WHITE?? I CAN SMELL YOUUUHGGGG MUHAMAD!

>WHITE?? I CAN SMELL YOUUUHGGGG MUHAMAD!

It's calling out for me now... I don't know how much longer I can hide. It caught my scent on the wind an hour ago and followed me home... The Mexicans warned me about going beyond the Old Wall...

>You... you aren't white... I'm white..

I can hear it shuffling around in the dirt outside the basement, it's been drawing closer now... the smell of faecal matter is overpowering. I cover my hands with my mouth and go dead still. Fear is beginning to overcome me.. I'm so fucking scared...

>Ahmeeddd... Ahmeeddd, here Soros shill...
>AAHHAHGGHGH FOUND YOU

It spots me. I bolt up and try to make a run for the door to the basement - but the thing moves too fast. The darkness is illuminated by searing red streaks that burn malevolently from it's eyes. It lets out a deafening shart, the sound is pierces my ears like stilettos. I am sprayed with red hot and sticky burgershit. Stunned, I try to regain my bearings...
Suddenly, it is atop me, I'm screaming and thrashing against it but it is just too strong. It grasps my head with both of its jet black, clawed hands. Oh god, the smell....

>NOT WHITE NOT WHITE NOT WHITE

It's mouth contorts and opens wider than I thought possible, my screams are pulled out of me... I can feel and see my white genetics being pulled from my body. The pain is unbearable. My heritage and chromosomes are irreversibly corrupted... my lips are beginning to thicken... my hair begins to fall out. It is taking everything that means to be me out of my mortal form.

This is the end. My worst fears are realised, pressure begins to build in my bowels as the last of my European phenotype is taken from me... the pain is almost unbearable. I try to block the pain out but it overcomes me.
I am sharting now too. I will never be the same again. As my underwear and trousers fill with my last meal.
My worst fears are realised. I am El Goblino too...
Pray for me.

There, beneath the sheer walls of the mountains and the cold dark sea, the shadows were deepest and thickest in the world; and there in America, secret and unknown, The amerimutt had made his abode. The Europeans knew not whence he came; but some have said that in ages long before he descended from the darkness that lies about the world, when Israel first looked down in envy upon the Kingdom of Man, and that in the beginning the amerimongrel was one of those that he corrupted to his service. And he fled to the north. Thence he had crept towards the light of the Northern Realm; for he hungered for whiteness and hated it.

They are the Americans, mutts, neither white nor black. At all times they feel the presence of the whiteness...drawn to the power of it..they will never stop hunting you.

The 3 steps of an Amerimutt

>1. Denial
"In reality, America is still pretty White, this meme is ridiculous and doesn't reflect the true facts. I am myself 1/64th Italian and perfectly European-looking."

>2. Frustration
"Whiter than you Achmed, fucking mooslems, you must be a proxy, hello Soros shill"

>3. Acceptation
"I might be a mutt but I am proud of it, I shouldn't feel ashamed of what I truly am, no matter how disgusting I look."

>the face american makes when being bantered

America...you fear to go into those mines...

The Jews delved too greedily and too deep...

You know what they've awoken in the Darkness of Khazaduum...

Shadow and mutt...

Lmao, this isn't how you deal with your replacement, Nigel.

I remember Aztlan as it used to be: a place of freedom.
I prayed within its orchards and meditated among its gardens. I was happy then; at peace.
I remember, too, the day the mutts came.
That day marked by sharts of war and torrents of shit where terrified mujeres and niños huddled in darkened corners.
I led many to safety, but many more paid the ultimate price.
That day my beloved nation became the United Sharts of Amerimongrels.
There the mongrel horde practiced their twisted racemixing that corrupted the last of the whites and nearly destroyed us all.
Even after the Mutts reckless miscegenation tore the continent apart, my people were unable to find a lasting sanctuary.

