Half of my classmates are in relationships, but it's not going to last past black october. People are hooking up like rabbits already, and any long-distance relationship will not last. I have my eye on a few chicks; we'll see what unfolds.

You should join us for a trip once you're done with applications. We already have plans to go to brazil, vegas, miami, carribbean, europe. Pretty much wherever we want.

Anyways, gotta go. Let's keep in touch, and let me know if you need any help on mba essays. Best of luck, brah."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35668802)

Date: September 13th, 2008 2:46 AM

Author: BossNigger

My theory of nigger threads is as follows: there are essentially two types of nigger threads -- vulgar and speculative. The former, comprehending perhaps 90% of all nigger threads, is characterized by an immediately apparent offhandedness and purely offensive intent, e.g. "NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER." Speculative Nigger Threads are (or rather were) created for the purpose of ideological transgression, a protest against the now inescapable pervasiveness of what Roger Kimball termed the “dictatorship of the politically correct,” which has “used and abused the rhetoric of virtue in its effort to enforce conformity and silence dissent.” By defiantly and repetitiously using what has now come to be regarded as the language’s single most offensive word in the most offensive manner possible, speculative nigger threads attempt to simultaneously isolate the quality offensiveness itself and juxtapose it against a sense of banality to create a critical space in which the dictatorship’s oppressiveness (and perhaps its irony) can become visible.

I would divide the “movement” into three somewhat overlapping eras: 1.) An early period extending from the board’s inception to early-mid 2005 comprised almost entirely of vulgar nigger threads. Gradually they began to incorporate a nascent sense of speculativeness anticipating the arrival of poster such as White Pride and AK47; 2) A Golden Speculative Era extending from early-mid 2006-late 2007 in which posters such as AK47, White Pride, and eventually Man o’ War explored and exemplified nigger threads’ transgressive and critical potential; 3) a dissolution following the Lawsuit in which vulgar nigger threads again began to dominate.

I fear that the future of nigger threads will reside primarily in the vulgar.

I invite other nigger thread aficionados to refine this theory and provide representative, “signature” examples.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35668808)

Overall, sila is a 8 in the looks department, but the experience was no higher than a 6. I'm quite frankly shocked that her reviews on eroticreview are so high.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35668828)

It was right about then, out of the corner of my eye I spotted this twinkish little moon faced dude. He was struggling to power clean the bar and grunting with vigor so I gave him credit for trying. I noticed he was drinking from a gallon of milk between sets, lol, little dude must have been trying to bulk. Anyways, I hit some poses and knew that I looked just as huge as I felt. Only problem, I couldn't see the striations nor the vascularity I was expecting after being on my keto cut for the last 22 weeks (750 grams of protein, 20g of carbs, per day). I knew what my problem was, TOO MUCH HAIR. Well, with that I set off to the showers to shave my legs and truly look my best. As I grabbed my gallon protein jug I noticed that little house chink drop the bar, he had failed to 1 rep max 60 lbs. and looked really defeated. Almost ready to cry. With the look of disappointment written across his brow he grabbed his milk and keys (on a really hip looking lanyard) and headed toward the showers.

I made to the locker room and began to strip off my soaking singlet. I folded it nicely and put it into my HBS gym bag (monogrammed of course), grabbed my straight razor and headed for the showers. My little foreign friend had joined me, I noticed him remove his oversized sweatshirt and I had to have a chuckle. First, i noticed it was from Tuck, I had to giggle at this guy attending such an unprestigious business school, surely he was dinged at HBS, lol, no AA for you buddy! Second, I had to stifle a laugh as I saw his body, he looked like your average 23 year old asian, which as you know, is laughable. Skinny, pale, complete lack of defining male characteristics. He had a tuft of hair on his chest that he seemed so proud of, must have taken years upon years and who knows how many bottles of rogaine get that patch he wore with such pride. He apparently was going to shave after his shower but for some reason had a pink ladies safety razor, I think shaving was new to him and he just wanted to be cautious.

