You may remember Thomas Manwise from his unfinished trilogy on George Floyd. You may remember him from this serious and important piece he wrote on why “Duginist,” victory is inevitable.

Finally, you may also know him as the admin of the hilarious NJP Propaganda Dispensary telegram channel, although since they got Apple Banned they made a backup. I use his stuff in many of my pieces. You should really check them out.

Well he’s back, with Guntzilla, a gripping morality play on the importance of not having scatalogical erotic urges and paying your child support. If that sounds confusing, you’ll just have to read it. The language is not for the faint of heart.

Hello my name is Commander Randbot and I am a commanding officer at Golden Nigger Corps’ Anti-Kaiju Department, formerly known as the Anti-Titan Department. I changed the name because I am a massive weeb. If you don’t remember us, we were the ones that fought titans like Floyd Kong, King George Floydorah, Ronniezilla and Equinox Mothera.

We haven’t published any public reports of our activities recently since there have been no new titans in recent times that we’ve had to deal with, plus we’ve been doing some reorganizing within the company. Notably, Agent Queef has been transferred to a top secret division of Golden Nigger Corp and I have taken his place. However, we have recently come across a new titan of a completely different type that required all of our resources to defeat. This is our official report on how we managed to defeat the new kaiju that we have codenamed ‘Guntzilla’.

The story begins with the awakening of the beast. For a while, the staff at Golden Nigger Corp’s Department of Anti-Race Traitors have been tracking the child support payments, or rather lack thereof, of a certain individual called Ethan Ralph. Ethan Ralph, otherwise known as the Gunt or the Rage Pig, is an alcoholic loser who is functionally no different from your typical nigger. He is a convicted felon because he attacked a police officer, a drug addict and an alcoholic, and has a body which is fatter and more grotesquely obese than that of Breonna Taylor.

He also exhibits nigger-like behavior when it comes to how he treats his women and his offspring, having released revenge porn of the mother of his son while continuously failing to pay child support for that kid. He also had an ugly Muslim ex-wife with a unibrow, and his current wife is a lolicon. This is a term for a pedophile who likes anime porn. She also looks like a horse and has probably left him. By all measures, Ethan Ralph is a complete loser who should be euthanized so as to keep him from humiliating himself and others who associate with him.

However, the biggest problem that we at Golden Nigger Corp face is that Ethan Ralph is associates with White Nationalism and the far-right, even when all the evidence we have, including him voting for Obama and having a Muslim ex-wife, shows that he is actually a libtard pretending to have based opinions so that he can grift off of superchats. This makes Ethan Ralph highly dangerous to the cause of spreading racism, anti-semitism and White nationalism since he makes all the based Aryan chads look bad by association. However, the TL;DR on Ethan Ralph is that he is an actual, bonafide wigger–a racially White guy who acts like a nigger–who needs to be purged from our midst.

Anyway, Agent Bucket Groyper was tracking down Ethan Ralph’s current location in the state of West Virginia to get the fat pig to pay up on child support so that his son might be able to live a somewhat decent life. Although Ralph is typically known to reside in Virginia, the Gunt had fled from his natural habitat in order to avoid the police who were trying to get him to pay up. Despite the fatty’s best efforts, Agent Bucket had managed to narrow down Ethan Ralph’s location to an abandoned coal mine near the “town” of Moscow, West Virginia, which really was just a disorganized collection of broken down trailers.

Armed with court notices and letters demanding payment, Agent Bucket Groyper entered the coal mine. According to his account, he was met with the powerful, overwhelming stench of unwashed fat flaps, hard liquor, and liquid feces. The inside of the mine was dimly lit, however, and he was able to see the posters of the Roman general Julius Caesar and pornstar Piper Perri, which were telltale signs of Ralph’s presence since he idolized both of them.

She looks like she spends all her free time doing meth.

Slowly but surely, Agent Bucket trekked further and further into the mineshaft, using a blacklight to make sure that he didn’t step in any of Ethan Ralph’s diarrhea, since Ralph was known to love the taste and smell of feces. This is a known fact about him since he ate shit out of his baby mama’s ass in his revenge porn sex tape.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Yes, this is true. I spared you from this when I wrote about Ralph, but he really did that.

After around ten minutes of slogging through the pig sty, Agent Bucket heard a sound much like the squealing of a pig begin to echo throughout the tunnel. He checked the time and saw that
the Killstream had just started. Following the series of honks and oinks, he came across a small hut built of straw that was up against one of the cavern walls. It made sense that Ralph had built his hovel out of straw since he was too fat, poor, and lazy to use a stronger material like bricks or even sticks.

