The Great Westerner

The Great Westerner soars above the rest of the world. He’s a king gazing across the lowlands whilst his queen exalts their empire from that glittering palace on the mount. The achievements and innovations in science, technology, law, human rights, exploration and the extent of conquests are extraordinary. From Gutenberg 1436, to the 17th century when the microscope blew the minds of London’s scientific community and on to the twenty-first century when we recorded the audio inside a black hole 5200 light years away. Those hailing from other lands high-five each other after successfully digging a water well in the forest. They have only learned they’re living on a planet because of Westerners. Even the Gods they worship are nothing more than bundles of sticks. They know they’re mediocre and they’ve gone on feeling like hand servants to the Westerner long after the end of imperialism. Every day there’s a queue of four hundred million seeking entry to the palace via the back door. It’s the only time they’ve queued properly in their lives. Paradoxically, the Westerner harbours good will towards other peoples and is perplexed as the charge of racism is graffitied on the palace gates. The reason is clear. They’re humiliated. Even when he isn’t aware of it, the Westerner presents an image of superiority and the perception of this superiority breeds jealousy. The destruction of the West is not the goal of those from other lands, they’re merely the tool, the pitiful members of the Western cult of victimhood, they hatched the plot. As the Queen lies dead in the Royal Vault at Windsor the traitors among us have awoken. The dross of the beta-male epidemic stands beguiled, their waxed ball-sacks swinging in wonderment as they ponder the beloved uncivilised creature. Standing over them, the tattooed female lusts to be ravished by the sinewy slaves who tended the royal garden. The treacherous have unlocked the palace gates. The homicidal storming by the four hundred million has been unleashed—they’re not bothering to queue anymore—and the future of the West is a never-ending salad of bloody civil wars.    

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