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i love when foids feel unsafe


defrenned circumcucked retributionist
just like i love dr verwoerd and apartheid. i love when foids think theyre in danger when theyre around men. they dont deserve any safe spaces in soyciety. nobody would care if a guy was in danger from niggers but when its a foid all of a sudden it matters even though they do nothing and contribute nothing and are useless.
all foids should be deported to somalia and get kidnapped by muslims putting guns to their heads. after that they should be forced to be put in a room with the quran to convert them and they should be circumcised. after that they should be raped and sold or if they are deemed to not have any use killed.
Honestly as bad as foids are, incels are just as bad but the shoe is on the other foot. I can't really advocate anything vs foids because I think humans in general are just terrible these days as a whole. Its easy to blame a group for what everyone's doing.
In the five hours since I began writing this document I’ve had a major change of heart. At the beginning I stated I was writing this with the intention of sharing it with the world, but now I think I want to change my mind. This manifesto is meant to be a book of support and encouragement for people in similar situations to my own. It is also meant as a warning to normies that the beta uprising is coming, and in order to avoid untimely deaths it is crucial for them to love and accept everybody equally despite their physical or social inabilities. I feel that by now this secondary purpose has been served. Normies, I command you to stop reading this document henceforth. If the first three sections were not enough to convince you to change your ways, then nothing will. Get the fuck out, normies. And in case you still aren’t sure whether or not you qualify as a normie, please consider this simple Normie Test that I’ve established. The test is very simple and constitutes only one question: Do you believe the phrase “Just be yourself” is quality advice? If your answer to that question is yes, then you are a filthy fucking normie and I command you to stop reading this document. Only a normie would believe that “just being themselves” would be enough to win friends, affection, and happiness. Everybody in my position knows that being oneself is a fruitless endeavor. Now that the normies are hopefully gone, I feel more comfortable in detailing the events of my once-planned suicide. Life had become an unbearable repetition of despair, isolation, monotony, and boredom. I hated everyone and everything—myself included. I no longer felt passion for anything. The videogames I’d once cherished, the television shows I’d once loved, the music I’d once obsessed over—I felt nothing in regards to any of them. I guess that’s really the best way to put it. I felt nothing. It was as if the deadly combination of depression and loneliness had hollowed me out as a person. My passions, desires, goals, hobbies—all had evaporated. My only focus now was on the sweet embrace of death. Upon death, my suffering would be no more. I would never feel depressed or lonely ever again. I already had become the embodiment of nothingness, and all I needed was to pull the plug so that my consciousness could join the rest of me. I became obsessed with death and suicide in particular. I spent entire nights doing extensive research on the subject—reading stories of those who were considering it, those who had tried and failed at it, and those who were left behind by fallen loved ones. The stories of people who knew victims of suicide were the most influential in my decision to follow through with the act. They told of their utter, unbelievable pain and suffering. It was as if in an instant a piece of their life had been viciously ripped from them. They felt immense guilt for not being able to prevent the tragedy. They spoke of the signs that now seemed ever so obvious. It seemed as though these people now understood intense suffering. And that’s exactly how I wanted to make everybody feel.