I started my shower routine like usual, carefully removing a bandage on my right cheek to clean the area where I pin myself (I had been hitting the Deca and Test HARD for at least 3 years straight now, no cyycles, that shit's for pussies). I noticed my yellow shower buddy was starting his shower process which seemed mostly to center around scrubbing his asshole with a towel (WTF asians!). While he was going this I noticed him look up at me, he was definitely 'mirin my aesthetics and I thought I noticed a twitch in his, what can only be described as, clit dick. Tiny, yellow, uncut and almost sickly looking, it looked like a belly button that could pop back in him at anytime. He noticed me looking so I gave the obligatory "no homo breh" and he looked at me, slightly confused, then SCREAMED back "NO HOMO." I was a bit taken aback about his uneccesary rage, but he was asian after all, i know they sometimes do that. I went back to my routine, now I had moved on to washing off the incredibly strong pheromones constantly excreting from every pore of my body, it had been so strong lately that women would get one whiff of me in the club and before I knew it, I would have a pussy juice waterfall on my leg as they would grind away. I was finishing up washing when my shower was about to take a turn for the strange/good/hawt..... rapey.

I reached for my straight razor, ready to cut down the mini forest that was covering my lbs of mature, vascular, striated as fuck muscle when I noticed ching chong was no longer in the shower. That's when I felt a tap on my back and spun around. That little zipperhead was standing there, his tiny pencil dick tucked between his legs and his pink safety razor in his hand. He shyly looked at the ground and muttered something, I couldn't quite hear. I said "speak up little breh" and he stammered a few moments before coyly saying, "I shave you now?" Needless to say I was a bit surprised and usually I would reserve something like this for fellow clean cut alpha studs, you know, some real bros. But I felt bad for the little dude, so pathetic, laughably weak, probably never been laid in his life. I felt a non-homo twinge in my cock and I decided to give him go. "Yeah, sure, you shave my breh, but you're not using that little pussy trimmer on this guy, you're gonna use my flat blade." At first he looked a bit hesitatnt but realized it was my way or the highway and he accepted the offer. My 10 inch pussy pounder was now becoming almost fully engorged and I wasn't trying to hide it. Little gook looked at that meat stick like it was King Arthurs sword, and I didn't mind (no homo). He was about to lather me up when I decided I needed to up the ante. "Hey, brah, imma make you a deal. If you can shave a bro clean with no fuckups, I'll let you roll with me and some HBS and some Booth bros, but, if you so much as nick me with that blade, you're going to have to suck on this BWC breh." He looked a little bewilidered but I figured, as with most asian students, that his understanding of English was pretty shitty. However, a moment later he gave me a mile wide grin and made a little blow job motion as he nodded his head, he understood. We were underway.

Things started out smooth. He knelt down and began to work the razor over my ridciulously muscular thighs. I was at full mast at this point and he was forced to ignore that engorged yogurt spewer lest he slip up. It was about 2 minutes in he made his "mistake" LOL. It was a small little nick, I didn't even feel it (I rarely feel pain). I looked down and saw a little speck of red and a bowl cut haired chinamen looking up at me. He had a devlish little grin and it was then I knew it wasn't an accident.

"Well zipperhead, time to pay up. i want you to suck every last drop of brotein out of my love muscle. " He grabbed it, stroked it, and genuinely seemed amazed a man could possess a cock over 2 inches, that it could become erect and remain rock hard for more than mere seconds or that it could be stimulated for more than 20 seconds without blowing a manwad. He jacked my hog and tried to fit it into his dainty mouth, but lol, it wasn't happening. I tired of his approach and decided I needed to teach Bruce Lee here what helping a bro was all about. With that in mind I rammed my rod as deep as I could into his rice hole. He gagged and his eyes watered. That look of defeat and complete PWNAGE i had seen in the gym earlier reappeared. He knew that with business school, they gym and now cocksucking he was a complete beta failure. Now that I knew he was helpless I decided I wanted to taste the orient and get me some sweet tojo ass.

