Here we have yet another great guest piece written for the site. Although I’ll note, it’s a bit spicier than the last. And as usual, there’s links to where you can find more of their content at the bottom of the page.

By: Thomas Manwise and georgemonke

My name is Bucket Groyper. I work at Golden Nigger Corp in the Department of Anti-Race Traitors where we monitor potential threats to White society. Recently, I’ve come across a spiteful little cretin named Matt Evans, more commonly known by his internet persona Beardson Beardly, the ostensibly Hetero Gamer. He has been put on the Golden Nigger Corp watchlist for a number of crimes, such as telling young impressionable White boys to not get White girlfriends while simping after a pajeet female called Stardust, grifting off of superchats and shitty merchandise, and promoting a shitty and unhealthy lifestyle consisting of gaming, smoking, drinking, and eating garbage take-out.

His most recent sin was reviving the deceased criminal nigger George Floyd and using him for his own personal gain, like getting George to buy him cigarettes since most people think he’s a child due to his height and commanding the nigga monkey to attack a based racist chad. Luckily, George Floyd was rightfully sent back to hell and Beardson promised to start working out at the gym and be a better human being in general after George Floyd brutalized and beat Beardson, which is pretty funny because it’s the only instance I can think of of a nigger actually doing something good for humanity.

I’ve been monitoring the soy boy for the past month and was not surprised to see that Beardson went back to his old ways of streaming and making awful content. Beardson had initially gone to the gym and even took boxing classes but quit not even a week due to being a lazy loser. Even though all the racist gigachads at the gym and even his own trainer tried to encourage him to stay on the straight and narrow path, he is such a degenerate loser that he quit both the gym and his job at the Steak ‘n Shake.

I was tasked to watch Beardson’s latest stream one evening by my superior. I prepared for the long stream by chugging two beers because Beardson’s content was so awful that I needed to be inebriated in order to make it through a stream of his without wanting to McNutt myself.

“Good evening groypers,” Beardson would start off.

“I just woke up and it’s like seven at night my dudes, but anyways today is the day for the highly requested review of Euphoria, my review.” Beardson Beardly said as generic rock music played in the background.

“All I have is nothing but praise for the director and the series, you know it’s just so fucking sick and kino and all, like I almost busted a nut while watching the sex scenes. Also that one part where the femboy gets fucked by the football couch, holy shit I wish my dad did that to me. Also by the way I’m being ironic about this ok? Even though I did enjoy Euphoria since Nick told me that I should enjoy it.”

I cringed in disgust. Only a bug man like Beardson would find pleasure in watching Jewish propaganda that is constantly spun out by Hollywood. Gross shit like Oedipus complex, pedophilia and more. Bearedson continued to go on and on about how he loved Euphoria, which made me want to die.

“Anyways, now we can move onto the main event and why I’m streaming on this specific day. My good friend and founder of AFPAC Nick Fuentes recently stole some high tech stuff from a company called Golden Nigger Corp. I was informed that Nick stole some weapon called the Nigger Destroyer 3000 as well as a machine that prints infinite N-word passes. However, that isn’t even the juicy stuff. Nick got his hands on a time machine!” Beardson said.

My eyes widened in disbelief. I was informed by my superior of the raid. However, they had said that their primary suspects were either the Jews or the Chinese.

“Nick personally asked me to test it out, he told me to go back in time and kill baby George Floyd. So I will be going back in time to abort George Floyd! Anyway, I will be streaming the entire event so stay tuned.”

Beardson took out the time machine, which indeed belonged to us. I could tell because Golden Nigger Corp’s time rift technology was based off of secret SS technology that was developed at Auschwitz, and the device Beardson was holding was a portable version of that tech. Although I was pissed that he had gotten hold of our technology, I didn’t feel like doing anything since going back in time and killing that criminal nigger before he could commit any crimes was not something I cared strongly about. Heck, I thought that it could be the first good thing that Beardson could do for the White race since it would stop hundreds of White-owned businesses from being burned down in the Floyd riots of 2020.

“Alright guys, let’s do this! 1973, here I come!” Beardson said as he punched in the inputs and strapped a facecam to his head. He pressed the big red button to activate the machine. There was a blinding flash of light and electric sparks as he was teleported back in time.

Right as he vanished I received a call from my boss, Nuke Telly. “Hey Nuke, it’s Bucket. What’s up man?”

