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Europe's tolerance finds its limit: Death of multiculturalism

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sat_chit_anand:


Indeed.

What else can we do Fruit? The BNP have to work through local democracy.

TruthTyper:
I doubt Mithra was jewish.

Fruit of thy loins:

--- Quote from: sat_chit_anand on April 02, 2007, 02:37:41 PM ---What else can we do Fruit? The BNP have to work through local democracy.

--- End quote ---



We could try working our way up through local democratic processes and maybe, who knows, one day get to the stage of wearing a suit everyday and meeting other people in suits and smiling and attending meetings ... or we could just recognize that superiority that dark-skinned man holds in the white woman's eyes, recognize that those of us who are pasty don't have the looks, soul or rhythm and consequently are inherently inferior in the white woman's eyes.  We could recognize that a great change is coming, and throw ourselves suicidally off the great cliff of destiny: since we have nothing to contribute, since no one will love us or employ us, we can at least sacrifice our blood to the great Beast  - the Behemoth of Multiculturalism - and perhaps one day a white woman will shed a tear reminiscing of us, we brave but lost souls, who white woman rejected once, twice, and even three times: before the cock crow thou shalt deny me, thus saith the white man unto his woman: and lo, she is in the hands of her Beloved One, her One and Only ... what could we do?  We were conceived in sin and we shall die in ignominy.

Fruit of thy loins:
And the white woman set eyes upon me, and her soul was filled up with a sharp bitterness: her soul overflowed as a wellspring of both contempt and longing, like a dual-headed river of parted waters ... the sweet rose-tinged longing of summer flowed to the right, and into the valley of darkness flowed the left head of the river.

And the white woman, passing in her yacht, sipping champagne, with a young swarthy paramour hanging upon her arm, casts a glance downwards towards my little canoe: her heart beats a little faster, her judgement is clouded with an involuntary pang of guilt.  And she cries out, saying, 'What is your excuse?' (forasmuch that she may expatiate her guilt through projection and placing of the blame). 

But I looked upon her fair countenance, and I could not say a thing: my lips were sealed.

And she snorted, and guffawed, and proclaimed in the ear of all her congregation, saying, 'Behold, a dwarf, a gnat, a wretched creature comes before us this day, to snatch away from us our mirth and merry-making: therefore, shoo!  Get the hence, parasite: I sighed and complained and made long supplication to my Maker that none shall rain on my parade any longer.'

And she fell upon the face of her negro lover, and he grasped her, and they began to kiss.

And it came to pass, in the self-same hour, as I stood watching them enjoying life, that, behold, the currents had drifted my canoe towards the left hand side of the river: and with a tear in my eye I passed into the valley of darkness, condemned to death, never having lived.

sat_chit_anand:
Oh shut it!  :P

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