Richard Spencer has devoted much of the last two years crowdsourcing a venture to stockpile reserve supplies of pure, racially white semen in a subterranean Alaskan vault, but 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 patrons 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 made it seem like me and my alt-right collaborators and donors 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 imagined calling Caucasia. Our group was like Romulus and Remus of 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 it. What a loser. I’m holding out for a beautiful white goddess, and the only reason I’ve never had a girlfriend or 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 underemployed and undersexed, but that we could pull off this amazing achievement to preserve our god-like DNA coded for skin so majestcally white that it’s susceptible to chronic sunburning is a testament to our strength. Someday the future will thank us. When the white race is down to our last thousand fertile white women capable of continuing the white race’s bloodline, everyone will be building statues of us because our dutiful work will allow those white crusaders to evacuate the remaining white women to our Alaskan vault in some kind of a Helm’s Deep situation, and we’ll conscript the women into pregnancy slavery to pop out as many white babies as vaginally possible. We’ll be able to preserve white skin and the patriarchy, and knock out two birds with one stone. You know, the SS did a similar thing in the Third Reich with Lebensborn with their white women. The Nazis are kind of our inspiration behind the whole doomsday sperm vault, but they didn’t go far enough to actually bottling SS sperm. It just sucks that people call us racist so much, because our vision is way different than racism. We don’t hate black people, and Jews, and Asians, and the LGBTQ+ community, we don’t actually hate them at all. We just don’t want them to exist, and I don’t see why they’re so against a future utopia without anybody like them. It really hurts my feelings when people throw around the ‘R-word’ so casually. I think that may have something to do with why no one ever swipes me on Tindr. In my doomsday scenario, women might finally raise their standards and have sex with people like us. I’m just saying that its women’s fault. They better start getting sluttier, let me tell you, because 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 slipping and sliding around in the slop and dropping the few unbroken jars so that even those broke on the floor. All the glass shards littering everywhere cut 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 literally covering every surface, and sneaking into every crevice. 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 everywhere, it would have been a spectacularly beautiful sight. Oh, to have been a sperm that day, free at last and mingling with billions of other white sperm cells in an eden paradise of white DNA. I cried at least twice, but more likely half a dozen times. Some of the tears might have been from sperm leaking into my goggles. 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, you know what I mean?”