"Poal?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's a sort of internet forum. Got a lot of friends there."

"Oh. Can you invite me?"

"I can't stop you, but be forewarned you have to be open-minded or it'll repulse you."

At that moment the salads arrived. Hers a spring mix with pine nuts and a balsamic drizzle, mine a caesar without the croutons. Fuck croutons.

As usually happens, the conversation died for a bit while our mouths were otherwise occupied. Somewhere in the salad phase we got our drinks refilled (malbec and old-fashioned).

Between her last bites, she asked, "What do you have to do to be an influencer on Poal? Does it pay well?"

"No pay. I just make measured and effective contrarian posts."

"What sort of subjects do you 'influence' on Poal?"

I stared at her with gaze of half-hate, half-sympathy.

"What... subjects... Theo?"

I continued staring.

"OK, you're freaking me out..."

"Poetry and White Nationalism," I interrupted impatiently.

You lied.

Panties drop

"Oh!", she brightened, "Me too!"

Dumbfounded, I asked, "You're a Poal influencer?!"

"Hell yeah!", she said, "Pole 3, main stage, Fridays AND Saturdays at 'Cheetahs'! That's soooo cool you are too! I could totally tell you were gay! Which club you dance at?"

You aren't though. You're just a whiny, bitch cheese-nigger.

I'll write this myself if you faggots are truly incapable of creativity

She responds -

• "Pole? So you're an influencer on a site that is a euphemism for penis."

We had a parallel moment. An old not terrible looking woman kissed me at the bar yesterday. I'm probably gonna fuck her.

Anyways, she checks out poal, and tells you she's a jew. We're now on the ADL radar. It's found out Tucker Carlson is AOU

"Poal?" Her expression changes subtly from weirded out to mildly curious, at least that's what I'm assuming as she turns to face me directly, eyebrows slanted in just a way that her eyes manage to conjure interest as opposed to disgust.

"Yeah, it's an internet forum," I reply confidently, "I'm pretty well known over there, I write stuff down that people can easily digest and care to read." She looks far from impressed, but she's not lost, nodding and pouting her lips in a way that indicates that she's thinking of a response.

"So you enjoy writing for people on the internet?" She asks and I'm taken aback from a question so simple yet so profoundly relevant to my situation. Rarely do these encounters breach into conversational flow from the first beat, usually it requires a lot more bullshit on my part before I can draw out an interesting or at least partly intelligent question.

"I do, yes, it's silly but it occupies me. You see, I love writing, in general, and when you write on internet forums you get immediate feedback. And you see Poal, well, it's not like normal places, they talk about stuff that you don't really see anywhere else, so you get a bunch of different kinds of people."

"Do you do other writing? Other than on Poal?"

"I do." I pause and look down to the side, thinking of that project that's been in the works for years without feedback or adequate motivation to pursue.

"Do you think you could show me one day?" She asks plainly as though we knew each other. I'm surprised to say the least, slightly suspicious, almost flustered, and if it weren't for the last several whiskey-cokes that enabled me to build up the courage to talk to this girl, I'd probably lose my cool instantly.

"Why do you want to read my stuff?" I ask gently, trying my best to muffle the paranoid-poalr in me that simply doesn't trust that she would want to read my stuff this early on in the game, not unless she's a roastie, a fed, or a figment of my imagination.

"Most men who come up to me in a bar a tell me they want to buy me a drink, that I have nice eyes, or lips, or legs, or that they like my outfit or my ass. They bullshit their way into my mind without caring about what it is I really enjoy." She maintains eye-contact with intent, what this intent is is beyond me as I'm baffled by the direction this has taken. I wasn't expecting to be successful I'm just a little drunk and want to talk to some normie about the central banking cartel and the need to ensure a safe and healthy future for Whites. This has turned into a whole new ball game, I'm in too deep, I came here for affirmation of normie mentality and instead I got personalized dialogue which, seemingly, is turning into flirting.

"Well, then, what do you enjoy?" I ask, attempting a similar kind of teasing stare but simultaneously deep down understanding that I don't really understand what's going on.

She smiles coyly, looking up at the ceiling and exhaling briefly before returning to my gaze. She bites her lip and leans in to my ear and whispers:

"I enjoy Poal."

Instant panty drop to show you (((her))) lady dong.

after she hears you talk about something she already knew called "poal", she gasped and slowly lowered her right shoulder sleeve and exposed a small swastika tattoo.. although opposed to tattoo's she had a strange lure to her.

Then I woke up, in bed and realizing the woman in the dream was my wife, minus the tattoo but with the same beliefs as me.