NYANMAR
Dear Reader,
I must say that I am singularly thrilled to be educating people on the small, oft overlooked corners of our cherished Terra. Filling the minds of our youth with chauvinistic slander of all stripes against any particular threat to our God-given Democracy is a noble task--a task I had previously thought reserved for our brave, righteous PR firms!
Yet here I write to educate--to educate you, Dear Reader, with a faithful recounting of my visit to the PTRN--the People’s Totalitarian Regime of Nyanmar, which exists in an undisclosed location, sharing undisclosed borders with undisclosed countries.
Let me start off by saying this:
Nyanmar is a terrible place.
I arrived there via submarine in August, and not more than five seconds after my blindfolds were removed, did the oppressive atmosphere inject my sinuses with their sick fumes--for the only shrubbery in sight were those god-awful FERNS like the kind Darwinist nutters like to imagine were once abundant in the world; and all buildings were pure white like the semen stains on my car seat, all following the same, blocky design plan! This was BRUTALISM without a doubt, an architecture befitting only the most Anti-Human, Anti-Liberal Dictatorships.
Still, I pressed on to see just how miserable the locals were.
It turned out there was not a homeless person anywhere to be found--surely un-housed persons are quickly executed by firing squad, just like the disabled and sick and free-thinking--and I did not find any outdoors persons until I came upon a public (state-owned) park, where could be seen people sitting on benches; most were reading books (state propaganda) or petting cats, and all were dressed in the most ridiculous, colourful attire--surely to take their minds away from the ever-present, totalitarian aesthetics of the most dull, soul-destroying type.
I tried striking up a conversation with a woman--or what I thought was a woman--but it turned out it was a male in women’s clothing--the feminisation of the male youth, most prevalent in such totalitarian regimes, has come to the fore!--and I could not understand the thing, for it was speaking the distasteful tongue of Nyanmarian.
Hunger struck me once I had put sufficient distance between myself and the faggot--I had good American dollars, so I thought I’d get a bite to eat at the largest (state-owned) restaurant in town.
Oddly enough, the doorman (guard,slave-whipper) caught me with my cash at the ready and told me, in a hideous mockery of our American Mothertongue;
“Your money’s no good here, comrade--everyone gets their fill for free!”
I felt indescribably oppressed right that moment, but I could not turn down a free meal, so I went inside.
The interior was, superficially, clean and well-kept--but there was everywhere the lurking filth of authoritarianism; in the pristine white walls, the regal blue floor, the chairs and tables of polished redwood--it was all infected, and I could hardly bring myself to sit down.
The ‘waitress’ wandering around--probably also a male in disguise--handed me a large menu with that kind of glossy totalitarian finish, and I could see in parentheses the English names for some of the slop these people had to eat.
There was, as expected, nothing that was not absolutely vomit-inducing; but my American sensibilities did not become completely shat upon until I saw what must have been the most popular order here--
Canis lupus familiaris; i.e., DOG MEAT.
I demanded of the room to show me immediately where they kept their slaughter-bound doggies captive!
Some one who apparently understood me led me outside, around to the back of the oppressively square restaurant, where I witnessed, to my further horror, THE DOGGY FARM.
It was so horrible I could scarcely recall the images... Everywhere, dogs in cages; whining, barking, whimpering, crying for a brave, American hero to rescue them from their fate--but I was not such a hero, for the workers were all armed with proficient butchering tools; and they made sure use of these, mangling the dogs through the cage bars, chopping up the remainder into bloody, bite-size chunks; and all the while the animals--man’s best friend--did not cease to fill the air with their heart-wrenching, canine screams of agony.
I vomited finally and requested I be let home, thereafter being blindfolded by another trannie and guided on a nerve-wracking route back to the submarine.
...And here I write, having barely survived the hardships of less than a day within the undisclosed borders of the People’s Totalitarian Regime of Nyanmar.
In retrospect, I must say that it was even more horrible than I must have made it out to be previously in this very pamphlet, and all unilateral moves by Our Great Democracy to wipe that shitstain off the face of the earth must be supported without question by any person deserving of citizenship.