From inside, Agent Bucket could hear Ralph hollering to his audience of bots and hatewatchers in his wigger drawl. The following bits of dialogue are taken from a wire that Agent Bucket was wearing at the time.

“I’ll get those A-Lawgs! That fat lesbian PPP and baby-murderin’ Warski!” the biggest lolcow since Christian Weston Chandler screamed into his mic. “All those Kiwifags and those no-good traitors Randbot and Gator! I’ll fuck their women right in front of them and eat the shit outta their asses on camera!”

Agent Bucket peeked in between the straw blocks and saw the grotesque, putrid body of Ethan Ralph. Rolls upon rolls of oily, pimpled skin bulging with subcutaneous fat cascaded over his
swivel chair, which Agent Bucket saw was reinforced with steel to keep it from crumpling under Ralph’s mass. Since he was looking at the Gunt from the side, he could see behind Ralph’s sunglasses, letting him view the fatty’s beady, porcine eyes, each of which glared in opposite directions like the sloth from the Ice Age movies because his face had been permanently disfigured when he got beat up the first time in Portugal.

“I’ll sue those bitches into oblivion!” Ralph yelled, then fell silent as he started playing a clip from Tucker Carlson.

The inside of the hovel was drab and poorly lit, with plastic boards painted to look like a proper room affixed to the straw blocks, which Ralph must’ve commissioned to keep himself from getting doxxed. Besides that, all that was inside the straw structure was Ralph’s computer, which had the YouTube clip of Tucker Carlson open on it along with OBS. When Agent Bucket inspected the screen closely, he could spot a few other tabs, including Ralph’s own Kiwifarms thread and some interracial cuckold pornography.

After taking a pics of Ralph’s sty for Kiwifarms, Agent Bucket took out a lighter and set fire to the blocks of straw. He had been expecting the straw to be pretty damp since it had been sitting inside an abandoned mineshaft for nearly a month, but to his surprise it caught fire quickly, and as the fire began to light up the darkness Bucket saw why. The straw was covered in a thin film of oil which had the consistency of bacon fat that had been secreted from Ethan Ralph’s putrid skin.

“Goddamn, why is it all smokey all of a sudden. Smells like burning pork belly over a grill,” Ralph noted from inside. “Kinda like a barbeque.”

Within a few seconds, the straw hut was being eaten up by the flames. From inside, Ethan Ralph began to holler. “Ahhhhhh my house is on fire! My house is burnin’ down! The A-lawgs
have got me again!” Ethan Ralph burst, or rather waddled outside. And when the Gunt was forced outside his lair,
Agent Bucket was waiting there for him.

“It’s over Ralph,” Agent Bucket said with a gun in one hand and Ethan Ralph’s child support payment requests in the other. “Pay to take care of Xander or I will conduct a citizen’s arrest right here and now.” Ethan Ralph snarled. “You A-lawgs will never get me alive!” Ralph then tried running away deeper into the mineshaft, but since he’s a fat piece of shit it was no problem for Agent Bucket to accost him.

“That’s it, you’re going away for good this time!” Agent Bucket said, grabbing ahold of Ralph.

“I’ll fucking sue the shit out of you motherfuckers!” Ralph squealed as he struggled like a wild boar.

Agent Bucket tried snapping handcuffs onto Ethan Ralph’s arms, but the gunt was too fat and oily to be restrained that way. Instead of complying peacefully, Ethan Ralph violently violently resisted like a feral black African jungle nigger. But even that might not be an entirely apt description since criminal chimps like George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery could run, jump, and had some decent muscle on them.

As Bucket and the Gunt tussled with each other, they went deeper and deeper into the mineshaft. As they neared a tunnel that was labeled “Danger: Stay Out!” Ralph slipped on a puddle of his own sweat and body grease that had been excreted from his pores during the struggle.

“Ahhhhhh! Goddammit!” Ralph shrieked as he tripped, collapsing onto the floor like a mound of gelatin.

“I’ve got you now!” Agent Bucket said as he tried to grab ahold of Ralph on the ground. However, right as he tried to do that, he noticed that Ralph had vanished. He looked around,
knowing that there was no way that that fat piece of shit had been able to get back on his trotters and run away that quickly. Indeed, Ralph doing that would be as impossible as interring,
killing, and cremating 1.1 million inmates at the Auschwitz-Birkenau prison camp all without a trace.

