By the time he was in his thirties, whenever Michael Jackson would fuck white children, it always made him feel as though he was reconquering his past; and eventually, a mouthful of soft, hairless white genitals was the only thing that could interrupt Jackson’s memories of the hard, harsh black fists of his father, which would fill Jackson’s mouth with blood, anytime he performed a song or dance beneath the level that would assure his nigger family the biggest scraps possible off the table of their owners.
Up until the 60’s and 70’s—long before conscription, integration, and addicting had diluted black families enough for white devils to feel safely in control of all the dust kicked up by that uppity nigger Marcus Garvey and his followers—governors of the expanded plantation actively recruited all the docile black would-be traitors they could find:
some to boast that they “had a dream” about the beauty of integrating into moral-buildings that had been in flames for centuries;
some to dispel the racist myth that blacks should resist going to war in defense of their captors’ racist myths;
some were even auditioned by fire to be counted among those who would be paraded around by the shadow government as the “democratically elected” proof that working dutifully & patiently under the system was more than enough to fulfill the mediocre potential of blacks—enough to fulfill even the most grandiose and gratuitous goals that blacks had learned throughout generations of manufactured consent.
And in that time, with no exceptions, the casteing of niggers followed a very specific formula: The calmer was the nigger—or, better yet, the more controllably angry—then the longer was its leash, to access and tend to a greater and greater number of workstations.
Some niggers were even trusted enough to live within the walls of white castles—but only ever when castrated, at least spiritually; and even then still only ever given just enough leash to hang from the ramparts or drown in the moats.