>be me
>autistic 14yo groyper, terminally online
>obsessed with Nick Fuentes, king of the trad cath zoomers
>watch every AF stream, memorize his speeches, even bought a RKD hoodie (unironically)
>one day, decide I need to meet him IRL, need to shake his hand, need to see him for real
>doxxing isn’t hard when you’re this dedicated
>look up his Chicago address, hop in my dads car with a rosary
>arrive at his house, heart pounding
>expecting a mansion, maybe with a swastika on it
>instead… normal suburban house, slightly overgrown lawn
>hear music coming from the backyard
>muffled trumpets, rhythmic guitar, a woman singing in spanish
>”…what?
>sneak around the side, peek over the fence
>Nick is there, in a guayabera shirt, grilling carne asada
>some old mexican dude handing him a modelo
>they’re laughing, nick’s speaking fluent spanish
>”no mames guey” comes out of his mouth perfectly
>leap over the fence
>”NICK! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”
>he turns, sees me, doesn’t even flinch
>just takes a sip, sighs
>”Ah, another one.”
>”YOU’RE A FUCKING RACE TRAITOR! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HATE THIS!”
>Nick bursts out laughing, almost spits out his drink
>”Dude, I’m Mexican.”
>”…what?”
>”Yeah, my abuela’s from Jalisco. I just don’t talk about it.”
>”B-but the white genocide rants? The ‘America First’?”
>”White nationalist, not supremacist. Big difference.”
>grins, flips the carne asada like a pro
>”I never said I hated Mexicans. I just think they should stay in Mexico.”
>points at me with the tongs
>”And you should definitely leave my backyard.”
>stand there, world crumbling
>whole identity was a lie
>Nick Fuentes, the man who radicalized me into a white sharia trad, was a mestizo all along
>pull out my phone, open Telegram, stare at my pfp (it’s a wojak with a crown of thorns)
>start crying
>mfw my idol is just a shitposting Chicano larper and I fell for it
>mfw the AF movement was a psyop to sell more tortillas
>walk back to the my car in silence
>uninstall twitter
>autistic 14yo groyper, terminally online
>obsessed with Nick Fuentes, king of the trad cath zoomers
>watch every AF stream, memorize his speeches, even bought a RKD hoodie (unironically)
>one day, decide I need to meet him IRL, need to shake his hand, need to see him for real
>doxxing isn’t hard when you’re this dedicated
>look up his Chicago address, hop in my dads car with a rosary
>arrive at his house, heart pounding
>expecting a mansion, maybe with a swastika on it
>instead… normal suburban house, slightly overgrown lawn
>hear music coming from the backyard
>muffled trumpets, rhythmic guitar, a woman singing in spanish
>”…what?
>sneak around the side, peek over the fence
>Nick is there, in a guayabera shirt, grilling carne asada
>some old mexican dude handing him a modelo
>they’re laughing, nick’s speaking fluent spanish
>”no mames guey” comes out of his mouth perfectly
>leap over the fence
>”NICK! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”
>he turns, sees me, doesn’t even flinch
>just takes a sip, sighs
>”Ah, another one.”
>”YOU’RE A FUCKING RACE TRAITOR! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HATE THIS!”
>Nick bursts out laughing, almost spits out his drink
>”Dude, I’m Mexican.”
>”…what?”
>”Yeah, my abuela’s from Jalisco. I just don’t talk about it.”
>”B-but the white genocide rants? The ‘America First’?”
>”White nationalist, not supremacist. Big difference.”
>grins, flips the carne asada like a pro
>”I never said I hated Mexicans. I just think they should stay in Mexico.”
>points at me with the tongs
>”And you should definitely leave my backyard.”
>stand there, world crumbling
>whole identity was a lie
>Nick Fuentes, the man who radicalized me into a white sharia trad, was a mestizo all along
>pull out my phone, open Telegram, stare at my pfp (it’s a wojak with a crown of thorns)
>start crying
>mfw my idol is just a shitposting Chicano larper and I fell for it
>mfw the AF movement was a psyop to sell more tortillas
>walk back to the my car in silence
>uninstall twitter
