We have reached the vote count. We are sat here in the belly of the beast, surrounded by enemies, false friends and demons. We sit proudly, in silence, our black flag resplendent on the Prophet’s table. We ignore the stares of the White press, we hiss at our dumbfounded rivals.
Our opponents are in disarray, resorting to cheap jibes. A yet-to-be-converted Sister wearing a Tory rosette referred to the Prophet by His slave name. A journalist sarcastically congratulated us for bringing ‘colour’ to the event – like it was some childish pantomime.
Their facile smalltalk and White mind games will not break our iron discipline. OOOG’s Word flows through our veins. It gives us strength, even here in this den of snakes.
Only a few hours separates the world from the blinding light of our Creator. A paper-thin veneer of pomp and bureaucratic circumstance is all that holds back the Afro-Thanetian Zaliphate from spilling forth into the present.
This veneer will rip like White skin when the time comes.