"How too many?"

"Four too many."

"Well, take two off the front, two off the back," I said. Then I mocked him for smoking pot, because (and I quote) "that shit's destroying the white race."

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"Did you know the Chinese have been stockpiling Cheetos? You're creating a munchies gap!"

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One night he bought me a pack of beer, and I got drunk and tried to kill myself (again, I was convinced the pot smoker was the one destroying the white race, and I'm the one who ended up in a mental hospital). That night, my skinhead buddies came to bust me out, and I wedged all my furniture against the door to keep the orderlies out while I climbed out the window. The orderlies showed up, and right then I realized the door pulled open, meaning that my barricade accomplished all of jack and shit. "To hell with it," I thought, and I jumped out a fourth floor window.

After I broke out of the hospital, I was on the run, so I immediately started recruiting again, hanging around nerdy high school kids and threatening to beat up their bullies to get them on my side. Eventually I started a cable access show to spread my message, like some kind of Wayne Campbell of hate. Then I found out that a prominent non-racist skinhead had a problem with me, and I knew I had to do something. "Wait, a non-racist skinhead?" you cry, shocked that such a thing can exist. Yup, it's more common than you think. "Skinhead" is an old working-class/punk subculture that was more of a rebellion against hippies than anything else, and even today most people who identify as skinheads aren't racist -- they just think black leather boots and shaved heads are cool. Because they are.