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Moroccaryan strikes again

What's wrong with white people?

The darkness that came after lay in the gray-ashen coffin that was Dresden. In what appeared to be the
open crater of a partially blown-off tank, of which hull lay open to the side of the impact stood a long-lost
hero by the name of Adolf Hitler, the last champion of humanity during an age of chaos and damnation.
He stood there, but thinking, reflecting on the war, on the unaccountable losses and of the casualties that
resulted out of facing the entire world, which had unfairly risen against his country and against his brave
people. He stood there with his gun directly at his temple, and finally he pulled the trigger without a
second thought, yet. Although he had closed his eyes, they were now wide open. Standing as if frozenly
in place; as the bullet but grazed his side, and bounced off against the side of his face, he realized that
someone, no, something pushed the tip off his temple. As he turned he realized that it was his right arm
which had ripped itself off his body, and as it floated in the air, he came to the realization that it was not
yet his time to die.

The Flying left arm of Adolf Hitler spoke as it continued levitating in the air:

‘It is not yet your time to die now, Adolf, you must live on and continue your journey for your people,
you must realize by now that the fate of the world rests on your shoulders.’

‘But what could I do now that my country, my people lay in ruin, the allies had won, the world is in their
hands, and they shall bring destruction upon all mankind instead.’

‘Instead of being saved by you, I know that. At the same time you must not forget why I threw off the gun
that could’ve put an end to your life, Adolf.

You must consider the ultimate solution.’

‘You cannot mean that? You can’t possibly mean that, you know very well more than I do, what the
consequences of the final solution are!’

As it happened, the ingenuity of Adolf Hitler never ended, as his genius came up with the ultimate plan of
Jewish extermination, which was the only ethnic group that was killed during the Holocaust. He had
converted the entirety of the continent with is entire landmass into a giant extermination camp with
secretly hidden torture devices and weapons that can only search and kill Jews as well as people with
Jewish sounding names. But wait, that also meant.

‘German lives could be at stake, you need to realize that. Since those Jewish rats stole our names, that
means every pure ethnic German life is at stake and it could be destroyed as well during the wake of the
Final Solution.’

‘The faith of this world rests on your choice, Adolf. One must sacrifice something equivalent to his heart
in order to destroy that of which he loathes most.

Say now, Adolf, are you willing to trade the lives, the history, the culture and everything else that makes
your people your people in order to destroy that, that you hate the most?’

‘That choice alone cannot be made by any man!’

‘And for that reason it needs to be done by someone beyond human. It needs to be done by you, Adolf.
You have undertaken a grand journey that rests on your shoulders, you must have come to the realization
that eventually you would have to take it.’

‘But I haven’t considered the consequences, I’ve blinded by my hatred that I’ve come jeopardize that
which I love the most, my people.’

‘And for those very own people you must make this hard choice, Adolf.

For you’ve yet to realize the true consequences there are to your action and what they mean for the future
of the mankind if they’re allowed to live from this point on.’

The final solution is a double edged blade. It brings hope yet it brings destruction with it.

‘What will it be then, Adolf? Will you live in shame from this point on? Forever lost and in search of
what could’ve been? Or are you going to take claim of everything and, bring ruin to your enemies at any
cost?’

But that was a choice that’s yet to be made. For, despite him bearing the trigger that would bring
destruction to all, he was in the end indecisive, as the sacrifice came to such a cost that would never be
recovered by any means.

Therefore he was drawn to a still; as a CM to a draw.

‘I’ve killed daughter, several times.’
Said Frank-Father, who stood upon his daughter’s bloody corpse, just as he rested with his tiled back
against the wall; he looked at her with a mightily arousal that had taken place. He considered as much but
never dared approach her now. She’s been standing there for hours, unmoving as if she’s but hooked
entrails, a pig inside a freezer. Nice.

His name was Adolf Hitler. He was an evil man, who did evil things and blamed it all on us. We never
did anything wrong, we never hurt anyone, at all. Wherever we went, we tried helping the societies we
lived in.’

One of jury members got up, pulled out a gun a shot him in the head. It was one of their own, but why
would they do that to themselves?

The trial was cut short, and they were given a short break to readdress everything that happened. They
would meet again in a week, until then, every single Deutsch man was put under house arrest, which
destroyed their economy again

The world was cyclic in some way, the field was a disaster, and Citadels rose from the bowels of the
earth. A second world, a third one, a fifth and eleven more wars happened, all of the same time with the
Bolshevik Revolution and the Communism spread and every other conflict known to many which
happened across the continent. It’s no wonder that many of the documents got burnt, destroyed,
annihilated, and completely torn to shreds. It was a chaos of destruction, of death.

Another flu came soon after from Spain, it spread across the land. Flights of mustard gas dropped soon
after, being followed by Onionroofs which were demolition artillery-dropped bombs the Russians made
against the forces of the West. The entirety of the continent was put under complete lockdown as it was
forced to enter a period of death and decay, of decadence and of complete self destruction, the result of
which was blood, the blood on which the Island was made, somewhere between Crime and Holomodor.

‘You see know, the Government was afraid that something like this might happen again. So that’s why
the project was being given birth to.

It looked like a pseudo weapon grip, hilt but not a well-formed ‘end-him-rightly’ cartilage, that was
completely covered by stick-bugs, forming a coil from which even more stick-bugs, who were more
flaccid, came out of, that bore square-ticks at their ends.

It was a terminal point out there, a miasma of unearthly creations. Like a hill, of a landslide punched in,
by a strong fist, filled with hard-to-pin to the exact muscle while performing the jab unfathomable
strength. While it was also moist and wet; stuck in between a launching pea-shooter like rattling of
pebbles shooting from above it, while the lower side release a bastion of smoke-clouds spread mice of
dust; that only being a slight humorous adherence to the Juden rat-snake-like rat-king formation of many
interconnected Zylon B rat food-filled kike-cans that seemed to spread itself across the universe, in a
desperate attempt to subvert and spread its poison-filled desire for miscegenation as well as destruction
for well-beyond-superior to them peoples, spread, across the confines of the universe they coiled
themselves in. This peculiar, almost spine-like segmented creature, this venomous thing, whose hooked
noses were the only things that stood out, other than their perfectly put together cylindrical bodies feared,
despite their incessant rattling, the only glorious, whose greatest story has yet to be told, hero stood who
not only as a bastion of justice, as the supreme defender of the most superior race that ever existed, the
Germanic race of the German people, but who had vowed never to surrender, slack or lay his hands down,
as to turn a blind eye to the suffering of his people. Adolf Hitler jumped on stars.

Despite having formed a circle, not every wall looked the same. Directly opposite to the door they had
just entered was an space-window, that granted them a full-view of the endless stretch that was space,
listening, or being forced to listen to the sounds, that were actually there. Carried on by singing corpses,
and rotten by frost –cadavers that carried magic-with them, glowing with a sparse ocean beyond blue tint,
that at times enabled them to fight one another, as they launched projectiles of hardened glowcysts and
paramedical giant skeletal-figures with eighteen heads, all of them being made out of real-shuffled meaty�skin or at least life-like imitations of historical figures, that blew up in guttural splatters as soon as their
homing rotations was done making contact with the bodies, forlorn yet overly pushed, out of their spheres
of reach, beyond the likens of humanity, or reach. As if, not even human-astronauts would be capable of
reaching them, if they tried. While these guttural things, fragments of gibbering hardening left-overs were
not only beyond the touch of merely god-abandoning mortals, whom, thinking themselves beyond the
likes of their more humane counterparts, whose likens was less, there was no faggotry involved, as to
completely ignore the warnings that none may touch those, shuffles of historical bastardization. A theft of
human souls, mental degradation, as for, the short duration of time, in which those many head-wearing
skeletons were alive, thought themselves to be, well, themselves, not their historical counterparts.
Incapable of actually knowing whether or not they were real. There was even a Zulu nigger thrown
around there or something. And pus, pox and disease; a mist and flying, tiny iron-chained spiked-balls;
with rocker-like shaped spine-contenders that were charging them, with fly-disease formations of flying�chained-by-them lightning catchers, drawing breath from the large Gorgonian-figures of Lamia-chested,
to which, sutured were great fore-limbs, eight on each side, then from the humanoid eight, eight more
from every single one of them sprouting out, although thinner than the main source. It looked like a weird
fan, a tiny forest made out of emerging limbs, or pseudo wings, at the end of every single one’s sixty
three, one apparently missing, arm-forearm-many-arm-forearm-after formation, pseudo unwrapped�deformed pseudo-heads that opened wide, at to release a miasma of –connected in the middle of the chest
yet projected, trajectory where they connected, dead-sight there, forming a pseudo pyramid if it were
sitting plank- on its back, on the ground, on a floor, these innards coils bloating eerily like meat-carrying
hoses. IT had no main head, the lamia body. But it didn’t matter since it formed a; and the lower tail-like
thing was more of a punching bag shaped amalgamation of shapes – children infants, segments of clearly
defined parts spread between one another, dragging upon each other’s body bulks, since they were
legless, thinking of each other’s as their mothers since they were blind. It looked like a meaty water�skipper, but with more legs, and more humanoid than previously thought, and the pyramid cartilage
formation being there as well. Perhaps not a real pyramid, since there were two main gaps that faced the
empty spot where its head might’ve been, which was directly opposite, on the other side to the tail, but
close enough, if seen from an angle. And if the arms properly aligned but they weren’t static; yet, the
main-bulk of cartilage-formations it made, there, in the middle, created a large, worming-snake-like,
horizontally or ninety degree clockwise rotated c at first that, then, pushed out to the right of it, forming a
line, of many pseudo-inside itself, textured racks with many pill-shaped coffin-esque, human faced, tomb�like floating creatures that immediately began attaching themselves to the cadavers, unlike coffins though,
since they were incapable of opening themselves, they simply glued or grazed over while keeping a hold
onto them, before returning to the rack they came out of. Whereas they bore large tubes, like astronaut�oxygen supply carriers that kept them leashed to their mother unit.

did this nigga really just pay for an indonesian bot to spam a thread that he didn't like

It was chained by medieval looking rusty, barely put together, iron-whips, that were lowered or raised, as
much as the mass they had taken, themselves, as space-surgeons, although not, obviously not licensed, by
their own accounts, performed as masterfully as it was graceful, in the eyes of a nonbeliever that was not
only present there, but who has been turned, to worshiping conversion, having kissed the anathema as
soon as he was met, by proof that there are dark creatures in this world, that would contort and distort
whatever soliquity there is left of life. Bastardizing the opposing beliefs in an attempt to furthermore
destroy all that is pure, he joined the crew. And he was accepted, as a born-again, after being baptized in
acid. Dark-metallic faces, well crafted, pillared and aforementioned, made to be part of the hall, they
chewed on the chains since only part of them was mechanic. Their mouths being there, somehow; a
rejoinder, a reminder of what their features were like. And why it happened. Weirdly strange drawings
got peculiarly written, atop markings, on the ground, being part of the main altar, upon which the cut was
lowered, but not for the purpose that was mentioned. Since they didn’t eat, being incapable of doing so,
they simply watched It being lowered, then lifted, in place.

Over the main-musk scented, between, as to look at them not as a formation, but at a sullen grouping, or
seepage between a bunch of culprit-servant cultist lord-worshipping pair of collaborationists. That
gathered up, forming a maliciously-inclined to devour the mere thoughts that went through their minds, as
they rested, still. Frozen, yet, as one could see, a red miasma rising, but as it happened for this to be
imagined inside one of their heads, an unnamed member of their crew, and since they were so blandly
open, to one another as much as they were to themselves, this group think of theirs caused all of them to
experience the same thing, at once. In the presence, of the cut.

Nonetheless, the dying beast’s cut only had to speak to them from time to time.
Inside the Cargo-merger, on top one of the greater ships.

Part of the street was severely as in, somehow this was found acceptable and brushed over, overly
quenched, as for every mouth and maw that was lain across the entire span of the neighborhood was
struck by a sudden barely-fathomable urge to have their tastes quenched, that only made it even more
difficult for them, since the neighbors had little care for other people beyond their spheres of influence, in
their selfishness, theirs being the fault for this hard to truly glance over rancid drought, as well as the
architects, whose do-to-nothing ‘fix’, upon the re-design of the nearest of use, that he could wrap his
hands around underground pipeage whose, beneath the smolderingly freshly placed tarred addendage, was
a hybridized system of a both cruelly medieval hybridization to which, this being no complementary
form, a modernization or contemporanization of an already existing system that was not broken was
subtly added, as well as a in-depth systematized set of well placed- overly-toiled upon, moving rack of
cistern-pouched with metal claws hanging upside down like monkeys machines that would cut off the
water supply from the mouths straight from the source. It was a cruel thing to do, but there was a good
reason for it. Since this also managed, over the prolonged duration of many months, to also cut off some
of the poorer tenants’ access to clean water, therefore any acceptable means of making a decent living,
they simply weeded out the niggers. It came at a great cost nonetheless. As the many maws and darkly�shaped mouth, soon enough began decaying underneath the air hot-burning magmatic inducing star-struck
bloated thing that stood there, resting outside the planes of stars, planets and celestial bodies across the
confines of a dead space, where trillions of frozen bodies lay, abandoned, having become the resting,
eternal glorious Creeker’s Cradle. Whereas the shapers of the dark-incessant arks and spaceship cargos
collected what they could from them, malignantly endowed, overly-glorified bandits incapable of any
solid thought, or, by their own account, meddlesome emotion. They were perfect. Out there, struck by the
fact that they looked alike, at times; lost in great confusion. As all features lay abandoned; and there was
no need to stare, or satiate the wonder, whichever one might make one spare, a glance or a leer-at�yourself don’t thread-on-me kind of wink.

A small incessantly driven into the inner-outer cortex shape of a plume formed around his giant bubble�head. It looked like a pimple-tumor with a pair of rocket launchers made of skin and bones coming out his
forehead, his teeth were long-whips with blade-like thing-growths of plaque-decay, swollen-tender,
inflated as if, because of air-lung organs that became apparent once his blob-fat body- clown punching
toy with hands and legs molded into his main frame, which only his the balloon-tumor could keep in
check. Since his head-tumor fat-thing looked like a multiple rocket launcher formation, from which the
cylindrical shapes could clearly be distinguished. Since the teeth-like plague-coal blade-things were
power-elongated, as they stood flatly beneath the rocket-launcher growth pimple on top the head, they
allowed only for a fraction of the shadow projected on the earth to pass through since they didn’t leave
any shadow on the ground themselves, while also blocking the light coming from the sun. His face was
but a patch of skin-barely a few centimeters off the convex surface of the top hourglass-like eely body he
moved on top of. He has a small cartilage-skin representation of himself without the blades or the rocket�launcher inside his brain, but it was clearly held, levitating while rotating in every possible direction, by,
coil-like tube-veins that passed through the brain, there being a giant hole-crater-sphere hollow in the
middle of, as if the brain was keeping it under control, that was producing power. It only stopped when
fully charged with malignant-surgical power, as the rocket-launcher rack but performed an invisible
surgery on the atoms between dimension as to, perform a cut-like with a scalpel which allowed for a non
existing hand to remove or take a hold of an actual rocket from a time where there was a military base,
regardless, although not regardless of location. It only worked at certain times of day and specific
locations, in time. As to perform a pseudo-time travel act of theft, but only if there were rockets around.
Sometimes he stole people and children, who started weeping, because the depression in the rocket�cylindrical spot was empty, there was nothing in, and it was dark, and frankly, quite frightening.

The child was afraid of the man, because, both were children, but. He was strange himself, and felt out of
place because of the un-rigid peculiarity of his body composition that turned him into an utmost peculiar
creature.

