I know Aleksandr Dugin’s REAL Plans

By Thomas Manwise

As I write this, the Russia-Ukraine war is continuing to rage on with no discernable end in sight. Millions of White people are suffering as a result of the war, whether it is because they are civilians directly caught up in the conflict, working-class families unable to afford the skyrocketing cost of living, or Telegram meme page admins who have to deal with six gorillion fucking comments on any post they make about the war. Seriously guys, they’re jokes, chill out for a moment. However, what you may not know is how the war started in the first place.

Although realist political theorists like Professor John Mearsheimer and his popularizers on the far-right may get you to think that this was an act of Russia securing its borders against the encroachment of NATO, this cannot be further from the truth. The real reason why Russia invaded Ukraine is far more sinister than you may imagine, and should immediately have you on edge. And it all revolves around the plans of one sinister, evil man. The Russian philosopher, globalist, and satanist: Aleksandr Dugin.

For those of you who are blissfully unaware of what Dugin espouses, the Russian philosopher argues in favor of Eurasianism and Multi-polarity, which are codewords for creating a multi-ethnic Russian empire by mixing Asians and Whites. However, that isn’t the extent of Dugin’s depravity. Aleksandr Dugin is a proponent of Jewish Kabbalah, occultism, witchcraft and creating chaos. He is also probably a communist.

But before I continue with my story, I need to explain who I am. Although I cannot reveal my real name, I go by the pseudonym “Thuletide” online. You can find me on Telegram by looking up my channel in the search function. Most of my content focuses on promoting the truth about Klaus Schwab, the New World Order, and promoting traditional European culture. Recently though, I have been spending much of my time debunking the lies spread about the Russia-Ukraine conflict by individuals who promote the teachings of Aleksandr Dugin, all of whom will go unnamed here to prevent them from amassing an even greater following. I need to do this because, by any definition of the term, Dugin is an evil and sick man, and it is my duty to protect my followers from his influence.

My story begins with me scrolling through my feed on Gab, which you can find @Thuletide, and I suggest you look it up. I had been in a bad mood for a couple days because the New World Order agents who monitor my every move through advanced surveillance had been telling all the women on Tinder to swipe left on my profile. The only thing that was comforting me at the moment was my Gab profile pic, which is set to a fanart of my waifu Megumin smiling at me.

“Megumin-chan,” I said, touching the screen as tears rolled down my face. “Why can’t I find a girl like you? I want to suckle on your feet so bad.”

Now you may be wondering why I am so opposed to Dugin’s theories on Eurasianism and witchcraft when my profile pic on Gab is of a loli witch waifu from a Japanese cartoon, but you see that’s because Megumin-chan is from an anime called Kono Subarashii Sekai ni Shukufuku Wo! which is set in a medieval setting, making it an expression of implicit White identity, and I will hunt you down and slay you with my Aryan katana if you don’t agree with me.

Also for all of you who say that it’s creepy to have a canonically fourteen-year old girl as your profile pic on both your Gab and your Twitter (before being banned) you are retarded. Lolis are completely fictional and it’s absolutely not an expression of my actual sexual desires. On the contrary, it is justified because the Ancient Greeks and Romans got married when they were in their early to mid teens, making my love of Megumin-chan very trad, based, and red-pilled.

Anyway, as I was scrolling down Gab for lewds of muh waifu, I got a notification on my phone. I checked it and saw that it was a Telegram direct message from my long-time friend, Brandon Martinez.

“Thuletide, amigo mío, ¡hay un grupo de chat en esta aplicación dirigido por Dugin!” it read.

My eyes widened in surprise. I swiftly replied, saying, “Wait, you’re kidding me right? Aleksandr Dugin has an official telegram channel with an open public chat?”

“Si, mi amigo,” Martinez replied.

I didn’t know how I should react. On one hand, I wanted to infiltrate that chat to see what sinister plans that Dugin and his followers were up to. But I also knew that by engaging directly against Dugin, I would likely by marked for assassination by the Foreign Intelligence Service of Russia, also known as the SVU. I was probably already blacklisted by them for speaking out against Dugin’s satanism on my Telegram and Gab feeds, but to go after Dugin myself was something I had never done before. For an hour or so, I pondered whether I should join Dugin’s chat, popping a couple adderalls and Monster Energy drinks to help me think.

As the sweat trickled down my brow as I struggled over whether I should infiltrate the chat, I saw the smile of Megumin-chan’s face on my computer monitor, which gave me the courage I needed to do what I needed to do. I smiled and nodded at her, then clicked on the link that Brandon Martinez sent me and joined.

