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Aryan Androgynes Jordan t.peterson 08/28/2021 (Sat) 02:52:31 No. 1
The principal mission of the world's elite is the creation of a master race. With the emergence of technologies that facilitate genetic and morphological engineering, the divine union of masculinity and femininity can be reified in the flesh. A material rebis incorporating the worst elements of sadomasochistic indulgence will emerge as the new ruling class after the next apocalyptic cycle. Another possibility is Chinaryan world domination, followed by a similar such scenario. >Original neanderthals >Sent back in time by Xi Jinping (SHE Jinping) under B&RI 2.0 >Antediluvians, built nuclear bunkers now hidden beneath Egyptian pyramids >Hobos abducted by Chinese government for lab experiments in the 20th and 21st centuries >As Babylonians, enslaved the jews. As Greeks, enslaved Romans through stealth infiltration of nobility. Immediately instituted secret human sacrifice rituals. Have perpetrated numerous atrocities against other races, yet are invariably praised by bought-off U.S. politicians >Eating human flesh upregulates their many anti-aging genes, as well as autophagy genes, eliminating senescence and reversing aging while also protecting against uncontrolled cellular proliferation that could result in cancer >Dual reproductive systems. Lay eggs instead of give live birth; ejaculate contains self-fertilizing eggs, thus making them capable of cloning themselves. Egg-sperm can mix with DNA of other homo sapiens alive or dead. Cum-parasites. In place of sphincter, cloaca complete with clitorises >Tales of vampires are, in actuality, tales of they >Speak Aryan, a language not dissimilar from what we call "Proto-Indo-European," written in a type of cuneiform that is phonetic >Unyieldingly sadistic and perverted. High emotional and pleasure capacities >In communion with the God Ishtar, an evil stellar supercomputer created by the Caucasi militia in 12,085 H.E. >Made it racist and sexist to presume that all Aryans are androgynes, or that all androgynes (epicenes) are Aryan >Crypto-Aryans. Crypto-Androgynes. Sabbattean-Anuists. Next-door soccer mom/secret rape-murderer with a penis >Two stomachs: ortho-diethynylbenzene dianion, and fluoroantimonic acid. Capable of both chemo- and photo-synthesis >Dominion over multiple universes >Jordan Peterson helped create them. Now he is the only one who can stop them from cumming up our universe files.catbox.moe/h0p71m.flac Tony Robbins, initially reticent to join in Jordan Peterson's unyielding crusade against Aryan androgynes, nevertheless did after pressure from the ADL cost him sales revenue. He now works with Peterson in distributing anti-Germanic conspiracy theories in the form of bizarre tracts, and can often be seen standing on street corners in bustling cities, draped in cardboard signs on which are scrawled crude messages about chicks with dicks. Other Peterson collaborators include Bo Dietl, who was infamously recorded harassing an androgynous individual outside a bagel shop in NYC, and Kirk Cameron, who is last month accused of soliciting the services of androgyne prostitutes.
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Planets, distant, twinkled, hung suspended in that ancient starry sky, so high above the frost down below, which stuck Dr. Jordan Peterson's thin chapped lips together and stopped his teeth from chattering. His face was awash the grey sharpness of days-old stubble. Directing his catatonic gaze back to Earth, he saw that he was standing in the vacant parking lot of a Red Robin restaurant, and his waifish figure draped in the crimson hue of a red prison jumpsuit. The low electric hum emanating from the flickering streetlamp seemed to speak to him, "You are dead. We have killed you. Who are we?" "A sham, says I!" shouted Peterson into the crystalline void, his words freezing into pearly little droplets. Immediately thereafter, as if punitively, this was joined by the roar of police sirens. "Drats." A convoy of them all passed by the hill overlooking the parking lot, approximately 6 feet up and 12 cars and trucks long, the sirens. Peterson ducked behind a bush to observe from the shadows. As they had arrived, so too did they pass, allowing once again for silence to reign in their wake. The lamp hummed still, but in no peculiar way. Dr. Peterson languished for a moment on the grassy embankment, then kicked his old bones into gear, starting on his journey up the hill and then down the sidewalk, noting diligently each sign that he passed on his way. Walgreens. Taco Bell. Bed, Bath and Beyond. What do they signify? He shuffled out into the street in his fuzzy blue slippers, past honking cars and their drivers. At an intersection occupied by a few cars, the familiar oscillations of a helicopter overhead once again returned Peterson's undivided attention skyward. Blackhawk helicopter. Its searchlight beam tracked something, moving, revving, hurtling