Not all Hip Hop legends were short, bald, timid, feminine homosexual psychopaths

“I wish I was a little bit taller–I wish was a baller!”

“My hairline wack, yo!”

“My biggest dream, and my greatest goal, is to ride on each of my enemies–ride on his cock, and then, right before he explodes inside me–CUT HIS THROAT, so he dies while cumming in my ass!”

“I will murder your children with my gun.”

-Tupac Shakur: a short, bald, timid, feminine homosexual psychopath.

USA’s Constitution defends cop-killers, journalist-beheaders, and those who cheer when soldiers die

Two quotes:

1. “Every sworn police officer deserves our undivided trust, respect, and support.”

-People who implicitly advocate for the dismantling of Internal Affairs, the Police Sub-department tasked with finding corrupt cops and ending their careers by any means necessary.

2. “Some police are corrupt, but it is not the job of their victims to take matters into their own hands.”

-People who implicitly advocate for a complete revision of the US Constitution, namely the assertion that: “To secure life liberty and the pursuit of happiness, governments are instituted among people, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, and whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends: It is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.”

Conclusion

USA’s Constitution enumerates a formula which allows for The People to sanction, else ignore, vigilantism against corrupt police who–by their corruption–seek to deprive, or deprive in fact, any citizen of that citizen’s safety and happiness; moreover allowing for vigilantism against corrupt propagandists who–by their corruption, id est defamation–seek to incite violence, or incite violence in fact, against good cops.

USA’s Constitution defends cop-killers, journalist-beheaders, and those who cheer when soldiers die

Two quotes:

1. “Every sworn police officer deserves our undivided trust, respect, and support.”

-People who implicitly advocate for the dismantling of Internal Affairs, the Police Sub-department tasked with finding corrupt cops and ending their careers by any means necessary.

2. “Some police are corrupt, but it is not the job of their victims to take matters into their own hands.”

-People who implicitly advocate for a complete revision of the US Constitution, namely the assertion that: “To secure life liberty and the pursuit of happiness, governments are instituted among people, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, and whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends: It is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.”

Conclusion

USA’s Constitution enumerates a formula which allows for The People to sanction, else ignore, vigilantism against corrupt police who–by their corruption–seek to deprive, or deprive in fact, any citizen of that citizen’s safety and happiness; moreover allowing for vigilantism against corrupt propagandists who–by their corruption, id est defamation–seek to incite violence, or incite violence in fact, against good cops.

How USA imploded

meme-never-has-a-generation-so-diligently-documented-themselves-accomplishing-so-little

“I must study Politicks and War that my sons may have liberty to study Painting and Poetry Mathematicks and Philosophy. My sons ought to study Mathematicks and Philosophy, Geography, natural History, Naval Architecture, navigation, Commerce and Agriculture, in order to give their Children a right to study Painting, Poetry, Musick, Architecture, Statuary, Tapestry and Porcelaine.” -Popular part of a 1780 letter, from eventual USA President John Adams, to his wife Abigail.

The full quotation:

“I must study Politicks and War that my sons may have liberty to study Painting and Poetry Mathematicks and Philosophy. My sons ought to study Mathematicks and Philosophy, Geography, natural History, Naval Architecture, navigation, Commerce and Agriculture, in order to give their Children a right to study Painting, Poetry, Musick, Architecture, Statuary, Tapestry and Porcelaine — so that their children will spend every waking moment addicted to self-indulgence, while downplaying a legacy of slavery and serfdom, as their government expands both worldwide–then becoming functionally useless, and completely insane, by so consistent a complete detachment from reality.”

Limp utopia of slithering, sniveling usurers

“Our debtors are defaulting!,” shouted the debtees with glee–counting debt as more than an asset: A default commodity.

One culture’s collapse being another corporatist’s surge, indeed: Just as during the ‘great depression’–when great wealth pooled to the plutocrats– so too, after inflated, government-insured bread and circuses of sub-prime mortgages succeeded in failing to quell slaves’ desperation, thus extending their dependence and thus obedience–the shell-game continued: As boring, doomed slave-mastered devised countless wasteful distractions, in order to rein in hell.

Implosion of Moral Veganism

To weep, whine, wail, and despair at or about lions, tigers, bears for eating meat — is to be, it is agreed, patently insane.

Yet to yip, yap, yelp, and yell at or about Muhammad, Matt, Minh or Miguel for eating meat — is to be a Moral Vegan: A tacitly tolerated type of insane.

Moreover, the untenable insanity of Moral Veganism hopelessly depends on an Anthropocentrism which, if accepted, belies humans’ responsibility to forgo feasts of flesh–else, if rejected, belying humans’ response-ability thereto.

Privilege for empowered third-wave genetic-celebrity mudsharks

Drained of dreams, trained to perceive her body as but a commodity: All the becky knew to do was pride her third-wave prolificacy, during a sexual prime of sterilized body, terrorized mind, in dingy hospitals: Antibiotics for her player-hating STDs, antipsychotics to chase away reality, anti-racist stitches as proof she rose above before sinking beneath: An empowered mudshark gathered graves for her mulatto embryos; manic most days, depressive the rest.

Thus was her privilege as a Genetic Celebrity–petty, petite: Enough to inspire lust, yet short of respect, much less love, or at least protection–or even just loyalty; and after lust had kicked up dust enough to pass as these–all that was left was her right to bathe in victimology.