I felt a shudder reverberate throughout my body as I saw the inside of the chat. Inside, I saw about a hundred or so of his followers. I was disgusted to see that some of the conversations taking place were in non-White languages like Italian, and I knew that the discussion was likely all a part of Dugin’s scheme to pollute my 100 percent pure Aryan blood with Afro-Asiatic DNA.

However, as I scrolled through the chat, I didn’t see any discussions on witchcraft or kabbalah. Instead, all of it just seemed to be guys talking about geopolitics and the death of liberalism. There was Eurasianism mentioned, but it was mostly about how Russia was naturally a multi-ethnic state and how it should still function as a strong regional power. There really wasn’t anything that I could find where he explicitly stated that he wanted more Elliot Rodgers.

“This is bullshit,” I said to myself. “I bet that Dugin is hiding all the Satanism and race-mixing crap. I know it as certain as I know that I, Thuletide, have indeed read Pentti Linkola.”

For the next 36 hours, I kept scrolling and scrolling, canvassing every last inch of Dugin’s Telegram page. I kept searching and searching, my eyes teary and reddening because I suffer from dyslexia. I went through ten Monsters and an entire tub of G Fuel, my fingertips bleeding from all the typing I was doing. Right as I was about to give up, I noticed something that I hadn’t seen before.

It was an address in Russia, with the post above it titled “The Fourth Political Theory Meet-Up.” I gasped in horror as I saw what I read next.

“Hello dere comrade or sumting, cum an’ meet up wit me, Aleksandr Dugin, in Moscow or something like dat. Da meetin’ be tomorrow or something. Dere, I’ll show ya crackas mah true plans for Russia, Ukraine, America, and da entirety of da Western world and shieet. Admission is whatevah 20 U.S. dollahs is in rubles at da current exchange rate. So muh maynes, see ya dere!”

Although I had no idea why Aleksandr Dugin was suddenly writing in ebonics, I immediately knew that I had to attend the event. I knew that by traveling there, I would be in the belly of the Red Russian beast, but it was my duty as a niche internet political commentator and conspiracy theorist to help expose Dugin’s true plans.

I immediately booked a flight to Moscow. I packed all of the necessities; a fresh change of clothes, a toothbrush, and of course my body pillow of Megumin. The next day I drove to the airport and got on the plane, where I noticed that everybody on the plane was staring at me for holding onto my body pillow. Even the man wearing a Burger King crown, and the she-nigger he was shouting at, had ceased their arguing just to look at me.

“Don’t worry Megumin-chan, it’s just you and me darling,” I said softly. “We’ll be in Russia soon. Don’t worry about them.”

Me and Megumin-chan got off the plane, where I was immediately met with the powerful stench of bears. Bears have a very strong, musty smell in mating season, and when I looked around there were bears everywhere because I was in Russia. As I got into the city proper, I was disgusted to see that everybody around me was either a literal Mongoloid or a Chechen Muslim.

“Russia isn’t European,” I muttered to myself as I walked down the streets and towards my hotel. “It’s a bunch of Asians and Muzzies. All those people supporting Russia on Telegram are either retarded or Kremlin propagandists.”

When I got to the hotel, I saw that there was a White man standing about five foot four inches tall with gangly arms sitting in the hotel lobby. He had a fake, strap-on beard, a pot belly and manboobs. I recognized him to be Beardson Beardly, one of the Groyper generals of the America First movement.

“Beardson, why are you in Russia?” I asked.

“I’m here because the leader of the White Race and my boss, Nick Fuentes, needed a representative from America First to attend Dugin’s conference,” Beardson said as he lit up a cigarette. “I’m a real big fan of Dugin myself since Dugin just seems like a cool guy. He’s a weirdo loser like me, you know? And by the way, who are you?”

“I’m Thuletide, the famous blogger,” I said triumphantly.

“Who?” Beardson said, puffing on his cigarette.

“Thuletide? You know? The guy on Telegram and Gab who posts about the New World Order and Dugin?”

Beardson lit up another cigarette. “Literally who?”

“Fine, well fuck you Beersoy,” I said, flipping Beardson off. “2B is a trash waifu anyway. I’m going to bed with Megumin.”

“Bro, why are you so mad bruh?” Beardson said, drawing on both cigarettes simultaneously. “I’ll say though, Megumin is a fine waifu. Good taste, my friend.”

“Thank you,” I said begrudgingly, then went up to my hotel room.