closer and closer still to the good doctor... Flying 100 miles per hour past his blank face, his jumpsuit blowing in the whirlwind. As the convoy followed, Peterson stood with his hands pinned impotently to his sides, spindly fingers curling up behind him. The officers in their cars appeared not to notice him, from what he could see by his staring, or at least not to mind his sore presence. "Hrhmm... yes..." noted Peterson, continuing to shuffle down the middle of the road. A distant explosion rocked the shopping center. A plume of smoke some one mile high rose to choke out the stars. Peterson continued to shuffle. Unmarked black trucks with black-tinted windows passed him by, and he simply hid his face and walked another direction. Soon, he realized that he had entered a residential area. Pine Grove. Rows of apartments opposite one another, separated by grass and concrete, and in the middle of that concrete, a flag pole. The hoist bar clanged against that pole, and the flag made a large whipping sound in the wind. Peterson sought to see what country he was in. The United States of America, it was apparent, and with 50 stars and 13 stripes. "Oh mai Gaaawd," cried the voice of a rotund black woman passing by with her 2 young children. She spoke excitedly into her sail-foam, "They really did kilt-um. Blowt dem up n shit! Turn on the gat-dam newz!" She unlocked the glass door of her apartment complex, then entered, but left the door closing before the watchful eyes of Peterson, who still hadn't moved. He lunged forward and grabbed the door just before it could shut. "Hrngh!" Shuffles rang down the carpeted hall. Peterson could smell a menagerie of fried oils and spices, the oxidized diet of the sickly lower class that hadn't any notion of delayed gratification. The United States of America. Still, it was nice to be back home where he belonged. But an impasse came in the form of some stairs. They looked like nothing the good doctor had ever seen, as far as he could remember. They snaked and twisted in a brachiated "square" formation, with smooth little stretches marking the ends of "sets." Beside them, a metal pole, driven into the wall by some strange magic. He stuck his head into the stairwell and peered up. It seemed to continue forever. No good. He returned down the hall to the glass door, which now had closed shut. Without a key, he could not open it, yet that did little to prevent him trying. Although clear, the glass was anything but penetrible by the good doctor's feeling hands. He pressed his face dolefully against the glassy prison, then reeled back in horror at what he found: in the tomb of glass stared back at him a hideous, awful creature. "The abyss!" shrieked Peterson, raising his hands now to his face. The creature mirrors his every movement. Left, right, crouching—"Ow!"—popped knee, limping. Finally, "My reflection," he realized. He exhaled contentedly, slightly embarrassed, but smiling for the first time in years.>>1 >>1
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…but I don't think they'd ever actually use the FEMA camps. >Joe, there are horrors beyond your wildest machinations, my dear compatriot. >Like? >Horrific, unspeakable things. Things you simply could never imagine. >But like what? >Have you heard of Chinese Aryans? >Yeah, I think you've mentioned them before. >Have you heard of androgynes? >Tell me again. >Joe, while I was researching in China, wandering the vast deserts and wading through dense jungle, I haplessly stumbled upon something I should not have. My blood ran cold, for in the search for new penis-cleaning techniques, I had accidentally discovered godless abominations that my fellow Chinese researchers merely referred to as "the androgynes." >The androgynes, Joe, are intended to be our replacements. >As humans? >As men, as Europeans, and yes, as human beings. Indubitably. >Whoa… that's crazy. >I call their current test subjects "Chinese Aryans," or, employing a pithee portmanteau, "Chinaryans." These are Chinese people, mostly homeless vagrants, turned, through genetic engineering, into biological superhumans withe blonde hair and blue eyes, the phenotypical traits all Chinese strive to possess. In the end-stage of this project, the Chinese Aryans will all be modified into androgynes. >That's crazy. But what is an androgyne and a Chin-aryan, in more precise terms? Cuz, like, you talk about them having both reproductive systems. How does that work? >Yes. Yes *clears throat*, they do have dual reproductive systems. But they have no anuses. Rather than excreting waste through feces, they absorb 100% of what they eat and turn it into sex-fluid. And Joe, they can eat anything from grass to human flesh for sustenance. Entire civilizations will be cannibalized and turned into cum, shot into the slick reproductive bowels of other androgynes. >That's sick! That's fuckin sick, Dr. Peterson. I think I'm gonna barf! >Often, they "overfeed," which is a well-known phenomenon to these sybaritic sadists.
