I imagine myself on /pol/, leading my Platoon. Our mission is to stop ch*colate dogs from advancing. We mow down ch*colate dogs, but they keep coming. I shoot ch*colate dogs, but I run out of ammo, so I draw my sword and begin slaughtering ch*colates, since ch*colates are way more psychically inferior to me, I slay them by dozens. Then I get shot, but I didn’t fall, I kept fighting. Then shot again and again. ch*colates were shooting me from a distance like the cowards they are. I lie down, facing up to the sky and I see the Eternal Creme smiling at me, I smile back… Then I woke up, in a Based Creme thread, my homeland. My Based Cremeposter brethren gave me a warm welcome to heaven. I finally made it; I finally made it into heaven.