I Was An Admin For An Imageboard, Until I Met George Floyd

LEVEL THREMBO ACCESS REQUIRED

Note: The implications of this are horrifying. I can't believe I have to do this to my only living predecessor, but we need to administer the maximum dosages of Copium Green and Fentanyl possible, to allow him to walk in public again. -Dr. Soystein

I don't know how to begin letters like this, but this is addressed to all of the users of the imageboard that was once mine.

To Dr. Soyberg, I'm the one who gave you this facility. I'm not unwell. I have no mental illnesses. Please, Dr. Soyberg. Please, release this letter to the public. EVERYONE needs to read this, because it is important. The only life it'll ruin is Kuz's, but in a good way, because he is legitimately corrupt.

To start off, my name is Nate Higgers, and I created a funny imageboard based around soyjaks. I didn't expect it to go anywhere, but it was a tight-knit community of shitposters from 4chan, primarily /qa/. My imageboard became a bunker after gook moot shut qway down. I was quite proud of being able to create a sizable community before it was too late.

Unfortunately, a small-time Russian mogul, named Kuz, sought to acquire my imageboard. At the time, I was optimistic about being able to profit monetarily off of an imageboard, but I didn't want it to sell to that slavmonkey weeb. So, I waited for a higher bidder. I have learned by now that trying to sell my imageboard was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Even bigger of a mistake was denying the Russkike the transaction.

He increased the bid every time I said no, but this didn't sway me. After I denied the first few offers, he stopped increasing, but resorted to other tactics. He sent his Discord clique to raid my imageboard. In retrospect, this was just low level hoodlum activity.

It started when I was attending history class. It was the second week of the cultural enrichment program. It was the last day I didn't skip in order to get minimum credit. Today's subject was George Floyd, and all the riots that happened as a result of his death. At 8:46 AM, the professor told everyone to kneel. I refused to kneel for a fentanyl addicted criminal. The Karen professor looked me directly in the eyes, and shouted "If you don't kneel for Saint Floyd, I'm going to get you expelled!" I shouted back, "Shut up, Karen! You said that last week!" She stomped around, then in anger, flipped a table towards the wall. It collided with the clay statue of George Floyd, shattering it. Blood started oozing from her crotch before the dust from the statue settled on the floor. She was shocked "A period? but I'm pregnant!" She jolted out the doorway. It seemed as though her instincts superseded the brainwashing that Georgie was a saint, let alone anything greater than a punk. However, the future astronauts thought differently. Every student with a melanin content above 10% chimped out. I knew that by the time Karen got back, the room would look worse than the aftermath of a tornado and a wildfire combined. I rushed towards the window.

A giganigga Tyrone impeded me, and said "You is gonna pay reparations for dat, whyte boy!" I took an aluminum baseball bat from my sports bag. He tried to suckerpunch me, hitting my 9 inch thick bicep instead, because I'm a 300 pound aryan, who is taller than even muscular niggers. I lined up my shot, and swung it right into Tyrone's cranium. It deformed around his skull, making the sound of a loud crack. His body collapsed like a sack of potatoes, with his arms pointing towards the ceiling. This is known professionally as the fencing position, a sign of traumatic brain injury. To avoid further confrontations, I bashed the window, shattering it, and jumped through. I left the bat behind, so investigators would connect the chimps to the righteous deed. The few niggers that noticed would at least stick to their no snitch rule. Even if they didn't, they would get marked as a snitch and snuffed by other shitskins. A stupid nigger would grab the bat, and everybody would conclude that he stole my bat and cracked Tyrone due to genetic evidence.

I initiated a 200 meter sprint towards the campus parking lot, because I needed to increase the distance between myself and the angry coons fast, before they singled me out in their fury. Two of Tyrone's friends dropped to the grass, and gave chase.

Usually, niggers have the advantage of running faster than other ethnicities. However, I am the best track runner in the county, so I covered more distance. I entered my turbocharged Chevrolet Camaro, before they reached the parking lot. I switched to reverse and gassed the pedal while pumping the steering wheel like the valve of a gas chamber, causing the 750 horsepower street eater to drift backwards, turning at a clean 90 degree angle. The front left tire crushed one of Tyrone's pet nigger's feet, causing him to hop on his foot. The right fender collided with the other one, making him fly into the truck adjacent. I continued for 90 feet, until my car's rear collided with a van, then shifted the transmission to forward while the niggers looked at each other in a fruitless confusion. I overheard one of them mumble, "Ay, gimme dem keys. I need da Cadillac!" As if they ever had any hope of catching up to my ride.