I remember the armies of El Goblinos that swept down on us like a plague, stealing our children and corrupting our people.
During these dark times, the one called Trump made our former nation his home.

I prefer to remember Aztlan as it used to be; not the abomination it has become.
My soul bears the burden of my misjudgment, but I have been patient; I have been waiting.
And when the time is right, the Mutt will become... the replaced.

You're not white

...

>mfw this thread
now i know how indians feel with the poo in loo

The Europoor is not Welcome here!

My stomach's killing me. I must've been contaminated in the ambush. Damn creatures move too quietly for their size. Thank God our tracker smelled them first, poor bastard.

I can't tell the others... Not yet. Not until they're safe. My skin's already darkening, only a matter of time now. My genes will hold until we reach the outer 80% towns. They have to. Then I can spare myself this fate.

My teeth are whiter than yours

At no point prior to the fateful meeting on Bermuda had I sensed the full extent of the danger I was getting myself into by making the decision to travel into the land then already known as Mongrelia. Even upon arrival at the furthest bastion of humanity itself, for that it was then, I was at first unphased by the measures taken in the security cordon on the beach. The EU marines stationed there blew bubblegum and absently cradled their SMG's, as if what regarded them from the distant shore was somehow beneath them. But then I met El Viejo. Every day he came to the cordon perimeter as I interviewed the soldiers, pretending not to take notice, eyes fixed on the sea. It was clear that he was waiting for something. When at last I approached him, unable to ignore his poncho and sombrero any longer, he brushed my clumsy introductions aside and, with a narrowing of the eyes, said: "Escucha me, tonto estupido. Joo cannot triunfar. Nunca, joo ear me, gringo!? It all start when el mongrel mix it up with el mutt...ah, es no importa. Choo late now, esse. Choo late for all of us. Ellos es no huait, comprende? No huait, no black, no even red. Sus queso...es no even queso. I lose more than you ever find, esse. Life is mucho fatigoso now. Luckily, they come soon. Vienen! Sin deternlos!' And with barely a shake of his head he left me there, wondering whose view was skewed. But that was a mere moment. I was far too determined, far too young, and not least possessing of immaculate credentials. This mean paisano would not stop my quest for knowledge, I swore there and then. How wrong I was! The immensity of my error, of humanity's error in sailing into Chesapeake bay, did not fully dawn upon me until months later as I cowered in a cellar in Denver city, listening for howls on the wind. And it is here that my story ends. To anyone who might find this, I beg you, spread the word. They are...sin nombre. They are...vienen! Oh...madre de dios ayudame! There is no so*text illegible*

la execración del hombre, el engendrador de penumbra, la maldad innombrable, el glotón, la manifestación del ser infrahumano...

(OP)
Daily reminder: Amerimutt threads are part of a memetic advertising campaign for (((23andme))).

...

Nice edit

I was a man wealth once, traveled and educated. I believed my self free from the superstitions and orthodoxy that infects the common Bulgarian.
Until I found a peculiar book while gift hunting in Jerusalem. The old Jewess on the counter saw it appropriate to laugh out that the book was in the dumpy store since she took the job.At the time I thought she aimed to stab at my poor taste.
The friend that I intended to present with the book never came and in the lonely dusk of the cafe I turned the pages of the Negrocomicon in boredom, then in fascination, in the end in fervor.

It told a story of one of those dark corners of the world where European civilization never quite reached, where colonists in ages past had went and tried to make a new Europe for themselves, one of those places where they didn't succeed.
The text was part spanish and part english and appeared to originate from Mexico, it was the recording what appeared to be some dark legend born of the mixing of Aztec mythos with Cristian religion.
It began with the depiction of an idealized fictional society living in the modern day great north American desert founded by European explorers English origin in eons past.
They had made a great civilization that spanned from sea to sea and they made songs that the entire world heard and made cinema the whole world watched according to the text.
Over time this new world atlantis drew people from every corner of the world, they mixed and warped, forgetting the European cultures that birthed them and turning to ever stranger and more perverse forms.
The only thing left in their minds linking them to the old ways was the colour of their skin, they were white.

