As an ex rat racer and feral human experimenter, I can say that the feral life is much more fun and healthy. It will be neat to see it come back when civ does it's usual thing and collapses.

Lol, bullshit.

The bottom 80% wouldn't get any of that without cucking like you.

Reminds me of a story.

Nature’s wrath is never one to lag behind delusion. And today the white race is delusional. If you were to invite into your home the creatures of the forest–the rabbits, the mice, the birds, and, of course, the bees–you would soon find your house honeycombed with all manner of vermin. You may not perceive them as such–as vermin–yet they are, by any sane, rational definition of the word. The rabbits tear through your bedspread; chewing, guffawing in delight over the wondrous snowy mountains of padding they will use to make their nest. The mice rummage through your kitchen as hunched-back church grannies perusing a yard sale. The birds make light of your lampshades high up near the ceiling where they will lay their eggs–but not before, for the sake of safety, they use their beaks and bit of gumption to unplug the lamp itself, as even the minuscule heat of an LED bulb could damage the delicate growth of their extra-corporeal embryos.

In short, you–your wife, your children–are bred out of your own home. You find under every book, under every table or chair or stool or anything solid to stand on, a new form of life–life brought through your open door. And when your youngest–your little one scarcely fleshy enough to have sapient thought or mastery over the mutterings that leave his porthole asks, “Daddy, should we close the door now?” you do a very naughty thing. Using your outdoor voice, you reply, “KEEP YOUR HATE SPEECH OFF THIS CAMPUS. KEEP YOUR HATE SPEECH OFF THIS CAMPUS.”

And so your little one begins to sob. But you, rightfully, morally, stand firm. You smirk as you inhale the fumes of a forest mouse caught in the toaster, wafting out of your now colonized kitchen. Mirth is to you! You have given refuge, safe-keeping, for the creatures of the forest. And now by the millions they birth inside your home. You let your chiseled chin-chin-cheroo point in the direction of your wife. She, too, is sobbing, but only because her latest edition of the publication that is your family genetics turned out to be a racist. Who knew they start so young? Why would anyone be racist towards the creatures of the forest? You let your chiseled chin-chin-cheroo point up towards the sky. You ponder these things.

At this moment, a tumbly, stumbly raccoon peters down the stairs–getting more sway-some and tippy-some as it nears the bottom step. It eyes your wife, bubbly-bubbly pip-pop gin in hand, and saunters forth to greet her with a salubrious grin, but falls dead. This beguiles you. Are the guests in your home not healthy enough to mate with your wife? You do not even ponder this question. The raccoon is of much higher being than your racist spawn. For at least it does not need your ever-loving care and attention. Pathetic offspring. Weak offspring. And so today the white race lets swing open that proverbial door. Morals, borders, heritage–all are to be thrown to the wind, for we are all human. And what use is a military if there are no borders to defend? And what use it to have children when the Africans have so many? Surely they will take care of us when we are old and done. For we are all human, and what is the use of nature while we remain fed?

Damn, what was the content of that letter?

I didn't see the word race and didn't know wgat was going on.