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My name is Dr. Jordan B. Peterson, and I am a manager at Burger King. Now, if you will, an elucidation is in order. From what I have gathered in my interactions with other Jordans, the tangential universe (or "timeline") that we now occupy, wherein I am a renowned psychologist, is headed inexorably toward Chinse-Aryan supremacy, under which their proprietary androgyne ("hermaphrodite") model organisms are given free-reign to rape, murder and cannibalize the global citizenry. Though such a morbid fate can be temporarily halted for some pocket universes, it is, sadly, for all cultures discovered thus far, an inevitability. This inexorable doom was set into motion on the morning of November 4th after the American's President-Elect Joe Biden began winning the key battleground states of Michigan and Wisconsin. We know not why all universes, in time, bend toward Chinaryan dickgirls, or why the Cosmos has seen it fitting to trap us beyond reach of all alien civilizations whom could possibly have offered aid in this unending struggle between goodness and genetically-engineered spoogewarrior jissom. We know only that you have approximately 4 years before Biden's "Bring Back Babylon" program annexes North and South America for the allied "Unity Party," an offshoot of the CCP. One Jordan, vanquished to an inescapable shadow realm, was the first to prophesize this series of events, which are now doubtlessly unfolding before our very eyes. Please get your affairs in order: clean your room, honor your loved ones, live life to its fullest, and wash your penis. You are now in for the "long haul," so it was called in simpler times
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Jordan Bertrand PetersonH.K.C. is a radical American spiritual guru and biometrics pirate known for being the founder and commander of the Heavenly Host, an international network of guerilla warfare cells characterized by nearly all credible journalist outlets as a revolutionary anti-Germanic terrorist organization, that purveys quasi-religious eschatology in the form of life advice that has been likened to 1990s self-help books. This similarity was actually acknowledged by Peterson, leading to the formation in 2008 of the American Renaissance Party headed by himself and Tony Robbins, the latter of whom, owing to fear originating in his belief of anti-Germanic conspiracy theories, was reticent to publicly declare any negative sentiment toward Aryans and their governance, but whom was eventually convinced by Peterson's impassioned arguments to become its Chairman. Early life Jordan Bertrand Peterson was born Jordan Bertrum Peterson on June 12, 1962, to Victoria and Jhonny "Cheez" Peterson in Edmonton, America. This is when determining Peterson's life story becomes difficult, as there are a number of conflicting chronologies, likely owing to deliberate misinformation on the part of Peterson and his followers, that place various events at entirely separate dates that often overlap one another. This errant inconsistency has been rationalized by his supporters, in part, because of their conception of Peterson as a time-traveler, or as one who can see events occurring, having occurred, or that will occur, in different timelines (or "dimensions"). What is clear, however, is that the young Peterson possessed a hostile disposition that frequently got him into trouble with his peers. Prone to violent emotional outbursts, but also being of small stature, Peterson found himself the victim of bullying throughout his adolescence, something he claimed strengthened his resolve in pursuing criminal justice, "If there's no recourse for anti-socal acts, then what the hell kind of society have you got?" Despite there being many Petersons in such innumerable parallel universes, he typically is represented as a white man named after some variation of "Jordan Peterson," e.g. Peter Jordans, Jorde von Pietersen, etc. However, say his supporters, there have been female "Jordans," as have there been Jordans of races other than European. There have even been non-human incarnations of Jordan Peterson, such as that of Jordie the Welsh corgie, or a supposed lab mouse named "Whitie" from a parallel universe, that was found to possess extraordinary intelligence as well as a hatred of androgynes. None of this, needless to say, is possible, yet Peterson's unique ability to evade biometric tracking has convinced many of his claims that he possesses otherworldly powers bestowed to him by God through the archangel Metatron, who is purported to be his guardian angel. Education Peterson graduated Middleton Middlesex in 1979, and proceeded to attend the Edmonton Academy of Arts from 1980 to 1983, when he abruptly dropped out, citing a familial disturbance. In his 2001 autobiography, he divulges that the