American Son

☦️

[American Son @Chinny428]

@WomanDefiner I often times think how awesome a motorcycle would be. Then I realize I’m doing over 100 in our sports car and remember how insane I would be on a bike and that I love my wife and children.

[American Son @Chinny428]

@fullautoslurs And 90% of the men speak with an effeminate affectation. It’s so weird. Is it tik tok brain? They all sound gay

[Department Of Deportations @DoDeportations]

This is the White man that blew up on the news for kidnapping a child at the Mall. He had over 30 previous convictions but I guess his White privilege kept him out of prison.

[American Son @Chinny428]

@CitiesSuck Just wish* more kids

[American Son @Chinny428]

@CitiesSuck I also live in a very White neighborhood and there was talk of outlawing or heavily restricting them online. Of course mostly boomers were for it. My kids are not of age for them yet but I would absolutely show up to fight against the clowns trying. Just with more kids would wear

[American Son @Chinny428]

@CitiesSuck Helmets when on them or not wear sandals. Those things do upwards of 30mph in some cases.

[American Son @Chinny428]

@9mmsmg If you want a chill dog who is a people pleaser and you want a small dog, Shih Tzu’s are amazing. Ours is an old man at 14 and is missing all of his teeth but he’s been a truly great dog.

[David Santa Carla 🦇 @TheOnlyDSC]

@NYCMayor >sets air conditioner to 60

[Tom Hennessy @Tomhennessey69]

Her fundraiser is live!

Stand with Dasha

Please share the givesendgo ⬇️

[lecoder 🇺🇲 @lecoder]

Pass this around, teach people they become millionaires for making muslim invaders unwelcome.
https://t.co/BRPshl0boh

[The Fan Account - Citizens Audit | Operation 3143 @TheFanAccountX]

Contact for accountability:
Lt. Jason Litchfield
[email protected]
Montgomery County Sheriff's Office: 931-648-0611

[⚡️☠️🇺🇸Notorious🇮🇹☠️⚡️ @CryptoOnlyCoims]

Shouldn’t she already know it?

[American Son @Chinny428]

All the love for America we keep seeing from Japanese and German tourists should really be the sign we screwed up bigly in WW2.

[American Son @Chinny428]

@MikeJazzpenis It all seems to come from China too. Stuff is horrible and always rotting. When local farms have a pick your own I stock up

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

In America, a stranger will rename you in a single breath, and you are simply expected to come when called.

I went to eat at a busy restaurant. A young man at the front asked for my name, to mark my place in line. I gave it the weight it has carried for eight hundred years.

"Nobunaga."

He smiled, nodded, and wrote it down with great confidence. Then he read it back to me, to be sure he had honored it correctly.

"Perfect. Banana, party of one."

Banana. He had heard my name, held it a moment, and returned to me something rounder and more cheerful. To refuse the name a host gives is to refuse his welcome. I bowed. I was Banana now.

Then he handed me a small black disc, said it would "light up and buzz" when my table was ready, and turned to the next guest as though he had not just placed a living thing in my hands.

I held it in both palms, the way one holds a small sleeping beast that may wake. I found a place to stand. I waited, ready.

It woke.

It screamed. It flashed red. It leapt and shook in my hands like a captured spirit demanding release. A lesser man would have dropped it. I did not. I gripped it, steady, looked into its blinking lights, and told it, in a low voice, that its time had come. Then I carried it back to the host with both hands, the way one returns a hawk to its master.

He took it without looking and shouted across the entire room.

"BANANA! Party of one, your table's ready!"

A hundred strangers turned. I rose. I crossed that floor as Banana, spine straight, chin level, a man answering to his name. A child pointed at me. I gave the child a small bow. He had recognized me.

All through the meal they kept me. "How's it tasting, Banana?" "More water, Banana?" The check, when it came, said Banana, and thanked me for visiting. By the end the whole staff knew me. They waved as I left. "Night, Banana!"

So tell me honestly.

For eight hundred years my clan answered to one name. Tonight I answered to a fruit, calmed a screaming relic in my bare hands, and ate among people who were glad I came.

When the little disc lights up, is the table truly mine, or am I only keeping it warm for the next Banana?

Because I have already decided to return on Friday, and to ask, very humbly, for the same disc.

[Scorched Earth Policy @Scearpo]

Black people are more biologically suited to the chemical conditions of modern existence than any other race on earth. They're supermutants built to exert intense displays of force, speed, and violence while their bodies run on the most putrid swill imaginable.

