I've been on Niggermania all night tonight, reading, thanking, and posting. It does not put me in a very tolerant mood for niggershines. Not that I ever am, but you know.

I just went to the gas station for cigarettes. The lot was fuller than usual, requiring that I park in the end stall. Directly in front of my car was a concrete pylon--might as well call it a nigger pylon, because niggers can often be found sitting their lazy nigger asses on them waiting for nothing but a passing white person to harass. So here's how it happened:

I pull up with my windows down and sunroof open. I'm listening to Born of Osiris--for those unfamiliar, it's a pretty hard heavy metal band, lots of guitar, lots of unintelligible vocals (to each his own, I like that stuff). I have a decent stereo, so it was pretty loud. I roll the windows mostly up and get out. As I approach the store (ignoring the nigger), I hear the nigger trying to talk at me. I look: Light-skinned, younger, wearing a backpack. The nigger has just said "Hey my guy..." (this is one of those things niggers say when they're trying to suck up to you, as if there is some familiarity there, like I'm his pal), and the nigger pauses when he gets a look at me. I have tattoos. A sort-of mowhawk. I'm wearing these metal-clad Harley-Davidson zippered boots. I do NOT look like a nigger lover. I do NOT look like a punk. I do NOT look like the person to be fucked with. The nigger stumbles in his attempted begging: "...would you happen to have--"

"I don't have SHIT," I cut the nigger off. The message was clear. The nigger shut up.

When I came out, the nigger was still sitting there, but now his head was down. He didn't look at me again.

How dare you, nigger? How dare you think I'm some easy mark you can beg from? How dare you even try to talk at me? I'm WHITE. And you're a NIGGER.

I was not in the mood, but I feel better now. Thanks for listening.