“Bucket, this is urgent. You need to follow Beardson back in time immediately,” Nuke said.

My brow furrowed. “Wait, why? He’s going back in time to murder George Floyd as a baby. I actually don’t see how that’s bad since George Floyd is a criminal monkey who contributed nothing to society.”

“I don’t care about Floyd being murdered as a baby either, but that’s not what I’m calling you about. As soon as Beardson went back in time, our sensors detected a catastrophic disturbance in the space-time continuum. Here, I’ll send you the reports.”

Nuke sent me a file labeled ‘classified’ and I opened it. Cold sweat trickled down my brow as I saw what had happened. Across multiple timelines, there was a spike in the prevalence of Floydian creatures and Floyd hybrids, from George Floyd Sea Cucumbers to Floyd Pit Bulls to even an unfunny half-Jewish, half-nigger “comedian” who became President of Ukraine named Floydomyr Georgenskyy.

“But this makes no sense!” I said. “Why would killing George Floyd as a baby lead to more Floydian creatures and hybrids? Isn’t that the opposite of what should happen?”

“That is what you need to investigate,” Nuke said. “Something that Beardson did in the past has corrupted the multiverse, tainting it a dark, abyssal black. I already have a drone on the way to your house that will deliver you one of our remaining time rift generators.”

“Alright,” I said as I got out of my seat and began to prepare for my journey. I grabbed my bayonet, which was my favorite piece of equipment for field operations. “Who is going to be my partner?” I asked.

“Bucket, I’m afraid this is going to be a solo mission for you. Our agents are already preoccupied with dealing with an incredibly powerful Floydian hybrid that has emerged into our world. Apparently, the death of George Floyd as an infant caused a butterfly effect that led to Ronnie Ralph, the father of the Gunt, becoming Ronnie “McNutt” Ralph. This resulted in his wife having sex with even more black men than she did in the original timeline, leading to microchimerisms that resulted in Ethan Ralph’s biological race matching his spiritual race. The resulting monstrosity–a ragehog whose skin is as dark as his soul–is so powerful that it has taken every based chad we have to keep him under control.”

I heard the drone with the time machine land outside my house. “Understood. I’ll be off then,” I said then hung up. I went outside and collected the time machine from the drone, which also came with the Wigger Disintegrator 9000, which was a modified version of the Nigger Destroyer 3000 which was distributed to members of the Department of Anti-Race Traitors for the purpose of destroying traitors to the White race. The ray beams of the Wigger Disintegrator 9000 are completely harmless if you are a normal White person with typical White sensibilities like starting a family, mowing your lawn, and listening to classical or heavy metal music. However, if you are an incel who threatens to anally rape mulatto women, brags about sneakers made in Thailand to his fanbase of impressionable teens, and whose greatest life accomplishment is a Steam profile with a couple of 100% completed games, it will for sure destroy you.

Once I was ready to travel back in time, I typed up a short message saying ‘goodbye’ to my girlfriend, telling her I loved her in case I didn’t return. But as soon as I finished writing it I deleted it without sending it because I realized that there’s no way that a cuck like Beardson could ever kill me or even seriously injure me, no matter how he tried.

And so I activated the time machine and ported back in time to 1973, the year that Beardson announced he was traveling to. Based on biographical information about George Floyd that I had learned from reading esoteric Floyd lore in The Secret Biography of George Floyd, I knew that the criminal nigger was born in Fayetteville, North Carolina, and so I set my machine to travel there.

I pushed the big red button. Electromagnetic waves burst out of the device and enveloped me. It felt like I was being tickled as I was warped back in time. When I next opened my eyes, I was standing in the middle of a public park. A bunch of White kids were having fun swinging on the swing set and going down the slides. However, unlike the public parks that existed in the future, there weren’t any broken heroin needles, used condoms, or even beer bottles in sight. Instead of transsexual child predators lurking about looking for victims, the only adults around were the kids’ parents, all of whom were dressed sharply and modestly. I felt totally out of place wearing my Pink Floyd t-shirt and jeans, and it must’ve caught the attention of the parents too because one of them called to me.

“Hey there, who are you?” one of the fathers of the children asked, walking over to me. For some reason I thought I recognized the voice, but I didn’t know from where. He looked me up and down, then frowned. “Judging by what you’re wearing, I have to assume that you are some sort of communist hippie. If you are, I’ll need to ask you to leave the premises immediately so that you don’t corrupt the youth.”