And just like the truth about the Holocaust, what had happened to Ralph was self-evident to Bucket as soon as he took a closer look. As he shined his blacklight on the mineshaft floor, he noticed a long and continuous trail of Ralph’s grease and sweat which led all the way down into the depths of the tunnel. He also noticed that the tunnel was at a considerable decline. He followed the trail all the way down until it came to an end at a cliff that overlooked an enormous chasm, one that was kind of like what you’d find in Minecraft.

“Ralph must’ve rolled all the way down here and then fallen into the chasm,” Agent Bucket said, speaking directly into his wire. “He’s gone splat like that fat nigger Tyre Sampson did on the carnival ride. It’s over.”

The gorge was so deep that Agent Bucket knew that there was no retrieving the body, at least not right now. So instead he collected the few remaining valuables from Ralph’s belongings so that he could sell them at a yard sale to help start a college fund for Xander. All of us thought that the Ethan Ralph saga, a shitfest that had lasted over half a decade, was finally over. But the true horror was just about to begin.

For a few weeks all was peaceful and quiet at Golden Nigger Corp. The Department of Anti-Race Traitors continued to pursue its case against Anthime Gionet, otherwise known as Baked Alaska, for ratting out White patriots to the U.S. government for a lighter sentence for his role in the January 6th incident and the Anti-Kaiju Department continued to monitor monsters around the world.

It was during these routine monitoring that I noticed an alarming amount of seismic activity in West Virginia, which is a state that isn’t particularly prone to earthquakes. The activity had also been steadily increasing for a while and was in a part of the state that had never been the epicenter of a quake, which made me suspicious of what was going on there. So I got my best men into a helicopter and flew out to West Virginia.

Our team was composed of Southern Dingo, Gator, Augusto Kinochet of the Gunt News Network, and of course yours truly. We also borrowed Agent Bucket from the Department of Anti-Race Traitors since he was familiar with the region from his prior mission.

As we approached the epicenter of the seismic activity, we noticed some peculiarities about the environment. Although we were smack dab in the middle of Appalachian coal country, there was a surprising amount of wild corn that had grown in the rocky soil. When we asked Agent Bucket if the corn had been there when he had last been here, he said no.

The closer we got to the epicenter, the more corn there was. We were in a veritable cornfield by the time we were hovering in our chopper over our destination.

“Do you think it’s safe if we land?” Gator asked. “The corn doesn’t look like it’s anything harmful and I’d like to take a few samples for the lab.”

“Don’t see a problem with that,” I said, then instructed the pilot to descend. As we got closer to the ground I noticed the smell of cheap and incredibly powerful booze hit my nostrils. “Guys, do you smell that?” I asked as I exited the chopper. “It smells like bottom-of-the-barrel whiskey you’d get at the servo, ya know, the kind you’d buy a whole bottle of to get blasted with your mates while on leave from the army?”

“It’s the corn,” Dingo remarked, plucking a cob and sniffing it. “For some reason it’s fermented while still on the plant. But how?”

But right as Dingo made that remark, we felt the ground rumble below us. The quake was followed by a low growl that seemed to come from deep within the earth.

“Who dares harvest my corn!” The way the voice spoke brought to mind a bottom of the barrel, alcoholic trailer park dweller getting into a drunken rage at his wife for having screwed his neighbor, then putting that guy’s voice through a filter to make it sound like one of the pigs from Angry Birds.

“You A-lawgs will never be able to stop me! I’ll fuck all of your wives and eat the shit outta their asses!” the voice roared once more as the ground below us began to break apart.

“Get back to the chopper!” Augusto Kinochet screamed. We all ran back inside the chopper and took off, watching in horror as the very Earth shattered below us. Tens of thousands of tons of soil and rock were thrown up into the sky as the beast emerged from below. The first we saw of the monster was its pale, blubbery skin which was tinted bright pink in spots; a sure sign of chronic high blood pressure. Next we saw its gaping
maw, the flesh of its gums covered in open sores and its tooth but yellow, rotten stumps.

“If I shit myself I’d TELL YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!” the monster shrieked at the top of its lungs, making us all cup our ears. At last I could see the creature in its entirety, and what I saw made my stomach turn in horror and repulsion.

At first glance, the body brought to mind Tetsuo Shima from the Japanese animated film Akira, with its mountains of gelatinous, putrid flab. Unlike Tetsuo though, I saw that the monster, despite them lacking any muscular development whatsoever, still had a distinct set of arms and legs. But most grotesque of all was the face of the monster. The uneven stubble and acne scars that studded its skin, the thinning hairline, and the beady black eyes that lacked any semblance of intelligence–it was the face of Ethan Oliver Ralph.