I must say that I am singularly thrilled to be educating people on the small, oft overlooked corners of our cherished Terra. Filling the minds of our youth with chauvinistic slander of all stripes against any particular threat to our God-given Democracy is a noble task--a task I had previously thought reserved for our brave, righteous PR firms!
Yet here I write to educate--to educate you, Dear Reader, with a faithful recounting of my visit to the PTRN--the People’s Totalitarian Regime of Nyanmar, which exists in an undisclosed location, sharing undisclosed borders with undisclosed countries.
Let me start off by saying this:
Nyanmar is a terrible place.
I arrived there via submarine in August, and not more than five seconds after my blindfolds were removed, did the oppressive atmosphere inject my sinuses with their sick fumes--for the only shrubbery in sight were those god-awful FERNS like the kind Darwinist nutters like to imagine were once abundant in the world; and all buildings were pure white like the semen stains on my car seat, all following the same, blocky design plan! This was BRUTALISM without a doubt, an architecture befitting only the most Anti-Human, Anti-Liberal Dictatorships.
Still, I pressed on to see just how miserable the locals were.
It turned out there was not a homeless person anywhere to be found--surely un-housed persons are quickly executed by firing squad, just like the disabled and sick and free-thinking--and I did not find any outdoors persons until I came upon a public (state-owned) park, where could be seen people sitting on benches; most were reading books (state propaganda) or petting cats, and all were dressed in the most ridiculous, colourful attire--surely to take their minds away from the ever-present, totalitarian aesthetics of the most dull, soul-destroying type.
I tried striking up a conversation with a woman--or what I thought was a woman--but it turned out it was a male in women’s clothing--the feminisation of the male youth, most prevalent in such totalitarian regimes, has come to the fore!--and I could not understand the thing, for it was speaking the distasteful tongue of Nyanmarian.
Hunger struck me once I had put sufficient distance between myself and the faggot--I had good American dollars, so I thought I’d get a bite to eat at the largest (state-owned) restaurant in town.
Oddly enough, the doorman (guard,slave-whipper) caught me with my cash at the ready and told me, in a hideous mockery of our American Mothertongue;
“Your money’s no good here, comrade--everyone gets their fill for free!”
I felt indescribably oppressed right that moment, but I could not turn down a free meal, so I went inside.
The interior was, superficially, clean and well-kept--but there was everywhere the lurking filth of authoritarianism; in the pristine white walls, the regal blue floor, the chairs and tables of polished redwood--it was all infected, and I could hardly bring myself to sit down.
The ‘waitress’ wandering around--probably also a male in disguise--handed me a large menu with that kind of glossy totalitarian finish, and I could see in parentheses the English names for some of the slop these people had to eat.
There was, as expected, nothing that was not absolutely vomit-inducing; but my American sensibilities did not become completely shat upon until I saw what must have been the most popular order here--
Canis lupus familiaris; i.e., DOG MEAT.
I demanded of the room to show me immediately where they kept their slaughter-bound doggies captive!
Some one who apparently understood me led me outside, around to the back of the oppressively square restaurant, where I witnessed, to my further horror, THE DOGGY FARM.
It was so horrible I could scarcely recall the images... Everywhere, dogs in cages; whining, barking, whimpering, crying for a brave, American hero to rescue them from their fate--but I was not such a hero, for the workers were all armed with proficient butchering tools; and they made sure use of these, mangling the dogs through the cage bars, chopping up the remainder into bloody, bite-size chunks; and all the while the animals--man’s best friend--did not cease to fill the air with their heart-wrenching, canine screams of agony.
I vomited finally and requested I be let home, thereafter being blindfolded by another trannie and guided on a nerve-wracking route back to the submarine.
...And here I write, having barely survived the hardships of less than a day within the undisclosed borders of the People’s Totalitarian Regime of Nyanmar.
In retrospect, I must say that it was even more horrible than I must have made it out to be previously in this very pamphlet, and all unilateral moves by Our Great Democracy to wipe that shitstain off the face of the earth must be supported without question by any person deserving of citizenship.