I suppose that I’m what you’d call a lurker- I’ve been following this forum with interest for some time, and have often felt tempted to add my comments but have never felt irresolutely moved to do so until now. What has prompted me to put digital pen to virtual paper is this thread, which I think is THE definitive introduction to and precis of niggerology. If the subject were taught in schools, which it should be, in my opinion (some hope, I know!) I would make some of the posts on here part of the foundation course.

I have never considered myself a racist in the sense of being prejudiced against any race. Indeed, I know people from all parts of the world: Oriental, Asian, Hispanic- many of whom are good friends. I’m also married to one of them! Acknowledgement of the difference between races, is OK, whether you’re referring to physical appearance or behavioural tendencies, and I know that my lovely Malaysian neighbour and my Hispanic wife would agree.

Whether the nigger is a race or a species is a matter of genetics, a subject of which I have very little knowledge, so I can’t express an informed opinion. It’s convenient though, as far as I’m concerned, to use the word “human” to refer to any non-nigger humanoid. In that sense, I am a racist, in that I class niggers as a separate group from the rest of humanity, inherently of low intelligence, violent and anti-social. So, what made me aware of the difference?

There are two main themes that crop up again and again on this forum:

1. A well-balanced, unbiased, liberal-minded individual, with no particular opinions about niggers, because he or she has grown up in an unfuxated area, moves to a fuxated town or city and becomes a niggermaniac within weeks, if not days.

2. A like-minded individual is put into a situation where he/she has to work with niggers, leading to the same result.

Both of these apply to me. I live in London, UK, in an outlying 100% nigger-free suburb, which is one of the reasons my wife and I moved here. Previously, we lived in a more central area, which was gradually becoming overcome with the feral beasts. It was the happiest day of our lives when we moved out. Before that, I grew up in a moderately large town which was also virtually uncoontaminated. We have a very small nigger population in Britain- in the region of 3-4%, and, following the principle of like attracting like, it tends to be concentrated in certain areas, mainly inner-city ghettos. (Niggers will turn any area into a ghetto, as we all know.) Therefore, it’s possible to lead one’s entire life in most parts of Britain without encountering more than an occasional nigger, as I did up until I hit my mid-forties.

I’ve worked for most of my life in the broadcast production industry, where strict, immovable deadlines and occasional long days and missed weekends are the norm. At the time we first moved to London, I was working for a small independent company, owned and run by humans, but with a nigger manager supervising me. This creature did everything in its power to make all our lives as difficult as possible. A favourite trick was to reschedule work so that an important project would be in danger of over-running because we were concentrating on trivial, low-priority tasks, then complaining that the main work was not being done. It would criticise us for the slightest mistake (often caused by having to rush the job to get it finished) invent non-existent problems— I could write a long, long list.

It became normal for me to have to start work at 7 am and work through to midnight, just to get a project up and running on schedule. Naturally, my health suffered, and, looking back, I was probably on the verge of a breakdown. Along with others, I frequently complained to the senior management, who were understanding. The problem was that our employment laws here are so strict that, unless it could be shown that the nigger had committed some gross criminal act, it was virtually impossible for it to be fired. Then there are our race relation laws. If it had shouted “Racist!” the company would have faced a long and very expensive legal battle, which could have cost tens or hundreds of thousands of pounds.

An old, and oft-repeated story I know— One day I decided that I’d had enough, went to see the senior manager and quietly informed him that I was leaving then and there. I walked out of the job that I loved and to which I was dedicated, even though I had nothing else to go to, though fortunately I was not unemployed for long. If living in a fuxated area had not already made me a niggermaniac, my experience in this job would have. This is quite a long first post, so I’d like to close here by offering sincere thanks to all who administer and contribute to this forum, particularly those who have offered their invaluable insights on this particular thread.