TEEHEETEEHEETEEHEETEEHEETEEHEE.
I awaken to the cackling piercing dribble, ripping my mind from the refuge of unconsciousness. Some mixed, indistinct words accompany the laughing voices, one a female, another the soy-ridden, low-T voice of the other so-called "man" living in the single next to mine. For a moment in my groggy state I can not distinguish what language they are speaking; I must have been dreaming in German. As soon as I fully awaken, I hear a door close, bringing me relief from those wretched throat vibrations only women and soycucks can produce with such vigor. I wonder what degenerate gathering they must be going to, what bliss they must be experiencing in their ignorance. I grab my phone on the nightstand beside me. 4:30am. Fucking gay.
Part of me wants to be angry, to feel that rush of rage which makes me feel that I can tear to pieces anyone before me and submit the world to my will. I suppose that's what is so attractive about the aura of mass shooters—The lone, alienated individual, striking back against a degenerate, ignorant society with no aid besides the force of his own Will. And yet the masses are too foolish to comprehend the real motivations behind his massacre, failing to recognize that his release of bullets is not an act of evil, but a scream of pain against the injuries suffered at the hands of a dark, uncaring world. But Alas, the normalfags do not realize this—for they have never felt enough suffering to understand—instead resorting to the same old talking points of gun control and "mental illness."
But the other part of me is just tired—numb to the sensory stimuli of the world, yearning to return to the bliss of the Void for a few sweet hours. Thankfully I have a long weekend for We Wuz Kangs Day. At least you ethnics are good for something.
Now I lay too alert to embrace mindlessness once more, yet too tired to engage in any meaningful activity. So I rot.
I awaken to the cackling piercing dribble, ripping my mind from the refuge of unconsciousness. Some mixed, indistinct words accompany the laughing voices, one a female, another the soy-ridden, low-T voice of the other so-called "man" living in the single next to mine. For a moment in my groggy state I can not distinguish what language they are speaking; I must have been dreaming in German. As soon as I fully awaken, I hear a door close, bringing me relief from those wretched throat vibrations only women and soycucks can produce with such vigor. I wonder what degenerate gathering they must be going to, what bliss they must be experiencing in their ignorance. I grab my phone on the nightstand beside me. 4:30am. Fucking gay.
Part of me wants to be angry, to feel that rush of rage which makes me feel that I can tear to pieces anyone before me and submit the world to my will. I suppose that's what is so attractive about the aura of mass shooters—The lone, alienated individual, striking back against a degenerate, ignorant society with no aid besides the force of his own Will. And yet the masses are too foolish to comprehend the real motivations behind his massacre, failing to recognize that his release of bullets is not an act of evil, but a scream of pain against the injuries suffered at the hands of a dark, uncaring world. But Alas, the normalfags do not realize this—for they have never felt enough suffering to understand—instead resorting to the same old talking points of gun control and "mental illness."
But the other part of me is just tired—numb to the sensory stimuli of the world, yearning to return to the bliss of the Void for a few sweet hours. Thankfully I have a long weekend for We Wuz Kangs Day. At least you ethnics are good for something.
Now I lay too alert to embrace mindlessness once more, yet too tired to engage in any meaningful activity. So I rot.