“Oh my God! It’s Guntzilla!” Southern Dingo screamed.
I pulled out my radio and shouted, “Code Red! Code Red! We need backup! A new kaiju has emerged! We need backup ASAP!”

The rolls of fat on Guntzilla’s belly rippled like the open sea in the midst of a storm. “I heard that Dingo you A-lawg! Such a brave statement! Such a brave stance you took there you motherfucking bitch!” Guntzilla squealed.

Ralph hiccuped, then began barfing up a stream of high pressure vomit at our chopper. The vomit, which was a mixture of stomach acid and Johnnie Walker, shot through the air at blinding speed. The helicopter avoided a direct hit, but some of the vomit clipped the blades of the chopper, sending it spinning out of control. Luckily we were able to land without anybody getting injured, but we knew that we were royally fucked in our current position. Guntzilla stood at least 15 kilometers tall and weighed a couple million tonnes, its gunt hanging over our heads like the sword of Damocles.

“Who the FUCK is felted now, BITCHES!” Guntzilla roared as it prepared to barf up one final time to kill all of us. But right as he did, the cavalry arrived. Out across the horizon, a squadron of fighter-bombers from Golden Nigger Corp shot towards Guntzilla at Mach 5 speed, launching all of their armaments at his disgusting face. Guntzilla hollered in pain and as the munitions exploded against his skin.

“Fuck man! I’ve done some bad shit in the past but I don’t deserve this! Fucking A-lawgs!” Guntzilla screeched. “Fucking stalking me and messing with MY FUCKING LIFE!”

As the fighters engaged Ralph, a new chopper descended to pick us up. As Dingo, Augusto Kinochet, Bucket Groyper, Gator and myself shuffled inside, I cursed.

“Goddammit! What the fuck is that fucking monstrosity!?” I said, slamming my fists against the door. “That shit looks like it’s straight outta Attack on Titan mate. Just looking at it makes me want to vomit.”

“I’ve just received the analytics on what that monster was. There’s no doubt that what we saw back there was Ethan Ralph,” Gator said as he took out a tablet with data on it. “But he’s obviously been mutated by something.”

Agent Bucket Groyper raised his hand. “I think I know what happened. When I was chasing after Ralph to get him to pay child support the fat fuck slipped on his own sweat and grease and tumbled down into a ravine. Maybe he came into contact with some sort of radioactive, mutagenic substance down there?”

“Yeah there’s not many other explanations besides that. Judging by the fall he took, that’d be the only way he could’ve survived too,” Augusto Kinochet said.

“Well how Ralph turned into Guntzilla is unimportant. What matters now is how we stop him.” I said as I checked in on the fighter-bombers and saw that while they had gotten away safely, they hadn’t even left a scratch on Guntzilla because its fat, pudgy skin was impervious to traditional armaments.

For the next few days, we monitored Guntzilla as it inched its way westward. Knowing Ethan Ralph’s past–and therefore his preferences and objectives–we had a few ideas on where he
could be headed. There were three major reasons for why Guntzilla could be moving west.

First, there was the possibility that he was traveling to the American heartland in order to harvest all of the corn in states like Kansas and Missouri. Second, there was Las Vegas, which is Ralph’s favorite city because Ralph is a gambling addict who loves losing what little money he has at the casinos. Third is that he was on the move towards California to try and see his son Alexander, the very child he refused to pay child support for.

No matter the reason Ralph was heading in the direction he was headed, Guntzilla was leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. It was almost as if Guntzilla had an internal radar that
specialized in detecting liquor stores and White Castle, both of which he would raid and consume, stuffing their contents into his gullet.

Although we were able to evacuate everybody out of the way of Guntzilla’s rampage, the damage to property and infrastructure was catastrophic. Highways were crushed, forests were decimated, and Little Debbie Cake factories and Jack Daniel’s distilleries were ravaged beyond recovery.

Guntzilla actually created a short lived cult who referred to him as “the storm,” or alternatively “the cleansing,” since he destroyed all fast food and alcohol sellers along his path. Guntzilla was a natural conservative.

As Guntzilla neared the West coast, we were getting desperate, so we called an emergency meeting on how we were going to stop the monster.

“Nothing works!” Southern Dingo exclaimed. “Guns, missiles, poison gas, incendiary weapons, nothing! The only option might be to go nuclear at this point.”