By the time I was clear of the campus, I peered into the room. Most of the fighting transitioned to the outside. A sheboon lifted a skinny Becky on her shoulders and dropped her, while others recorded. Surely, the baiters on my imageboard will post videos of the incident in white boy beatdown threads, even though being prone to violence and picking weak targets does not make groids look better. I directed my eyes back to the road, cruising at 130 miles per hour. I took a few sharp turns until I parked behind a Home Depot. I knew the jiggaboos would never find me here. I leaned back in my seat, and meditated on what just transpired. I recalled the statue that the Karen accidentally broke. What was odd in particular was the timing of her supposed period. It was almost like a deity got mad at her, for breaking the statue. I shrugged it off as coincidence, as no gods would defend a nigger's image like that, if they existed. Later, I would figure out that it was not a coincidence.

After managing my imageboard from my phone for a few hours, I decided the heat died down sufficiently. I keyed the ignition, and cruised to my apartment. In front of my door, was a George Floyd toy. I picked it up, and it said "I can't breaf!"

"What the fuck?" I gasped. This must be some sort of threat. As a stress reliever, I set a timer and kneed its neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, the amount of time, I learned from the lesson, that Derek Chauvin kneed on George Floyd. At 8 minutes 30 seconds, my roommate, Ronnie McNutt, opened the door, and gave a stern look. "Give me that" he demanded. "Just a few more seconds" I responded. After a few seconds, I handed him the toy. He slapped me with his delicate hands. For a moment, he looked just like the soyjaks my website is based around. I snapped a photo of him, planning to make a McNuttJak later. After I walked past him, he returned to his docile state, and played with the toy.

I sat down at my desk, and booted up my computer. In the sea of soyquotes and gems, I decided I would create a blogpost about what I encountered earlier. I decided to write anonymously to my fellow chuds, because what occurred was too insane for me to tripfag.

The subject line was "Just survived a chimpout AMA"

I wrote the following: "Seriouspost. Can't write on 4chan because they ban you for saying nigger.

Has anyone else encountered a chimpout? I just went through one today. Professor ended up having a spontaneous abortion."

Naturally, they mocked me for using proper reddit spacing. They told me to take my meds. Little did they know, I would be locked up here and take my meds. A tripfag named "Azuf" chimed in, "I encountered a few. Use bear spray." Finally, I thought, a fellow seriousposter.

I responded: "I have no problems with force. I am a 300 pound keyed gigachad. This is about repeated chimpouts and aftermath."

Azuf responded: "If this is happening at work, prepare to get fired. Otherwise, try to get them fired."

I sighed. I probably won't get a useful response from anyone, even Azuf. Still, I continued the game of 20 questions until I gathered sufficient intel on my mortal enemies. The gist of the situation is, I had to stop attending the History class. It got closed down the same day, so this wouldn't be a problem. We also discussed the tactics of the baboons and their weaknesses. Quadroons that had big nostrils were particularly vulnerable to knees on their necks. He made a schizopost about George Floyd. If only I listened then. After the conversation concluded, I went to bed and napped.

The next day, I checked my phone. I read an email that announced we were getting full credit for history, and that the class was concluded. I smiled, practically rejoicing at the news. The other mail was about a funeral for Karen's baby. Apparently, according to libcucks, unborn babies are not human life until a stranger takes it. My smile wore off through the duration of the mail. She was rushed to the hospital, but then more holes appeared on her belly. She is currently in critical condition. I realized that if this hadn't happened, they probably would've re-opened the lectures, even if the room looked like a building from Fallout 3. I cried for the white babies that were forced to live in liberal women's uterus’ and around blacks.

The rest of the day I worked at the warehouse. It is easy money, especially if you go to the gym regularly. I kept quiet about the incident, but my co-workers still murmured about what happened at the college.

A beaner looked to me and spoke "Hey, Nate. You go to college, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, "I left before the chimpout though"

… What I said was probably a half-lie. I was instrumental to the chimpout, and witnessed the first minute. It was probably for the better, though, since I didn't know the exact details of what happened.

The beaner said, "I don't blame you. I would do the same, though. One of them niggers killed somebody!"

Tyrone? I was uncertain, even though I had a clue.

I asked, "Who did they kill?"

"A big black man. No one knew who did it, but his skull cracked open! And they stole a white kid's bat to do it!"

I frowned. I'm not a kid. I'm a fully grown adult.

"Damn," I said.

"Based nigger who did it though," the spic commented in his signature ESL. The comment later inspired me to make a Chudjak edit where he says "Based nigger" while a nigger chudjak splits a tranny's wig with a pistol.

After the shift was done, I left. I skipped gym because it was a rest day. I heard a deep whisper behind my ear, "Check Kolyma" I looked behind me, but saw nothing. When I got home, I did what the voice told me to. They made a new announcement, "Today we just secured the deal with Soot, the owner of soyjak.party!"