That is when the text abandons all pretense of historical fact and goes into pure fantasy. Disturbing fantasy, the text tells a cliche tale of a fall from grace from there on, the most vile and mixed people of 'america' turn into pig-beasts begin devouring their paler compatriot...

...compatriots. An obvious, if strangely detailed, symbolism of the decay of the high culture of the fictional society. That was how far I made it before a rude waitress alerted me the shop was closing. Hours had passed.

I didn't make it to the Hotel that night. In my hurry to reach the comfort of my room where I could open the dark and crusty covers of the book again I took a turn into a dark alley.
I am no quite sure what followed, first a strong smell of fries assaulted me, then something large bumped into me with great force from behind and I fell, then the weight of the world was forced on me by what felt like a giant skin-pillow. I was being so suffocated between the thing in the dark, then a great pain came, before I passed out I heard shouts in accented english, short words, demanding tone.

When I woke up, the book was gone, and someone had emptied my wallet, but besides the bruises I had acquired something else, a black spot on my neck. But the day left me marked in more than one way, the book became my obsession.

I exhausted my wealth and abandoned my friends to find the truth about who had attacked me and what was the secret behind La Cratura (the name of the mythical race of monsters the europeans from the book had become). I found resistance where I didn't expect it, libraries would refuse to let me access their records, universities didn't return my letters, strange men followed my every move.
As permanent and unexplained as the itching scar that night left me with, my search for truth marked me even when I gave up on it.
Even as I piled up empty vodka bottles in my run down apartment in Sofia I saw them everywhere I went and one day I turned the game in desperation,
I tracked my watchers to the Israeli embassy, the heart of the conspiracy was in the place where it began.

good job, added to my Muttpastas

It hunts at night...

>nonwhite countries making fun of america for being nonwhite

noice

Date: Fifteenth November 2156

Me and my company have traversed large swathes of open canadian wilderness in the search of legends of la creatura, according to the maps, At 56,58 N and 78,25 W marks the boundary of our entry into
tierra de hordas, or land of hordes to the local guides.

Winter is coming, but that does not defer us from continuing on.

Date: First of December 2156

Before us lies a mass of grey skyscrapers littered and ruined amongst the grey ashen sky, our convoy has stumbled upon what appears to be Canadian Highway R2, the roads are extremely cracked but are still traversible in our armored transports.

The hum of the convoy goes on as i sit in the back, according to this map we are entering the vicinity of Toronto, strange indeed. It is cold in the vehicle.

All of a sudden the convoy jolts to a stop, i hear banging and thumping up at the front, i look outside the small window of the humvee, cars are scattered everywhere...

The driver gets notice on the radio theres a blockage ahead and we will be stationary for about an hour, here on this lonely abandoned highway.. It is a far way from Europe, there is no vegetation here, only twisted trees and endless unplowed cornfields.

Suddenly i see something dart between the trees on the side of the highway, i notify the driver, who calls up on the radio the observation, to hear no response. We quickly lock the doors, and shut the view finder window flap.

Outside is thick banging on the humvee now, god only knows what it is, the radio turns on again. There is screaming, and gunshots for about 15 seconds, and then nothing, just silence.

The driver panicked and proclaimed we have to help, but i convinced him of the oddity of the silence, and that it would be better to save our own skins and pretend the vehicle is abandoned, to whoever or whatever was out there.

Date; December the third, 2156

We have hidden out in this humvee for 2 days now, i have taken peeks outside the frosted glass to see nothing, just abandoned cars, but it is better to be safe than sorry. We are running out of rations and must leave the vehicle soon lest we drown in a pool of our own excrement.

We exit the vehicle slowly, and discover black marks all over the humvee, the tires have been slashed profusely, this is a terrible situation