Supposedly, that is the Crips’ gang sign those Swedish handball team women are all flashing. It may as well be a gangbang sign, because odds are good Usain Bolt rammed home a 9.63 in each one of those broads’ Nordic pussies.
Now I know some (most) of you looking at this pic felt a blood pressure rise or, at the least, a stirring of disgust. That’s perfectly natural. Seeing women of your race (or tribe, or family) bang an outsider alpha male interloper, even going so far as adopting his cultural swagger and betraying their very essence as members of your shared tribe, and feeling emotions that would scandalize polite society, is a primal reaction that is evolved in all humans and has therefore likely served a beneficial role to our reproductive fitness. The id monster will not be reeducated.
It’s said that Swedish men are, arguably, the world’s most feminized men, bending backwards to feminist demands, rhythmically swaying to intone feminist boilerplate and flagellate themselves for their sin of being born men. It’s also said that Swedish women are among the most eager of the world’s women to sample the cock of the Other.
My purpose with this post is to proffer that the emasculation of Sweden’s men has a direct, causal effect on the willingness and ardor and shamelessness with which Sweden’s fully feminist women rush into the crotches of decidedly non-feminist, self-confident alien swashbucklers. When your women’s kinsmen — the men, lest the reminder be needed, who are the presumed benefactors of their women’s sex — are lickspittle, mincing betaboys who happily accede to every asinine feminist idea, it should be no surprise to scholars of female nature that the women who hold such ahistorically lopsided power over their countrymen would, unintentionally, geld them so thoroughly that they are reduced to anhedonic lumps the likes of which the male competitor Usain Bolts of the world could run over with impunity.
What this photo symbolizes better than anything is the age-old and unmitigable female paradox of insisting upon shit she does not really want. If you listen carefully and follow to the letter your women’s rambling feminist inanities, you get Sweden, land of the castrated men who repulse their own women. If, on the other hand, you dismiss and deride, in action as well as word, the feminists in your midst with the cocky assurance of the man who makes no excuses for his raw masculinity, you might piss off a few ugly manjaws, but you get to enjoy the continued admiration and carnal desire of your beautiful native women.
Game can save Sweden’s men from utter humiliation. Game at its most primitive is an illusion of power, but an illusion of power is still better than powerlessness.
This post gently massaged into Bill Bennett’s shoulders.