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Three cultural adventurers — an antiracist, a feminist, and a shitlord — stumble upon a treasure trove. In the loot, they discover a magic dildo. The antiracist picks up the dildo with a great effort, his wrist flopping against the weight of the object, and rubs it. A genie ejaculates.
“I AM THE GREAT CISGENDER GENIE. I will grant you three wishes, but on one condition: the wishes will only benefit your next-born child.”
All three adventurers look at each other in amazement; the shitlord with his strong high T jaw and cliffside brow carving the air in front of him; the antiracist with his doughy face and watery eyes soaked in estrogen; the scowling feminist with her blue femmestache and “Syphilis Sisterhood” fupa tattoo.
The manlet antiracist, already struggling to maintain his grip on the tumescent didlo, goes first.
“I wish for a beautiful black daughter! That will show the world how committed I am to ending White hegemony.”
The genie booms, “Your wish is granted! Go home, and you will find your wife in bed with a 12-inch buck.”
Many years later, the antiracist would have his head caved in by his half-black daughter’s fully grown 9 year old black boyfriend. He will die with a smug grin on his battered face.
The feminist, creaming herself with the patriarchy-smashing possibilities, grabs the magic dildo (effortlessly, as if she had spent a lifetime handling such objects) and makes her wish.
“I wish for a smart daughter! Her smarts will lead her to the top in corporate law, and sufficiently privilege-checked male feminists will beg for her love.”
The genie announces, “Your wish is granted! In nine months, you will birth a 150 IQ daughter with the assistance of a noted Massachusetts sperm bank.”
Many years later, the feminist’s smart daughter, 32 years old, a lawyer, and clocking in at 250 pounds with a face that could cleave ice sheets, empties the bottle of pills into her mouth, tears streaming down as she remembers the boy from law school she loved who mistook her for a man and told her he “doesn’t swing that way”.
Finally, the genie turns to the shitlord.
“Maybe YOU will choose wisely?”
The shitlord ponders, (stoically, not theatrically, as is the wont of effeminate males). He thinks this is a mischievous genie, who will grant his wish with a baleful clause attached.
“I wish to make America great again.”
Many years later, revolution shakes the country to the core. President Trumputin imposes an immigration moratorium. Unfair trade agreements are torn up, deportation cars haul illegal aliens back home by the millions, colleges have stopped offering black and women’s studies, gay marriage is repealed, SJWs and feminists are laughed out of public discourse, heteronormativity is the norm, the Middle East is abandoned to its petty inbred warlords, and America is great again. The nation is so great, in fact, that the shitlord has many sons and daughters, and all of them can buy affordable homes in high-trust White neighborhoods with good schools, and bless him with a small army of grandchildren.
Now an old man, the shitlord is visited by the genie one more time.
“Why did you not ask for a beautiful daughter or a smart son? Your wish unleashed chaos for millions of Americans, and guaranteed you nothing in return.”
The shitlord smirks, knowingly (is there another kind?). “A beautiful daughter may be dumb. A smart son may be nerdy. But a great America gives all her sons and daughters a better chance.”
The genie smiles and slowly vanishes, departing with a final promise to grant one more wish.
Without hesitation, the shitlord says, “I wish to make anime real.” And like that he is compressed into a 2D cartoon and teleported into an alternate universe, large-chested wide-eyed Japanese girls giggling all around him, happy to have defied his mortality.