Currently, I am curating content for my Bitchute account. And as I sort through my thousands of YouTube uploads, most of which are set as “private” to avoid their destruction; I am reminded of, as Kipling put it, how often it is that people suffer the breaking of those things to which they have given their life–leaving them with only two options: continue or quit.
Years before the mediocre mentors of millenials–as no Senecas to Neros–began begging to be pitied for the socialist roadblocks which hamper their erudite diarrhea–a black drug-addict named Rodney King was politically celebrated, socially hallowed, and morally hollowed for having been beaten out of his PCP-raged crime-spree by cops.
Soon after, in the Los Angeles race-riots that ensued, Korean shops were left alone–because the wild raging fury of white leftists’ black pets does not at all extend to those Koreans armed to defend themselves against the incitement-of-the-moment by liberal pseudo-journalist whores who deserve to die.
However, Reginald Denny was not an armed Korean shop-owner: He was just a lone white truck-driver, minding his own business–the perfect target for pitiful, poop-colored political-hyenas. And so they beat Denny VERY close to death–all while laughing and dancing.
Years later, millionaire drug-addict Rodney King spent the last moments of his life drowning in puke and pool-water — a final reward for his lifelong habit of cramming his body with all kinds of drugs.
Years after that, a relatively penniless Denny, during a “where are they now” interview, when asked how he is doing, replied to the effect of: “Well enough. And anyways, in life I’ve learned that people don’t really want to know how others are–it makes them feel obligated.”
The world has many continuums. One continuum has a pole of heroes like Reginald Denny–forgotten yet timeless; with an opposite pole containing the disposable celebrities who never really existed. And choices matter.