This story is one of hundreds Colin Flaherty planned to publish in a book before his death. American Renaissance will post one a week.

When she was 14, my sister was raped by a 30-year-old black man. Her first sexual experience was a rape at the hands of a feral thug. It was not the first time he had done this. He got six years and was out in four.

Years later, my sister’s daughter made the mistake of going out with a black guy. When she realized how much of a violent moron he was, she dumped him. Not long after, her black ex walked up to her house and fired a shotgun through a window. She was sitting on the couch, watching TV, and the birdshot he used struck her face. She lost an eye.

I used to work security at a mall, and we had a “wall of shame” of photos of suspects in assaults, robberies, sexual assaults, theft, fraud, etc. that had happened there. At least 90 percent of them were black. And people wonder why cops “profile” black teens. It’s not “racism,” it’s grasping reality. There, I had my say. Now, you can hate me and call me whatever name you want.