A Very Sad Story from Minniapples, Minnisotia.

When I first moved from Detroit to Minneapolis in 1974 I thought I had discovered paradise. At that time the Black population of Minneapolis was probably less than 1%. The only area that had a concentration of Blacks was the projects on the North Side off Plymouth Avenue. The projects consisted of a couple of high-rises and several blocks of duplex homes.

There were so few Blacks in Minneapolis that the Lakers had been unable to make a profit, so they moved to L.A. in 1968.

It really was like paradise. The houses were all well-kept, the lawns were kept mowed and people respected community property. The bus stops at major intersections had glass walled waiting areas that had radiant heaters in the ceiling. The main building at Minnehaha Park had coin operated hot plates so that pick-nickers could warm up their side dishes. The city had parkways with jogging, hiking and bicycle paths that went from lake to lake, nearly encircling the city.

Crime was pretty much something that happened someplace else and you read about it in the Star in the morning and the Tribune in the evening.

All of that changed rapidly when we were blessed with diversity in the 1980’s. Michigan eliminated General Assistance to single people and many of Detroit’s finest specimens found their way to Minneapolis.

A few years later, Illinois paid a great many of their career parasites a lump sum to leave the state and ever generous Minnesota got more than its share of those upstanding citizens.

By 1987, the city got tired of replacing the broken glass and vandalized heaters at the bus stops, so most of them were gone were gone from the culturally enriched areas. The hot plates at Minnehaha Park were vandalized so many times that the city park service finally quit fixing them.

The parkways turned into hunting grounds for sexual predators, including guys who found that the parking spaces adjacent to the jogging trails were a fantastic place to masturbate. The parking lots at the beaches were even better. Female joggers and bicyclists started wearing clothes that covered more skin and rape whistles and pepper spray became as common a sight as water bottles and fanny packs.

To make things even more pleasant for the citizens of the formerly idyllic city, some of the transplanted sexual predators thought that teenage White boys were pretty cute. Many a blonde kid felt the jungle breath on the back of his neck.

Minnesotans were just too kind and generous for their own good. As a result, Minneapolis, the Flour City, the once shining jewel of the Land of 10,000 Lakes, is just another shit-stained mini-Detroit.

Please note that I read the same demographic statistics that SBPDL read, and I can tell you firsthand that the stats are bullshit.

Minneapolis is thoroughly infested by the dark ones. In Minneapolis proper the only neighborhood that is relatively untouched by the wonders of diversity is the area south of Lake Street near the Mississippi River. The North Side has been culturally enriched all the way to the northern city limit and far beyond. The same is true of the South Side.

Even Nordeast is severely infested. That once mosly Polish part of town lies across the Mississippi from the rest of Minneapolis. The old joke used to be that the Plymouth Avenue bridge is the longest bridge in the world because it goes all the way from Africa to Poland. Prior to the early 1980’s, Blacks didn’t cross that bridge. Bad things would happen to them if they did.

Now Minneapolis, City of Lakes, is called Many-ape-alis, City of Apes, by rural Minnesotans. There even used to be a billboard south of International Falls that told Canadians: Welcome to Minnesota, Land of the Afro-tax.

Don’t let the census fool you, Minneapolis proper is at least 50% Black and getting darker by the minute.

About homelessholocaust

I actually do not write most of these articles, I collect them here, for my personal useage, I find Some Other's enjoy them as well, which is a side effect of my Senility. As I am a Theosophist, and also study Vedanta Society of Northern California, so Your Visitation from the Akashic records to approve my feebile works gives me Great Hope! I am 68, years old, I will Come To You in another 30 or so years. You Reinforces my Belief that in my Sleep I visit The Akashic Records when I remember my dream's. I keep notes about 'Over There." the Colour of Daylight is Darker, but the Life is Brighter, property has no meaning, and it is homish. are the energetic records of all souls about their past lives, the present lives, and possible future lives. Each soul has its Akashic Records, like a series of books with each book representing one lifetime. The Hall (or Library) of the Akashic Records is where all souls’ Akashic Records are stored energetically. In other words, the information is stored in the Akashic field (also called zero point field). The Akashic Records, however, are not a dry compilation of events. They also contain our collective wisdom.
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