Black people will eat sour sugar coated corn starch shards and jelly melon kool aid syrup cubes, waylaying the incumbent waves of sugar rushes through a perpetually sustained train engine of weed smoke in their lungs that enhances their genetically granted subhuman IQ sloggery.

The core of their being is a series of biochemical tornadoes, all cancelling each other out into a chaotic stillness. Their hormone system is a nitroglycerin bomb that vibrates in unsettling anticipation for the most minor sensory input to trigger them into caving in an elderly retiree's skull into the corner of a trash bin at McDonald's.

Black people eat styrofoam and crisco while packing their kid's lunches with sour skittles and cornflour dust. They'll grow up eating nothing but candy, maturing into 6 foot tall ogres at age 13.

Much like slaves could pick cotton all day on a diet of pig guts and crawdads cooked inside a dirt hole for 14 hours straight, the modern black will pour an entire tub of sugar, salt, and rapeseed oil into their gullet before exerting themselves expeditiously. There are D-line tacklers on college football teams that regularly exert the daily Newton output of an industrial hammer mill fueled entirely by blue gatorade, nutter butters, and spicy dust sunflower seeds.

Beyond the taste, the vibrant colors suggest a childlike essence to their impulses. An eternal Shape Store out of the foods they eat, like a parade of Niggy Wonkas bedazzling their world in a technocolor fiesta of artificial flavoring. Divorced from any ancestral connection to their already pre-civilization bare mud culture, black people have borrowed the fruits of industrialization to invent something completely new beyond any scope of comprehension.

Black culture and its symbiosis of artificial elements and consumer products represents a natural organism completely adapting and thriving in the conditions of a post-industrial society. Rather than fighting against the entropy of biological health, they accelerate their own life cycles into rapidly dying and reproducing. Each wave of deaths induced through diabetes, gunshot wounds, crashed cars, heart disease, and prison stabbings slowly erodes against the barriers until they reach a state of equilibrium. They're much like orcs, consciously weaving through the limitations of normal human beings and carving out a niche of constant suffering and joy in abrupt oscillations.

As much as we despise the level of disruption they cause in society, their turbulence causes an extreme level of striving necessity that creates new elements of culture. They'll continue to slobber over pustules of aspartame coated pork fat and guzzle cough medicine sewer runoff, sprinting and hollering the entire time on all fours to climb 20 foot tall fences while being chased by the police.

They'll gather and howl and bluster and burn, exploding in a great societal supernova to beat their chest over the ashes of western civilization, corn syrup and Jolly Rancher malt liquor coursing through their veins. A brief reveille celebrating something they don't understand, ignorant to the dark storm cloud of Chinese slaughter cruelty and mestizo turboviolence pesticide coming from both flanks to eradicate them from modern existence.

And as is true for all fallen opponents in history, the traces of their spirit will reside on in the cultures that too replaced them. A chunk of pineapple marinaded in strawberry sugar as part of a 50-spice pot of boiling oil stew. A grunting ebonic element nestled into caveman gurbled Spanglish. Something not quite Asian, not quite white, not fully brown, neither human nor animal, embedded with wires stained in smoke. A shambler of the technopocalypes, sifting through piles of circuitry to rip gold flakes out for salvage.

A modern human in a time beyond your great grandchildren, r-type favela warrior jumbled beyond the comprehension of you or your fellow ancestors as you look down at him running, crawling, hiding, and evading killbots and acid rain. He chops a rat's head off before sprinkling gunpowder and chili flakes on its barely cooked carcass.

He rips bits of its flesh with fingers scarred by flechette-applied micro RFID chips, stuffing morsels of meat into a purple grape-flavored radioactive sugar simulant. Right after he stuffs it into a bare toothed mouth under an unshielded sun, you as his observant ancestor hear the ritualistic grace litany of his age and time:

Dih bih guh. Dah bih tuh.

[American Son @Chinny428]

@DemsRealRacists My brain literally breaks hearing that voice come from that man. I was expecting him to sound Indian and I got not a single thing.

[American Son @Chinny428]

@9mmsmg The only reason to not have access to each others phones is because you’re either living a double life or lying to your spouse about stuff. We’re not looking through each others phones but in a pinch you may need to share and there shouldn’t be a problem

[Aarvoll @Aarvoll_]

Help us defeat the NAACP: