#nigger stomp

[hairsprayqueen28]

Dinah

Summary: Ponyboy and Johnny save a colored girl from bullies.

Warnings: An ethnic slur is used

Parings: None

Racism and discrimination towards minorities was pretty bad in Oklahoma. Especially for the blacks that resided there. Hardly a day passed where Ponyboy did not witness some form of racism towards them and it honestly made him sick. Just a few days ago he saw a black man get put out of a restaurant because he was a ‘nigger.’ 

Ponyboy loved people of all ethnicities and while he wasn’t an activist for colored folks, he would stand up for them if given the chance because to him, they were ordinary people who deserved respect. Their skin color did not make them any less human. Johnny, of course, held the same beliefs as well as the rest of the gang. Even Dally, the punk who loves terrorizing people, including little children. 

Ponyboy fished around in his pants pocket looking for his pack of smokes. He was chilling at the DX with Johnny and was, as usual, craving some nicotine. He pulled out his Kools and took a cigarette out. He put the cancer stick between his lips and forgot he had left his lighter at home. 

“Johnny, do you have a light?” Ponyboy asked with the cigarette held between his teeth. 

“Sure man. Here you go.” Johnny pulled out his zippo lighter from his jacket pocket and lit Pony’s cigarette. 

“Thanks, Johnnycakes. Do you want to go to the lot? I’m getting bored of this place.” 

“Sure. I’m cool with that.” 

The two friends made their way towards the street leaving the DX and headed for their favorite hangout spot. As they walked through the streets, Ponyboy saw from across the street a young black girl probably around 8 or 9 years old surrounded by a group of white girls, who were also around the same age, a couple of blocks away from a grocery store. Stopping in his tracks, he watched to see what was going on. Johnny stopped walking and gave Ponyboy a confused look. 

“What’s wrong, Pone?” 

“Look.” Pony said pointing at the kids. 

Johnny looked to where he was pointing and saw some white kids bullying a little colored girl. They were pushing her around and one girl even pulled her hair making her cry out. 

“Why does your hair feel like that?” One white girl asked. “Yeah it feels weird.” Another chimed in. 

The black girl named Dinah felt tears burn her eyes and she tried to get away from these mean kids. 

“J-just leave me alone please. I need to get to the store..”

Dinah tried to move through them, but one of the girls tripped her and she fell flat on her face. Ignoring the laughs, she stood up rather wobbly and sped walked away from them. A girl picked up a small rock that was on the ground and threw it at Dinah’s back, making the others laugh. They all picked up some rocks and started throwing them at Dinah making her scream and run away with the girls at her heels. As she ran, she heard them chanting the word nigger over and over again. 

Pony, having seen and heard enough, put out his cigarette on the ground and went after the girls with Johnny right next to him. Dinah kept running and tripped over her feet landing hard on the pavement. The palms of her hands were stinging and the girls  chasing her hovered over her and started to kick and stomp her body. Dinah curled up in a fetal position from the pain of their kicks and stomps and shut her eyes tightly praying they would stop. A male voice shouting in the distance ceased their assaults and Dinah opened her eyes to see two teenage boys running up to them. 

“Get away from her you little brats!” 

“Yeah, leave her alone!”

The girls, seeing that the two boys are hoods, backed off and ran away leaving Dinah on the ground. Ponyboy and Johnny kneeled beside Dinah and carefully helped her off the ground. Dinah felt gentle hands lift her up and she faced two boys that were older than her. 

“Are you okay?” Ponyboy asked softly.  

Dinah sniffed and wiped her face with a little nod. 

Ponyboy squatted to get at her level and dusted the dirt off her purple dress. He looked her over for any injuries and reached out his hands to take her face into them.

“Are you sure? They were hurtin’ you pretty bad.” 

Dinah bit her trembling lip and felt tears spill down her cheeks. Ponyboy wiped them away with his thumbs and pulled her into a firm hug. He softly shushed into her ear and started to sway his body from side to side hoping the gentle motion would calm her. 

“Don’t cry, honey. It’s okay.” 

Dinah clung to him and buried her face into his shoulder getting a whiff of cigarette smoke. Ponyboy let her cry on him and Johnny just stood to the side silently watching the whole scene in front of him. When Dinah finished crying, she pulled away from Ponyboy and kept her face towards the ground. 

“Do you feel better?” Ponyboy asked, stroking her soft, black hair. 

“Y-yes..Thank you sir.” Dinah lifted her face from the ground and at Ponyboy, memorizing the boy who consoled her.    

“It’s no problem. What’s your name, baby?” 

“Dinah.” she said in a shy voice. 

“Dinah? That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” Dinah gave Ponyboy a little smile upon hearing that. 

“Thank you. My mama named me after her favorite singer, Dinah Washington.”

“She was one of my mom’s favorite singer’s too. She would play her vinyl all the time while dancing around the living room with my dad.”  

“What’s your name?” 

“Ponyboy Curtis and this kid next to me is Johnny Cade. My best friend. Johnny gave Dinah a smile and a little wave. “Hi there.” Dinah giggled softly at Ponyboy’s name. 

“You have a funny name.” 

“It is kind of funny isn’t it? I have a brother named Sodapop.”

“Really?” 

“Yup. It says so on his birth certificate. So, what were you doing all by yourself, hm? It’s dangerous for little girls to be wandering around alone.” 

“I was on my way to the grocery store. I have to get my mama some stuff." 

“Would you like me and Johnny to come with you? We’ll keep you safe if those girls decide to come back.” 

“I would like that very much. Thank you.” 

Ponyboy stood up to his full height, wrapped an arm around her small shoulders and the trio made their way to the grocery store which was just up ahead. Ponyboy pushed open the door for Dinah and let her walk in first. Dinah grabbed a small basket from a rack next to the door and headed to the aisles to start shopping. Not wanting to stand in the middle of the store, Ponyboy and Johnny walked around looking through various items on the shelves and decided to purchase a few things for themselves. 

Grabbing a few candy bars and a six pack of coke, the two made their way to the cashier and Ponyboy paid for their stuff along with a pack of cigarettes. Dinah came up to them a few minutes later having finished her little shopping trip and placed her basket on the countertop. 

“Got everything you need for your mom, Dinah?” Ponyboy asked, stuffing two candy bars and his cigarette pack into his pants pocket. 

Dinah nodded her head with a smile. 

The cashier finished scanning her items and put them away in brown paper bags. He gave her an estimate and Dinah pulled out some money her mother gave her from her dress pocket, counted it out with a little help from Ponyboy, and gave the cashier the exact amount. Ponyboy handed her the two brown paper bags and the three exited the store walking back down the street. 

“Want me to carry those for you?” 

Dinah shook her head smiling up at Ponyboy. 

“No thank you. I can do it.” 

Dinah clutched the bags to her chest and looked up at Ponyboy and Johnny with a smile on her face. Johnny looked down at her and gave her a smile back. He reached out his hand and gently ruffled her black hair making her giggle. Ponyboy pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket and lit one up. Dinah looked at it curiously. She had seen her parents smoke before and wondered why they liked it so much. The smell of burning tobacco was overwhelming to her young nostrils and the smoke burned her eyes.  When Ponyboy’s smoke reached her nose she let out a cough making him look down at her. 

“You alright, baby?” 

Dinah cleared her throat with a wince and nodded. 

“Yes. The smoke is strong.” 

Ponyboy immediately took the cigarette out of his mouth. 

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’ll put it out."

He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it while Johnny pulled out a coke bottle from the pack he was carrying and opened the cap with his teeth. 

“Want a coke Dinah?” 

Dinah looked at the coke bottle Johnny was holding out to her and nodded her head eagerly. She did love soda. Ponyboy took the bags from her arms and Dinah happily grabbed the soda from Johnny’s hand. 

“Thank you.” She said to Johnny and took a swing from the glass bottle. 

“So where do you live, Dinah?” Ponyboy asked. 

“My neighborhood is just around the corner there.” 

The three made a left turn at the next block and entered a small neighborhood. It didn’t look very different from Ponyboy’s neighborhood except for the houses which looked a little bigger. Dinah spotted her house which was adjacent to them and pointed at it.   

“There's my house over there!” 

Ponyboy handed Dinah back her groceries and took the now empty coke bottle from her hands.  

“Okay. Here’s your groceries. You take care, okay?” 

“I will. Thank you for helping me.” 

Dinah set her bags down and gave Ponyboy and Johnny a quick hug goodbye and picked up her bags, making a run for her home. The two greasers made sure she got in the house safely before taking their leave and watched as Dinah’s mother opened the door after hearing knocking and let her in.  

Leaving the neighborhood, Ponyboy pulled out another cigarette from his pack and lit it up. Johnny stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked over at Ponyboy. 

“Are we still going to the lot?” 

Ponyboy blew out some smoke and shrugged his shoulders.  

“I don’t know. I kind of want to go back home now and look through my parent’s old vinyl's.” 

“You want to listen to music?” Johnny questioned. 

“For some reason, after knowing that Dinah is named after Dinah Washington, it made me want to listen to her music.” 

“Maybe it’s because your mom liked Dinah Washington.” 

“That could be it. Want to go to my house and play some music Johnnycake? We can smoke and drink those cokes while we listen. I'm sure Darry won’t mind” 

“I’ll cool with that, man.” 

The two made it to Ponyboy’s house and Darry greeted them on the way inside. Ponyboy headed to his parent’s bedroom, which was now Darry’s room, with Johnny right behind him and looked through the closet searching for a box of vinyl's and a record player. 

“What are you doing, Pony?” Darry asked from the doorway.

“I’m looking for mom and dad’s vinyl's. Me and Johnnycake want to listen to some music.” 

“They should be in that closet somewhere. Make sure you put them back when you two are done listening to them. Those vinyl's are expensive.” 

“We will Darry.” 

The eldest Curtis left them alone and Ponyboy finally found the vinyl's and record player on top of a shelf. Ponyboy carefully took them down and set them on the floor where he started to look through the vinyl's searching for Dinah Washington. 

“Lets see...Elvis, Peggy Lee, Ray Charles, The Platters, Fats Domino...here it is! Dinah Washington.” 

Ponyboy pulled out the vinyl and wiped the dust off the cover. 

“Let's play it in the living room.” 

Johnny picked up the record player and the two left Darry’s bedroom. Johnny set down the case of soda on the coffee table and hooked up the record player. Ponyboy placed the vinyl on the platter and moved the needle of the cartridge to the now spinning vinyl. He placed the needle on the edge of the record and jazz music started to play. Ponyboy and Johnny sat down on the couch letting Dinah Washington’s soulful voice singing “Embraceable You” fill their ears. Darry and Soda walked in having heard the music and smiled at the two sitting on the couch. 

“Mom loved this song. She and dad danced to it all the time.” Soda said leaning against the wall.   

“I know. It’s making me miss her and dad even more.” Ponyboy said with a touch of sadness in his voice.

The two brothers decided to join them with Soda sitting next to Pony on the couch and Darry sitting on the floor helping himself to a bottle of coke. Ponyboy felt good sitting there with his brothers and his best friend Johnny. He especially felt good after helping a colored girl. A colored girl who made him want to listen to a colored woman. 

[fkyumerica]

clayton fucked mary sue his inbred and made marilyn manson

he mated with courtney and then he ran

she could only marry her inbred after she left one

they kept them as infants to leave three or more mating them to inbreed

to put them inbetween of each group of people alive

then houses after you keep them alive

threatening all of them

thought they were all his family

gay apes yea youre it

then they said they made houses for everyone alive gay christmas

their gay wives were free for anyone to fuck

keep them on alcohol, a whore house bitch and guy

and drug her for his dad to shut up so she gives it to him

and they run away

barrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

these people dont believe in money they throw it out a car window

and what do you believe it

they fucked i see people together

and her

glass eyes she moves around

and mumbles on your mouth

send a phone line into her chair

uhhh why are they listening to you

we can beat you

they fake die of alcohol poisioning

and fake bank of snow white too aww shes gay

and fake resell theyre not gay they dont get it

she fucked a gay son inbred

now she dont believe

i can lie and make it mineerrr

and whats wrong bitch act read the words

and they each got set up for dates to inbreed

they think they are the world

then stole a house put it on tv a show instead stole the camera

from cops

fresh prince of bell aire

fake bell family

bleach a fat nigger

we won

fake wrestling no one liked him

and anne marie wimped out and mated with his son instead

then agnes's inbred

then anyone to fuck her in a field

they run in to attack drunk then out to fuck in a field

no one ran them over yet? or shot them?

they made 500 each one got shot

he keeps stomping like a little 3 year old bitch

and remarry him angela did his other fuckers die?

get back in line she will do it if i say it

and go back to courtney, shawn

[lepartidelamort]

Watch: Out-of-Control Niglet Trashes Walmart While Bystanders Look on in Horror.

Black people built America out of cotton and then they infused it with exuberance. 

A new term for “nigger” just dropped: “Ill-Mannered Youth.”

This might be the best new nigger term since “jogger.”

New York Post:

An ill-mannered young girl is going viral after trashing a Walmart store — including smashing multiple glass bottles, in a wild caught-on-camera spectacle viewed millions of times online. The unsupervised brat’s trail of destruction spanned numerous display cases, the youngster grabbing items off shelves and tossing them on the floor with reckless abandon. As she made her way to the deli counter, two women attempted to bring her under control as she writhed around on the ground in protest. “Where is her mother — or whoever she’s with?” a nearby shopper can be heard asking aloud. After encountering resistance at the deli counter, she started spiking products on the ground and stomping them with her feet, and even started kicking displays as a small group of employees drawn by the noise looked on helplessly.

A video of the fracas posted online has been viewed nearly 3 million times, with many blasting the girl’s guardians for raising her to be a disrespectful hellion. … It was not immediately known which state the incident took place in, nor was it known whether the girl’s guardians were made to pay for the destroyed items.

It was a straight-up barbarian rampage.

Really brings some excitement to what would otherwise be a totally flavorless white society.

Blacks have often pointed out that whites do not spice their food. They also do not spice their Walmarts.

Ill-Mannered Youths can bring that spice of life to Walmart that we so desperately need.

Black people built America out of cotton and then they infused it with exuberance.

Andrew Anglin for the DailyStormer.

[readjthompson]

Well, since my novelette Cancel Toby Chalmers! (copyright me, now) has been sitting around, completed, for nearly 16 months, I’ve decided to share it for free, until it’s later released as part of a Toby Chalmers collection.

Here's Chapter 7.

Chapter 7

“Shadrach, get out here!” Joseph McCarthy Jr. hollered houseward, from the back patio. Another vibrantly sunny day. He’d never felt more virtuous. Perhaps he’d lock himself in his home office and masturbate later. Exhilarated, he bounced on his toes.

Moments later, his nephew materialized, wearing his TRANSYLVORIA PRIDE shirt. Sighting no cotton balls on the back lawn, he relaxed his posture, just slightly.

“You look frightened today, buddy. Is everything okay?”

“Um, I guess…I mean, yeah. It’s okay, sir.”

“Look me in the eyes when we talk, boy. And what’s with this ‘sir’ stuff all of a sudden? You’ve always called me Uncle Jojo. Don’t you love me anymore?”

Dragging his gaze toward his uncle’s beaming countenance, Shadrach uttered, “Uh…yes, I do.”

“Yes, you do…”

“Yes, I do, Uncle Jojo.”

“There now, isn’t that better? You’re trembling, boy. Are you comin’ down with a cold?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Excellent. Excellent. In that case, check out what I bought ya.”

With a few prancing steps sidewise, Joe unveiled his latest purchase: a kids’ ride-on utility terrain vehicle with off-road capability, electrically powered.

“You…bought me a jeep for toddlers?”

“You’re within its age range. Why don’t ya give it a spin? This baby’s got a steering wheel and a gas pedal, and can go seven miles per hour. Plus, it’s the best color in the world: hot pink.”

“Oh…okay.”

“That’s the spirit. Take a few laps in the backyard while I figure out our lunch plans. It’s all charged up and ready to go.”

Joe disappeared into the house. After sweeping his scrutiny across the backyard’s perimeter, so as to ensure that nobody was observing him, Shadrach climbed into the driver’s seat. He stomped on the pedal and the vehicle vroom-vroomed forward.

Well, I guess this isn’t so bad, Shadrach thought, turning so as to coast parallel with the back fence. It’s faster than I walk, at least. Plus, Uncle Joseph isn’t mad at me anymore, I guess. He honked the horn a couple of times, felt the breeze in his hair, and allowed himself to grin.

A few backyard laps later, boredom set in. How long do I have to keep doing this, anyway? he wondered. Suddenly, he heard an air horn, just behind him.

“Stop the vehicle, nigger!” his uncle shouted.

“Oh no,” Shadrach murmured, fantasizing about plowing the UTV through the fence and driving forever. Instead, he brought it to a stop and turned toward the shouter.

Huffing and wheezing, his face oozing perspiration, Joe hurried over. He’d exchanged his earlier attire for a policeman costume, complete with aviator sunglasses and a phony chest badge. Its dark blue hue made his pallidness all the more striking.

Pulling a plastic gun from his belt holster, he stuck it in his nephew’s face and shouted, “Get out of the vehicle now, nigger!”

“Please, Uncle Jojo, not today.”

“Uncle Jojo? You’re no relation of mine, boy. Are you high on crack or PCP? Who’d you steal this vehicle from?”

“Steal? You literally just gave this to me.”

“A liar, too. Can even one nigger ever tell the truth?”

Fighting back his tears, Shadrach climbed out of the UTV.

“Lie face down on the grass and put your hands behind your back.”

“But that’ll bother my allergies. Please, Unc…officer…sir. Can we at least do this inside the house?”

“Are you resisting arrest, nigger?! Should I shoot you right now and save the taxpayers the cost of your prison sentence?!”

* * *

Peeking between wooden fence slats, Clara and Cora Achebe, eleven-year-old twins clad in matching green sundresses, gasped.

“I thought Daddy was kiddin’,” Clara said to her sister, absentmindedly tugging her braids, as she did when she was nervous.

“No, that mean ol’ white man’s definitely gone crazy,” replied Cora. “Look, he’s puttin’ handcuffs on poor Shadrach.”

“Grindin’ his face in the grass, too. This must be the devil’s doin’.”

“We’ve gotta help stop this. Should we call the police?”

“Not unless you can turn us white first. I’m not tryin’ to get shot.”

“Should we tell Daddy then? He could snap that psycho like a twig.”

“And end up in prison. Nah, I’ve got a better idea.”

* * *

Amongst the exalted pantheon of individuals Joseph McCarthy Jr. deemed his pal-o-roonies, Jon McLood—who ran the horror fiction review site, Pfeffernüsse of Terror—ranked at the tippy top. If not for the fact that Jon was a racially challenged, cisgender, straight male, Joe would’ve offered the guy a position at Transylvoria every time they exchanged texts.

Perhaps two years prior, they’d met at Transylvoria’s Media Outreach Luncheon, an annual event wherein Joe offered horror fiction journalists far and wide an opportunity to chat with their betters for just fifty dollars apiece.

Flouncing from table to table—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in one hand, an apple juice box in the other—Joe had held court, soaking in every last bit of the dippy, saccharine, overdone adulation that he felt he deserved. At last, his capering steps carried him before a potato-shaped man in a green fishing vest, whose long, rust-colored beard evoked inverted Troll doll hair, stretching in sharp contrast to his bald, spit-polished noggin.

Though the luncheon’s every glad-handing grubber recognized Joe on sight, he couldn’t resist introducing himself to each new face, anyway. To Jon, as per usual, he said, “Hello, hi, and hey. I’m Joseph McCarthy Jr. But don’t worry, my dad wasn’t that Joseph McCarthy. He was liberal to the bone, just like me. He even shook Nelson Mandela’s hand once.”

“Oh, I’ve read all about it,” Jon replied. “Me, I’m jovial Jon McLood. Here, how about a friendly fist bump?”

They bumped fists, causing Joe to accidentally squeeze his juice box too hard, squirting his little straw right on out of it. He met Jon’s eyes and they were giggling.

“So, what do you do?” Joe asked, claiming a chair. Jon lifted a finger and opened his mouth. But Joe had already placed both of his fists upon his own hips, to better declare, “Me, I’m Transylvoria’s Editor-in-Chief.”

“Oh, of course I know that, you big, beautiful, silly man. I’ve been reading your magazine since it was still Draculiterary. You’re a frickin’ hero to me, like Batman and Superman amalgamated. I’d wear underoos with your face printed on ’em if you sold them. As a matter of fact, believe it or not, I started Pfeffernüsse of Terror to be just like you.”

“Pfeffernüsse of Terror? What’s that, some kind of bakery? I’ve always had a weakness for cookies.” Joe patted his bulging stomach. “And muffins and cakes, too.”

“Oh, we’re cookin’ alright, but only with words.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right, we review horror fiction, just like Transylvoria does.”

“Whose books do you focus on? Not racially challenged, cisgender, straight males, I hope.”

“Never, my friend. How could I look at myself in the mirror if I did? How could I sleep at night? We do dedicate a week to every new Stephen King book, though.”

“Of course, of course. Stephen King’s our sole exception, too. It’s like, sure, cover the best of the best of the racially challenged, cisgender, straight males, but why bother with any others? Let historically marginalized voices be heard.”

“Right? How else can we atone for our own privilege?”

“I always pay mine forward. I’ll tell you that much.”

With that, they really got to talking, for the rest of the luncheon and beyond it. Their discussion spanned not only inclusive literature, but also music, television, films, dreams, aspirations, celebrities they’d paid to be photographed with, and autographs they’d framed. They pulled out their phones and followed and friended each other all across social media. They shook hands, fist bumped, hugged, patted each other’s backs, and played grab ass, so much so that each, a few times, wondered if the relationship that was forming between them was strictly platonic.

Joe invited Jon back to his house that night for a Jordan Peele marathon. Between films, they drank hot cocoa and gossiped about horror industry politics.

Declaring themselves “platonic twin flames”, both shed tears when Jon had to fly home to Ireland the next morning. As promised, they kept in touch, texting and direct messaging each other several times daily.

So, indeed, it came as no surprise when Joe, fresh from his latest assault on his nephew’s “ingrained racism”, encountered a lengthy text from his buddy the very moment that he picked up his cellphone. It read:

Hey-ho, JOESANNA IN THE HIGHEST, ruler of all that he surveys…

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately (what else is new, right?). This approach that you’ve come up with to combat your nephew’s racism…my friend, it’s entirely revolutionary! I mean, holy Jean Piaget! With every step you take, you bring us one step closer to smashing white supremacy! Hip hop hooray!

Sadly, my own daughter, little Ginger, has expressed bigotry of her own lately. She actually said, with her cute little mouth, “People with penises can’t be girls, Daddy.”

I felt so ashamed of her then. Transphobia in my own house! So I asked myself, “What would the wokest bloke that I know, Gorgeous Joe, do in this situation?” I’m sure that you’ve already guessed the solution I arrived at.

That’s right, I’m scheduling gender-affirming surgery for little Ginger. Soon, she’ll have a penis where her vagina once rooted, and will know once and for all that gender is determined by spirits, not bodies. The other kids at her elementary school will learn from her example, I’m sure.

Due to brave, forward thinking men like us, this beautiful planet of ours might just have a chance after all. Otherwise, we’d just end up with a bunch of Toby Chalmers’ tearing everything down to satiate their destructive, bigoted ideologies.

You’ve heard about Toby Chalmers already, I’m sure, but on the off chance that you haven’t, he’s this bizarro fiction writer that thinks blacks should only come out at night, because every race, blacks included, hates people of African descent. He also wrote terrible things about black actors and rappers. What kind of monster doesn’t like “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It”?

At any rate, here’s a link to his post, in case you want to make an example of the guy. Love you, buddy.

Joe had an erection, he realized. Lightly stroking it through his pants with his free thumb, he clicked the link and began to read.

* * *

“Hey, Shad. Yeah, you. Come talk for a minute.”

Sniffling, Shadrach glanced to the fence with eyes that itched terribly. Licking his lips, he tasted tears and snot. Joe had removed the handcuffs, but left him out back for hours. His parting words were: “Uncivilized niggers don’t belong indoors! Sleep outside tonight like the animal that you are!”

Drawing closer, Shadrach asked, “Is that Cora or Clara?” He’d conversed with the twins through the fence on a few prior occasions, their outgoing natures overcoming his own bashfulness.

“Clara. But my sister’s with me, too.”

“I sure am. Hi, Shad.”

“Hi, Cora. Hi, Clara. How’s it goin’?”

“Better than it’s going for you, that’s for sure,” Cora said.

“Be nice,” Clara chastised.

“I am being nice, sister.”

“Not as nice as I am.”

“Way nicer. Always.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Come on, girls, don’t fight,” Shadrach pleaded.

“I’d like to fight that bitch-ass uncle of yours.”

“Clara!”

“Oh, like you weren’t thinkin’ it, too. We saw what he did to you earlier, Shad. We peeked through the fence cracks. It was so horrible, I almost cried.”

Though Shadrach’s first instinct was to deny everything, he swallowed those words down before they could emerge from his throat. Instead, he said, “Uncle Joseph is such a bully now. I think he’s gone crazy.”

“Doesn’t that man read horror all the time? He probably started out crazy.”

“Cora! She doesn’t mean that, Shad.”

“Don’t tell him what I mean. You heard those racist things he was shoutin’. A white devil, that’s what he is. He’ll probably kill Shad soon enough.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Shadrach admitted.

“Well, whatever’s happenin’ with that man, we need to get you away from him,” Clara said.

“But my mom’s in rehab and none of my other relatives want me. Until she gets better, I’m stuck here.”

“Actually,” said Cora, “my sister had an idea about that.”

“Let me tell it, Cora. You’ll go all mush-mouthed again if you try.”

“Will not.”

“Whatever, girl. Shad, I know of a spot where you can hide for a while, where your uncle will never be able to find you.”

“Yeah, where’s that?” Shadrach asked, disbelieving.

“Do you know that place next to the swap meet, where there’re all of those trees and boulders and stuff, and no one’s allowed to build houses, or even explore, because it’s protected land, or somethin’?”

“Uh…I think so.”

“Well, my friend Shareese’s brother and his homies used to get drunk and do drugs there. They left tents and sleeping bags behind. You could live there for a while. Cora and I’ll bring you food and stuff. That way, you’ll stay safe until your mama gets outta rehab.”

“You want me to be homeless?” Shadrach asked.

“At least you’ll be alive,” said Cora.

“It’ll only be for a while,” added Clara. “We’ll spy on your uncle’s house for you, too, and let you know if we see or hear anything about your mama.”

“Huh. Let me think about it.”

[famousautomatondreamsrockstar]

Tyler The Creator is a violent rapist. He's an ugly fucking nigger. Someone oughta beat the shit out of him and stomp his nuts in.

[kill-republicans-and-democrats]

I think it's funny cause so many just create words to be racist terms that are ease dropping or some weird shit.

Beaner- A person who comes from a family that picks beans for a living.

Spec- A measurement unit used in eyewear.

Spic- has to do with the faucet and sink, also an old product called spic and span.

Nigger- a man of ignorance

Honky Tonk- A person thought to be a farmer that stomps around dancing taking up females.

Hick- A country worker that likes to bask in the sun usually on the water.

Redneck- A term used for a person that does something unusual when life is low. A tribal member of the redskins tribe.

Chink- A person with squinty eyes.

Wetback- A hard worker that sweats hard and has sweat rolling off the back of soaks the shirt.

Then these are all last names- Beaner, Spec, Spic, Nigger, Tonk, Hick, Redneck, Krist, Jahovah, Jesus, Cross, Chink, and everterm that's a word almost hollered racist.

[wp88bro]

Curb stomp that nigger

[zooterchet]

Famous Assassin Recipes

Tanacharison: The filterless cigarette, a Lucky Strike, enjoyed with a gin martini. Two shots of gin, fill with seltzer, and enjoy a Lucky Strike on a brass lighter, a zippo. For VC nai poon. That's the lady. He always knew where the next war would be.

John Wilkes Booth: Take the Snake, a prison rapist, and the Loser, a bisexual informant, and switch them, with a peanut butter sandwich, Skippy, no jelly, bleached bread, Wonderbread, in high sun, with a Marlboro Red at the same time; remark, "flavor country", to the Snake, your mind's eye of the Loser. The club goes all the way back home, and there's a witch trial, on slavery.

Albert Whisker: Use a three pointer, a 3.5 shot glass, the Cantonese shot, to take a half shotter of vodka, cheap stuff, and a half shotter of orange juice, expensive, campus variety, and hammer a shot, before you snort amphetamines. That's the stuff, to get you going, to understand Chinese history. It doesn't go away, unless you've seen Disturbed in concert. Back in that day, we called him Bojangles; or maybe Scott Joplin, or Sammy Davis Junior.

Lee Harvey Oswald: Get a Marlboro Red, some nitrate car battery stomped coca (cocaine powder on cut, "pure", a CIA blend, nitrate phosphate, for the erection, or the transgender juices, if you prefer the ladies, for the ladies), and take a Bazooka Joe pellet. Demonstrate the technique, to the target, "the head crab", someone stealing a drug dealer's job to lay you, as a Freemasonic Ring (Mister President), to dab the powder from the gum, on the cigarette, then smoke it backwards, on the filter (I'm just a paddy, a poor Irish sailor). They'll need crack rock to get out, but only if they trust Jack "Hardy" Ruby, Charlie Manson (old Mister Lincoln, "he stinks", then you're shut down, the entire campus; you wrote 'nigger' in the bathroom, Lincoln was a drug dealer this time, 'again').

Martin Luther King Jr.: Order a beef tarte, the cheeseburger empanada, from anything labeled 'King', and if they have the tres luches, you've alerted them that "James Earl Ray", is in the area. A personal delivery, will be made to a black Senator's house, to see if you've received a coin, from the Nordic Lodge, the rival to the Lounge, the old athlete's singing joint. If it's Joe Frazier's Lounge, you win; you've just caught the last show to Delaware, Joe Biden is President. Like the King family wanted, a French President, since 1935 (improved traffic resistance, the last place besides the bus they can't get you; the King family, is the cops, they run the restaurant).

Sirhan Sirhan: If you have a charcoal grill, strike up a conversation, with a man with your feet. If he's a propane man, that doesn't know how to cook, he'll have your exact stumble, having studied you, to build a healthy intestine. Your mother, will retain cooking recipes, for his family's secrets, on cartoon anti-Semitism, a fat man, for the proper distribution of diet on a budget; for all involved, including you, the stock of frozen foods non-necessary to eat, to get you "off the bucket", and into proper ordering, fifteen dollars on a two dollar "squib", the fees and tip, on a twenty dollar meal, with an extra meal left over, for a three day "spree".

George Jung: "Boston" George Jung, wants you to know, that it is inappropriate, to drink whiskey, without Worcestershire sauce, hiding the steak's sauce, with a Bloody Mary. To beat AA protocols, mix the Worcestershire, in your home "furnace", the cabinet, with Jim Beam, the preferred whiskey of the CIA range division, the overweight cop. If you know a cop, who has ever been overweight, and he doesn't know he's a cop, give him a flask of Jim Beam (not a "fifth", the jeopardy round, you've just qualified as airman, you get free LSD). He'll figure everything out. But he's watching you, very closely, because your girlfriend, likes them big; you're listening to Boston George.

OJ Simpson: The bowels can be purged, through a heart seizure, a rare term of logic, invented by Jake Charlebois, at Minnesota State University, on the professional college team. The posture as Hitler, as an American quarterback aside, a bowl of whole milk, a full box of Cheerios, and a Friendly's Sundae, in the tin (now a plastic or paper cup, since the advance by OJ), can be used; eating the entire box and all the milk, then the peanut butter Friendly's Sundae, to seize the heart clamps, before the pain and agony passes, and a Marlboro Red is enjoyed, OJ's choice to retire from football to get his Wheaties Box (the first of its kind). The bowel chlonic, will unblock the hemorrhages in the liver, unless you die; you were eating too much mayonnaise (you worked food services, and are in danger of colon surgery; sorry, kid, not for the big leagues, bagging groceries).

David Charlebois: A Chinese sausage, can be enjoyed on a George Foreman grill; normally lethal, "red sausage", unless on charcoal, an easy cause of trichinosis, unless rigid cooking times are observed; impossible for the mentally ill. The press grill, however, guarantees a succulent taste, and a slow purge of the insides, the sweatest black meat you can afford. Any sausage, is delicious on a Foreman, but not like red sausage, the Chinese sausage; a boneless spare rib, lethal to Jews out of paranoia, but just delicate enough to please a Hebrew man's stomach if char broiled in a press machine. Be aware, if your room mate has the Foreman, and won't eat it, he's a traitor. Take his story of his background, and recommend it to a writer claiming Lutheran, as marked '88', Millard Fillmore; a history teacher, in politics.

[stompandtwistandshout]

The Checkmates - Run Nigger Run

[dead-twink-storage]

Dragphobia is such a hilarious concept whithin the larger sphere of homophobia because it's akin to having a friend of a friend of yours shout nigger at the top of his lungs in a black ghetto getting you both jumped and curbed stomped but demands that everyone feel sorry for him and ignore that he's the sole reason your busted bleeding skull is smattered all over the pavement.

[jehovahhthickness]

I can’t seriously date or marry outside of my race because if that man or one of their family members call me a “nigger”, Ima stomp on them.

Trust and believe that.

[marlborogf]

Why are you mad at her for being a girlboss and committing arson

Idk where to start so I'll start at the end: This girlboss repeatedly called me and my sisters niggers and apes and said a whole bunch more about me personally (I'm a fake bulimic, fat, more fat comments, comments about my disabled dad who is now dead). She's a white supremacist (self admitted), a pathological liar, and the biggest attention whore you've ever seen. We fistfought in 2020, I stomped her, and she was bitter so she tried to taze me in the neck but when you're a brittle boned meth head you're easy to overpower. After the fight she followed me and my friends to the shore that night with the tazer. And continued to stalk me and my friends for a few months in different cars before eventually moving to fl.

[rubylioness]

“Simply adding a prefix to an already offensive word”

*Stomps on ground repeating*

THIS! Because how is a Black girl calling an almost-White passing Pakistani guy (who BTW, wants to seem as White as possible) a variation of the word “nigga/nigger” make her a, “horrible racist”??? It’s very obvious what she was attempting to do when she attacked him, and maybe if y’all...nvm sksksks

But if wanna talk about islamophobia, let’s talk about y’all’s fave troll’s old tweets. And despite being a troll, I think the nigga was serious, like... Claiming that Islam was inherently violent.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[petervintonjr]

Not part of the ongoing Black Lives Matter syllabus I’ve been presenting, but: I couldn’t NOT contribute a drawing of John Lewis, this day. Second time in less than a year that I find myself weeping for the passing of a U.S. Congressman.

An account of Lewis’s first encounter with violence during the Freedom Rides, from James Farmer’s autobiography, Lay Bare The Heart (see Lesson #17):

’…At another stop in South Carolina, we began to taste southern hate. At Rock Hill, John Lewis approached the waiting room “for whites.” Leaning against the doorjamb were two tough-looking youths with leather jackets and ducktail haircuts. “Get to the other side, boy,” ordered one of the young men as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the “for colored” waiting room entrance, “where the niggers go.” “I have a right to go in there,” said John with ministerial dignity, “on grounds of the Supreme Court decision in the Boynton case.” Those thugs did not know what Boynton was. They probably did not know what the Supreme Court was. John attempted to walk through the door between them and was struck and knocked down. They began to kick and stomp him as he covered up in the manner learned in our role playing. A city policeman stood by, watching but not interfering. Albert Bigelow, the ex-navy captain, tried to intervene by stepping between John and his attackers. The two youths slugged him, but they had to hit him several times before he dropped to one knee. Bigelow, like Lewis, did not strike back. Only after Bigelow fell to the ground did the policeman show any interest in the proceedings. He walked up and said to the hoodlums, “All right boys. Y'all’ve done about enough now, why don'cha y'all go on home now.” The Ride went on, with Band-Aids sealing two cuts over John Lewis’s eyebrows.’

[tortoisesensei]

Achieving Racial Equality

You know, I hear about the concept of White privilege every time, and I often hear about dismantling white privilege, which sounds like a good thing if we truly want an equal society.

Thing is, there are people who don’t want an equal society, and many of them love to talk down to you about white privilege. These are known as “race hustlers.” The thing about race hustlers is that they capitalize off of any event that test racial tensions here in America. Sometimes, they like to create hoaxes in an attempt to “start a conversation,” but we know that’s bullshit. Racism is a hot button issue, and without it, these jokers would be without a job. Not only that, but without things like white privilege, they themselves face the drawbacks of a truly equal society.

What do I mean? Well, for starters, in a truly equal society, they will be forced to acknowledge white people as... people. How can you vouch for an egalitarian society, if you continue to view white people as your oppressors, or continue to see them as oppressors after the fact? In an egalitarian society, you have to see them as people, if you want to them see us as people. This also means that you now have to look at the concept of Black supremacy, take it as seriously as you would take White supremacy, and make sure that it never flourishes. Same goes for Asian, Latino, Native American, Jewish, Middle Eastern, Islander, whatever racial supremacist beliefs out there. If you want to stomp out White supremacy, then you must also do the same to other racist beliefs (SIDE NOTE: Before anyone tells me, “POCs can’t be racist,” yes, they can. Even if you dismiss their racism as “prejudice,” we still have to make sure to weed that out BEFORE it becomes racism).

Secondly, racial views. Can’t have that in an egalitarian society. If a white person has to keep themselves from stereotyping or harboring racist views, so do you. You aren’t to joke about white people, criticize them, hold them responsible for what horrible things people who share their ancestry have done to non-whites, ban them from your safe spaces (Hell, you’re not allowed to have a race-based safe space), or ban them from your culture. You have to tolerate them, just like they have to tolerate us. Same thing with other races. Also, call that shit out when you see people from your own community do. If white people have to do it, then so do you. Do unto others, right? As a bonus, no hiveminds. You are not to assume that I have to agree with you, think like you, talk like you, act like you, listen to the same music as you, eat the same food as you, and even have the same preferences in women as you just because I have the same skin color as you. This means that we will finally the death of those tired-ass insults like “coon,” “Uncle Tom,” and “house nigger.”

Inclusiveness. As I said before, in a truly equal society, race-based safe spaces cannot be allowed. In fact, no all-POC anything. You have to include a white person in any of your groups, just like they have to include you in their groups. You also cannot hire or fire anyone based off of their race. You also cannot gatekeep your culture from white people, just like they can’t gatekeep you from theirs. If one group can do all of these things and others can’t, then it’s not equality you want, it’s supremacy. Also, “washing” is not allowed. If white people are not allowed to whitewash anything, then you’re not allowed POC-wash anything. This way, you’ll be forced to relate to anything that’s not POC-centric, just like you want white people to relate to you.

Lastly, identities. Racial identities cannot exist in an egalitarian society if one group cannot have one while others can. If white people are forced to give up their racial identities and learn about their true history, then so will you. Finally, you will get to learn that your group is just as fucked up as white people. This will be the actual end of racial stereotypes, because we will all have to acknowledge our similarities and flaws as human beings. This will be the end of all racial identities...

...including the Black identity.

That, right there, is what race hustlers fear the most. See, racists are like stereotypical hardcore sport fans: genetically and intellectually inferior people who piggyback off of the successes of people who’ve actually done shit in their lives. Just with race. I call these people “genetic dickriders,” failures who take credit for other people’s successes just because they share the same skin color. They don’t think, “ Wow, this person who looks like me made huge accomplishments! Maybe I can do the same!” Instead, they think, “Wow, this person who looks like me made huge accomplishments!  BY VIRTUE OF SKIN COLOR THAT MEANS WE DID IT AND I DON’T HAVE TO FOLLOW BY EXAMPLE I COULD JUST PIGGYBACK OFF OF HIS LEGACY AND NOT ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING IN LIFE LIKE A LAZY FUCK AND EXPECT PEOPLE TO WORSHIP ME JUST BECAUSE I SHARE THE SAME SKIN COLOR AS THIS MORE FAMOUS PERSON” White supremacists, Black supremacists, race hustlers, feminists, and intersectionalists are the same, and if you take away the need for some oppressed identity, then they have nothing. No personality, no successes, nothing. Hey, maybe an egalitarian society will finally be the help they claim they wanted. This way, they can finally look at themselves, and go, “Wow! I’m a fucking asshole!”

[shereadsandwritesformelanin]

The Baker And Her Actor: Part Viii [continued]

PART 1 HERE‼️

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

Slumped on the ground, Chris’s dick still erect he scoops you up bringing you to the bathroom preparing you both a warm shower.

“Stay here.” Chris whispers kissing your forehead

You sigh flopping down onto the bed. “Cute butt.”

Chris turns around smirking. “It’s all yours.” Sending you a wink.

A small smile slips on your lips digging into the blanket.

Chris comes back throwing you over his shoulders slapping your ass. “Chris!” You shreak

“Y/n!” He mocks you.

He places you down walking into the grand shower behind you. He squeezed out some body wash rubbing it down your back slowly, kissing your neck hugging into you.

“I love you.’ So much.” Chris whispers

“I love you too.” You whisper turning around holding him close.

It was true this whole year was an experience with Chris. You’d never loved anyone more than you’ve love him, he’d been nothing but good. You hoped he would be in your life for the long run.

You too bathed each other, loitioned each, and Chris even twisted your hair. You fell asleep in each other’s arms not thinking about the nightmare to come.

-

All day your phone had been going off like insane. You were trying to savor this beautiful vacation instead of scrolling on social media.

Finally caving, you grab your phone loginimg into Instagram. Your eyes go wide as you see your follower account had spiked over night, going from 300 followers to over 10,000.

“What the fuck!” You shout shooting out of your seat rushing inside to find Chris.

“Chris!’ Christopher! Chris!” You shout louder and louder.

Chris comes racing out of the bathroom. “Yes baby I’m right here!” He says walking over to you.

Saying nothing you turn your phone showing him your Instagram feed.

“Okay, what is it?”

“Chris did I have 10,000 followers the other day.” You sass crossing your arms.

“I suppose not.” Chris sighs taking your phone sitting down.

“Should I delete it?’ You ask. “The comments there floding in.”

Chris shuts your phone off putting it to the side cupping your slender face in his large hands. “Let’s not worry about that, the premiere is today. We need to get ready, yeah?” Chris suggests kissing your forehead pulling you toward the room.

-

You sit in the hot spot getting your hair, makeup, and nails done. Chris’s stylist decided you two should match, so she dressed you in a soft decadent white body con dress fitting your curves like a glove.

“All done.” One of the stylist inform taking a last snap of her work.

You step into the mirror stunned by how beautiful and expensive you looked. You’d never seen yourself perfessionally done before. “Woah.’ You gasp. “Thank you so much.” Nearly tearing up.

“Hey!’ Megan snaps “‘No tears Missy we’re on a time crunch, let’s go get your boyfriend.” Ushering you’re out the room.

You walk down the hall way and then you see him.

Damn.

You smile running up to him throwing your arms around his broad shoulders. “You look outstanding y/n.” Chris compliments twirling you around for a better look.

“I could say the same for you, america definitely didn’t lie when they say that was their ass.” You whisper smirking cheekily.

“Y/n don’t make me rip this dress off of you, right here, right now.” He whispers back holding you close.

“Lovebirds lets go!” Megan shouts scolding you near the security that awaited you and Chris.

Chris engulfed your hands in his. “Ready.”

“As I’ll ever be.”

-

When you got to the premiere you were frozen there were flashing lights everywhere. Anyone and everyone who say Chris screamed his name hungry for his attention.

Chris made sure to hold you close when walking in crowds squeezing you hand to let you know he was right there.

Unless he had an interview, or pictures.

You walk around glued to Chris’s hip, per his command. He watch as he graciously interacts with fans, interviewers, his co-stars. He was certainly made for this life.

You watch him with twinkles in your eyes a grin painting your lips. You were proud. “What?” Chris smirks laughing a bit.

“Nothing. You look good and I’m proud of you, glad I can see you work.” You praise putting on your vip acess pass.

He places a lengthy kiss on your forehead, pulling back. “Thank you doll, I have to do one more group interview before we can watch the movie and get our off here.” He smirks deviously

“Okay.” You mouth

-

The interview had been going on for roughly thirty minutes. So what other way was there to interview yourself from backstage?

You pull out your phone still in shock by all the rampid notifications that had been slamming your phone.

You check your Instagram feed to see thousands of comments on your photos, some good, some shattering.

Your heart sunk when you read some of the malicious things people wrote on your page.

‘Not saying she’s a gold digger but. If the shoe fits.’

‘This is random I hope Chris isn’t getting used again.’

‘Ew, wbu is he dating that burnt black bitch?’

‘She’s fat asff.’

‘Tbh I like him and Scarlett better.’

‘Nigger.’

‘White mans whore.’

‘She just need some better black dick.’

-

You couldn’t take it anymore, the tears threaten to fall. People were insulting you left and right, threatening your life. For what, Chris?

You tried shaking it off, putting a plastic smile on your face fore Chris as the interview was over.

You watched as his beautiful co-star giggled with him, hands all over his suit covering every spot your once touched.

He helps her down the stairs holding her hand.

They look good together.

Shut up.

You settle in, trying to not allow your insecurities to take over you. But they were eating away at you.

“Everything okay?” Chris asks taking your hand in his following Megan to our seats

“Yeah, yes everything is perfect.” You lied shoving your phone away.

-

The movie was outstanding Chris did an amazing performance as did his co-stars. You’d be suprised if it didn’t receive some type of award.

“Ready to go, I’ve had enough mingaling for tonight.” Chris comments in your ear.

Placing your fifth champagne glass down you nod rapidly. Wobbling your way to the car Chris holding you upright and close.

You were a wincy bit buzzed, the buzz was not helping with your current situation. You checked more comments on your car ride back to the hotel and all you wanted to do was scream.

Fuming, you rush out of the car practically stomping through the lobby, barefooted.

You tried to compose yourself not wanting to embarrass your actor who trailed behind your confusion written on his face.

You get up to the hotel room releasing a loud groan when you realized you didn’t have to key. “Forgetting something?” Chris reaches unlocking the door.

You didn’t even bother to mutter a ‘thank you.’

You just wanted to cry, and shower, and eat, and then cry some more.

“Y/n.’ Chris calls for you. ‘Y/n talk to me.” He says grabbing your small arm in his large hands.

”let go!” You shout yanking your arm back, now in full tears.

You stood there wrapping your body in your arms as all the hurt poured out of your eyes. Mascara leaving a messy trace.

“Y/n what, what’s wrong to me.” Chris spammers moving slowly toward you.

You groan grabbing your purse and unlocking your phone tossing it at Chris roughly. “Your fucking fans! They hate me, calling me all types of names.”

Chris mouth drops as he reads all the vile things people had been posting about you. “Y/n-‘

“Maybe you would look better with Scarlett.” You blurt

“What?” He gasp

“I mean I’m Black your white, people clearly don’t life that. Isn’t that bad for you or something?” You sniffle

Chris comes closer pulling you into a hug. “Y/n fuck then I don’t care if you were purple I love you for your inside not your appearance.” Chris reassures

You push him off of you. Hard. “I’m not good enough for you!”

You weren’t one to get physical but the stress of the press starting to know you, the bullying, and the five glasses of champagne were getting to you.

“Y/n you are goo-‘

“Just fucking break up with me, I know you want too!” You cut him off slapping his chest hard.

You were having a full breakdown. You had no idea why you’d just hit him but you regretted it immediately. You arent abusive.

Chris grabs you up holding your wrist firmly “No I don’t! And if I did I wold have already.” He shouts hurt in his eyes that you could ever feel this way.

“Let me go.” You whisper. Not looking into his eyes as you felt them peirce you.

He lets you go watching your run to the room. He knew you needed a minute to cool off and so did he. Chris knee you were stressed out and didn’t mean to hit him.

Doesn’t make it acceptable. Just he understood under the heat of the circumstances.

-

You wrap yourself into the blankets crying perfusly.

You were so hurt and scared. What did being with Chris mean? Did it mean many nights like this, you were torn between the one you loved and normal life.

Now you just had to decide which one outweighs the other.

-

A/n: Our girl y/n is not here for the fuckshit and I mean can we blame her?

So she hit Chris! And I don’t like that she did that but I kind of understand 🙃.

But now she looks like she has a choice to make, whatever that is it’s up to her to decided..

-

TagList:

@toniilaney @angelicl-y @bugheadfanatic @champagnesugamama @thatoneperson5000 @briannab1234