Tag Archive for racism

Latvian – African Civil Welfare Project: from the heroes who brought you /gamergate/


I just want to start by saying that no feat is too great, no task too arduous when done for the love of ones clan and blood. I have a hope for this future to prevail. And I know you can all see it too. It’s an ember, but with just the right amount of breath it can become a raging fire. And all of Africa will see it’s beautiful glow in the night sky. Call it Southwest Africa, call it New Rhodesia, Call it whatever you want.
But what it really is, is an idea born from desperation and love for a dying culture and a people under systematic attack.
This idea will live, and we, you and I will be the lucky few to which they will teach the children in generations to come.




<+Dindu> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ephebophilia
<+Dindu> what’s wrong with this?
<@niipah> Nothing wrong with it
<@niipah> Only reason we have to be 18 now is due to feminism
<@niipah> But back in the day having sex with 14 and up was common
<+Spongy> Can we not promote “pedo shit” I can put up with like 16 but 14 fuck man
<@niipah> Pedo shit is below puberty
<+Dindu> Nah I agree, I just think anything below 18 is dumb
<@niipah> Hebe shit is above puberty
<+Dindu> Pedo being labeled as below 18*
<@niipah> 14 and up should be acceptable






 <+widethroat> how long will it take for this project to become something presentable outside of the chans? when it gets to the point where its presentable to investors i have quite a few useful contacts
<+Cultist> i think it’s already to that point, widethroat


Let’s Read Comfort Girls Chapter 8: Leavin’ On A Cum Train, Don’t Know When I’ll Be Back Again

< Comfort Girls Chapter 7

Nancy Pelosi waterboarding

Hello again, friends! Put all your Christmas preparations on hold because some Serious Shit is about to go down.

The next time the girls saw her, she was crumpled in the corner of their messroom. Mavis and Barbie were first to breakfast, and they found her lying on her side, curled up with her knees at her shoulders, arms secured behind her back, unresponsive. Soupy came running at their screams, and they were zipping apart her sleeves, patting at her face, her hands, trying to bring her out of it.

“Linda! What happened to you? Come on, honey, sit up!” Mavis was on one side of her, Barbie was on the other. They picked her up and sat her at the breakfast table, in front of Barbie’s tray. Soupy brought another tray immediately; he was kindly toward “his girls,” and they were more his charges than those of anyone else. Linda sagged between her table-mates, looking blankly down at eggs and toast.

Because we just need to remember that Soupy is a Good Guy. While he is complicit in an act that the United Nations, Amnesty International, and Human Rights Watch classify as inhumane torture, he would never make a girl miss out on breakfast.

“Honey, what happened?” Mavis entreated. “Here, have a bite of eggs.” She fed Linda a spoonful. “Where were you?”

Slowly, evidently painfully, she said, “They … TORTURED me.”

Mavis and Barbie swapped glances at that. Majken came in as she said it, and almost dropped her own tray. They all paled visibly.

“Honey, are you okay now?” Barbie had a hand on her shoulder. “Can we do anything?”

Linda grabbed Barbie, buried her head by her neck. “Oh, no, no, no …” She sobbed on Barbie’s shoulder, trembling and clutching. The other girls could only gape and stare.

Finally Soupy came into the room. “Don’t bother her, girls. Linda, let’s get you someplace you can sleep it off.” He gathered her up and half-carried her to an alcove, where he pulled off her wet jumper, laid her down, and covered her with a soft fleece blanket. As he laid it on her, he whispered very quietly, “Good act, kid.” They were out of sight; Linda reached up and gave him a sweet daughterly peck on the lips.

Good job convincing all of these girls that their lives are now in danger! After all, if they’d do this to Linda, who’s to say they wouldn’t do it to any other girl?

She was sitting on the edge of the alcove’s bed, still naked, her head in her hands, when Erica came into the lounge with a lunch tray.