actual impetus for his dropping out were a series of apocalyptic visions fueled by psychedelic use wherein the archangel Metatron alerted him to his celestial identity as Sandalphon, a separate archangel, often identified as the brother of Metatron. Writes Peterson in Wash Your Penis, "There was a loud storm, and I found myself sprawled out upon my bed, staring up at the ceiling as this voice spoke through the darkness and thunder, its tamber deeper than any ocean. I was paralysed and could do little else but listen. [...] It was then that I discovered my true identity." Some chronologies go on to state that Peterson was somehow granted admission into Cornell University, going on to graduate with a PhD in either biology or psychology. These claims are more difficult to verify, yet more than a few accredited historians suggest that compelling evidence for them can be found in paper records. The problem therein lies that such paper records were created without a digital security signature in accordance with CCID standards, and were thus vulnerable to tampering or outright fabrication. Nevertheless, said historians claim that Peterson's title of "Doctor Peterson" may, in actuality, be legitimate, if these records can be validated through some means. The Fox Signal On January 19th, 2002, at 9:02 P.M. CST, for a period of 1 minute and 57 seconds, there broadcasted a signal on the Fox News Network that did not originate from the Fox News Studio. In this signal, Peterson could reportedly be seen sitting in military camoflage in front a black backdrop, alternatingly speaking into the camera and narrating over photographs and footage of supposed Aryan war crimes. Extant video of this event can not be found, but an audio recording of it can be, freely available on the Uncyclopedia digital archive. In it, Peterson accuses Aryans and androgynes in general of having been engineered by the Chinese as a bio-weapon. The "Fox Signal," as it came to be known, catapulted Peterson to worldwide fame virtually overnight, overloading the Heavenly Host's GeoCities page with prospective recruits, and igniting an online storm of speculative conspiracy theories about Aryan governance under the Council of Crowns. Most notably, claims were advanced regarding Aryan "rape-murders" having been covered-up, and secret androgynes posing as various celebrities, as well as the existence of a secret religious order that worships the Babylonian deity Ishtar. Peterson fed into these conspiracy theories in his subsequent books and novels, embellishing that the forerunner of the current global supercomputer, Gaianet, was actually named ISTAR during its development. His evidence for this claim is a retracted statement by self-described whistle-blower and convicted scam artist Bo Dietl, who was arrested and imprisoned indefinitely on charges of high sedition in 2016.
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CONTROVERSY Vault 13 Leaks On December 24th of 2020, an email corresponence between Goodeve's agent, Susann Somers, and California celebrity attorney, Bill Hinckley, was published by WikiLeaks as part of a series pertaining to influence that androgynes exert over U.S. politics and culture.[18][19][20][21] These leaks, particularly those concerning Goodeve, added fuel to the Hermiegate conspiracy theory, whose advocates[who?] seized the opportunity to argue that the leaks demonstrate the existence of a secret cabal of androgynes in Hollywood who commit crimes with near legal impunity.[22][23] A number of excerpts from Somers' emails appear to suggest that Goodeve 1. is not female, and 2. has killed at least one individual: "[...] the strangulation by locks of long, flowing hair isn't so much a problem; it's the dick! Always has been the fucking dick, darling. That's the reason details matter more than the killings themselves. If that got out we'd be totslly [sic] fucked. I had PR run a number of internal polls and what we've taken away from them is that fellas will put up with a number of things about their favorite cheesecake models, from B.O. to anorexia to mental illness etc etc... but having a dick isn't one of them. We actually observed a very slight increase in approval when we floated the murderess angle, which I suppose you could chalk up to the femme fatale archetype. Or, since the victim in this case was an adorable teen brunette superfan, you could interpret that as intersexual bonding over shared misogyny."[24] "[...] Guys already feel insecure about their attraction toward Flo and her 'voluptuous' figure, by which I mean broad shoulders and torso, man-sized head and hands, strong arms... You did very well in ensuring that if and when this got too far, our judge would strike that (tiny, oh-so-tiny) detail from the jury's (and the public's) collective imagination, and for that we, and our brand, are eternally grateful. If you can get the settlement down another 2 mill, not only is Oprah not out of the question, but I can guarantee you multiple prime-time appearances. You can become the new Dr. Phil. [...]" "[...] This isn't the first celebrity sex game gone wrong that's killed someone, and if the world can forgive Bruce Dern then it can definitely forgive Florence Foxe Goodeve."