Once I was inside, I collapsed onto my bed, completely exhausted. I was so tired from having not slept or showered for the past 48 hours that I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I woke up, I realized that I was on the verge of being late for Dugin’s meeting. I had no time to shower or change my clothes, so I just got up and hurried as quickly as I could to the address that had been listed on Dugin’s Telegram page. Because of the plumpness of my body, I can’t run and have to fast walk instead. However, that didn’t stop me from being drenched in sweat by the time I made it to the venue where the event was taking place.

For some reason, likely a sinister one, Aleksandr Dugin was having his meeting in a dingy apartment complex. It was one of those old flats in the brutalist style that were built back in the Soviet era, which honestly resembled the Section 8 housing that niggers in the United States occupy. As I entered the building I was met with the powerful stench of vodka and menthol cigarettes. The latter was particularly strong, which can be expected since 60% of men and 22% of women in Russia smoke. The reception area was dingy and damp, with everything from the walls to the furniture a dull gray color.

There was nobody at the desk, so I went up to the intercom to punch in the room number. But as soon as I touched the buttons, I felt extremely lightheaded, my knees wobbling and my heartbeat becoming suddenly erratic. I noticed traces of a white powder on the keys, which made me realize that I had probably just exposed myself to some form of opioid. For those of you who don’t know, Russia has a serious problem with heroin and other narcotics. Judging by how little it took for me to get an adverse reaction, it was probably the synthetic opioid fentanyl.

I was crawling on the floor with a torrent of blood flowing from my nose when I saw a tall figure exit the elevator and walk over to me.

“Hello American, I am sorry if you had problem with intercom. Bad on us for not wiping down,” he said in a thick Russian accent, then helped me up. “Come now, Professor Dugin is waiting for us.”

I was still in a fentanyl induced haze as the man and I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor of the apartment complex. The Russian gave me a bottle of vodka to help me clear up my mind, but it didn’t help much. On the contrary, it made me puke all over the inside of the elevator. I apologized to the Russian, but he just laughed it off and said, “Happens every day.”

Once we got off the elevator, I saw that instead of being in a hallway with normal doors and rooms, there was a wide open space, bringing to mind the many anime conventions I attended in the past. Instead of hot cosplay girls with daddy issues though, what I saw before me at the Dugin conference was horrifying.

There was an endlessly sea of gooks, niggers, pajeets and goatfuckers, all of them conversing with each other. There was a banner hanging above them that said, “SATANIC NEW WORLD ORDER KABBALIST EURASIANIST PAN-AFRICAN NATIONAL BOLSHEVIK BELT-AND-ROAD INITIATIVE EMPIRE”. I saw that they were drinking vodka cut with baby blood and jenkem, the latter of which is a drug that niggers make out of fermenting their own feces. There were tables serving platters of human flesh and crispy fried goy foreskins, which is a Jewish delicacy.

A few of the faces I recognized were Klaus Schwab the leader of the World Economic Forum, Xi Jinping, Ayatollah Khameni of Iran, Bashar Al-Assad of Syria, Eric Striker the Kremlin propagandist, and, of course, Benjamin Netanyahu. There was also Volodomyr Zelenskyy the President of Ukraine and his master Igor Kolomoisky, who were busy playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, only that they were jabbing a bound-up White girl with COVID vaccines.

Now you may be wondering why the president of a country which is opposed to Russian imperialism and has all of NATO backing it against Russia is attending the conference of a philosopher who has been called “Putin’s brain” in the past, but there’s a good reason why it wasn’t surprising to a startlingly brilliant mind such as myself. You see, Ukraine, NATO, Russia, Israel, the UN, and every other country and group are not independent actors who work to advance their interests. In fact, they are all part of a secret global cabal that all work together. My evidence for this is that I have public photographs of all those world leaders shaking hands together at public leadership summits, where we all know that really, truly important matters are decided. It is undeniable that Klaus Schwab, Vladimir Putin, Benjamin Netanyahu, Xi Jinping, Volodomyr Zelenskyy and Aleksandr Dugin all work together because I have photos of them shaking hands and smiling together in public, you see?

The real truth is that every conflict that has ever happened is fake, from the Napoleonic Wars to the Bolshevik Revolution to the American Civil War; everything was, is, and will be a psy-op. I even have evidence that Hitler was controlled opposition because his cab driver was part Jewish, but I digress.

