Erdogan is scum, but he has done our naive, suicide signaling White shitlibs a favor by removing the mask of politesse and allowing the underlying monstrous face of human nature to strike mortal fear in Western pathological universalists.

Diversity + Proximity = War, and Erdogan has dispensed with the usual niceties providing cover for malevolent intentions, to openly declare demographic war against White Europe. When a leader of a gutter nation advocates for a breeding war pitting his migrant janissaries against the gullible, welcoming natives they are sent to displace, we are one small step from a hot war. Or, unbelievably, from the first self-annihilating auto-genocide of a people in history.

But Turkey and the rest of the Sewer World invaders of the West would not have started the Diversity Wars. That blame would rest solely with the LUNATIC WHITE LEFTOIDS who plugged their ears to their political enemy’s warnings and to the actual threats of genocide from foreign enemies, to entertain fantastically infantile notions of one-race, one-world globohomo harmony.

Mein Gott shitlibs, you are SO FUCKING STUPID to indulge the momentary emotional rush of moral preening for social status points at the expense of losing your homeland, a sanctum of refuge and opportunity for you and your posterity, to foreign invaders. If a War of Migration is coming, unstoppable, then all I can hope is that you juvenile shitlibs catch the heat first and hardest, and when you come crawling back to your White betters for succor and protection all you get for your grand betrayal are closed doors, to face alone and unarmed your beloved brackish hordes in all their indiscriminate fury.

Human nature is conquest. Tribe against tribe, forever, unchanging, intractable. Peace and prosperity are always temporary, a beguiling veneer that lulls the weaker among us to luxuriate in the rhetorical vestments of Fake Morality. The id monster may slumber, but is never silenced. In rosier times, the percolating human compulsion to pillage another tribe to the benefit of one’s own tribe is subsumed in pretty lies and social graces. But it’s there, always scheming, always maneuvering, waiting for the dinner party to disperse and the velvet gloves to flutter off into rain puddles, at which time the id monster roars to life, baring teeth and claws and overjoyed that the moment has arrived when it can shred flesh from bone without the constraints of diplomatic decorum.

Pinker wept.