My heart skipped a beat as I realized who I was talking to. I didn’t recognize him because of how young he was, but there was no doubt about who he was.

“Dr. Pierce!” I exclaimed, my mouth opening wide like a soyjak. “Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s–”

“Don’t swear around the children, you hippie!” William Luther Pierce interrupted. “I will not tolerate vulgarity to be spewed around my White sons, lest it befoul their minds and reduce them to the level of the subterranean negroid race.”

“Oh, s-sorry,” I blurted out. “I apologize, Dr. Pierce. I got excited and carried away at meeting you and I just couldn’t hold it in.”

“Why would a hippie like yourself be happy to see me?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not a hippie. I’m a White Nationalist from the future. I came back in time to stop a race traitor from causing unimaginable damage to the White race. If you want proof look at this,” I pulled out my smartphone and showed him it to prove I was from the future.

After checking out my phone, Dr. Pierce turned to glare at me as if he were looking at a nigger. “You? A White Nationalist from the future?”

“Well, uh, yes.” I said, face turning bright red. “My name is [redacted] but I go by Bucket Groyper.”

“So you’re telling me that in the future, the men who seek to save the White race are allowed to go around dressed as you are?” William Luther Pierce said, then sniffed my breath. “And inebriated as well?”

I grimaced. “It was only two beers, Dr. Pierce. And let me tell you, if you think I’m bad, one of the most influential personalities in the modern White nationalist sphere is a quarter-Mexican 23-year old closeted homosexual who listens to nigger music while dressed in a hoodie with a children’s cartoon character on the front. He’s also known to hunt for other men’s semen with a blacklight and threatens to sue former associates with families into bankruptcy.”

William Luther Pierce was bug-eyed when I finished telling him about Nick Fuentes. “Please tell me that what you just said was a bad joke,” he said as he walked over to a picnic table and sat down. His face was in his hands as he said, “Please, man from the future, I can’t believe this. So you’re telling me that the future of the Aryan race on this continent is so bleak that even the so-called leaders are racially impure homosexuals that hunt for other men’s seminal fluid?”

I scratched my head. “Well yes, but don’t worry Dr. Pierce. There are still plenty of good White men in the future who are leading the White race. Plus, the reason why I’ve come to the past is to stop one of the subordinates of that Mexican child from destroying the multiverse.”

Dr Pierce sighed. “Alright, I’ll hear you out. But first, please follow me to my hotel where I can get you a suit that you can change into. I won’t allow a representative of our race to go around dressed like that.”

I nodded. Dr. Pierce then told his wife and kids that he had some business to attend to, then we drove off to his hotel. The hotel was immaculately clean and well-maintained because the U.S. had been desegregated less than a decade ago, but I could already notice the decay creeping in. I nearly puked as I saw a nigger and his mudshark wife in the dining area gorging themselves on the lunch buffet as their mulatto baby ran around screaming its head off.

“Revolting, isn’t it?” Dr. Pierce said as we took the elevator to his room. “Seeing White blood soiled like that.”

“It is, but the future is so dark–literally dark–that I’ve become desensitized to it.”

Pierce snorted. “If racially conscious men like yourself are desensitized to such things, it is no wonder why an effeminate, sociopathic Mestizo was able to climb to the top of your ranks. As White men you must demand nothing but excellence from your leaders, yet due to the tolerance resulting from your desensitization to the degeneracy around you has caused you to settle for those of unsavory ethnic characteristics and ethical behavior.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, knowing that what Dr. Pierce was saying was absolutely true. We entered his room and he gave me a suit to change into.

“So, Bucket Groyper, what exactly is it that you came back into the past to do?” William Luther Pierce asked as I changed into the suit. “You said it was to stop a traitor to our race?”

“It’s to stop this 5’4 dysgenic gangly hobbit named Matt Evans, more commonly known as Beardson Beardly, from murdering a nigger named George Floyd as a baby. And just for your information, George Floyd is this gorilla-looking nigger that dies of an overdose while a police officer kneels on his neck in the year 2020, sparking chimp-outs that made the Civil Rights riots look tame by comparison. But yeah, that’s what Beardson did.”

