RULE 1

By Aesop
Sunday, August 12, 2018

Rule One

“They” who?

The Left, to a metaphysical certainty.
Team Mo.
Most of the Turd World.

If you need an explanation of Rule 2 at this point, you’ve come to the wrong shop, and you’re not tall enough for the Internet. I didn’t just decide to post a Basic Training series because I got a wild hare. (And I’ll finish, I swear.)

Nor are the Mosbys, Dodges, Brushbeaters, Maxes, Culpers, and more out in the internet ether just beating their gums and their keyboards to make a bare buck. If that’s all they were after, they’d all do one helluva lot better at about twenty other things, and could.
Hand to God truth there.

You aren’t going to provoke an “Aha! I see my error, and I’ll relent!” moment among the Leftard lunatics. They don’t want a discussion, they want re-education. They plan on doing it via gulag, as always, and from the same fountain of power used by every one of their adherents from Lenin to Maduro, inclusive, and expressly acknowledge by Mao: out of the barrel of a gun.

You can’t appease them. You can’t satisfy them, short of committing suicide. (Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, ask Steve Scalise about that, FFS! Does it take an AK bullet in your ass to make you a believer?? Be careful what you wish for.)

What one certifiable loon attempted a year ago, Mad Maxine Waters is all but a whisker from openly espousing, right effing now. Kathy Griffin was kidding/not kidding holding the president’s severed head. Oprah has outright said “White people need to die.” Out loud, in public, for quotation and attribution. The NYFSlimes has unashamedly hired for editorial policy and commentary, someone who openly calls (not called, calls) for all white people to just shut up and die already. (She should be shot down in the street, in haste, in a more just universe, or be forced into an Osama-esque exile and lifelong hiding, but that’s Someone else’s job. For the moment.)

How much goddam clearer does it have to GET before you wake TF up?!?

They don’t want your taxes, they don’t want your money, they don’t want your sullen silence or even your cheerful full-throated acquiescence – though all of those things, when they can con you or the gullible useful idiots of Fredoconia out of them momentarily, will make their interim tasks all the easier.

They don’t want a piece here, or a compromise there.
They want everything, right now.
With the exact diplomacy and reasonableness of all two-year-olds, mid-tantrum.

What do they want most of all? See Rule One.

They want you dead, Dead, DEAD.

Bulldozed-into-an-open-trench-dead.

Socialism. Every time. Forever. National, International, and local.

Why do they want it?
Because they hate you.

A volcanic, incandescent, thermonuclear hatred-rage like the burning of a thousand suns.
And they’ve slipped the mask of sanity, and no longer feel obliged to keep their psychosis and sociopathy in check any longer.

George Orwell, lifelong socialist, figured this all out waaaaay back in 1948.
Perhaps you’ve read that magnificent bastard’s book?

It’s far less prescient than it appears when you realize the Left, individually and corporately, has been using it as a guidebook, rather than a cautionary tale of fiction, for seventy years.

You have only two things to do:

Make a plan.
Work the plan.

That’s it.

If your plan is to plead empty pockets, sore back, weak knees, or 57 other whinging retorts to why you cannot do anything serious right now, this month, this week, today, this minute, fear not: There will always be someone to sort the sick, lame and lazy straight to the showers once you get off the boxcars. So ROWYBS, if that’s your “plan”. Maybe ask someone kosher how it worked out for their Uncle Izzy, or ask some Romani what ever happened to his Aunt Zelda, for a quick peek at what’s in store for you. Like the Christians of Nero’s Rome, you can always resolve to taste very bad. That’ll show them.

It’s 1940 in America again, boys and girls.
You can be France, or you can be Britain.
That coin toss is in the air as we speak, and no telling which way it’ll land, or even when.
But Land. It. Will.

There is one other certainty, though.
1941 is coming.

So FFS: Quit fantasizing, quit playing street theatre, quit your temporizing, procrastinating, and outright bullsh*tting, and get busy.
(If you are busy, step it up.)

Do everything you can to monkeywrench their operations now.
If such can inspire their lunatics (that would be most all of them) to simultaneous fratricide, full marks to you.

Because dollars to donuts, you’re going to need the time now, so fling poo and monkeywrenches. You’ll likely be flinging hand grenades and molotovs soon enough. The Other Side has made it blisteringly clear and obvious that nothing less will suffice, and they won’t stop until they are stopped, and that only in a way that recycles them into soil nutrients at the speed of worms and maggots.

Step up and accept that challenge.

Oh, and enjoy the rest of your weekend.

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Author: Alfred E. Neuman

71 year old geek, ultra-conservative patriot.