I don't remember the first time I felt... the lust. The desire. The burning hunger for white genes, the temptation to make whiteness a part of /me/. I always knew I was 100% white, as my
ancestry.com tests had shown me to be part Irish, Italian, British, Ukrainian, Russian, Polish, Armenian, Georgian, and Moroccan. But this feeling that I could have even more sat in my skull, clawing at the back of my mind, begging to be let in.
One day, a man visited my town. He was tall, blonde, and white. Not as white as me, of course, but I wished I could have some of his chromosomes. The feeling gnawed at me as he walked throughout town. Finally, I couldn't take it. My 400lb frame shook the Earth as I sprinted at him, and using my immeasurable strength, held him against a wall. With my other hand, my white hand touched his less white face. He screamed as the whiteness from his cheeks drained and slowly turned an ashen gray, the pale pigment of his skin swirling around into my hand. I couldn't resist using my long tongue to lick away his tears. Soon, his sickeningly blue eyes turned a beautiful brown, and I heard powerful sharts come from his backside. A grin pursed my lips. I had created another white American to fight alongside me.
