Kulturkampf
After finishing up business late in the day, I stopped at a coffee shop to use the wifi.
The place was busy; I took the last available seat in a large chair. Customers came and went. One woman was wearing light flowery layers of fabric from her head to the floor, her face mostly visible. Her husband tended to their drinks as she stood looking away from everyone. It was an unusual sight and got quietly noticed by the customers.
“What do you think about that?” I asked a big White guy down the row from me. “We don’t go for that. I don’t like it,” he said.
The younger guy next to him, also White, was quite talkative, offering opinions on various topics. He veered into immigration, so, I asked him to explain his stance on the immigration issue. “I don’t have a problem with them,” he said, “it’s the system. They need to change the H1 visa system.”
“Can you define the system that is bringing in millions of undocumented and illegal aliens? Who is in charge of that system?” I asked.
He repeated that he didn’t have a problem with any immigrants himself, but that the system needs to be better.
I said, “Millions of illegals don’t care about visas and paperwork; they just walk right in. We have no documentation on them. Millions of undocumented aliens are being forced in on us.”
He emitted a panicked laugh but increased the ante, “You don’t know your history. You need to read some history.’
I do know about Mohammed, though. I didn’t think this guy did. He had said he has a 9-year-old daughter, the same marrying age of Aisha. So, I asked him, “What if a Muslim guy wanted to marry your daughter?”
“I’m fine with that. I’m not racist!” he grinned.
“I see. You won’t protect your country, from the invasion of Muslims,” I said, “because you won’t even protect your own daughter from Muslims.
“F**k you… f**k you… f**k you!!!”
He suddenly exploded and proceeded to have a full-on meltdown. Stunned, I felt trapped. Everybody in the shop stopped and watched the guy. He began to manifest body gestures, shaking, head jerking, and maniacal facial expressions. Was this the real guy finally coming out from his hip façade? Was there something wrong with the guy? He went from “I don’t have a problem with” Muslims and immigrants, to having tremendous problems even thinking and talking about Muslims and immigrants.
“…grab her by the pu**y…” he continued, directing the comment at me.
The manager came over directly and told him to cool it, and returned to the counter.
The guy kept on with his barrage of bad language, directed at me. I said in a calm, low voice, “You are a lefty, Marxist, commie.” With an angry laugh, he rolled his eyes, and cussed some more. He was losing control.
“… someone needs to punch her in the face!” he exclaimed. It could be heard all over the coffee shop.
Again, the manager came over, knelt down close to the guy and spoke to him for long moments. The guy seemed to get calmer. But as the manager walked away, the guy resumed his verbal assault.
Then the big guy between us broke his silence and calmly said, “You both need to calm down.” Quietly, I firmly said to him, “No, he is the one losing self-control, not me. He is the violent one who is threatening me.” I could tell the big guy was looking for his escape. Quickly, I had to formulate mine.
As the big guy rose to leave, I said loudly, “Walk me out?!” Being a decent fellow, he obliged. As we exited and rounded the corner of the building, he saw a parked and manned patrol car. He turned to me and said, “I can’t be a witness… that.. that guy is my buddy…”
The big guy had cucked out.
I gave a quick glance back into the corner where the crazed guy had been. He had scurried like a cockroach.
I was safe.
To my fellow women of the AltRight, and we already know this: we have to be careful to protect ourselves. Just because someone is White does not mean they don’t want to kill you.
We on the right are defending ourselves from the violent left. It’s the cucks in the middle that worry me more. They could cuck hard left. We must make that a difficult choice for them.
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