I wanted my suicide to make an entire city weep and suffocate in guilt and grief. Especially my mother. That cursed woman is the reason why my life is so completely shitty, and I wanted my death to impact her the most. I wanted it to break her heart, her soul, her mind. I wanted her to feel full responsibility for my suicide, and I wanted it to tear away at her until she felt she had no choice but to end her own life as well. And I intended on doing everything in my power to make my suicide impact her as deeply as possible. I also wanted to use my suicide as a means of revenge against everybody who had ever wronged me. The kids at school who had always disregarded me and had refused to give me a chance needed to feel as though a life had been lost due to their hostility. Much like at Hannah’s funeral, the student body would join together and take turns stating why I was such a great person and how they felt sorry that I was no longer around. My death would be a weight on the shoulders of each and every student who had known of my existence but refused to acknowledge it, and it would weigh down upon them for the rest of their lives. In case you can’t tell, I definitely condone suicide. You can’t listen to what the normies tell you—it’s pure bullshit. Normies will say things like, “Suicide is the most selfish act a person can commit.” Well allow me to be the first person to say that this sentiment is wrong. If a person is in such traumatic and severe physical, mental, or emotional pain that death would suit them better, then that person absolutely has the right to end their life. The normies think of this as selfish. Really? I have to endure another sixty years of intense suffering just so you don’t have to say you knew a guy who killed himself? And I’M the selfish one? That’s fucking bonkers logic! It’s as if normies have no idea what the word selfish means! It’s like these fuckers think that undergoing chemotherapy as a cancer treatment is selfish because everybody else loves seeing your flowing head of hair. How the fuck these normies can justify such hypocritical beliefs is beyond me. Another bullshit line normies will try to throw at you is, “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Wow, what sage advice! I forgot that my race, weight, social status, social inability, mental illness, and socio-economic background were all temporary problems! I should just wait a few days until all that shit goes away and I wake up in the body of a rich, fit, white guy! Holy shit normies, and to think I was going to kill myself before you gave me that ingenious piece of consultation! Heck, before you know it I’ll be a filthy normie too! While I’m debunking normie bullshit in regards to suicide, I might as well tackle the other big one that comes to mind. Normies have a twisted sense of morality that binds them to believe human beings are inherently valuable and therefore it is tragic when one of them dies. Simple examination of this claim can lead one to understand that it not only isn’t objectively true, but ultimately leads to the conclusion that suicide IS a proper solution. For starters, we’ve already established I am an avid atheist and have come to terms that there is no god. Everything in the universe was created by random. All life, animal, human, bacteria, etc. was the result of billions of years of evolution. Mutations, accidents, all that fun stuff.
Which means that human life has no objective, inherent value because it was created randomly. If you rolled a die and it landed on a three, you wouldn’t claim that three is an inherently important number. It just happened to be the number the die landed on. “But Mario!” the normies claim. “Human beings are selfaware! We are highly intelligent creatures and therefore intrinsically valuable!” The fact that we are self-aware does not mean we are valuable in any sort of way. Objectively value does not exist in the universe. Only when we lower the scale down to the level of humanity can any sort of value exist. It is therefore at this level we must evaluate ideas, if at all. At this level it is quite clear that a universal aspect of humanity is that it is good to experience happiness and bad to experience suffering. Now that we have a value system, we can determine whether or not suicide is the correct decision. If by killing yourself you will increase the happiness/decrease the suffering in the world in total, then it is morally the right thing to do. On the other hand, if by killing yourself you would be increasing the overall suffering/decreasing the overall happiness, then it is morally the wrong thing to do. This trail of logic is based entirely on using the normies’ own sense of morality against them. From my standpoint, I don’t give a shit whether any action is moral or immoral. Morality is a fucking joke to me. However, I felt the need to express a moral justification for suicide for those of you who desire one. At the end of the day, I firmly believe that if you want to kill yourself, then you definitely should. Don’t worry about how it will negatively impact your friends or family, just do it. You should not have to suffer in exchange for their happiness. Think about it this way—if their happiness truly deserved your consideration, then you wouldn’t be suffering in the first place. Why should you worry about the wellbeing of those who clearly aren’t preoccupied with your own? If those people really cared about you, then you wouldn’t be suffering in the first place. There is one footnote I should add to this philosophic discussion, however. The world is going to change tomorrow morning when I go on my rampage and this document is released to the public. The fate of the world will be put into the hands of people like us. Those who don’t feel as though we belong. Those of us who feel depressed, suicidal, and rejected. The normies are going to bend to our wills in order to prevent future slaughters. Thusly, you might want to reconsider your suicide with this in mind. The world around you will be changing very quickly. Your situation very well could improve to the point where you no longer feel like dying. That is why I feel as though my cause is a noble one. I am the ultimate martyr, the closest thing to a real life Jesus Christ. I am going to make a sacrifice that will improve the fate of mankind. And of course, if your situation doesn’t improve and you still want to die, then make sure you take out as many normies as possible on your way out the door. Then your death can help the cause.