“What? Why would you want to stop him from euthanizing a negroid child? And a negro whose death in the future sparks widescale destruction no less? From your description of him that seems like the greatest contribution he has ever made–and ever will make–to the White race.”

“I know right?” I exclaimed. “But for some reason, after he traveled back to this year, there was a surge in what is known in the present as Floydian creatures and Floyd hybrids, which have caused catastrophic damage in the multiverse due to their nigger antics.”

“Hmm, that is troubling,” William Luther Pierce said, picking up my Wigger Disintegrator 9000 and examining it. “Tell you what. I will help you hunt down this ‘Beardson Beardly’ character. If he is a traitor to the White race then he must be destroyed, for any turncoat to the movement is a Semite in spirit.”

“Thank a million, Dr. Pierce. Beardson is probably lurking around in the black neighborhoods looking for George Floyd. We can’t let him kill the nigger baby, ironic as that may be.”

“Agreed,” Pierce said. “Let us depart at once.”

We left the hotel, both of us dressed for the job that we had to do. Dr. Pierce told me that he had to work on something in the back seat of the car, so I drove out into the hood. Fayetteville had only been desegregated eight years ago so there was a clear boundary between the White residential areas and the nigger infested part of town, and you could tell just by looking at the houses. The White homes had trimmed yards, beautiful gardens, and children playing outside. The nigger dwellings had yards overgrown with weeds, cracked windows, and drug dealers and hookers loitering about.

“Why do you think they’re ok with living like this?” I asked Dr. Pierce. “Don’t they ever feel like improving their lives?”

“No, for it is their natural state,” he replied. “Take a White man into the jungles of Africa and he’ll build you a civilized country, for it is in his nature to create, to build, to mold the world to his will. Take a monkey into the heart of civilization and he will reduce it to a jungle, for it is in his nature to do so. That is the way of things.”

Using a phone book, it didn’t take long for us to find the Floyd house. It was a grotesque mess of cracked brick, walls overgrown with vines, and chipped plaster. But when I observed it from outside, I didn’t see any signs of recent violence or struggle.

“Looks like Beardson hasn’t come here yet,” I remarked. “That’s strange considering Beardson should already be in this town.”

Dr. Pierce and I waited in the car for the next two hours, languishing. The sun was low in the sky when Pierce turned to me and said, “Are you sure that this Beardson fellow is actually going to go through with his plan? Are you sure he’s even here, in the past?”

“There’s no doubt that the Floydian hybrids appeared after Beardson did whatever he did here in the past,” I replied, but right as I said that there was a rumbling sound.

A battered, broken down car was chugging along down the street and towards the Floyd residence. The driver was none other than Beardson Beardly, the Attack Chihuahua of America First.

“Fucking shit man, why was it so hard to find this fucking place,” Beardson squealed into his facecam. “I get like no service out here and none of the stores have Wi-Fi.”

Once he parked his car, he got out, holding a 2B mousepad in one hand and a coat hanger in the other. His body was like that of a gremlin; short and stubby. His limbs were gangly and disproportionate to his torso, reminding me of certain descriptions of the Outer Gods from Lovecraft’s tales, which made sense since in those stories the Outer Gods are described as being worshiped by subhuman negroids.

Pierce and I leapt out of the good doctor’s vehicle. I pointed my Wigger Disintegrator 9000 at the soy boy, saying, “Put your hands up Beardson and drop the weapon! I’m not going to let you do what you’re about to do!”

Beardson glared at me with seething manlet rage. “And who the fuck are you two? All dressed up like you’re L.A. Noire characters?”

“I’m Agent Bucket Groyper from the Department of Anti-Race Traitors at Golden Nigger Corp, and I’m here to stop you from murdering George Floyd as a baby!”

The hobbit snarled. “Why are you against killing George Floyd? Aren’t you a racist as well?”

“It is because killing that negro here leads to a surge in Floydian creatures and hybrids in the multiverse,” William Luther Pierce explained. “I have yet to fully discern why, but whatever you are about to do here will corrupt the timeline.”

“Well I don’t care what a bunch of fucking wignats have to say. I only do what my man Nick says, and he told me to livestream myself killing George Floyd as a baby.”

I shook my head. “You retard, you’re in the past. The livestream isn’t even working because there’s no Wi-Fi. That’s also why it took you so long to find George Floyd’s house, isn’t it? Because you didn’t know that people used yellow books to find addresses in the past?”

