Banana Bunch Challenge

The whale is based

Royal Jarmon, Banana On Fire Escape. 2019, acrylic on canvas. 20 1/10 × 16 1/10". Courtesy of the artist.


I am a gay man and a patriot. Skirmishes with the shitlords of Kekistan notwithstanding, I believe in Trump, and I believe in the white race.

4chan has got more shills and redditors than it had on November 16, which is why I am leaving the site and entering life.

I write in a house owned by my father until his death. Perhaps he still owns it in some sense, the dead man. It has not passed to me, and never willthat I know. And yet here I am, in possession of it, for the moment held by the same walls and floors that held me as a newborn fag.

Society looks at us, they discipline us, they fire us from our jobs, they think: Ah good, our little white cuck is learning his place, I can’t wait to see the levels he’ll sink to.

Which is why today it’s happening.

I have never seen so many whiners and cucks asking what is the purpose in life for young white men. Unless you’re a chad you can’t get a gf which means you won’t be able to get a wife? Seriously anons how do we fix this, I feel that I have zero purpose in life and I am totally unmotivated . . . .

I post: Not the fierce-fanged tiger in his heraldic coat can so stagger courage as the white-shrouded bear or sharkHerman Melville. And I log off.

I stay based.

My own scent is correct, sufficiently masculine, at last. I can fuck now. Most of my life: no. But these last weeks: I’m a human animal who can fuck.


I am a student of art. I study how empires decay.

My father codedif you can code on your living room floor and not in a hospital bedat around 3 pm yesterday, but I know the time of the code with less accuracy than the health app on his Apple Watch, and all the partners and processes parsing the data from it. So, Tim Cook, tell me: When did Daddy die?

My aunt has been texting, she wants to know why my father wasn’t at coffee this morning, where is he, why won’t he text back.

The dike is crumbling, they can’t sew up all the loose ends. You will see the pictures of me and this house, this basement, of my father and my aunt and the ones who will follow. We’re all part of this history, all of us joined together.

I am here for you, readers. For the opening of the world to come.

Sig Sauer P226, Barrett REC 7, Colt AR-15.

When they see what I’ve done, even the most disillusioned polfags will join the fight.

My own scent is correct, sufficiently masculine, at last. I can fuck now. Most of my life: no. But these last weeks: I’m a human animal who can fuck.

Still, I’ll die a virgin.

The white race must, if it is to surviveit has been my life’s work to show thisreestablish itself on a new ethical basis, one founded on a will to power and a rejection of naive essentialism.

More from Issue 38

Issue 38 Death Wish

The arc of time bends toward vindictive amnesia.

Issue 38 Death Wish

The thin blue line belts the globe.

Issue 38 Death Wish
Yell: A Documentary of My Time Here
Issue 38 Death Wish

She assumed she would not receive a stimulus check, since she had no bank account.

Issue 38 Death Wish

The act of discernment is not merely punished; it’s made infelicitous.

Issue 38 Death Wish
The Freezer Door
Issue 38 Death Wish
The Earth Dreams in Ritual
Issue 38 Death Wish

Is there a way of cultivating love of a nation that is not ultimately reactionary and violent?

Issue 38 Death Wish
The Remainder
Issue 38 Death Wish

Why do the fictions of one of our most important writers involve so much indirection?

Issue 38 Death Wish
Fire in the Hold
Issue 38 Death Wish
Electric Cars: An Update
Issue 38 Death Wish

More by this Author

September 16, 2016
The Golden Age
February 21, 2022
Every Soul Ever
October 7, 2020

are babies literally being ripped from a woman’s breast well yes well yes

May 1, 2020
Open for Business
August 17, 2018
Piss Trump
October 5, 2020

Fucking China. Fucking Democrat people. Fucking babies.