As I stated earlier, I wanted my suicide to cause as much emotional and psychological damage as possible to my dear ol’ mother, so as soon as I knew I was going to end my life I began forming a plan. I needed to figure out three important details: A method, a place, and a time. The time was the first answer that came to me. The bitch’s birthday. It was perfect. The ultimate Fuck You from beyond the grave. Something that each person holds as a special day in their life would suddenly become her most tragic. Throughout the remainder of her miserable, pathetic existence she wouldn’t even be able to receive joy once a year from her birthday. In fact, I would be turning the one potentially happy thing in her life into the most soul-crushing one. It was going to be perfect. I read up on just about every suicide method imaginable. I found lists of methods, the pain intensity associated with them, and the success rate of each. Ideally I wanted to find the method with as low a pain intensity and as high a success rate as possible. The ultimate method I found was a shotgun blast to the head. It by far had the highest success rate and also the lowest pain intensity. Unfortunately, I had no shotgun, nor even any other type of firearm, so that idea was scrapped. Firearms aside, the next most viable option was being hit by a train. The idea didn’t seem terrible, but it would require me to die out in the open. I would have preferred my mother being the one to first discover my corpse. It has an extremely high success rate, though, so I kept this method in mind. Ultimately, I decided to go with a hanging. Hanging oneself has a very high success rate, especially for people of my weight. I couldn’t see a way in which my neck wouldn’t snap under the pressure of my tremendous body. Plus, my mom could find me hanging in my room. It didn’t seem to have any downsides. I now had the method, place, and time figured out. My next course of action was putting it into place. I definitely needed to be home alone during my death. The worst case scenario would be my mother or grandma walking in on me as I am about to do it. Surely they would rush me to a mental hospital and I would never be given the opportunity to try it again. I somehow had to find a way to get my mother and grandmother out of the house on my mom’s birthday. For the majority of my life I had saved up every dollar from birthdays, Christmas cards, and stealing change from the washer/dryer. I had a grand total of one hundred and thirty-five dollars. I told my grandma I wanted to use my money to purchase my mom a fabulous present—a gift certificate to one of the most expensive restaurants in Chicago—Alinea. The restaurant was about a forty-minute drive from our house. During the time it would take for them to drive there, eat, and return home, I would have been able to hang myself a dozen times. My grandma was extremely impressed with my generosity and drove me to the restaurant so that I could purchase the certificate . 22 I spent every dollar I had on the certificate, and when my mother’s birthday finally rolled around, I presented it to her as early in the day as possible. 22 1 suspect that her willingness to do this for me relied more on her desire to join my mother for dinner at the restaurant than anything else.