Anyway, as an Aryan super soldier, I stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of shitskins. My disgust at what was going on must’ve been apparent on face, because the Russian man who had helped escort me upstairs was glaring at me with a concerned expression.

“American, is there something wrong? You seem scared,” he said, stroking his beard.

I turned to answer him, but due to the fentanyl finally wearing off, I could see clearly now that it was no Russian, at least in the traditional meaning of that word. I was standing before Ramzan Kadyrov, the Mud Slime leader of the Chechen orcs. I suddenly realized that he reeked of the smell of kebab and cigars.

“You seem suspicious, American,” Kadyrov said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Mind if I take you somewhere where I can ask you some questions?”

I reeled away from Kadyrov’s grasp, but I tripped over myself. “Ahhhh!” I shrieked as I stumbled backwards. “Stay away from me! Stay away!”

But it was no use. Kadyrov restrained me with his Chechen judo moves, then ordered one of the other guards to pat me down. They found my phone and used my fingerprint to unlock it. A sinister grin appeared on Kadyrov when he saw my Telegram account.

“Why isn’t it Mister Thuletide himself,” the leader of the uruk-hai said, then cackled. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time. This is the last time you will foil our plans.”

He snapped at one of his guards. “Take Thuletide to our leader. He can make use of his White blood.”

I screamed and struggled but it was no use since one of them smacked me across the head, knocking me out instantly. The Chechens bound my hands and feet and threw a sack over my head, then dragged me away. When they took the bag off me, I saw that I was in some sort of enclosed room.

There were seats carved from stone all around me in a circle, and when I looked down I saw that there was a Star of David drawn in blood. I noticed that I was bound to some sort of rock pillar, and when I looked behind me I saw that Beardson Beardly was gagged and tied up to the same rock as myself. He was struggling against the ropes binding him, but he was too weak and pathetic to break free.

That was when I heard a familiar voice speak. “Aw shieet, you is finally awake. “Hello dere Thuletide, muh cracka.”

I raised my head, coming eye to eye with the man himself, Aleksandr Dugin. However, there was something off about the Russian philosopher. His nose was as large as my love for Megumin, with massive nostrils that rivaled bomb craters in circumference. His lips were hideously massive, like two pieces of shit melded slapped together. But what was most hideous was his skin, which was the color of crude oil from West Siberia.

“What…what the fuck are you?” I groaned. “I thought you were a Russian, not a nigger.”

“Hee hee hee hee, muh name be Georgeksandr Floydugin mane!” the bearded philosopher said. “I be what happened when we heah at da Islamo-Duginist National Bolshevik Pan-African Eurasianist Satan Worshiping Death Cult got together an’ merged mah body with da soul of George Floyd.”

I burst out laughing when I heard him say that. “Why would you want to merge yourself with a fucking retarded nigger?” I asked.

Floydugin shook his head when he heard my reply. “You be clearly lost mane, clearly lost. I’ll show ya what we at heah be tryin’ ta do, know what I’m saying?”

Floydugin pointed to another shadowy figure. “Massa Putin, please show yourself to dis heah cracka.”

A manlet in a suit walked into my vision, and I gasped when I saw who it was. It was Vladimir Putin, but he looked like he was half chimpanzee now.

“Ohh ohh ah ah!” Putin chimped, banging his chest like the ape he was. “Ohh ah ah ah ohha ah eee!”

Georgeksandr Floydugin smiled. “Ya see, I fuzed Vladimir Putin wit da soul ah da Mongolian , know what I’m sayin’? It because it be part ah da goal ah da Eurasianist Empire and shieet, ta merge all da races together cuz dere be no race, know what I’m sayin? It’s why we be invading Ukraine and da Chinese be building da new silk road in Africa, nigga. Dat’s da plan mane, we gon merge all da races together foe da Pan-African, Eurasianist, New World Order!”

“No! That’s awful! I’ll never let it happen!” I said heroically, just like how my favorite anime characters would.

“Hee hee hee, it be too late now,” Floydugin said, taking out a syringe. “Now you and dat cracka Beardson gonna be used as cracka test subjects foe mah new plans mane.”

Beardson shrieked, crying out for his nigger-loving ex-wife to come and save him, but the gag was firmly in place and muffled most of what he said.

Floydugin lumbered over to Beardson. “Dis heah be a solution dat be part Pfizer vaccine, part fentanyl, and part nigga blood mane. By injecting dis inta yo veins and doin’ da Kabbalist-Satanic ritual, we gonna turn ya inta a cracka-nigga hybrid mane.”