“Fuck! Should’ve known! Still, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re both wiggers,” Beardson exclaimed, then pointed a gnarled finger at William Luther Pierce. “I know your face from all the groupchats that wignats hang out in. You’re that wigger leader that’s in those wignat, shit-tier optics cartoons by Murdoch Murdoch, aren’t you?”

“Dr. Pierce literally has a pHD in physics and taught the subject at the university level. How the hell could you call him a wigger?” I clapped back. “And what do you have? A job at a Steak ‘n Shake that a nigger could do no problem? What have you contributed to society, Beardson?”

“Whatever. Colleges are cucked anyways,” Beardson said, obviously coping, then began waddling towards the house and brandishing the coat hanger. “Now excuse me, I have a pregnant belly to abort.”

“Ooh la la! Now whaddya talkin’ about with abortin’ muh wife’s pregnant belly mayne?”

Beardson, Pierce, and I looked around, searching for the source of the deep nignog voice, but it seemed to be coming from nowhere.

“Hee hee hee hee, for da crime of trespassing on ma property and threatening to abort muh gurl Larcenia’s pregnant belly, I is gonna steal yo clean cracka air and use it to feed mah son!”

Then, out of thin air, a tall dark figure emerged right in front of Beardson. It was a nigger, its skin as black as midnight. However, because of my deep knowledge of George Floyd lore, I knew that it wasn’t any nigger. It was George Perry, the absentee father of George Floyd.

George Perry wrapped his arms around Beardson, pressed his thick nigger lips up against the soyboy’s, and began to drain air from the attack chihuahua of America First.

“Mmhhhmhhmnhm!” Beardson struggled, although he was also enjoying it somewhat since it was probably his first kiss in many decades.

I could tell from how the color was draining from his cheeks that he was on the verge of death from oxygen loss. For a moment, both Pierce and I considered whether or not we should help him since he was a traitor to the White race and he deserved a brutal, painful death for having corrupted so many teenage White boys into becoming loser incels. However, what George Perry had said about feeding Beardson’s air to his son made my beautiful White skin prickle, so I rushed the nigger with my bayonet.

I plunged the weapon down, but instead of catching George Perry in the back all I stabbed was thin air. Beardson crumpled to the ground, wheezing, out of breath and with his lungs shriveled up from having been drained of air.

“Tee hee hee, you ain’t gonna be able to kill me with no bayonet and shieet cracka,” George Perry chimped as he reappeared behind me. “I be da daddy ah da greatest black mayne since Doctah Kang. I ain’t gonna be stopped by no cracka.”

George Perry punched me, sending me flying into Beardson’s car. My chad physique smashed through the windshield, spraying glass all over the inside of the vehicle.

“No!” Beardson cried. “I hope that didn’t destroy my Batman comics!”

I glanced down and, sure enough, there were a bunch of Batman comics from the 1970’s strewn about on the passenger’s seat. I cringed because that meant Beardson had spent time going around buying comic books like the soy boy he was instead of focusing on his mission. I stabbed my bayonet into them just to piss Beardson off.

I squirmed out of the car, grimacing as the shards of glass pierced through my suit and jutted into my flesh. A large gash had opened up across my head, blood clouding my vision in a curtain of red.

Dr. Pierce was busy fending off George Perry. Even though Dr. Pierce was one of the most powerful National Socialists in the history of the American continent, he was struggling against George Perry’s ability to seemingly disappear into thin air.

But just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I heard an awful, screeching baboon sound emanate from the Floyd residence.

“Awwwww shieeeeet, what be all dis heah commotion and shieet,” a sheboon said. The door swung open and out emerged Larcenia Floyd, the mother of George Floyd. I nearly puked when I saw her. The best way to describe her body was like that of a Mancubus demon from Doom, but with an even more swollen belly. She lumbered outside, the ground quaking under her weight.

“Damn Cissy mah gurl,” George Perry said “I gots summa dat good cracka air for you and da baby.”

“You mah mayne, Georgey. Now gimme a kiss won’t ya?” Larcenia Floyd said.

George Perry vanished once more and reappeared in front of his negress wife. He then kissed her on her lips and began to breathe into her, which made me vomit for real this time. But that wasn’t the worst of it, for as George Perry breathed into the mother of his son, her pregnant belly began to glow as brightly as the Buffalo shooting.

