It occurs to me that as the ungerman Germanist and, being only halfway-unfair to myself, a kind of „wannabe“ German, I am the older, wiser antipode of „wigger“ kids who wish that they were Black. And think of how much better the world would be if youths with weak identities wished instead to be Germans! To start with: Sellers of baggy pants would go bankrupt, hard work would be chic, politeness would be „cool“, and Helmut Walcha would be a chart-topper.
The irony is that „German“ carries an etymological denotation of „original, genuine“. Certainly it makes an apt moniker for actual German people—not to mention, an historical linguistic curiosity to which I have devoted much reflection.
To be entirely fair, unlike the wigger kids, I do not take the shallow view mass-marketed by the Jews for their own purposes. Although I love the taste of German beer, I do not drink much; and I do think leather pants look handsome, but being unaccustomed, I’m afraid I might find them uncomfortable. Instead, necessarily omitting a list as long as my arm, when I think of „Germanness“ it brings to my mind the freedom-or-death spirit of Arminius, the mathematics of Gauss, the music of Bach, and coming full circle, the leadership of the Führer. All that, plus the thereby-implied obsessive attention to correctness in each detail of every endeavour. To match the beautiful biological form of Germans, that is what the German spirit means to me.
Really, who wouldn’t want to be German?
The depressing part is that after decades of brainwashing with Jewish Soap, the answer is Germans. So many of those who are so lucky as to have been born German, no longer wish to be part of the creative heart of Aryan Europe.
Now if somebody would please hurl at me the abuse and calumny which have been heaped on the real Germans for 150 years, I’d be most honoured as a debased counterfeit pseudo-Kraut. A man’s character is reflected in his Chosen enemies, after all.