Tears were streaming down Beardson’s cheeks as he tried to dodge away from the needle, but Floydugin grabbed his puny bicep and injected the toxins into his veins. Then, Floydugin stepped back and linked his arms with Putin, Kadyrov, Xi Jinping, Zelenskyy, who were all his Satanic assistants, and began to chant.

The Star of David below me began to glow a bright crimson. Suddenly, sparkles of red energy burst out of the ritual circle and poured into Beardson, who writhed in pain. The light was as blinding as a CIA nigger in the dark, forcing me to close my eyes to keep myself from going blind.

When the ritual was finished, I opened my eyes to see what had happened to Beardson. However, nothing seemed to have happened. I blinked, wondering what had happened.

“Ah fucking fuck it all mane,” Floydugin swore. “Dis guy already be a nigga at heart and shieet. No use in doin’ da ritual and shieet mane.”

“So does that mean I’m free to go?” Beardson asked hopefully.

Floydugin nodded his head. “Yeah, it’s ok since you already be a spiritual part ah da Duginist empire an’ shieet.”

Beardson’s chains were unbound and he was let go, but that still left me there bound up.

Floydugin cackled in laughter. “Hee hee hee hee, now ta get ta da fun part. I is gonna turn ya, Thuletide, inta a Chinese-nigga-cracka hybrid cracka foe speaking out against mah evil plans on your Telegram channel and shieet, mane!”

Floydugin pulled out a needle. “Dis needle contain all da same shieet dat was in Beardson’s, but I added nanomachines ta it, son, so dat I can control ya forevah and turn ya inta a soldier foe mah Eurasianist Empire and shieet. You’re mine now, cracka.”

“No! I don’t want that! No! Please, mama! Mama!” I screamed, but there was no use in doing that.

I guess that’s it, I thought to myself as I felt the needle enter my Aryan bicep. I felt a surge of pain as the toxins entered my body, corrupting me. It was so awful that I blacked out, falling face first onto the ground.

. . . . . . . .

I was unconscious for who knows how long. But when I finally came to, I heard a voice speaking to me.

“Professor Dugin, wake up! It’s a quarter till nine! You aren’t going to be ready to give your lecture!”

“Wa…what?” I asked, noticing that I had a strong Russian accent for some reason. I turned my head to see that an IV drip labeled “Lithium” was in my arm.

“Professor, you really need to be more precise with the timings at which you take your medication,” the voice, which I recognized to be that of my research assistant, said. “You were screaming about some black man injecting you with some strange toxin by the time I was able to restrain you and get the anti-psychotics into your system.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” I said, stroking my beard. “I hope I didn’t hurt you in my episode there.”

My assistant shook his head. “It’s no big deal, Professor Dugin. Schizophrenia is a horrible condition. I’m just glad that I’m able to help you with it.”

I had been out cold with my face flat on my desk, and when I looked up I saw that I was logged onto my alternative Telegram account, one that I had named “Thuletide”. I must’ve been smirking as I read through my posts on there, because my assistant leaned over with a curious look on him.

“Professor, what is this?” he asked.

“This?” I laughed. “This is my…troll account. Do you want to take a read?”

My assistant scrolled through the Telegram feed, shaking his head. “Sir, this is all foolish nonsense. But please tell me, why do you post about yourself so often?”

I smiled. “Simple. It makes me and my ideas more notorious to those Westeners. I get a kick out of it,” I said as I pushed myself out of my seat. “Now come, I need you to help carry the signed copies of The Fourth Political Theory to my students.”

And with that, my assistant and I headed off, ready to face the new day.

That, my dear reader, is the truth behind my secret plans.

Truly, I am as shocked as you are. Credit to Thomas Manwise, and the George Floyd Creepypastas team for their investigative journalism into the Duginist Regime. That Thuletide was a retard, I could believe. That he is secretly Dugin, well, if I hadn’t read it from this trustworthy source, I could never have believed it.

For more of this hardhitting journalistic work from Thomas, and others, I’d suggest following their Odysee channel here. Don’t forget to follow them on telegram. And in fact, as long as you spergs don’t blow their cover, you can even support their work on Amazon.

All we can hope for is more excellent work from this hard hitting team in the future. But who knows, their cover may have already been blown the by New World Order, the collections of governments that already run the entire World, but have it as their only mission to increase their already total power over the World.

It’s dark times. Godspeed young men.

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    1. I know CandyCane. This Duginist conspiracy truly known no bounds. If he’s infiltrated Thuletide, who else has his tentacles ensnared.

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