ALT RIGHT DETECTIVE STORY

So my buddy Jason Malmberg made a post on Facebook about jokingly writing a mystery book about an alt-right detective. And several people started contributing stories. It was a great thread filled with some great mockery of alt-right scumbags.

As I do with most things, I went way overboard. Here’s my story. (I’ll probably write more.)

The Adventures of Richard Uncuckerson, Private Eye.

My name is Richard Uncuckerson, legally and tried and true. My birth name was Richard Thomas but this year I shed my cuck name for my Uncucked name. I’m not gonna wear that “Thomas” banner around. I’m pretty sure my family surname used to be “SlaveOwnerGuys” until the PC police swooped in like some Ellis island thing except for people who are already American. Which is bullshit. Only foreigners should have to change their last names.

But I digress. That’s not the tale that brought you here today. You came for a tale of mystery and intrigue and action and sex that totally really happened. You came here to make America great again. And so I weave my tale, of the slyest little fox to ever swing her tail around my office:

It was late.

The autumn sun had long set and my fingers had grown dull and achy from slamming down the keys of my typewriter when in walked a dame unlike any I’d seen before.

Her hips swayed like a don’t tread on me flag in a soft ocean breeze. Her soft spoken voice told me she would quietly comply to the demands of any police officer. Her hands were soft and supple like the smooth honey words of Toni Lahren telling those negroes how to behave. She took my breath away like a cop justifiably suffocating me if I was a black guy selling cigarettes.

She glided in like the smoke from my cigar and sat in the chair in front of me.

“I need you to solve a murder.”

“Well actually, I’m not a real private eye. I do investigative journalism. Muslims are bad.”

“Well honey, maybe you can help me out.”

“Well actually my name is Richard not honey.”

“Ok I…”

“Well actually, you’re probably not smart enough to know how names work it’s ok you’re pretty.”

“Wow you’re a real dick.”

“Well actually that means you wanna have sex.”

“No. Not at all. Not even a little bit. I’m leaving.”

And out she swayed. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that smokin’ dame had to go. It isn’t her fault. There’s only a few broads walkin the face of this earth that can handle a man as alpha as me. But I was on her case.

I awoke with a start the next morning. My dreams had been a smoky haze of pleasantries. Of days gone by. Of Bawls energy drink fueled LAN parties where I called my friends faggots. Of times before Obama ruined the country and SJW’s ruined video games.

But she was on my mind the moment I awoke. She needed a murder solved and I think I knew the murder she wanted a resolution for:

The American Dream.

I called up my gamergate buddies and before I knew it WeeAsianGirl4TrumpNot19YearOldBoy had totally doxxed this bitch. I scrambled to my car and floored it so hard my Trump sticker almost peeled right off.

I came to an abrupt stop right in front of her house. She was sitting on her porch with a man. Probably her best friend he looked like a total beta whatever.

I leaped out of the car and bounded up to her. “Alright, Missy. It’s a deal. I’ll take your case”

“Babe, who’s this?” Said the beta man. I guess they have weird nicknames? Haha. Kinda cute little beta guy. He looked like The Rock but like WAY beta. I could take him.

“Uh he’s a journalist I-”

“Well actually I do some private investigation as well. It’s intertwined with journalism. They don’t really talk about it in Cosmopolitan or whatever.”

“Ok but you’ll take the case?”

“Well actually I will. I’ve realized that you want me to figure out who killed the American dream”

“What? No. My cousin got killed. And I think it was his brother who did it.”

“Are you sure it’s not the American dream thing? And you’re just on your period or something?”

“What? No. My cousin really got killed.”

“Ok but how do you have a black cousin?”

“What? He’s white!”

“Well actually if you look at these statistics here that I’ve printed out from stormfront dot com. See the negroid brain is-”

And as it turns out that crazy beta rock guy is part black. Just like a pretty white girl to be dumb like that. Anyways he picked me up and carried me back to my car and said “Hey man, just go. And please don’t come back.”

Savage.

But nothing’s gonna stop me from solving this girl’s case.

I will find out who killed the American dream. You cuck.