It’s 3:30 in the goddamn morning here in the Tucson shithole. The only sounds are the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet, steady beat of my own tired heart. The coffee is black and bitter, like a good memory. I’m sitting here, in the dark, and I’m thinking about the lie. The big one. The one that’s holding the whole rotten, beautiful, fucked-up project of the modern world together.
And the lie is this: they tell you they hate racism.
What a load of horseshit.
They don’t hate racism. They love it. It’s their bread and butter. It’s the fuel for their whole goddamn machine. It’s the holy scripture of their new, ugly, and completely joyless religion.
No, they don’t hate racism. They just hate white people.
Let’s cut the bullshit and call the thing what it is. It’s the last great, unspoken truth of our time. You’re not allowed to say it, of course. It’s the ultimate blasphemy. The second the words leave your mouth, they come for you. The priests of the new church, the ones with the blue hair and the dead eyes, they scream at you, they point their fingers, they call you a heretic. A “racist.” And that’s the end of the conversation. That’s the beauty of their new religion. It has a built-in kill switch for any thought that doesn’t fit the approved narrative.
But we’re here, in the dark, just you and I and the bottle. And in the dark, we can tell the truth.
The truth is, we’re the smallest, and the fastest-shrinking, population on the goddamn planet. We’re a beautiful, dying species, going extinct in real time. And in our short, bloody, and magnificent time on this rock, we built the modern world. We built the empires, the symphonies, the cathedrals, the philosophies. We put a man on the goddamn moon. We created a culture so powerful, so seductive, that the whole damn world wants a piece of it.
And now, we’re told we’re not allowed to celebrate it.
We’re not allowed to be proud of our skin color. We’re not allowed to have a culture. We’re not allowed to have a country, or a state, or a town, or a goddamn neighborhood. The second we build something, the second we create a space for ourselves, they come knocking. The hordes of the perpetually aggrieved, the armies of the entitled, and they tell us that what’s ours is theirs.
It’s like the girls forcing their way into the Boy Scouts. They had their own goddamn club, the Girl Scouts. A perfectly good one. But that wasn’t the point. It was never about equality. It was about invasion. It was about demolition. It was about seeing something that wasn’t theirs and wanting to either take it or burn it to the goddamn ground. It’s the simple, ugly, and completely honest logic of the parasite.
And the whole damn thing is fueled by guilt.
They shame you. They guilt you. They tell you that your very existence is a sin. That the blood in your veins is tainted with the crimes of men who have been dead for two hundred years. They want to keep you quiet, divided, and on your goddamn knees, apologizing for a crime you didn’t commit. Because a man on his knees can’t fight back. A man who’s ashamed of himself won’t stand up to protect his own house. And that’s the whole point. They want you to lose what you’ve created. They want your inheritance.
Look at the hypocrisy of it all. Every other group on the planet is allowed, encouraged, commanded to celebrate their identity. Black pride. Brown pride. Asian pride. Gay pride. A whole goddamn calendar of pride parades. And that’s fine. Good for them. A man should be proud of who he is.
But white pride?
That’s a thought crime. That’s a one-way ticket to cancellation, to the modern-day gulag of the unemployable and the socially dead. The second you say those words, you’re a Nazi. You’re a monster. You’re the one thing their whole religion needs to justify its own existence: a devil.
And the white people, the ones who have been through the re-education camps of the universities, the ones who have been properly brainwashed, they’re the worst of the lot. They’re the true believers, the self-flagellating zealots, dripping with a guilt so thick it’s a wonder they can still walk upright. They’re the ones who will sell you out the fastest, just to prove to the world that they’re one of the “good ones.” They’re the quiet, polite, and completely castrated gatekeepers of their own demise.
And you sit there, and you watch it all, and you think, “Am I the only one who sees this? Am I going crazy?”
You’re not.
You’re just sober at a drunk party. You’re the one man in the room who can see that the whole goddamn house is on fire, while everyone else is still dancing.
This isn’t a political disagreement. This is a war. A quiet, slow, and completely brutal war for the soul of the West. And one side is fighting with a clear, simple, and completely ruthless objective: to win. And the other side is fighting with a handful of apologies and a bad case of the shakes.
They’re not trying to build a better world. They’re just trying to burn down the one we have. They talk about “diversity,” but what they mean is less of you. They talk about “inclusion,” but what they mean is your surrender. They talk about “equity,” but what they mean is revenge.
And you can see it in the streets. You can see it in the schools. You can see it in the goddamn movies they make, where every white man is either a bumbling fool or an evil, racist bastard. It’s a slow, steady, and completely relentless campaign of psychological warfare. And it’s working.
So what’s the point of this whole goddamn sermon?
It’s this: you have to stop being afraid.
You have to stop apologizing for who you are. You have to stop playing their game, by their rules. You have to stop accepting their definitions of their words. You have to stop letting them shame you into silence.
You have to have the good goddamn sense to see that a man who has built a house has a right to decide who he lets in the front door. And a man who is proud of his own family doesn’t have to apologize for it.
This isn’t about hate. It’s about love. A quiet, fierce, and completely unapologetic love for your own people, your own culture, and your own goddamn heritage. The kind of love they’re trying to tell you is a sin.
The world is full of beautiful, ugly, and completely necessary bar fights. And this, right here, this is the big one. This is the one for all the marbles.
So you have to make a choice.
Are you going to be another quiet, respectable, and completely dead casualty in a war you were too scared to admit you were fighting?
Or are you going to be a man? Are you going to stand up, pour a drink, look the whole rotten, beautiful, fucked-up world right in the eye, and laugh? A real, ugly, gut-shot laugh. The laugh of a man who knows the score. The laugh of a man who is still, against all odds, alive.
The laugh of a man who has decided that if his house is going to burn, he’s going to be the one holding the goddamn match.