Father knows less: Gentrified gender roll-call, on the Expanded Plantation

“Father knows best!” -a beastly relic of a bygone error.

To subsidize vies to see subside strides towards tropes more transcendently natural, “He’s never good enough, no matter how he excels,” and, “She always more than enough, no matter how often she fails,” were deftly, deafly dealt as a delirious dual duel esteemed to be necessary and sufficient for producing men who rise to any and every occasion, and women who weather any downturn.

Yet endless crises, continually concocted to keep him on his toes and her on her knees, led many a man to give up and to seek, elsewhere, his soul’s food, else grind down to ineptitude — in either case condemning countless worn weary worried women to despised lives as common wives-in-common, each driven then by the whims of whomever would take her in from the cold, into the cold of limply filling in for the dead, dying or lying — the abandoned, else abandoning, men.

Then, to channel new-found need for suicide-staving denial, floods of films and texts fondly fed dreams long dead: A competent woman nurturing a disciplined man, so that, edified, he can strive to save the world. As the bell of available and availing men clanged by curve ever steeper, storytelling sank bit by bit ever deeper: First, into depictions of fearful women wailing generally for super men to bravely save the world; then storytelling sank more and more, until finally the meaning of ‘the world’ itself shrank to consist proudly and only of the wanton wants and whimsical worries of the manic woman featured in the filth as saved by increasingly effeminate men, whose pseudo-machismo — purposed merely for the masturbatory reverie of each sterile seething woman, and as a roadmap for the slow suicide of her male heirs — bespoke, above all else, an eerie, even downright feminine dearth of forethought.

“I’m going to die for her convenience!”

“No I’M going to die for her convenience!”

“Well I’m going to die for her MARGINAL convenience!”

“Then I’M going to die as but a precursor to an interlude which hints at a CHANCE for her to receive marginal convenience!”

Then the heroes, warring to win her smirk, beat each other to death; so the porcelain heroine, ascending, became a mongrel-factory for a few braggadocious ball-bouncing drug-addicts, on the Expanded Plantation.

Anti-discrimination as self-slavery, on the Expanded Plantation

The purpose of discrimination

Her vagina — a status symbol which allowed her to chatter fearlessly — always made her feel manic; yet today she felt sad: Tucked away in her gifted car at 2am with the would-be alpha she had selected from class — he tested and teased her, pulling the fluid from between her legs to pool between her ears. It was a huge turn-off: She had hope he’d be a notch on her rectal belt, perhaps even the one to save her from herself, the nothing she’d become: The one to bid highest in her matrimonial auction. She always felt sad when potential saviors failed to quell her hatred of self and fear of the future.

The purpose of discrimination, girlThe next day, she felt sad: Her dad, the minister asked her where she’d been so late the previous night. Too shy to say “passive-aggressively begging to have my hymen torn,” she lied. She always felt sad when she hid her longing to be fertilized.

The next month, she felt sad: A couple in her dad’s Ensenada congregation were discovered to have been renting out their 9-year-old daughter as a sex-toy to local men. She always felt sad when children she cared about were sex-slaves.

The next year, she felt sad: Her dad died. She always felt sad when the only person she ever fully trusted abandoned her to a life of confusion and desperation — a life without a healthy ability for discrimination.

His black skin — a status symbol which allowed him to brag and beg simultaneously — always made him feel cool; yet today he felt mad: He learned that some black women resent the fact that Martin Luther King Jr often cheated on his wife with prostitutes whom he occasionally beat. He always felt mad when black women did not know their place.

The purpose of discrimination, blackThe next day, he felt mad: He discovered that his favorite PAWG pornstar refused to act in interracial scenes. He always felt mad when his favorite sex-objects were too racist to facilitate his fetishes.

The next month, he felt mad: A news outlet reported that an unauthorized person had used a certain word for which he’d been trained to exhibit an irresistible conditioned-response. He always felt mad after reports of a white-latino saying “nigger.”

The next year, he felt mad: After years of routinely indulging in drugs and sodomy, he developed cancer of the liver and esophagus, and his genitals were rotting off. He always felt mad when consequences were racist.

His genetic addiction to penises — a status symbol which allotted parades for pride, vanity and misery– always made him feel empty; yet today he felt happy: The cutest guy at the orgy agreed to sneak off and meet him behind the dumpster, where they would go through the motions of pretending each other’s rectum was a womb. He always felt happy that his genetic fate had fashioned, for him, a human-hamster-wheel filled with orgies, dumpsters and recta.

The purpose of discrimination, homosexualThe next day, he felt happy: Vassals of the plutocracy briefly set aside duties towards their large families to announce that a lifestyle of safely sterile sex was a Human Right. He always felt happy when his choices were declared to be compulsions, rewarding him with doom.

The next year, he felt happy: Successful legal battles allowed him to lurk in the hospital room of his dying husband — intimidating the husband’s ex-wife and children from being there — so, left alone, he was able to convince his disease-ridden Romeo to bequeath, to Julieto, all that the desperate, dying man had accrued in life. He always felt happy to supplant sustainable social-norms, in order to flick away a grain of sand from his desert of anxiety.

Thus pawns on the Expanded Plantation, robbed of their innate ability to discriminate meaningfully, considered matters of morality always and only through the lens of their masters’ placating, mind-numbing policies — and all else was evil.