Erica scooped up a spoonful and pushed it toward Linda’s mouth. “Eat, Leenda. This is good.” Linda opened her mouth and accepted it, then she opened her eyes and stared Erica dead in the face. Linda’s eyes were like those of a corpse. Erica shuddered and almost dropped the spoon.

“Leenda! What happen to you?” Erica gripped her shoulder.

Linda shook her head, eyes down. “They tortured me, Erica. They put me on the waterboard.” Her shoulders trembled. “I thought I was going to die.”

Erica stared at her earnestly. “What is – waterboard? What happened?”

“It was like being drowned,” Linda said. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even croak. I struggled but there was nothing I could do.”

“Oh Mother God,” Erica blurted. “Is terrible.” She looked at Linda’s wrists. “They bruise you too. Bastards.”

“I couldn’t help myself, Erica. They did it again and again. Each time I felt weaker, each time I was sure this time would kill me. I can’t remember what else – just the waterboard. Erica, it was awful. It was worse than dying. Oh, Mother God, forgive me.” And she buried her head in her hands.

Erica tugged at her. “No, Linda. You got to survive.” She pressed another spoonful of soup at Linda’s mouth. “You got to eat. You got to live. All we got is life. Those bastards win if you die. Eat.”

She was somewhat better by dinnertime, but Jules judged her as not quite ready to serve as a waitress. She did help set up tables, shuffling out with trays of food that the other girls delivered to the men, but she almost seemed like a zombie to them. And when they sat down to dinner, the whole crew was quiet, watching her eat, watching her pick at her supper. She sat, slumped at her tray, as Jules called out the after-dinner duties; and when Casey came in to claim her for the night, the girls watched with open hostility as she shuffled off with him.

When I first read this, I was hoping that the waterboarding event would be the catalyst for a revolution among the Comfort Girls – that they would strike back against the men and demand to be treated as human beings.

Spoilers: it doesn’t happen. After this chapter, the waterboarding is rarely spoken of, except by Linda, who views it as a quasi-religious experience. If anything, the girls grow more content with their lot in life: Linda preaches that they must willingly submit to their new roles as sex objects and they come to view her as a spiritual leader, like some kind of kinky Jesus.

When the door closed behind them, Linda wrapped Casey in her arms. “Oh, thank you, Master, for bringing me back to life!” She giggled in his shoulder.

“Scrawny, you had Jules scared half to death. He asked me what the hell we had done to you!”

She grabbed his mouth with hers, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed … finally Casey broke free with a gasp. “Goddamn, girl, Chuck is still just Chuck. You’re the Shark. You’re the man-eater!”

She dropped to her knees and lifted her crossed hands. “Forgive me, Master.” Her eyes danced in mirth – and desire.

“Jee-zo-flip, honey, you’ll be the death of me yet. And Sharky, and Robin, and Lord-alone knows how many more.” He put her on his bed, and stripped off her jumper. She stretched back, smiling, hands above her head, and infinitely ready.

Linda was surprised, herself, at her hunger. She wanted nothing more than to be fucked, and fucked, and fucked some more. She realized she would be in heaven if the whole Conshelf contingent would just run a train on her, one after another after another until she was so full of cum that it gushed out of her. What had happened to her?

This is a turning point in the story. Linda is no longer a person; she is now defined totally by her desire to serve and submit to men. The shrill, hypocritical bitch we knew and loved from the start of this book is dead and buried. And in her place is… well…

“I need you,” Linda said. “Both of you. I’m so hungry for you. Please.” Her arms were straining to hug them closer.

The men traded gazes across her head. Both of them had been in battle; both of them had known what a close brush with death could do for a man’s urges. What about a woman’s urges? Even if it hadn’t been dangerous, not really, it surely must had felt that way.

“She could kill either of us alone,” Casey muttered.

“What a way to go,” Sharky returned.

“Are you down with the brown?” Sharky nodded silently.

One of the first laws put into place after the Patriarchy took control was the Mandatory Racial Reporting Act: prior to sexual activity, all black people have to announce their blackness to other participants through one of the officially sanctioned catchphrases.