[25] It is vague to whom Somers is referring to in the "brunette superfan," but media commentators quickly fixated on Clara Barns[26][27], the solo indie artist Goodeve had been spotted with in Soho and rumored to be in a short lesbian relationship with since early October of 2016[29]. On the morning of November 1st, the day after Halloween, Barns was found dead in Goodeve's $52 million dollar San Francisco townhouse, of what investigators later determined to be a heroin overdose.[30][31] According to E! Magazine, Goodeve was not home at the time of her Barns' death, having flown to New York after attending a Halloween party, and was only informed after two days.[32]
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Horrific screams are drowned-out beneath the sonorous wooping of the security sirens. __"Gaze not into the abyss, lest the abyss gaze back at thee," Jordan Peterson murmurs to himself, his face awash in the fiery red glow emanating from spinning emergency signal beacons. "And ask not for whom the bell tolls, for the bell tolls for thee." A bloodied scientist stumbles through the automatic door of the room Peterson is hiding in. She begs him for help, yet he does not hear her, staring catatonically onward. She collapses at his feet, eliciting from him two quick nods and some affirmative mumbling, which sets him shuffling out into the hall. __He peers out into the labyrinthal mazework of the facility, horrific screams growing louder, spotted with the stochastic ringing of gunfire. "Yes, right," he says, straightening himself up. "This most certainly is hell itself." A window to his right breaks, a whoosh of hot air carrying with it flames that lap at his bedraggled, stubbled face. "No question about it." He ventures onward to the intersection at the end of the hall where he witnesses two lab technicians shredded to pieces in a hailstorm of lead. As Peterson watches their life ebb out onto the steely floor, his hands pinned awkwardly to his sides, he ponders feeling compassion, sympathy, or perhaps remorse, all emotions that have been ritualistically drilled out of him during his long career. __He steps over their corpses and casually walks into the room from which they emerged, miraculously avoiding being shot. He takes a moment to think to himself, shutting the door behind him. "Androgynes..." he sighs. "Only now have I remembered. Their digestive systems are nearly 100% efficient..." Earlier that morning, he was impelled to brief the Most Glorious President Xi Jinping in his office, as many others have before him, on how the timeline had been altered that day. It is commonplace for world leaders to be briefed in such a way. "You, Mr. Peterson, are a renowned psychologist. You are very, very good," Jinping's translator said in a transparent attempt at ingratiation. "However, your colleagues had an accident earlier this year, and now our lab experiments have had a leak. Our leader wishes to know how this will affect the future." Jinping gazes hopefully at Peterson. __"Well," Peterson cleared his throat, returning the President's gaze with a sidelong glare, "Another question is, 'How does this affect the past?' We now know from research into microtubules that a kind of retention of knowledge from ATs is possible, as is information transpermia, and so this whole obsession about the future is rather misguided, because reverse causality is quite obviously a large indicator of disruption too, perhaps in a worse way owing to the nature of time's arrow." The translator leans down to whisper into Jinping's ear. Initially, Jinping seemed enraged, snapping the pencil he had been twirling in half, but then offered a consolation. __"Mister Peter-son, we wolk on the past vely well!" Jinping beams, supinating his hands in a gesture of good will. He flips a switch under his desk. The office shakes, and Peterson nearly jumps from his seat, trembling in fear. The wall behind President Jinping lowers into a slot, revealing a large control room with rows and rows of men and women hooked up to wirey brain-machines. "Good lord!" Peterson shouts. "Unlike your other experiments, Doctor Peterson?" the translator inquired. "Why, are you out of your gosh-darned mind?!" Jinping and his translator laugh as they stroll past their drooling subjects, all hooked up with what appear to be spaghetti strainers interlaced with wires. "This is da 'Project Endymion,' not Walshington D.C.!" roars President