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Kryptogal (Kate, if you like)'s avatar

I have always thought that a lot of racialized politics is mostly sublimated sexual neuroses. Like white male racists hating black guys is clearly fueled at least in part by some sense of threat or fears of inferiority regarding their alleged sexual prowess, and it's the opposite with Asian guys who they never get very mad about because they never imagine an Asian guy might steal their girl. And basically everyone hates attractive high status blondes, which is why they're cast in the role of the evil person in every single show, from Cercei Lannister to the Malfoys to Regina in Mean Girls. Also, BIPOC women do not actually give a shit about "cultural appropriation", what they're mad about is when a blond girl wears a slutty Pocahontas costume for Halloween or a Kardashian wears cornrows and they look way too hot doing it and get sexually admired.

So my inclination is to like a piece that vibes with my sense that a lot of politics is motivated by sexual envies, anxieties, and disgust. And I'll salute you for putting this all out there on display. But holy shit man, reading this may actually be the single most bizarre and out there thing I've ever read in my life. Like I'm agog that this was written by a real person and not an AI prompted with Freudian hallucinations after being given the digital equivalent of lysergic acid. Every paragraph just furthered the descent into the surreal and grotesque. The fact that you insisted on repeatedly using the word "buttocks" may be the detail that made me feel most like I must be dreaming but in the mind of a Berliner chemist named Wolfgang in 1927.

Better watch out with floating fantasies about Gaza fighters orally servicing hot IDF girls. That's the type of thing to make them go full jihadi frenzy and blow up a bus, even if they do go out with a boner during detonation.

Kristoffer O’Shaugnessy's avatar

Imagine drinking wine with an almost nude attractive Ashkenazi girl on your living room couch with strains of Wagnerian opera playing on the stereo while reading Yockey, Spengler, and D’Annunzio together as she gets more aroused listening to you describe aesthetic fascism to her.

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