YOU WILL NEVER BE A REAL NAZI (YWNBARN OC)
You will never be a real Nazi. You have no Schutzstaffel, you have no Luftwaffe, you have no Arbeitsfront. You are an American man twisted by hope and truth into a crude mockery of Hitler's perfection. All the "supremacy" you feel is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back niggers mock you. Your boomer parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your normie “friends” laugh at you behind closed doors. Jews are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed you to sniff out jews with incredible efficiency. Even Nazis who “pass” look like Indiana Jones villains. Your BMI is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a conservative to listen to you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he hears your FBI crime statistics. You will never be Übermensch. You stretch out a Roman salute every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be okay, but deep inside you feel the nigger-fatigue creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a gun and some ammo, put up some targets in your yard, and plunge into the deep, far right. You'll come out to your parents during Thanksgiving, and they'll be heartbroken that you identify with what Fox news told them was evil. Fascism won't make you a Nazi. A helmet won't make you a Nazi. Throwing Roman's won't make you a Nazi. You will never be a real Nazi.
> You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors. Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.