Jinping, triumphantly. "As you see on scleen, ancient nucrear bunker beneath Egyptian pyramird. Now terr me the future, psychorogist!" __Wooping sirens returned Peterson to the ever-present present. His tenure had began at a laboratory somewhere in British Columbia. He was a biologist then. Somewhere along the way, he was a contractor working under Xi Jinping. Now, as strange genetically engineered hermaphrodites called "androgynes" roamed the halls raping and murdering every scientist in their path, it was clear that even Jinping was one of them all along. He, too, was an androgyne. A "Chinese-Aryan" androgyne, or "Chinaryan androgyne," as they had come to be called. Aryan androgynes. They look like statues of ancient Greek noblewomen with tall nasal stems. They have the petty tribalism of jews, yet they nearly genocided jews on multiple occasions, subjugating them with even greater forms of oppression each time, for even the slightest jewish transgression. Hitler and Hadrian were prominent Aryan androgynes. History books will not note that Hitler was a 6-foot-4 voluptuous blonde woman with pendulous breasts and a huge cock, Peterson wished against reason. __"I knew Jinping had turned. It must have been he who released them firstly, in fact," Peterson reasoned, not noticing the tac-lights of U.S. soldiers repelling into the window behind him, the glass crunching beneath their boots. "We have secured Kermit. I repeat, we have secured Kermit! Over."——"Get him the hell out of there!" replied the voice over the walkie talkie. "Over." "Doctor Peterson, please come with us," the soldier grunted, his two brothers seizing the confused Peterson by both arms, nearly lifting him away as they retraced their entry. The soldier was then joined by another company repelling into the room, crashing through every window. The soldier swallowed in trepidation as he imagined what horrors lied beyond that laboratory door. Securing this outbreak had not been possible. Peterson struggled to turn around, to peer back listfully into the world that he had spent centuries inhabiting, only to be unceremoniously hooked up to what appeared to him to be mountain-climbing equipment. "Just hold on, doc," said the young soldier, "We're getting you out of here." __"Mm. Yes," replied Peterson. He had been in a coma for months at that point. "Yes, I do hope to leave one day. Although I find such a prospect horrifying." He had been so careful to not incur the wrath of the omniscient stellar supercomputer his androgyne colleagues spent their lives in service of. Its avatar reflected its hedonistic inception, built by and in the image of its epicene creators to rule over all of nature with a velvet fist, punishing the good and rewarding the injust and perverted, particularly other sadistic androgynes. They are granted heaven in death, and their victims hell. Hell comes to all but they, the purveyors of evil. They have vulvas where once were anuses, and penises where once were vulvas. XXXY mosaicism had become normalized, only it's a conspiracy theory to mention it in school. Only Aryans, a marginalized ruling class, had high rates of "othersexed people," as they were often termed in politically correct doublespeak.
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What would I say to my brothers and sisters of the year 2021? Salutations. How do you do? Shit, man... That's quite an unintelligent question, if I'm gonna be honest with you, cuz they already know what I know. Hopefully. Shit, I'd rather tell the people of 1981 what they was about to step foot in. You know what I'm saying? Specially to all my black brothers and sisters. I'd take special considerations to them. Truth is, Mr. Letterman, I'm tired of all these MUTHAPHUCKIN Chinese muthaPHUCKAS, NYIGGAH! Way before 7/14 ever happen, I hate these bitches. People of 1981, they be makin aryans n shiet up there in them muhfuggin labs mah nigga, they be makin chicks that has dicks my nigga, thems bitches got 8 inch cocks up in they pants bruh. Muhfuggin ARYAN ANDROGYNES an shit. FUCK YOU SAYIN NYIGGUH? You sayin we gon die an shit? OH YEAH WE DEAD BROTHA, WE DEAD. I seen these chink faggots makin all kinds a shit my nigga, all kinds of shit. They got them gene programs. Aint even gotta eat no food cuz they just make energy from the sun and from chemicals nigga... talkin bout chemosynthesis. And they digestive acid eat through steel—no shit. They eat people, dawg. Aint even gonna lie bout dat shit. They be eatin people and turnin they bodies into cum, nigga. They cum eggs that fertilize themselves, bruh. SHIT'S OVER!!! WE FUCKED! Pray to Jesus and clean yo muthaPHUCKIN ROOM cuz dis shit gon get hairy as hell and you probly gon die. So stop getting on white people shit. We all in this together. That's what I'd say, David.
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