“The niglet is feeding on Vril!” William Luther Pierce exclaimed. “It’s consuming the essence of Aryan man through the oxygen its mother is intaking!”

“But how? Beardson isn’t an Aryan!” I asked.

“He isn’t, but his White genes contain hints of Aryan power. And that negress is pumping that White energy into her offspring, empowering it!”

It now all made sense. Beardson had come back in time to abort George Floyd, but had been defeated by George Perry and had all of his White air fed to Larcenia Floyd, making George Floyd more powerful.

“And dats all of it, dear,” George Perry said as he let go of Larcenia. Then, for no reason at all, he punched her in the face. “Now get outta mah sight, you cheatin’ ass hoe!”

“You is a bitch ass nigga! Punching yo baby momma like dat!” Larcenia snapped back. She then trudged over to her car, getting inside.“Now get me and da baby more cracka air or I is gonna call da police on you! In da meantime I is gonna go get mah nails done at da salon, so see ya later you dumb muthafucka!”

“Fuck you bitch!” George Perry said, turning back towards us. “Now, back ta capping ya crackas and stealing yo air.”

George Perry flashed in front of Dr. Pierce, slamming his face into the ground, shattering his glasses. He then appeared behind me and kicked me so hard that I flew into a Stop sign, causing the metal bar to fold in two and shattering my floating ribs.

The nigger began beating his chest. “Ooga booga ahh ahh, you ain’t gonna be able to stop me mayne. I be fucking invincible!”

Everything was looking hopeless for us at that moment, with George Perry seemingly invincible due to his power to become intangible.

But right as he was about to put his nigger lips on mine and drain me of my Aryan oxygen, Dr. Pierce shouted, “Your son gets his family millions of dollars in settlements for his death!”

George Perry’s eyes lit up. “What you sayin’ about a million dollahs mayne?”

But before the nigger could do anything else, there was a flash of light as Dr. Pierce fired a weapon which I recognized as a Nigger Destroyer 3000. The beam cleaved through George Perry, blowing off the nigger’s left arm at the elbow joint.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” George Perry screamed. “Why you gotta hurt me like dat mayne? I’m not dat kinda guy mayne, not dat kinda guy!”

Dr. Pierce smirked. “As I expected, your kind will deny your foul misdeeds until the end of eternity, forever believing yourselves to be innocent.”

I was awestruck. “Dr. Pierce, how did you hit him? And where did you get that Nigger Destroyer 3000 from?”

“I created the weapon by copying the design of the Wigger Disintegrator 9000 you let me examine. Quite elementary for me to do as a physicist, since all I had to do was change the weapon to disintegrate nigger DNA instead of White DNA infused with the soul of a nigger.”

The good doctor got to his feet, readjusting his shattered spectacles. “As for how I hit him, you need to remember that we are facing a negro father. Now, can you recall the primary characteristic of their kind?”

Suddenly, everything clicked. “They disappear,” I muttered.

“Exactly. And when does a deadbeat black father reappear?” he asked.

“When their child gets famous and makes a ton of money!” I replied, stupefied at how I hadn’t realized the source of George Perry’s power. I pushed myself to my feet, fighting through the pain, and rushed the father of the eternal criminal nigger.

Just as I was about to jab my bayonet into Perry’s gut, I shouted, “Baby George’s family gets 27 million dollars in a civil settlement from the city of Minneapolis!”

“Goddamn, really cracka?” George Perry said. Right as he said that my bayonet plunged deep into the nigger’s belly, slicing through skin, muscle, fat and organs. I twisted the hilt, hearing a satisfying ‘squelch’ as the blade ravaged the nigger’s innards. I then put my foot on Perry’s chest and tugged the weapon out.

“Fuck! Da blood be in mah lungs and it be filling dem up mayne! I can’t breathe! Tell mah kids I love dem! Mama! Mama! Please, I can’t breathe!” George Perry moaned as he fell face first onto the pavement.

Dr. Pierce got up behind George Perry and dragged his body over to the curb. He adjusted Perry’s mouth so that it was biting the concrete. “This is for all the White lives you’ve ruined by your leech-like, parasitic behavior!” Pierce said as he jumped into the air and landed his knee on George Perry’s neck, which finished off the nigger father for good.