‘What are you hiding underneath that robe, dark man?’
‘My children, all of them are beneath me, so I keep them as such.’ – It was his neighbor; he was the only
other kid in town, playing with his toys.
‘A house of moving plunder in the coming of the after, it’s what I call but seek, upon my travel as I see it
fit.’

On its empty street, near the ST. Anthonius Earbettler’s lamppost, rested three dark a shard, one yellow,
piece of sun, dark long hand but tawny, out a native heap, and a nest-of lords, all kept in salty seeds made
out of a newspaper funnel. In which a few taken out of a morgue tourists rested in. Pasty as for the
ointment that was rubbed against them, part of the tall – four point half thirty meters long, in front of the
abandoned house, placed near the chapel and the glory Haus, where stood the German Lous.

Light-gusher
It started in the morning, when no one was watching.

There are certain things, which swim inside every rendition of their guts.

Bottled Snake, of beastly ravine; his belly ached and deep inside, on a whim, it started belching. It had
been caused by the incessant bothersome nature of the nuclear radiation

‘Let us proceed with the cutting!’ The Yellow-head said, and as he’d done it, the crooked horse’s a crook,
a few meters in but smelt and felt the alabaster. A disaster was in the brewing, just as soon. Without a
clear view in sight, and what had come on them but shook. Were the melted bodies, those whom formed
the frame, holding everything together, bolts but coming off their veins. In a moment or two, everything
would fall off. It was only a matter of stress, being forced, instead of waiting it out. A single pint of
bodies shook, a pair, and forms of wails, all but echoed, in their veins. Which took a hold, whips and
flogs, holding them, attached behind, around the keg, the wall and just about anything they could come
into contact with. Soon it settled down.

Much, far much closer they had come. Had there been a meter or so, left between their stand-on-kegs
upon which they climbed on, for a much better view was required in order to fully galvanize one another
during their standing, the keg might’ve fallen off, being eerily jerked as if they were standing on a
rubbery-ball, or something more flaccidly aligned to where they rested. It was a joy being there, every
single body was elated. Though, from whichever place they might’ve been descended out of, it was a
matter utmost, lest of all irresolute. Many of them shook at the sight of the crooked creature that bust
stood among them.

The surgical procedure had just begun; it came out of nowhere, even before either of them could look in
each and others, any, direction. As many of the closest cadavers and the standing-on-top of one another
corpses were readying themselves, to draw, an inch or two to the side, and even, more appropriately so,
closer than needed, before each second, as to leave a their booths and closed up pins behind.

Another young girl:

‘Diary, diary, today I saw Mongol.’

Another entry from the diary, taken out of a random page:

‘Mongol, I saw, diary, today, diary!’

There was no mirror in front of her, damned liar, only a wall of wreathing knives jerking eerily as they
would throw themselves at her, bleeding her dry.

I wish I was no longer a mongrel.’

Litany of a young girl:

‘Dear, Mongol. I have come to ask you much. I am in love with you, I am a servant, and you are my god.
I am a little girl, I must pray. Despite the fact that I a mongrel and, Heaven I may never see as well. I wish
there was a chance to speak. I wish I could bow down ate your feet. I wish there was, as much as pain, I
wish there was a chance, for me as to refrain. Please, dear, Mongol, god, help me banish these dark, on�coming thoughts, I fear. When I near, such a mirror, yet I see. You hide, as always, as always, behind me.
I am afraid, I cannot go ahead. Knowing you’re there.

He bore a mighty invisible yet surrounded by red outlines, feistily embroidered with pure unbridled
energy, blade, which bore many carefully aligned swastikas, held within its grasp.

The disgusting sub-humanly given-birth to from the incessantly, most degenerate bowels of the rottenly
fallen apart, side of the universe, Judenrats feared him beyond any possible comprehension of the word,
as he was nothing more but the last symbol of faith, truth, justice, and most importantly, caring for one’s
people. The values of raising your family, while bravely defending your nation; a testimony for what it
means to be human.

Adolf stopped for a moment, standing on a sole, lonely star, in a barely visible galaxy. He rested in.

>>719
Who?
Not on twinker nigger