“I’m afraid you’re right Dingo, but even that might not work,” I said, taking a sip of lukewarm Australian piss beer. “Guntzilla was created through some sort of irradiation. How do we know that a nuclear weapon would do the trick?”

“I could tell you how to destroy him,” a snarky, confident voice said. The doors to the conference room opened as a sickly man in a wheelchair was wheeled in by an Asian broad. The man coughed up blood, then grinned. “Hey guys, I was told that you all needed some help dealing with a supersized rage pig.”

My eyes widened as I realized who it was. “Well Jim, how’ve you been mate? You, uh, doing well there?”

Mister Metokur smiled painfully. “Oh you know, suffering as usual. Life sucks but it sure isn’t as bad as fucking Ralph’s.”

“Yah I reckon,” I said. “So how do you propose we stop that raging sow? If anybody would know how to, it’d be you.”

“It’s simple actually. Just feed him shit. He loves it,” Metokur said. “Have you seen his revenge porn sex tape where he eats shit straight out of Faith Vicker’s ass? Sticks his thumb all up in there and eats that shit right up? Ralph loves the taste, texture, and aroma of human feces.”

“Oh wow uh, way to be graphic there. But I see your point,” I said, trying to keep the image of that sex tape out of my mind. “So we feed Guntzilla human feces until it dies of overconsumption of…feces?”

Metokur nodded. “Exactly. I’ve run the calculations and you’re going to need exactly 148,800 tons of shit to kill Guntzilla.”

“But how are we going to find that much shit?” Gator asked.

“He’s approaching the West coast of the United States right? Surely you can think of some places.” Metokur said with a wink.

“San Francisco.” Dingo remarked. “That city is a literal gay Monkeypox shithole.”

“Alright then, we have a plan,” I said. “Pump all the shit out of San Francisco and feed it to Guntzilla until he dies. Let’s do this.”

A few more days had passed so now we knew for certain that Guntzilla was trying to go and see his son Alexander, which by the way would break his restraining order between him and Faith Vickers. Although we had already evacuated the Vickers family we knew that Ralph would still be headed towards California.

In order to destroy Guntzilla, we pumped all the shit in San Francisco’s sewage system into vats that were the size of large corn silos. We added large amounts of tequila and cheap whiskey to the shit in order to lure Ralph in too. Also, since we all knew that Ralph only wanted to see his infant son Alexander because he wanted to prove to everybody that he wasn’t the absentee father he actually was, we had planes flying over him 24/7 with banners reading “ETHAN RALPH: ALCOHOLIC SEX OFFENDER AND DEADBEAT DAD” to use reverse psychology on him.

Slowly but surely, the plan was coming together, and finally the day arrived when Guntzilla came in range of our shit-trap.
“Goddamn is that dinner I smell?” Guntzilla roared as he waddled towards the silos filled with human feces. “Holy wow does that smell good!”

Thomas please oh my god.

Guntzilla opened up the silos and began to have its fill. I will not describe what happened here in detail because it is so fucking disgusting, but slowly but surely it consumed everything that we had laid out for him. And once he was finished, he began to choke.

“Aw fuck!” he coughed. “Goddamn this fucking…BITCH! FUCKING BITCH SHIT FUCK!”

Guntzilla heaved and wretched as its body was poisoned from the inside by the Monkeypox-infected human fecal matter from San Francisco that he had so eagerly consumed.

“Fucking A-lawgs! Fuck all of you fucking pussies! Fucking fuck bitches!” Guntzilla roared in agony. “I’ll doxx y’all for this! I swear by it you fucking faggots!”

However, it wasn’t long before Guntzilla was weeping like the pussy he was. “This shit…fuck! I don’t wanna die man, I don’t wanna. Please Jesus, don’t lemme die. I don’t wanna meet daddy or momma now, especially since I left my momma to die alone in the hospital. Please, oh God no!”

But before long, Guntzilla fell silent. I am now writing this report of what happened as we dispose of its revolting, rotting, fat corpse. The moral of the story is to not be an alcoholic white
nigger who makes revenge porn, and eats human shit like Ethan Oliver Ralph. Also, make sure to pay your goddamn child support on time.

And we’re back. Well that was the most disgusting story I’ve read in a long time, and I’ve certainly read my fair share of homoerotic holocaust fan fiction.

Uh, I mean… I may have said too much.

You may also like

1 Comment

  1. Et tu, Shakespeare?

    Very fun read, good laughs.

Leave a reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

More in Satire