I picked him up off the floor in one fell swoop, his frail frame made this easy as pie and made me feel even bigger than my 6'4 245 lb usually did. I quickly turned him around and bent him over. What I saw next I wasn't expecting at all. Now, being an alpha as fuck megabro I had fucked my share of women, namely white women. I knew what to expect with sewer skunk sluts and their brillo pad rubbed assholes. years of IBS can do a lot of damage to the coloring around a girls asshole and white girls were the perfect example of these horrors. However, I had always heard asian chicks were clean as a whistle. Well, I guess asian men were different. Rumor at HBS was that they had poor hygiene, usually from hours of sitting around megapoasting on law websites, pretending to be girls online or playing video games and literally shitting themselves where they sat. Well my little fucktoy must have been an xo'er because his manpussy was a mess. For the little amount of body hair he possessed, he had quite a prodigious amount around his rear entry. Not only was it hairy, but it was encrusted with shit. Now I understood his insane scrubbing earlier, lol, he should have stuck with it. Not one to be deterred, I grabbed my razor and was ready to clean up my ladyboy. "Use pink!! Use Pink!!" the little gook whimpered and I realized he was very attached to his ladies safety razor. LOL, I figured since I was going to use his asshole like a sperm bank the least I could do was oblige him to use his sissy razor. So with his precious "pink" in hand in no time flat I had him clean and shaved. He wiggled around like a bitch in heat and really seemed to enjoy the feeling.

Ready for my prize, I hocked a load of spit onto my cock and begin to grease my pole up. I didn't want to loosen him up, i wanted to go in almost dry and hard, maximize the feeling of that tight little chinkhole. I think my little yellow friend started to have second thoughts as my throbbing dink inched closer. "No, too big, I am virgin!!" I literally laughed out loud, he was asian of course he was a virgin! There was no way this guy had ever scored, with a chick or a bro, again, he was asian! At this point he tried another plea, "No! I am saving for girlfriend!! She pillow!!" I wasn't sure what the little twink was talking about at first, then I remembered some of my XO bros talking about asians and their pillow girlfriends, so WEIRD! Anyways, he seemed to know I wasn't having any of his excuses, this bro wanted what this clean cut alpha bro wanted! With that said, pushed forward into his balloon knot and to my surprise I slipped right in. I bet this little perv had been jamming stuff in his shitter for years, truly a beta, even when alone!!! I was pretty worked up from the entire situation and it only took 30-40 minutes of strong pumping to make me blast a gooey, thicket of ball snot into his quivering shitpipe. As he whimpered I pulled out my limpening staff, it was covered in faeces and cum and looked like a masterpiece. When I popped out of him he let out a cumfart and blasted a little cum and shit onto my rock hard six pack. Disgusted, I made him clean me off with his cat like tongue. As we exited the showers I watched this breh as he looked at the mirror, wiped away a tear, then gave that devlish little grin to himself and flex his pathetic biceps. I think he felt like a man, lol. Well, I didn't want him getting to full of himself and I had the just the cure. I went over to my monogrammed HBS gym bag and pulled out some panties some sewer skunk slut had left at my house. I usually carried them around to prove to my bros that white women were disgusting and frequently wore shit stained underwear. Anyways, I called over wang chang and told him to put the panties on. Without hesitation he did so. He seemed very comfortable and was twirling around looking at himself in the mirror, blowing kisses and queening it up. I heard him whisper "who the pretty faggot now, you the pretty faggot now." I couldn't help but lol. I soon noticed the clock and that I was almost late for my models and bottles evening I had planned with my HBS bro's. We usually went to bars where lawyers and law students hung out just to steal their women and talk about our amazing, debt free futures. i didn't want to miss that. So within a few minutes I was heading out, and still, preening around in his pretty panties was that moon faced breh that I had dominated, waiting for the next alpha bro to come in and use him for what he was, a cum receptacle.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35668933)

loling uncontrollably rn at "750g protein"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35668950)