“Well it looks like I won’t be cooking tonight!” she happily exclaimed. “This is so kind of you, Mario. I never thought I would be able to eat at a place like this. Thank you.” “All I ask is that you take Grandma along for helping me buy the thing and that you bring me home some fast food for dinner,” I replied, giddy that my plan was going to work. With that out of the way, I had nothing left to do but enjoy my final day on Earth. I created a music playlist of all my favorite songs. Its length totaled nearly nine hours, and I wanted to listen through all of it before my demise, so I started it as soon as I returned to my room. For the first time in months I was in high spirits all day. I felt genuinely happy. I was finally going to do it. I was going to die and leave everybody else behind to grieve over me. The world had rejected me, and now I was going to reject the world. Around 5 p.m. my mom and grandma took off for Alinea. Once they were out of sight, I entered the garage in search of the rope I planned to use. At this point I felt as though I’d reached some sort of state of enlightenment. I was now mere minutes away from death. My family was gone, and it seemed as though nothing was left to stop me. My suffering would soon be over. I felt as light as a cloud. 23 The rope retrieved, I returned to my bedroom and pulled up a YouTube video detailing the best method in which to tie a noose. Up to this point I had practiced several times with pieces of string, but I didn’t dare practice with the actual rope in fear of being caught. I tied the perfect noose and my music playlist was nearly completed. Everything was in its 23 Which is strange considering I should have tried to feel heavy in order to better induce suspension hanging, but whatever. perfect place. In a few minutes Mario Quintanilla would be no more. But then I got a phone call. My phone was sitting on my desk across the room and it started to violently vibrate against the wooden surface. I very rarely received phone calls, so this surprised me. I figured it was Mom or Grandma calling to say they’d gotten a flat tire or some other asinine thing. I grabbed the phone and discovered that it wasn’t my mother calling, it was Dawn Bracken. “She’s probably just calling about our psychology project,” I thought to myself. “It’s not even worth answering at this point.” But here’s the thing—I decided to answer it. “Hello?” “Hi Mario. Dawn here. I hope I am not catching you at a bad time.” “Not at all, what’s up?” “This may seem a bit out of the blue, but I was wondering if you had any plans for after school this Wednesday.” “Well, to tell you the truth, I really don’t.” “Wonderful. In that case, I was wondering if you would like to join me and a group of friends in watching some grotesque videos.” This intrigued me. I never thought I would receive a phone call from a girl asking if I was available to hang out, and I definitely never predicted this sort of proposal. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Every Wednesday after school a group of us, mostly sophomores, come together to view an assortment of disgusting footage. Based on our interactions at school and
the time we have spent preparing our project, I figured you would be the type of person to get a kick out of our activities. The group is always looking for new members if you would like to join.” This was fascinating. I was moments away from death— a death prompted by my utter loneliness in the world—and now a girl was inviting me to join her group of friends. It was the most spectacular coincidence, one that you may find unbelievable, but trust me that it is undeniably true. Oftentimes truth can be stranger than fiction. I accepted Dawn’s offer and she told me she looked forward to seeing me in class on Monday. We then ended the conversation and I stood in my room with my phone in one hand and the noose in the other. I looked down at the two and wondered which path I should take. One was guaranteed to end my suffering; the other had potential for doing so. I thought long and hard about the decision I had been presented with. In the end, I decided to give Dawn’s friendship a shot. After all, even if it spectacularly failed and I was made more miserable than ever, I always had the noose as a last resort. The only downsides to all of this were that I was now out of my life savings and I’d made my mother happy. The following Wednesday I attended my first ever Triflers 24 meeting. It was there where I met the other five members for the first time. There was Mason, the cool, older 24 1 once inquired Dawn as to where the name had come from. I believe she said it was borrowed from a relentless band of outlaws that were infamous back in the Old West days. athletic one, Chao, the quiet, Asian one, Dorianne, the freak show, Truman, the tall, awkward one, and Tao, Chao’s uncle who ran the laptop. Of the student members, I had recalled seeing most of them at school from time to time 25 , but naturally none of them had ever spoken to me before. Not wanting to ruin a potential good thing, I tried my best to seem friendly. Once Tao started the first video, I knew immediately that this club would be the right fit for me. It was a video of some guy lighting his dick on fire. I’d never seen anything like it before in my life, but I thought it was fucking awesome. I looked over at Dawn, and she seemed as enthralled by it as I was. A bunch of the others looked uncomfortable, however. I found it funny that it was only my first day in the club and I already felt more comfortable than the rest of them. After the video was over, the lot of us sat around talking about it, telling jokes, stories, and generally having a pleasant time. Unlike at school, these people actually