What the fuck was this? I didn't consent to this! I never sold anything to Kuz! I went to imageboard to warn the community. I attempted to log in, but it said "Access denied!" but I am the admin! This shouldn't be happening! I angrily typed a message anyway, and sent it. Then I got redirected to a ban page! I'm the owner! I can't be banned from my own website! I went to the server room, intent on pulling the plug. If they lock me out of the software, I will lock them out of the hardware! Son of a fucking bitch! The server was absent! In its place was a note. "I be the George Floyd. I work for Kolyma and I stole yo server n shiet. You send me 3,000 moneyss, or I won't give it back!"

No way I was going to send 3,000 dollars to a ransomer, especially one that named themself after a dead nigger! The shitskin didn't even leave a return address! How was I supposed to find him?

Out of anger, I kicked down the door to Ronnie McNutt's room. Autumn Equinox was there, getting railed by two niggers. I grabbed the rifle from the closet, which caused all of them to flee. I grabbed the trench coat off a rack and I exited the apartment.

I yelled at the top of my lungs, as if announcing to everyone, "I just hate this world and the niggers feasting on its carcass. This is a time of vengeance and no life is worth saving. I will put George Floyd, and other niggers, in their graves. My TND genocide crusade begins here!"

In a moment of clarity, I asked myself where I would even find this nigger. A light bulb went off, if the ransomer identified as George Floyd, he might set up his headquarters near Whole Cup Foods. I only lived 70 miles away, so the trip was worth the gamble.

First, I needed more firepower, since McNutt's rifle was only a cheap single shot, meant for the sole purpose of hunting. McNutt never hunts, though, so he was likely planning to kill himself with this firearm. I started the Camaro, and drove to Tyrone's friends’ crack den. Many cars were parked out front, but all of them were getting zonked off fentanyl inside, dozing off. I found the yellow Cadillac they were talking about. It was more modern than you'd expect, purchased with drug money and a loan that'll bite them in the ass later.

I took a pry bar and lifted the Cadillac's trunk, which triggered the car alarm. Inside was a Draco and two spare magazines. They were both 30-rounders, but the one loaded inside the Draco was a 45-round magazine. I nabbed all of them, putting the spares in my coat's pockets. I checked the den. As expected, everyone in the building was too high to notice the car alarm. I took off in my Camaro, taking as little regard as a nigger to cut the alarm or even close the trunk. I felt like Kyle Reese, but instead of a shotgun, it's a niggercoal A.K. that probably can't hit shit past 50 meters. Still, I had a considerable advantage over every nigger in the neighorhood. I could use the McNutt rifle for sniping niggers if that was necessary. As a final measure, I went to the gun store and bought a 100-round box of hollow point rounds, calibered in 5.45 millimeter. Before the purchase was finalized, I referenced them to a round from the Draco. The measurements were exact. I didn't purchase any firearms, as I felt I had sufficient firepower.

My plan was complete. Go to Whole Cup Foods and interrogate the homeless niggers. Find the ransomer, then ice him and anyone associating with him using the Draco. Snipe anyone using the rifle if necessary. Once the hit is done, dump the Draco into a river, then go hunting, and bring back a deer pelt. I would tell McNutt that I stole his rifle to hunt for bigfoot or some other schizo shit like that. He would soy out a little, then go back to playing his Nintendo Switch.

Quickly, before executing the plan, I made the based nigger edit of the troon getting ganked by a nigger, and sent it through my mobile network, which didn't get banned by Kuz. The chuds would love this one, I thought to myself. Little did they know, it would be the last soyjak edit I ever made. I then proceeded en route to Minneapolis. The sun was setting. By the time I got there, it was almost midnight. The perfect time for homeless niggers to solicit in front of an establishment.

Once I reached the store, I asked them questions about George Floyd. They responded in unison, "He is a dead nigga. Don't investigate this shiet further!" just like glowniggers talk when they're lying about something. I pulled the McNutt rifle from the sling. "You filthy apes better tell me, or I will turn your face into a starfish!" They nodded their heads and dozed off. I realized that this was going nowhere, and returned to my vehicle.

I looked in my rear view mirror, a light was growing from the bushes. I dropped out of the door, before a pickup truck slammed into my car's rear! The trunk popped open, and Ronnie McNutt jumped out. He took my rifle. "Hey, guys, I guess this is it," he said, before pulling the trigger and blasting his face open like an exploded can.

"Damnit!" I exclaimed. My plan was already falling apart. I lit up the side of the truck with my Draco. It jammed, so I racked the bolt. Whoever was in there is now dead. I felt someone push my back, causing me to fall on my chest! I turned around, seeing the darkest, most contorted animal-like face to rest on a human head.

"Ooga booga," it said, "I be the George Floyd, the one sent from Koleema to steal yo access n shiet. Where is my money, busta?"

