After January 6, My boss came up to me and said “sorry but I can’t have you working anymore. You’re too white.” I told him I was 5% Cherokee but he said just kept calling me a cracker even though he was also white. While being escorted out by the security (who are now muscular Latina women due to affirmative action), I made eye contact with my boss as he was getting arrested for “anti diversity subversion.”
The Biden Junta decided to take advantage of the new tyrannical fervor from his supporters by unleashing the Swiftie Red Guard onto the population. They’ve been going around smashing important pieces of white culture like Cracker Barrel, confederate statues, and Starbucks. I saw a white woman getting executed for making spaghetti tacos back in 2017.
My wife cheated on me because she was “disgusted” that I have European ancestry even though she immigrated from Germany 5 months ago. I begged her to stay and even offered to sit on a cuck chair but she refused.
My daughter disowned me for being an “oppressor” and banished me and my son to sleep in the shed while she and her friends sing “revolutionary music” like “Blank Space.”
I thought that as long as my son still loved me, I wasn’t truly alone. But he got a DNA test (possibly fraudulent?) that stated he was 95% Russian and 5% Sioux. The Biden regime declared that Russians are not white until 2027, so my son has abandoned me because my ancestry is 95% English.
I’m so alone and lost bros. I can’t even listen to my favorite music to cope because every station is now just Tupac and Taylor Swift. Is it over bros?
A couple nights ago I was hiding in some bushes, trying to stay out of sight of the drone sweeps, and as I sat there, thinking about the last time I’d seen any of my bros (it was nearly a year ago, we were crouched in a ditch when a patrol car came past playing Toploader’s cover of Dancing in the Moonlight just as it got to the chorus and I… I couldn’t stop him) when suddenly I seemed to see in a clearing ahead of me the first white cishet male face I’d seen in months, and sitting in front of a lavish feast to boot. I felt tears forming in my eyes, though I sucked them back in because I wanted to make the right first impression on this stranger - and to that end, started limbering up my shaking-hand - and began to approach when I realised that he, and the enormous pile of unseasoned chicken and light beers before him, were sitting underneath a giant wooden box held up on one side by a stick with rope tied around it. On even closer inspection, and after adjusting my “fish fear me” hat’s visor out of my eyes and taking off my wraparound sunglasses, I saw he was actually just a paper plate with a face drawn on in ketchup, stuck to a mannequin wearing an UnderArmour shirt and shorts and a silver vintage Casio and boat shoes. Putting this information together, I realized I had nearly fallen into a cunning trap, so I started cautiously and tactically maneuvering away, but just as I did so I heard from a bush across the way what must have been someone’s ringtone going off and being suddenly silenced, though not before I recognized the first few seconds of the chorus of Flamingo by Kero Kero Bonito.
Heart pounding, I fled as quickly as I could into the night, weeping freely now I knew I would be unobserved, my unshaken hand clenched in rage… in short, the struggle to survive continues.