Linda became melancholy, with a haunted look that her ‘sisters’ attributed to her torture at the hands of the Masters. It didn’t set them much at ease, either; they knew Linda was a special case, ‘Dr. Death,’ but they still wondered if something like that could be waiting for them – especially the girls who had been active in the Radfem movement.

While the other girls on the station are living in mortal terror, Linda wallows in self-pity. Doc Landry calls her in for an emergency psych-eval.

“Linda, are you all right? I can see the other girls are worried about you; they almost mother you, out there. What’s really going on inside you, please?”

“Not what, Doctor… who.” *insert biggest winky face emoticon in the world*

“Oh, Doctor – Master-”

“Doctor. In here. For now. What’s going on?”

She turned and managed a smile. Not a sunny smile, unless one counts a sunset.

This is my favourite line in the book so far. Not even joking; the delivery is a bit off, but it’s a nice and evocative metaphor. Maybe Rick has some hidden talent?

“Wouldn’t it look awfully funny, Doctor, if I didn’t seem hurt and depressed and upset about what happened? The ‘her-story,’ I mean.”

“Then it’s all an act? It’s pretty good acting, according to Barnes.”

“Well … it’s not all an act. I am upset; I am anxious. I can’t get my mind off of what I was doing with Project Y.” She unburdened himself to him, her fears, her doubts, her heavier and heavier burden of guilt. She poured her heart out to him, and he soaked it up like the professional heart-sponge that he was.

OK, I take that back.

She turned to him. Her eyes reminded him of Einstein’s eyes in the famous Karsh portrait, infinitely deep pools of melancholy. “Oh, Doctor, I’m afraid of what I might have unleashed on the world. I couldn’t stand a world without men in it. Not now!” (It would be worse for me, Landry thought, as I’m one of the men who would no longer be in it.)

Typical male. So self-centered!

“Yes, Master, I am feeling better. I’m feeling relaxed. But now … may I please you, Master?”

Linda sat up very straight, her breasts, her erect nipples, straining at the fabric of her jumper. (How had her top come unzipped like that? he thought.) Her eyes gazed into his, and her hands stretched out to him, palms up, arms crossed. (Well! This is a new twist on ‘bedside manner.’)

“Linda, as a therapist, I’m not sure I should.” She looked stricken – and very delectable. “But this is new territory. None of us has given thought to counseling for ‘comfort women,’ after all.”

“We just figured that comfort girls would adapt to their new lives like battery hens, or zoo animals! Who could possibly have predicted any psychological issues?!”

He chuckled ruefully. “Mama always told my sisters, if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.” He stood up. “Slip out of that jumper and onto my bed. Let me put my clothes up.” He hung everything over his desk chair, and came to join her.

They fuck a couple times and go to bed, but Landry is trouble by thoughts of Linda’s future. She’ll certainly never be employed in her former career, or almost any other job.

What then? She was past the ‘best-by date’ for marriage and childbearing. She was beautiful now – and she would certainly still be attractive in ten years; but men want young women, and now after the Revolution, in the Men’s World of the future, they would insist on youth in their brides.

What about as a wife for him? As he imagined it, his “bullshit filter” rang on red alert. C’mon, son, take off that white-knight helmet and get real! He was not the marrying kind – especially not nowadays.

He was a Coastie, though he didn’t talk about it – a doctor in the U.S. Coast Guard’s equivalent of the Navy’s Medical Corps. Less than two years from now, he’d PCS to a shoreside station. Ten years from now, at the end of Linda’s sentence, he’d be forgotten – he meant, she would be forgotten to him.

And down here, they couldn’t really even be sure of tomorrow. Oddly, that thought was comforting to him, in this dark, dark night. His mind calmed, his breathing slowed, and finally he slept.

At least one of us can sleep after this terrible chapter.

Have a great Christmas break, guys. Thanks for reading!