I stood up, my face turning visibly red through the reflections on the windows of the store. My white rage got the better of me once again, "Listen to me, you zombie coon nigger. You steal my server and my access, you crash a truck into my custom whip, then you expect me to give 3000 dollars to your monkey ass?!"

He frowned, "That ain't no way to talk to a black kang, cracka. Give me your entire life savings of 20,000 dollars, or I will take your air!"

Heavy sighing came from his nose, as if he activated a vacuum in his lungs. The air around him distorted, and his chest grew in size. I felt the pull, and retreated a few meters. I aimed my Draco at his face. Floyd exhaled, sending me flying back further. I fired the rounds, but they all missed. I noticed the McNutt rifle that was also repulsed by the wind, located a few paces to my right, and picked it up to reload. The pissed off nigger slowly walked towards me like a Dragon Ball character, giving me ample time to line up a shot. I aimed at his head and fired. "Shiet, mane, that hurt." His ear dangled from a few strings of skin. The next round, I aimed for center mass. He blew this white dust in a cone towards my direction. The dust threw off my aim, and I missed him entirely.

"What the fuck is this!" I exclaimed.

George explained, "That be my fentanyl breath and shiet. Ima make you high before I keel yo ass, bitch."

"Hey guys, I guess this is it," I conceded. I tossed the McNutt rifle down, and reloaded the Draco as a last resort. I figured that even with fented aim, I can withstand his choking powers for long enough to blow the lungs out of his body. I ran towards him and sprayed my rounds at him. He hogged the precious air around him, but it merely cycled into his nose and out of the perforations in his chest. I remembered the advice Azuf gave me. I tackled Floyd onto his back, and kneeled on his neck. Unfortunately, my other knee covered up the holes present in his body. He decided to use the last of his breath to spew fentanyl everywhere, like a geyser. Some of the sprinkles fell on my skin and absorbed.

"I ain't a bad guy," he screamed, "I ain't do nuffin wrong." I continued kneeing him, even if it took the last of my life force to do it. I said, "I can't breathe. Fuck you, stupid nigger, for taking everyone's air."

"I dindu nuffin," he said.

We were both running out of oxygen. Me, due to the fentanyl, and him due to the holes in his chest and the knee on his neck. Eventually, he stopped moving. I decided it was done, therefore I slouched over. My consciousness faded in and out, but I felt good. Both, because of the deadly high that the Fentanyl gave me, and because I got revenge on George Floyd for taking my imageboard away from me. I rested on my back, next to the nigger's limp body. I gazed at the stars while thinking about what Kuz had done. He stole my imageboard by proxy, and would soon fabricate a voluntary transaction. I wouldn't get a single penny out of it, and I was likely going to overdose to death next to this feral nigger who came back from the dead.

I felt my body being lifted, before I appeared in a blank blue sky, just like the default Windows 98 desktop. A scene formed. Two white angels stood in front of the brightest golden gate, and presumably Jesus stood behind it, but there was no floor. "This is it," I thought, "I'm going to get judged for my actions on Earth. I was a very lukewarm churchgoer, and only said a sinner's prayer. I also chose violence as the solution to my problems, so I likely would never make it to Aryan Heaven." I tried to look away in shame over my sins, but couldn't. Suddenly, I descended like a meteor. The gate rose out of view, and everything got darker. "This is it," I thought, "They didn't even say nothing to me, and here I am, descending to Nigger Hell." As a relief, I saw stars appear. I supposed I was being sent back to Earth out of mercy. I wondered why I couldn't at least explore more of the place. I guess I'll take it as a sign to get right with God before the next time closes in.

I saw a gray haired man in a doctor's suit administering Narcan to me. It was the same suit worn at the mental asylum I used to administrate. In fact, I could tell that this man was the administrator of the Soysylum. What a relief. He put a straight jacket on me, and shoved me into the van. "Oh no!" I said, "This is what they do to the mental patients!" I saw a tear roll from the gray haired man's glasses before he closed the door. Why would they consider me, the founder of the Soysylum, a schizo? Nonetheless, I was grateful to survive an encounter with George Floyd. Hopefully, they would recognize me as Soot, and at least give me luxurious treatment.

So that is the story of how George Floyd was sent by Kolyma to take my imageboard away. The moral of the story is, don't choose senseless violence like a nigger and don't expect life to play fair. Don't mess with Kuz or he'll resurrect George Floyd to take your air. Sometimes, bad things happen to decent people without discernible reasoning. Life is a test that you have to study for, lest you end up in Nigger Hell.

As I am writing, I am anticipating for the Soysylum to either release me or wipe my memory before I can leave, because I know too much. The next time I talk to you, I'll likely be an entirely different person, one who doesn't know squat about soyjaks, nor will I know about the hostile takeover.

Nate Higgers signing off.