hipster-racist

The Life and Times of Hipster Racist

Comments, criticism, and hush money welcome.

hipsterracist@yahoo.com

Kinky Sex Fetish: A Manhattan Murder Mystery

Kinky Sex Fetish: A Manhattan Murder Mystery
Kinky Sex Fetish: A Manhattan Murder Mystery

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

The Slut Power

The Slut Power
The Slut Power

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Heartbreakers

Heartbreakers
Heartbreakers

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

High School Harlots

High School Harlots
High School Harlots

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

AE911Truth: Experts Speak Out
Zero: An Investigation Into 9/11
9/11: Press For Truth
Hypothesis: The Story of Dr. Steven E. Jones
Architects and Engineers for 9/11 Truth
WTC7 Research
Remember Building 7

sssh

Keeping Score

So I’m reading radix journal about how the only sort of white identity that is allowed these days is that self-depreciating “OMG white people can’t dance amiright?” hipster SWPL snark, and they linked over to some clickbait trolling article on HuffPo Buzzfeed about 100 ways to tell you’re just a super uncool white, unlike all the Hep Negroes, Vibrant Mestizos, Math Genius Asians, and Holy Jews. So one of the ways you call tell if you are white is if you’ve ever defended Miley Cyrus over her cover of Dolly Parton’s Jolene.

I thought, what? Miley Cyrus covered Dolly Parton’s Jolene? I have to hear that right now. How did I miss this from two years ago? Anyway she does a really credible job, she actually does have a decent voice. Plus the video is so eco-hipster – talk about “implicitly white.” Anyway I finally got a chance to write about Miley Cyrus again – looking at the search terms that lead here, there are a lot of people very concerned that poor Miley Cyrus has been brainwashed by the Illuminati Overlords of the Music Business. Maybe one day I’ll finish writing Flogging Miley but if you haven’t figured it out yet (hint, the CIA brainwashes people with drugs and torture and has been doing it since the 1950s – plus they are the ones that import all of the cocaine) well, you can lead a horse to water, etc.

When I was a kid, the lyrics really struck me. It was how I pictured adult women, they go around stealing men from each other. The men, of course, are merely props for the drama and competition between women. Essentially, men are just how they keep score.

You could have your choice of men
But I could never love again
He’s the only one for me
Jolene

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
I’m begging of you please don’t take my man
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
Please don’t take him even though you can

P.S. Don’t worry Miley you know you’re the only gal for me. Never mind that trashy K Flay girl, we were just talking I swear!

Disciplining Denise

“It’s the Jews, stupid!” she yelled. Hipster winced. Here it comes, he thought.

An uncomfortable silence fell on the party guests, the silence only broken by someone coughing the back of the room. She was obviously three sheets to the wind at this point. Why did she always do this to him? Everyone was having such a good time and she was just determined to spoil it.

“Pipe down! You’re embarrassing us,” he whispered in her ear. “There’s a time and place, ok?”

“It’s the yids I’m telling you! Name the Jew! Die Juden!” She smirked, a self-satisfied kind of grin. She was enjoying this, no doubt. She moved forward ready to stand up, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Stop it, you’re just being rude,” Hipster said in a low but firm tone. “This isn’t helping.”

She snorted. “Hurumph! Over at Daily Stormer they name Die Juden all the time, and they have plenty of traffic! What are you, chicken?”

Hipster glared at her. Why did she always have to do this? She just was one of those women, she loved mouthing off. Oh she could be funny – hysterical at times – but she just didn’t know when to quit. She was petulantly looking around the room, with an utterly self-satisfied look on her face. Hipster looked over at Rob, the host. He was obviously growing impatient.

Rob spoke up. “You know what I meant. I invited Chaim because he’s sympathetic. He’s not a banker, he’s just a friend, ok? We’re not going to elect him President of the club or anything.” His face was a bit red and you could tell she was getting to him. “Oh god,” Hipster thought, putting his hand over his face in embarrassment. “We’ll never be invited back now.”

She was slurring her speech now. “Jew Jew Jew, Jew Jew Jew, Jew-be-jew-be jew jew jew! Ha!” She snorted.

“Alright, that’s enough young lady,” Hipster said sternly. “You’ve had enough. No, don’t finish the wine. Have some water.”

She pouted. A wicked gleam in her eye, she leaned in and said, purposefully loud enough that everyone could hear, “well I wonder if Chaim knows what you said about him.” Turning around, she started, “Hipster said that Chaim -”

Hipster cut her off. “That’s enough Missy. Stop right now. Otherwise I’m taking you home.”

Her eyes half closed she gave him a big, gaudy smile, then stuck out her tongue. “Pbbbt!”

“Alright, that’s it. You asked for it.” Hipster turned to Rob, “I’m sorry, I’ll take her home. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“It’s ok,” Rob said, clearly not ok. “I get it.”

She started humming a little tune, loudly, clearly proud of herself. She had likely sneaked a fourth glass of wine when he wasn’t looking.

Hipster stood up, grabbed her arm and pulled her up from her seat. “Let’s go, missy. Party’s over. We’re going home.” She opened her mouth starting to protest, but he squeezed her arm, hard. “Ouch! Don’t!” she protested.

“Enough!” Hipster said, “let’s go. Now.” Leading her by the arm, he shuffled her out of the room, smiled embarrassingly at various guests while trying to avoid eye contact. She was stumbling along, barely able to walk on her heels now. “Hey, slow down!” she whined. “Hush,” he said, “Quiet. Let’s go.” He pulled her out the exit and walked her towards to car.

When they arrived, she walked around towards the passenger door, but then stopped, turned around and leaned back against the car. She flashed him her naughty look, and puckered her lips and closed her eyes.

“Really?” Hipster blurted out, with a bit more anger than he meant. “Now you’re all lovey-dovey? I don’t think so, ma’am. That’s not how this works.” He grabbed the back of her hair. “Oww! Stop it!” she cried out. Gripping her hair tightly close to her scalp, he led her to the back of the car, and pushed her face down over the back of the trunk. Too drunk to keep her balance, she fell forward, splayed out across the trunk. “No,” she whined. “I’m sorry. I want to go back in.”

“No,” he said, firmly. “No more chances. Now you’re going to get it. Don’t move.”

Having trouble keeping her balance, her foot twisted and the heel of her left shoe broke. “Shit! My favorite heels!” She started to try to raise herself, but he gently but firmly pushed her back down. “Be still, I mean it,” he said, “Don’t move.”

She sighed, closed her eyes, looking like she was about to doze off anyway.

Gripping her firmly by the back of the neck, he raised his open palm and let loose. Smack! Smack!

“Ooow! Stop it!” She wiggled a bit, barely able to maintain her balance on her feet. “I’m sorry.”

He did it again, twice. Smack! Smack!

She barely made a sound. “Are you sorry for embarrassing me? Are you sorry for pissing off Rob?”

She turned her head back as far as she could, and sarcastically, mockingly said, “oh yeah, I’m so so sorry.” She snorted.

It just made him more pissed off. “Ok, fine, that’s how it is. You asked for it.” Still gripping her by the back of the hair and firmly holding her against the trunk, he used his other hand to unbuckle his belt, awkwardly folding it in with one hand, and pulled his arm back.

A shiver went through her body, she inhaled quickly. “Uh,” she said more seriously, “I’m sorry, I …”

When the folded leather hit her backside, hard, it made a loud snapping sound, and he could feel her whole body jerk. “Ahh!” she wailed, “I’m sorry! Don’t!” She started wiggling trying to slip her body to the side.

“Still! Don’t move,” he said, menacingly. He pulled back his arm again and snapped the belt against her butt again, even harder this time.

Snap!

“Ow ow ow I’m sorry no, no stop!”

Snap! Snap!

spanking

Happy April 19 – OKC Was An Inside Job

It probably had more to do with Iran Contra than it did with the Waco Siege. “Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities” — Voltaire.

As far as the Frazier Glenn Miller shootings a few days ago, some wag on OD posted these questions:

Why …

1. there were no ambulances whatsoever at the scene of the KC murders

2. there were so few cars in the parking lot for a JCC which supposedly held auditions featuring ‘hundreds’ of kids, most of whom were below driving age

3. there were no photographs of the inevitable mass of parents who would have driven to the scene to check on, collect and desperately hug, their kids

4. there was no footage of the schoolyard where Miller was supposedly apprehended, even as there is some of him being taken into a squad car and ‘heiling Hitler’ so
opportunely

5. would Miller have opted to go peacefully after having allegedly shot three people, and after having survived three years in federal prison, which he is alleged to have detested (wouldn’t everyone?), and after having done two tours in Viet Nam

6. wouldn’t there be footage of the various interviews with rabbis, staff, escaping teens even if it would have meant waiting for a few hours for a story that’s made front pages for days

7. would any normal mother be holding a press conference within 24-48 hours in which she evinces no signs of shock, but instead makes a sober, restrained but emotional paean for all to be happy her baby (and to any normal mother a 14 year old boy is still her baby and always will be), went to heaven, after watching him get shot to death

True, or not? Who knows? This guy Frazier Glenn Miller – who people call “Rounder” for whatever reason – seems to be a federal asset since day one, all the way back when he started his Costume Clown Parade Party. Just another in a long line, along with “Commander” Rockwell, Frances Cohen, Adam Pearlman, Joseph Cohen, Jacob Rubenstein, Lee Harvey Oswald, the DC Sniper (Caught Like a Duck in a Noose) and pretty much any and every terrorist act in modern US history. Back a few years ago, even the mainstream press like the Washington Post and the New York Times had to admit that virtually all of the “terrorist plots” uncovered by the FBI during the Bush administration were, in fact, being organized by the FBI. When there are no real terrorists, you have to create them yourselves.