Cartoon cat: Meowy Christmas! allonsykimberly.com

Let’s Read Comfort Girls Chapter 6: This Post Tastes Of Piss

< Comfort Girls Interlude

American Horror Story gif: "Surprise, bitch"American Horror Story gif: "I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me"

The hardest part about taking a hiatus is writing the announcement post for your triumphant return. So let’s skip all that: here I am! What’s new with you, readers? Up here on the surface we’ve seen a full rotation of the seasons, but for our heroine Linda Mayhugh, it has been a scant few hours since her beautifulhorrifying sexual awakening at the hands of station chef Soupy. If you need a refresher on the rest of the story, the link in the right sidebar will take you to all the Comfort Girl posts in order.

Now, we had some laughs the last chapter – but let’s just take a moment to remember what we’re dealing with here.

“The other men can be pretty strict. They’ve been hurt, Linda. Hurt a lot. They’ve forgotten that a girl can be sweet, and they need to be reminded – they need it so much. You have to obey us, Linda, you know that – but it’ll be a whole lot better for you if you can be nice to us. You know, be a good girl.”

Funny story: this is literally how real life abusers keep control of their victims. “I don’t want to be this way – it’s not my fault I have a temper”, “Just be a good girl and you won’t get hurt”, “It’s those other girls who made me like this, you need to convince me that you’re better than them”.

“Your first night with Soupy,” Mavis said. “Didja learn anything?”

Linda couldn’t help the smile that caught her face. The deep, luxuriant sigh; the stiffening of her nipples under her jumper. “Yeah. I think I learned a lot.” She hoped she wasn’t creaming.

If I had a dollar for every time I hoped for the same thing…

Soon after, Linda runs in to her old nemesis, Dr. Nguyen. Remember him? Westlake is doing a good job of setting Nguyen up as the creepy rapist of the story, which sure is saying something.

“Unzip my pants and take out my cock. Suck me off.” She reached up, carefully unzipping him, and working his penis out through the Y-front of his briefs. It wasn’t easy. It smelled faintly of piss. “Go on,” he said. Hesitantly, she reached her head forward and slipped it into his mouth. Thank heavens, it didn’t taste of piss.

What a relief! And a very confusing typo in the second-last sentence.

Soon after this, Linda takes a well-deserved break from her duties and settles in for a heart-to-heart with Comfort Girl Barbie (Mattel’s anatomically correct spin-off).

“I was a call-girl, you know; but then I started hiring out to set-up johns for their wife’s lawyers. The money was bigger in that game. One of those johns I set up was big in Men’s Rights, I mean a prime mover … and when they caught me doing it again, after the Revolution, the judge gave me a choice: prison – or Comfort Corps. I jumped at this.”

Westlake isn’t even trying to portray men as the good guys anymore, is he? Barbie was punished for telling wives that their husbands were cheating on them. Sneaky, sure, but does it warrant a sentence of sexual slavery and near-certain death? What happened to the cheating men? (Rhetorical question, obviously.)

“You don’t … you don’t mind our … our duties?” Linda sounded too damned hesitant about it, even to herself.

Barbie laughed. “No, honey, I loved it even before I went professional. Way before they brought me down here! If I can work off my ‘debt to society’ on my back, that’s a cake-walk. You know – if you’re good, they’re good.” She turned her head. “You got a boy back topside? Is that what worries you?”

Linda’s eyebrows raised, defiantly. “No. I have not. I never had any real feelings for men at all. They were just … useful tools for me.” She shook her head ruefully. “…It’s not that way now. Down here, I guess we’re ‘just useful tools’ for the men.”

“And if you’ve got to be a tool, it’s best to be the sharpest tool in the box.” Barbie patted her thigh, grabbed her hand, and gave her such a sisterly smile. But her eyes glittered and her smile seemed to become predatory. “Linda, I think I could teach you … a lot.”

Aww yeah! Don’t worry, there are some smokin‘ lesbian sex scenes later in the book (two words: carpet. party.)