Once I was certain that George Perry was dead, I collapsed on the lawn, exhausted. “That was…tough,” I said to Dr. Pierce. “Thank you so much. I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“No problem son. You’ve proven yourself to be a champion of the White race,” the doctor said as he walked over to Beardson, who was crawling around on the ground like a freshly neutered dog. “Unlike this fellow. What should we do with him?”

“Don’t worry man, I’ll handle him for you!” a nasally, metrosexual voice said.

A gunshot rang out. The bullet grazed Dr. Pierce, making him crumple to the ground. However, he wasn’t who the shooter was aiming at. Beardson’s head exploded into bloody bits, brains and bone and gore spraying everywhere. Dr. Pierce and I were taken aback, shocked at what had just happened.

“Haha! It’s like that scene from “The Joker”, you get what you fucking deserve!”

Out from behind Dr. Pierce’s car stepped Nick Fuentes, holding a single-shot rifle and wearing one of the stolen time machines. “I get lots of practice in Fortnite with my aim, you know. They don’t call me Nick the Knife for nothing.”

“A wetback!” Dr. Pierce said, cupping his wound. “Why–why would you kill your own subordinate?”

“Yeah, just shut the fuck up you fucking wignat. Your brand of nationalism was fucking cringe,” Nick Fuentes said, striding over to George Perry’s corpse. “I’m like Stalin man. Whenever one of my lieutenants fucks up, he isn’t going to get off lightly.”

The Mexican child leader of the White race bent over George Perry, then proceeded to pull down the dead nigger’s pants, revealing the dead nigger’s revolting nigger junk. “Now let’s see how much we have in there.”

Both Pierce and I couldn’t stand to watch what happened next, so all I’ll tell you is that there were a series of slurping noises, followed by a satisfied swallow.

When I next opened my eyes, Nick had a wide grin on his face, his teeth glistening with a sticky white substance. “Damn, it’s thicker than Jaden’s. Who would’ve guessed?”

Editors Note: Was that really necessary? I think I’ve been scarred.

“What. The. Fuck?” Dr. Pierce exclaimed, blinking in disbelief. “What the absolute fuck?”

“Frankly Dr. Pierce, I wouldn’t be that surprised,” I chimed in. “Fuentes is known to do stuff like that.”

Suddenly, Nick Fuentes keeled over, clutching at his chest. “Damn! It burns!” he roared, his voice deepening for some reason. He then looked towards us and smiled. “I guess I have to thank you wignats this time. I was fine with either outcome, you know. If Beardson succeeded in killing George Floyd, that’s good since that’s just one more dead nigger. If Beardson died trying, that just meant more Floydian creatures and Floyd hybrids for me to talk about on my streams, giving me more superchats and viewers on Cozy.”

Fuentes began to twist and writhe, groaning as he did. I could hear bones breaking and clothes tearing and muscles growing. Something was happening to Nick, and it was giving me a really, really bad vibe. I reached out to try and grab my Wigger Disintegrator 9000, but realized it was in Beardson’s car–and there was no way I was going to retrieve it in my current state.

“You see, I was created through in vitro fertilization. A test tube baby, if you will,” Nick Fuentes explained as his skin grew darker and his hair became curled and springy. “My DNA has always been…incomplete because of it. There were gaps in mah genetic code that needed to be filled, know what I’m saying? Which is why I had ta hunt for Jaden’s cum with a black light.”

Nick roared as his lips and nose tripled in size and his frontal lobe shrunk to the size of a pea. “But now dats I got da cum of George Floyd’s father, I can achieve muh final form and shieet. To become da Afro-Latino dat I always needed to be in order ta be da TRUE representative of America First!”

The figure that loomed above Pierce and I was the most wretched, unnatural abomination I had ever witnessed.

“Come ta think of it, a name like ‘Nicholas Fuentes’ sound too cracka for who I is now,” the nigger-spic-zoomer chimped, staring up at the autumn sunset sky. “Muh new name be…”

He cackled.

“Niggelos G. Floydentes.”

For the conclusion to this trilogy, please wait for the finale, “Niggelos G. Floydentes” which will be released in the future!

For more from Manwise and the rest of the George Floyd Creepypasta team, you can find them on telegramOdysee, and Poast. And don’t forget to check out their bestselling book.

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