acknowledged my existence. They listened when I had something to say and made me feel as though my contributions mattered. They laughed at my jokes and I at theirs. And despite all of our differences, we did have one thing in common. For one reason or another, we all were interested in watching disturbing videos. It seemed clear that in regards to the videos the most passionate member of the group was Dawn. I was seeing her in an all new light. At school, and even during our group work sessions, she seemed like nothing more than a quiet, 25 1 even had a class with Mason. calculating girl. But now there was a fire in her eyes. Her attitude towards the uncomfortable and the grotesque made her glow. Where the others’ discussion contributions were elementary in nature, focused primarily on how the content made them feel, Dawn focused on the ramifications of the actions displayed. Others would avoid questioning how the pain likely felt, or in what ways the man’s life would be changed forever, or how he would explain his injuries to his doctor, because it forced them to consider his pain from their own point of view. Dawn felt no fear in this regard. She not only loved exploring these questions, but she flourished in them. I began to feel as though the Triflers, and Dawn in particular, were going to fill the emptiness within me. This was just the beginning of my newfound relationship with Dawn. She noticed that I, much like her, was far different from the rest of the Triflers. We shared an important connection—a love for the grotesque and a disregard for life. I think that’s what set Dawn and I apart from the other Triflers, and really everybody else in the world. We didn’t take life seriously. We knew that none of it mattered and that the end was inevitable. We could die any moment and we wouldn’t care. Life was nothing more than a game—a joke. We soon began to spend much of our time together. We discovered we had the same lunch period, so we began eating at the same table. We made plans to get together as often as possible to “work on our psychology project.” I continued attending the Triflers meetings every single Wednesday. Life was improving drastically. So fuck Aubrey, and fuck Marissa. It wasn’t until Dawn that I experienced true friendship. She and I had so much in
common, and we sought to discover each and every little commonality. From a physical standpoint we couldn’t have been more different, but on a cognitive level we were terrifically alike, and that is what mattered. We had similar tastes in music. 26 Neither of us cared much for our fellow classmates. In fact, before long we discovered a shared hatred for the majority of the student population. “I detest nearly every single one of them,” Dawn told me during lunch one day. “Look at them interact with one another as if they were chimps in the jungle. They try terribly hard to stand out as leader of the pack, but the sad truth is none of them are intellectually superior enough to lead a horse to water. Not only are they complete imbeciles, but they are incredibly narcissistic creatures. Narcissism is fine and dandy when the subject is deserving of respect, but I cannot find a single person worthy of my respect in this loathsome pack of concupiscent, idiotic beasts. 27 “People are nothing more than a game to me,” she continued. “I spend weeks, even months at a time, strategically planting ideas into their heads and playing mind games. It is one of the only ways in which I can amuse myself. I will often get bored of someone after a while and move on to my next victim, but that is fine considering there are hundreds of these dirty roaches for me to choose from. The ultimate strategy for being successful in life is to convince people that you actually care about them when the 26 1 introduced her to my favorite bands and she introduced me to hers. 27 1 highly suspect she spends her evenings reading a thesaurus for pleasure. truth is you only use them for your own personal advantage and entertainment. I am a puppet master with invisible strings. You, of course, can rest assured that I am not doing these things to you. If I were, then I would not have dared to tell you any of these things about me.” I thought Dawn to be my perfect complement. Over time love began to grow for her. The purest kind of love. Not one tainted by bodily desires such as sex or kissing, but a love of her heart, her soul, her brain, her being. Every moment spent conversing with Dawn felt like my life was being lived to its fullest potential. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t tell her, and she me. We became best friends, and I was thoroughly glad I didn’t hang myself. As our relationship went on, our conversations became increasingly dark and honest. We fantasized about murdering all of our classmates in the most brutal ways possible. Those stupid, slutty, preppy girls who probably went on and on about how disgusting I look or how bad I smell would be suspended upside-down by their ankles. I would have a large collection of swords, and I would take my sweet time using them to slice their naked bodies over and over again. They wouldn’t die from the cuts. I would give them as many shallow yet painful cuts as possible, and they would bleed to death from their wounds. We shared these fantasies with one another and elaborated on them. She would tweak mine in one way, I would change hers in another. Pain, suffering, and death were in our blood. We were obsessed with it. It was our destiny. It is for these reasons that I know Dawn will join me tomorrow morning in my massacre. I will bring a gun for each of us, and together will we exterminate the people we so dearly hate. Dawn saved my life, and now I will die fighting by her side.