The red pill offers perfect transcendence to a reality – the only reality – where the human penis is both the conclusion and ultimatum of the natural universe, simultaneously. “She’s the cunt who thought she was God, but that’s okay. I don’t give a shit as long as she sucks me off when I tell her, ’cause she’s my zombie. I captured that motherfucker and she’s my cassette.” What Lebal Drocer Spokesman Raleigh T. Sakers means is there is no facet of existence the red pill can not touch, because if there was, then it wouldn’t be rape.
The Indian Example
India is a culture of rape.
In India, everyone is brought up fantasizing about rape. Instead of casually taking a few girls out on dates one month, boys are conditioned to view women as meat holes under a cloth drape. The rape is an honor of which women can only partake as unwillingly as is possible while still being able to call it an act of rape by definition. To be chosen for rape is every Indian woman’s calling in life. Like the Beatles said, “Rape is all ya need.”
India’s such a real place, the red pill philosophy is built into their way of life. Indians are literally born into enlightenment. And if you aren’t, then you’re what’s known as an untouchable (but not un-rape-able). Indian men who never transcended still mimic their sister aging western ideologues by “respecting” a woman’s “choice” who she has “sex” with, but for those who take the red pill, a choice has already been made. And if you’re a woman, you’re getting raped. Just try to act like you don’t enjoy it, for his pleasure.
3 replies on “The Red Pill”
That is the most mentally-retarded, pig-headed piece of garbage I have ever seen written, presented as a news article. Whoever wrote this needs to go back to diapers.
Pampers or Depends?
naw, pilgrim, and i’ll knock you into next week more frightened than you were last week. hatesec, it is you and me until the wheels fall off. while true, cat-kissing babe, and my luck is running towards that being the only kind of secret wigs you people are going to get. It’s general principles I wrote, so that if I had a stroke, could I feel your root? You are a pig if not, wear a nail with a stream of Arizona flag football blood running down your forehead. I’ll be running fast to pick up an answer, because you are bloated. Youse did not hit the gym, you sad sacks., i.e. the little faggot is a millionaire. All you did was drink ankle hall. Pushie tushie satter down. I got a post title, typical. PILLY ON-AIR, which is billionaire, but it’s the way Mark Knopfler sings it. It has a Cajun fuck to it, GUAR-AN-TEE, bust a move. So it is, no matter how you spell it, GUAR-ON-TEE, so, you can’t sound it out. Has to do with how fast you are on the internet. Got it now? It’s that if we ever secure the hatred for Pac-Man, we can wipe them out, buy woop-woop, everybody havin’ he’s ice cream in a glass, Illuminati, the celebrated marry-the-gay act, bitchin’, etc. Raw and Harsh Prostitution Act, et-…come to the fuckin’ hilt with me on a rusty nail… loading the cocaine in the syringe, I wonder do I do this? Don’t get smart, I will press a “B” into your flesh singing, “Michele”. CIA got a red-hot dab-smoking bolt.