Linda got used to sex, as ‘part of the job.’ Comfort duty, i.e. sex, slowly became the pleasantest part; and often it could be made more pleasant, or at least less unpleasant, by acts such as by offering to bathe a man before he took her to bed. She came to realize that very few of the men of the Station went out of their way to be unpleasant to a girl. Most all of them were decent men, civil men, even kindly men; but they all conducted themselves as Masters, and considered a girl’s most intimate ‘comfort’ services, her immediate yielding to their desires, as their imperial right.

The Noble Rapist. Rick is setting the bar for decency really low here.

It’s been a while since we had any awful racial stereotypes! Luckily, Casey Jones shows up to save the day with his “big johnson” (not even joking) and intermittent AAVE.

“You okay? I know I’m big.”

“I’m okay, Master. It just hurt a little, at first. Thank you, Master.” She kissed him again, long and slow and sweet. Oh Dear Mother God, the sensations he awakened in her!

“It wouldn’t have hurt if you’d taken it easy. Scrawny, you’ve got The Fire down below.” He picked her up, even with her straddling him, and put her below him on the bed. “What else you do fo’ a nigga?”

“I don’t know, Master. You’re the first Black man I’ve ever kissed.”

“Whoo-eee! And you’re Down for the Brown!”

you cannot make this up

“What are you in for, baby girl?” Her pleasure was wiped from her face. He saw it and sobered – “No, never mind. …Oh. I KNOW what you’re in for. Oh shit. Well, I’m glad we stopped you in time.”

“Master, I’m glad you stopped me in time, too.” And Mother God, she knew that she meant it. Losing this – the arms of Man, the strength of Man, the comfort and pleasure and joy of Man – even the idea of it was suddenly much too much to bear. “Oh no!” She started to cry. To keen, and moan, and bury her head in his shoulder, and cling to him, and cry, and cry, and cry. And he rocked her, in his arms, sitting up now with her body across her, feeling her shake and weep, patting her and comforting her like he used to comfort his own baby girl, in the time before his wife had called him a child-rapist and the police had taken him away, never to see her again.

Finally he slipped over to his desk. Thumb-scanning the terminal into life, he opened his e-mail and ran down the short list to ‘Taylor, Zachary Charles, Cpt USMC – MilGroup’. He tapped out a message: ‘Emotional breakdown on part of Linda Mayhugh. Maybe catharsis. Can we use it?”

Would you look at that! There’s some plot in my porn!

She didn’t move. Her face grew pained, anxious; all too aware of her terrible wrong. She’d try to make it up to him – to Men – any way she could. With her body, if that’s all she had for it. “Is there anything else a girl can do for you, Master?”

Now his heart really went out to her. Not as a White Knight, oh, no. But there was a tear in his eye, too. “Not tonight, Linda. Not tonight. But maybe tomorrow. Darlin’, could you please – help us make sure we’ve got all of Project Y cleared out?”

She gasped. Project Y! She blinked. She held her breath. She remembered, and came to her resolve. Never, never, NEVER should such sweetness and such strength – as he’d shown her, as she’d felt in his arms, in the arms of Men – be lost from the Earth. “I’ll give you all I can, Master.”

If only someone had turned Hitler into a sex slave! A good, hard fuck would have put an end to that whole genocide thing.

“It’s coming up to dinnertime. You need a shower before you go?”

She felt her vulva. “No, thank you, Master, I think I’m okay.”

Christ. I think I need a shower after reading that, so we’ll end here.

Thanks for reading, guys! I am always blown away when I get comments about this post series – not only because someone actually read it, but because you sick weirdos seem to like reading it. So as my way of thanking you, I’d like to direct you to a similar (but much funnier) series of posts: Cliff Pervocracy’s reading of 50 Shades of Grey. Cliff is hilarious, and offers a much-needed sane point of view on the BDSM content in the book.

“How would you like your eggs?” I ask tartly. He smiles. “Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” he smirks.


I’m kinky too, but I don’t like scrambled eggs that much, so I just have to order “over easy, and by the way, I’ve been really enjoying double penetration lately.”

Keep an eye out here for the next Comfort Girls post! I swear it’s less than 12 months away.

 Comfort Girls Chapter 7 >