The instructors and manager really cared about me, so long as I was throwing my money around.
I said I know someone who likes to throw his rubbish around.
And as a bonus, he'll cut your head off.
They knew about the story.
They were very sorry.
Actually they had a party after I left their gym.
They were sick to death with me.
And talking about the darkies, the way I do might draw heat on their business.
At least the Australian abos had the good sense to stay at home and get stoned.
Not with the Africans.
'Let's crowd out the whites, in their hoods, in their homes and in their gyms.'
The Africans worked on single cells joining as a monstrous dark creation.
Individually they weren't too smart.
On overpowering numbers, they could chant the African war cries and take the best picking the governments were offering, like housing and benefits.
'Would you like sex,' said a darkie.
I just don't think I could face seeing another dark face.
Why don't they use soap sometimes and wash that jet black mud off their face?
