The little slant bastard had ruined his plans!
It reaffirmed his.code:
Males were to be finished fast: the kill-blow to the face or a tracheal-rupture death-choke. The power-jolt, that final look of surprise before the lights went out.
Now you know who's in charge.
Bye-bye.
Females were to be savored. Saved. For real science.
But this one on the table was pretty. Near-female.
Female enough?
His first impulse after cold-cocking the dumbfuck had been to finish him off as he lay there, one good boot- stomp to the face, leaving him behind the reporter's building along with the other kikeshit.
Then he looked at the face, the body, saw something that made him shake.
So pretty.
He got hard.
Disturbing thoughts, as painful as bee stings, darted around in his head:
Pretty as a faggot?
Girl or boy?
He swatted away the thoughts, concentrated on the dumbfuck lying inert, under his control.
Dumbfuck was a faggot.
The SS had known what to do with faggots.
Grandpa Hermann had known what to do with faggots.
Real science. The prospect of adventure: That's what had made him hard.
He took a deep breath, held it; the bee-sting thoughts flew away. Quickly, he went through the pockets of the faggot's designer jeans, found car keys, confiscated them along with the gun the faggot had dropped, then gave the faggot a nighty-night shot of H to keep him qujet. Then, out front to the street, trying car doors until he found the lock that matched the keys.
Taking risks but enjoying the endocrine-rush. His Mideast safari almost over, why not squeeze out every bit of pleasure before moving on to the next project?
He found the car soon enough: beat-up VW bug-faggot had left it unlocked. He drove it back to the alley, dumped the faggot's unconscious body in the trunk. Found costume changes, identity changes-dumbfuck thought he knew how to play that game! Then a five-minute drive to the German
Hans,the VW stashed in the garage next to his Mercedes.
Another five-minutes and Faggot Adonis was stretched out and tlied up on the dining room table.
Kike Adonis. Too pretty-very wrong. An affront to the Schwann-code, it was up to him to avenge it.
Improvise.
And why not? Improvisation was fine if you did it with style. After all, his final act would be a grand improvisation, the ultimate fuel-jolt that really got Project Untermensch off the ground.
Surprise, surprise. Let the games begin.
The dumbfuck stirred on the table, made a clicking sound from deep in his throat.
He reached over, checked the faggot's pulse and respiration, made sure he wasn't about to vomit and choke on it.
All systems functioning normally.
Dumbfuck was quiet again. Pretty.
Yes, definitely pretty enough for a real science excursion.
Exploring the faggot cavity-Grandpa Hermann would approve.
Expand the boundaries: males, females, dogs, cats, rats, reptiles, Arachnida, Coelenterata -all soft tissue and pain receptors. The differences were minor when you got right down to it. Arbitrary. When you opened a body, looked into the welcome hole, the visceral mural, you realized the sameness. Everyone was the same.
In terms of meat.
Not mind
A fine Aryan Schwann-mind was in a different cognitive sphere from untermensch hollow-head brainscum.
And this young, naked one on his table was ikey-kikey faggot kikeshit, wasn't he?
Pretty.
But male.
More bee stings:
