/lit/ - Literature

The nigger stared at the fried chicken in a niggardly fashion. It’s slick tongue darting over its bulbous, nigger lips, providing moisture to their cracked and ashen exterior. The nigger had no thought for the harsh reality beyond the restaurant’s decal covered windows. The sounds of inner city Detroit fell deaf upon its nigger ears. The nigger grasped the drumstick in his basketball-less claws and raised it to it’s nigger hole, the same nigger hole it used to decry the White Man as an oppressive force to it and it’s nigger comrades. The nigger’s eyes crossed in pleasure as the grease ridden flesh entered his nigger hole. It gazed up, still revelling in sensation, at the portrait of Colonel Sanders fixed on the wall. "Thank you White Man”, the nigger spoke, grease running from his nigger chin and tears flowing from it’s eyes, as it prostrated before the portrait. “Thank you so much..” And all was right and good in the kingdom of nigroes that night.