I shun a whole segment of our population so purposely?
They hate my guts for starters. They foul their own nests for another, crapping in their own mess-kits and yours too if you allow them. They will hunt whites for amusement and claim grudges back two hundred years past as justification. Other than that, they're not so bad.
So I will live among those of my own tribe. We have assholes among us, sure. We're not perfect, but they are OUR assholes, and we know how to deal with them; something black people can't seem to bring themselves to do.
I regret making myself unavailable to you, a little, since your whole identity is based upon being victims of white devils. Never fear though, for the supply of wimpy whites to abuse seems adequate to your needs for awhile more.
Wherefore art thou, my brothers?
-Checkered Demon
The Hunt for Whitey
Recognizing and Surviving the Condition of Anarcho-Tyranny
I posted a poem in your honor. Don't worry, I didn't write it myself!
jameslafond.blogspot.com/2017/10/poetry-wars-kiplings-stranger.html