Grace and gift have this difference. Grace properly is God's favor, benevolence, or kind mind, which of his own self, without deserving of us, he beareth to us, whereby he was moved and inclined to give Christ unto us, with all his other gifts of grace. Gift is the holy ghost, and his working, which he poureth into the hearts of them on whom he hath mercy, and whom he favoreth. Though the gifts of the spirit increase in us daily, and have not yet their full perfection, yea, and though there remain in us yet evil lusts and sin, which fight against the spirit, as he saith here in the seventh chapter and in the fifth to the Galatians, and as it was spoken before in the third chapter of Genesis of the debate between the woman's seed and the seed of the serpent; yet nevertheless God's favor is so great and so strong over us for Christ's sake, that we are counted for full as whole and perfect before God. For God's favor toward us divideth not herself, increasing a little and a little, as do the gifts; but receiveth us whole, and altogether, in full love for Christ's sake, our Intercessor and Mediator, and because the gifts of the spirit, and the battle between the spirit and evil lusts, are begun in us already.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35668968)

It was England’s greatest crisis since the Norman conquest, vaster than those precipitated by Philip II’s Spanish Armada, Louis XIV’s triumphant armies, or Napoleon’s invasion barges massed at Boulogne. This time Britain stood alone. If the Germans crossed the Channel and established uncontested beachheads, all would be lost, for it is a peculiarity of England’s island that its southern weald is indefensible against disciplined troops. Now the 220,000 Tommies at Dunkirk, Britain’s only hope, seemed doomed. On the Flanders beaches they stood around in angular, existential attitudes, like dim purgatorial souls awaiting disposition. There appeared to be no way to bring more than a handful of them home. The Royal Navy’s vessels were inadequate. King George VI has been told that they would be lucky to save 17,000. The House of Commons was warned to prepare for “hard and heavy tidings.”

Then, from the streams and estuaries of Kent and Dover, a strange fleet appeared: trawlers and tugs, scows and fishing sloops, lifeboats and pleasure craft, smacks and coasters; the island ferry Grade Fields; Tom Sopwith’s America’s Cup challenger Endeavor; even the London fire brigade’s fire-float Massey Shaw — all of them manned by civilian volunteers:

English fathers, sailing to rescue England’s exhausted, bleeding sons.

Even today what followed seems miraculous. Not only were Britain’s soldiers delivered; so were French support troops: a total of 338,682 men. But wars are not won by fleeing from the enemy. And British morale was still unequal to the imminent challenge. These were the same people who, less than a year earlier, had rejoiced in the fake peace bought by the betrayal of Czechoslovakia at Munich. Most of their leaders and most of the press remained craven.

It had been over a thousand years since Alfred the Great had made himself and his countrymen one and sent them into battle transformed. Now in this new exigency, confronted by the mightiest conqueror Europe had ever known, England looked for another Alfred, a figure cast in a mold which, by the time of the Dunkirk deliverance, seemed to have been forever lost.

England’s new leader, were he to prevail, would have to stand for everything England’s decent, civilized Establishment had rejected. They viewed Adolf Hitler as the product of complex social and historical forces. Their successor would have to be a passionate Manichean who saw the world as a medieval struggle to the death between the powers of good and the powers of evil, who held that individuals are responsible for their actions and that the German dictator was therefore wicked. A believer in martial glory was required, one who saw splendor in the ancient parades of victorious legions through Persepolis and could rally the nation to brave the coming German fury.

An embodiment of fading Victorian standards was wanted: a tribune for honor, loyalty, duty, and the supreme virtue of action; one who would never compromise with iniquity, who could create a sublime mood and thus give men heroic visions of what they were and might become. Like Adolf Hitler he would have to be a leader of intuitive genius, a born demagogue in the original sense of the word, a believer in the supremacy of his race and his national destiny, an artist who knew how to gather the blazing light of history into his prism and then distort it to his ends, an embodiment of inflexible resolution who could impose his will and his imagination on his people — a great tragedian who understood the appeal of martyrdom and could tell his followers the worst, hurling it to them like great hunks of bleeding meat, persuading them that the year of Dunkirk would be one in which it was “equally good to live or to die” — who could if necessary be just as cruel, just as cunning, and just as ruthless as Hitler but who could win victories without enslaving populations, or preaching supernaturalism, or foisting off myths of his infallibility, or destroying, or even warping, the libertarian institutions he had sworn to preserve.

Such a man, if he existed, would be England’s last chance.

In London there was such a man."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3926587&forum_id=2#35727794)