Richard Spencer has devoted much of the last two years to crowdsourcing a venture to stockpile reserve supplies of pure, racially white semen in a subterranean Alaskan vault, but the project has faced yet another setback in his dream of being the premier collector of white people’s semen in North America, though likely the entire world.
Due to unusually active tectonic plates along the northern Pacific coast, an earthquake shook the vault’s foundations and collapsed Spencer’s elaborate scaffolding storage system. Thousands of mason jars full of certified-white sperm shattered, spilling out an exhaustively curated collection intended to insure against what Spencer fears the most: a future dystopian doomsday threat to genetically pale skin.
“It was, literally, the biggest sucker-punch from life I’ve ever received,” explained Mr. Spencer in an online video message to his semen contributors and investors. “We had just hit the milestone of capping and freezing our 10,000th mason jar of all-American caucasian sperm, and it was the accomplishment of my white nationalist career. Sure, on the outside our project may have seemed like me and my Alt-Right collaborators were just a bunch of lonely, unloved racist betas getting together and circle-jerking in genial competitions to see who could climax the fastest, but we were all proud to serve the future Aryan kingdom we dreamed of calling Caucasia. Our group was like a modern Romulus and Remus success story of founding a future Rome, with our own little mythological world of mutual masturbation. Those other wankers were my brothers, more so than my real brother, who is a total libtard cuck. He married a black girl, and he’s happy about someday having mixed kids. What a race traitor! If he’s okay with that, it makes me worry I might have some recessive genes of tolerance for racial heterogeneity floating around! But I refuse to ever let those genes turn dominant! I’m holding out for a beautiful white goddess whose womb is whites-only, and the only reason I’ve never had a girlfriend for so long or even made out with anyone is because of how picky I am. And that’s the point of this project. Me and my cum crew may be disgruntledly undersexed, but that we could pull off this amazing achievement to preserve our god-like DNA coded for skin so majestically white that it’s susceptible to sunburning on an early spring day is a testament to our racial strength and dedication to purity. Someday the future will thank us. It just sucks that so many people call us racist because our vision is way different than racism. We don’t hate black people, and Hispanics, and Jews and Asians, we don’t actually hate them at all. We just don’t want them to exist. I don’t understand why they’re so against a future utopia without any of them, or their descendants, or anyone looking like them in it. It really hurts my feelings when people throw around the ‘R-word’ so casually, and I believe it’s impacting my ability to date women. In my doomsday scenario, women might finally raise their standards high enough to have sex with white knights like us. And they better start doing it soon because, let me tell you, I am so close to turning incel!”
During a follow-up Ask Me Anything event for Reddit, Mr. Spencer elaborated on the earthquake’s damage:
“It was so gross. So. Gross. Our whole scaffolding system collapsed simultaneously as our refrigeration process suffered a blackout so that our thousands of mason jars shattered and thawed into globby puddles. Me and several volunteers tried to save as many mason jars as we could, but the damage was catastrophic. And the floors got super slippery so we kept tripping and skidding around in the slop, and dropping the few unbroken jars so that even the unharmed containers broke on the floor. All the glass shards everywhere cut up and shredded our clothes and tore into our skin when we’d slip and slide around on the floor. In some rooms we were practically swimming in the mess. Aryan sperm was sneaking into every crevice of our body. Every crevice, if you catch my drift. If it hadn’t been so heart-breaking and painful to see the last two years of our exhaustive jerking-off spilled out and spoiling on the ground everywhere, it would have been a spectacular sight. Oh, to have been a sperm that day, free and mingling with trillions of other Aryan sperm cells in an ephemeral eden paradise of white DNA. I cried at least a dozen times both from the beauty and the tragedy, though some of the tears might have been from sperm leaking into my goggles and burning my eyes. Although, I’ll tell you what, after that long, long, disgusting night of cleaning, my skin was so smooth when I showered the crusty coating all off. Maybe I should start commercializing some of our next batches as an Aryan skin cream rather than just stockpiling it all. Hmm, I’ll think about it. Well, gotta get back to work. My sperm isn’t going to jerk itself back to 10,000 jars!”
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