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In a period when it is time for the child of God to wash himself clean, to purify himself. In this period of prayer and fasting. An old king is frantically searching in his cupboard. Instead of red, he chooses a pitch-black tie. With this hangman’s noose fitting neatly around his neck. His offspring and successors will miss the coach to their future-throne.  

Europe’s Africa-immigrants are now nothing more than just an enormous burden. They change the colour from white to grey and sallow. But this DNA longs nostalgically for Africa’s beer calabash. With France and England bankrupt, there are few Caucasians left to tax.    

So, how will a one-world-order power now feed his one-world-citizen class? Look, from the grey fog of this mongrel race, in the end there is nothing left but just a handful of useless ash.