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"Anne"
by Mr. Outis
13 April 2004
Disgust is sitting in my stomach like a ball of pure bile, poisoning my emotions. I am visibly shaking and I actually feel somewhat ill. A few moments ago I nearly passed out in a mix of disgust, shame, disappointment, rage and sadness. As I try to type this my fingers twitch, my legs jump a little, my heart beats furiously. I am seeing red.
Last Wednesday day I met a girl; I'll call her Anne. She gave me her number, so I called her that night. Her voice is lovely -- soft, even, articulate, good feminine pitch. Talking to Anne was an extraordinary treat for me. We hit it off so well that she consented to meet me up the street from my place in an hour. Naturally I was overjoyed. I dressed neatly, composed myself, and fairly bounded out and up to the meeting place.
When she stepped out of the car, my heart skipped a beat -- no kidding: Anne is very short, about 5'1", which I love, very busty, and very, very beautiful. She has this cute, somewhat pudgy little Swedish face, surrounded by luxurious, wavy, dirty blond hair. (She's half southern Italian, half Swedish, by the way.) Anne was dressed in a pretty black sweater, black pants, and tasteful black dress shoes; Italian style at its best. I saw that right away. As she walked up to me she smiled, and this smile, I'm telling you, is one of the prettiest I've ever seen. Perfect lips, perfect teeth, not garrish or long, no gums visible. I can't explain it well. Let it suffice to say, Anne had no visible flaws, in my view. The body of an Italian, the face of a Swede.
We decided to walk. I had promised on the phone to tell about a secret, a private part of my personality which she insisted I divulge to her, being - obviously - a very understanding, calm sort of woman. Indeed, I didn't imagine, at that point, that I could have said much to shock her alienate her. So -- we sat down on a bench, and after the cool night air had warmed me a bit with its knify chill, I told her about this. Hitler. NS. WN. Jews. All of it, in a rush, without pausing to guage her reaction, and of course not really giving a fuck how she reacted, anyway. What's more important, truth or cunt?
Surprisingly, Anne hardly blinked. She didn't scoff, or protest, or disagree; in fact she readily agreed with my analysis of Israel and world Jewry, agreed with my analysis of American culture, and even prodded me for more explanation, mostly biographical (to "help me understand why you think this way", as the sympathetic ones like to put it!). I gave that to her, and still: no negative reaction. The reaction was markedly positive, and throughout our talk, which was then continued in her car, around town and finally parked in front of a shop, our amity increased point by point, without a single hint of dissent. No, Anne was unique: she understood me. She came from the Bronx; she grew up Roman Catholic; an intelligent, slightly unorthodox city girl, and a "campus politician", she understood power, lies, injustice, corruption and above all itz cause: jewish hegemony. Many of you must have experienced this, the relief and joy of finding your very soul validated by a person you intensely desire. Few experiences can match the invigoration of such an event. At one point, as we were discussing Israel's possession of 400 DELIVERABLE THERMONUCLEAR AND NUCLEAR WEAPONS [http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/cpc-pubs/farr.htm], she leaned back gingerly onto her reclined driver's seat, which naturally accentuated her already ample chest, and, turning her head slowly toward me, she lightly flicked back a few locks of that golden, wavy hair that had entranced me from the moment she came into my view. She had this sleepy, affectionate look in her eyes. At least, I like to think so.
We parted well, with promises to talk after she returned from a trip to NY - her uncle, a Blackshirt, recently passed away: salute, camicia nera - and I could tell she was sincere. My wait was quite anxious, you can imagine. I called her cell, we chatted a bit, just so I could get a fix of that melifluous voice of hers. I didn't care when she'd be back. I knew that, when she did return, she would see me again. Finally, I had won a bit of sympathy, a bit of affection, from a girl I could respect, trust, possibly love.
She came back three days ago. She was busy this weekend, but I didn't mind. College girls are busy; thatz life. This morning, though, I got it off my chest -- I told her how I felt, that I wanted her, that she was unlike any girl I'd met, that we could have something good, but that I don't like bullshit or probationary dating periods where I'm made to feel like a job applicant. She agreed with this, even! She said, you're right, I don't really like going out either, you can come back to my place, we'll have Chinese (yea, I know) and watch a movie. No comment, here. I was inexplicably happy.
Come 9:30PM, she IMs me. We start talking about her ex-boyfriend, how he dumped her over a silly thing he read in a journal of hers, which he misinterpreted as evidence of cheating. This brought us to other, more openly sexual discussion. Then -- it occurred to me. Anne isn't a WN. She hasn't read Mein Kampf, or any of it. I had thrown all my thoughts at her and, true, found them relatively well-received, but this was not ground for thinking that she was of sincerely like mind. Behold, White men, White women, our final exchange:
Outis: i also wanted to ask, have you ever been with a black man?
Anne: yes i have
(With this, of course, my heart sank to Hell. But I had to get the whole truth.)
Outis: sexually?
Anne: yes i have
(Did I say Hell? I meant the other eternal pit of torment, much nastier, beneath it.)
Outis: more than once?
Anne: yes
(Further down, beyond reason, to the animal instinct of my stomach.)
Outis: i mean...more than one?
Anne: yes
(No, no....it can't go further....can it? Please no...)
Outis: how many?
Anne: 3
(God. God. No. One wasn't enough?)
Outis: i hope three separately, at least.
Anne: i wonder if you ask that because you really need an answer or if youre trying to be a little insulting.
(INSULTING? ME?)
Outis: well, if you're willing to degrade yourself not once, but three times with black men, then i wouldn't put an orgy three with past you. i'll take it as a yes, anyway.
Anne: you're right
(God is dead.)
Outis: you shamless, worthless whore. you're a fucking shame to your people, italians and whites generally. goodbye. I am still sick.
Her uncle. She stood before her uncle's casket.
Parents, do whatever you can to teach your children.
And always ask before you plunge in, folks.
MR. OUTIS
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