Don’t worry, the public will believe it. Sheep are most violent when some fool tries to save them on their way to the slaughterhouse. Don’t be a hero, just enjoy the mutton.

http://www.anoblelie.com/

We Are The Cock Carousel

LOL it’s like watching the light bulb go on over someone’s head. The manosphere finally gets a clue.

http://www.reddit.com/r/TheRedPill/comments/23adol/we_are_the_cock_carousel/

I have to laugh at a lot of the comments on here, especially all of the hate for riders of the Cock Carousel. Seriously, fuck those sluts, right?

Let me explain where I’m coming from. I had a serious case of one-itis in high school, but at the invitation of my friends we started hitting the gym in sophomore year. This was way back in 2000, long before reddit or TRP existed. By senior year I managed to date the girl I had been beta orbiting forever, we had sex, it sucked, she repeatedly lied to me, life moved on. I had a series of casual hookups and one night stand through college, some with strangers, some with acquaintances, the sex was never great (my fault), I probably ended up sleeping with 8 or 9 girls. I had my first serious girlfriend in graduate school, I really learned how to have good sex, then had a really fun hookup at a wedding after I broke up my gf. I knew she was into me, we made some excuse after the reception to end up in a room alone, I initiated, cue 2 hour fuckfest.

Then I met my current girlfriend, a girl 5 years my junior. She had had several longer relationships, several drunken one night stands (I knew one of the guys she had hooked up with, he was nice enough), the sort of numbers I hear constantly disparaged on here.

But here’s the thing: the guys she was hooking up with were just like me. Maybe they were decent guys, but chances are they were mostly into the sex – I had little intention of seriously dating most of the girls I hooked up with. I never really got into pursuing casual sex, it doesn’t fit with how I view myself, so it mostly happened when I was too wasted to care and some girl pursued me. Why was I pursued? I’m reasonably attractive, I swam competitively for 12 summers, I lifted weights, and I was in engineering.

I am the cock carousel pathetic betas bitch about and the cock carousel that so many readers of this sub aspire to become. The fact that you find the same people bitching about the CC while trying to spin plates and fuck bitches just indicates the massive hamster that continues to infect betas as they try to swallow TRP. If you want to sleep with a lot of girls, you want to be the cock carousel. If you want a near-virgin for an LTR then you’d best become a Christian, because virgins are rare and probably undesirable by the time you graduate college. If you’re looking for girls that only had sex within the context of long-term relationships, there are plenty of them, but if they’ve had a few LTRs then they have increasingly refined what they’re looking for, and if you’re reading this sub and bitching about the cock carousel, you’re probably not it.

Hipster Racist Is A Fictional Character

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All stories are fiction, all essays are satirical parody, and all comments are advertisement and promotional material.

So what does this mean? The novel, “The Life And Times of Hipster Racist” is 100% fiction. Here’s an example of how the author writes fiction. Let’s take “The Slut Power” series. It’s based on a few real life events. For instance, the author really did get paid ($500) to create a “modeling website” that was an obvious cover for some sort of prostitution ring. The other parts of the story are taken from a newspaper article from about 2005, there was some sort of “brothel” that was busted that was right around the corner from the author’s apartment, and they had pictures of the guy they arrested – “The Jew” – and some of the girls. “Miss Baltimore” is based on a real life woman the author met briefly who was totally cute and almost certainly some sort of call girl. The author had no sexual contact with her.

The author probably has not had sex with 100 women. It’s probably half that. Mostly in his teens and 20s.

The author started using the handle “Hipster Racist” on the MWIR blog a few years ago, to make jokes about this new racist trend – “hipster racism.” Most of the comments from this handle are sarcasm, snarky, jokes, or purposefully offensive ideas just to see how people react. For instance, the author couldn’t care less about the “issue” of women’s suffrage. But it’s interesting to posit something like “women shouldn’t vote.” The reaction is what’s interesting, the breaking of the taboo is what’s interesting.

The author is white, pro-white, and a 9/11 truther. The author is not Jewish but may have had sex with a few Jewish women now and again. The author is not a member of any organization, political party, an atheist, nor in any way related to any “hate” something or other. The author knows next to nothing about Hitler or the Nazis, but he did read about half of “Mein Kampf” in college but really couldn’t tell you much about it. The author is a big fan of Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm. The author has read most of Kevin MacDonald’s work and agrees that mainstream Jewish culture in America tends to be virulently anti-white.

The author mostly has a sort of “southern” attitude about blacks. As Hunter Wallace of Occidental Dissent said, we don’t hate blacks, we just recognize that they are different than us.

The author thinks Bob Whitaker’s “Mantra” sums up the White Question best, supports the 14 Words but not the actions of David Lane, and believes MWIR/Aryan Skynet is the “WN 2.0 Espionage Model” that is an effective, long term, logistical plan.

The author is a big fan of Roissy and thinks he’s much funnier than people give him credit for.

The author is in no way connected to the “BDSM community” but may have tied up and spanked a few women in his time.

But seriously, 9/11 was an inside job. They planted some sort of thermite or explosives in World Trade Center Buildings 1, 2, and 7. It’s so obvious I have the question the motives of anyone who says otherwise.