Become ungovernable.
This has been tried before. Face facts: Half the reason Communism doesn’t work is because it’s Communism.
The other half is because the people – the very “workers” communists claim to represent, as a dodge to milk everyone – aren’t communists. Proof: Russia pushed Nazi Germany from the outskirts of Moscow all the way back to Berlin. That’s what Ivan can do when he wants to. But in peacetime? You get the Trabant.
So stop wishing and hoping, or pissing and moaning. Throw Leviathan and its acolytes a bone. But throw it sideways, so it gets stuck in its throat, and it dies a slow, lingering, painful death.
What do I mean?
Monkeywrench. Hard, far, and wide. And often.
Manhole covers are portable, for instance. Store them behind the local DNC offices.
Road crew left a few blinky light barricades just sitting around? No problem. Close off an interstate entrance. Make an endless circular detour.
Epoxy an ATM closed. Better yet, a few dozen parking meters near city hall.
Get a slingshot or a high velocity pellet gun, and take out a surveillance camera or three.
The list of, umm, extracurricular activities (all strictly notional, Officer—just a little idle woolgathering strictly for entertainment purposes, no one has any serious intention of actually doing this stuff for real, of course!) is expansive, but hardly comprehensive. The possibilities are limited only by one’s imagination, and how far one is willing to hang it out there in order to jam somebody’s works.
I have firsthand experience of one such tactic myself. I worked at a bar in NYC way back when (Babyland, that would be; any Noo Yawkers in the audience might even remember the joint) that had a problem for a couple of weeks there. Not long after I started the job, a disgruntled former employee who had been recently dismissed with extreme prejudice adopted the habit of Supergluing the padlocks (2 of ’em) on the drop-gate in the wee hours of the night. Now, I’ve never once known Superglue to be effective at anything other than gluing my own fingers together. But as it turns out, the stuff does a bang-up job when it comes to ganking up the expensive American locks that pretty much every business on the LES uses. So the diabolical strategem worked a treat this time.
Every damned day the opening bartender (me, most days) and miscellaneous other staff would be unable to get the key into the locks, and so had to call the boss-lady for help getting inside. Boss-lady, in turn, had to call a locksmith to come out and unfuck the damned things, which usually had to be cut with a torch, and were thereby rendered unsalvagable. Which meant that every damned day the bar opened way late, since what would ordinarily have been setup/prep time was spent standing around freezing our asses off waiting for the locksmith to arrive. Which artist would then fumble around for a while in an effort to keep from junking the ruined lock using all kinds of chemical sprays, picks, and other such, none of which ever worked.
Eventually, the ‘smith would concede defeat, break out the torch from his ditty bag, cut the damned things, and we’d be in at last. While all this drama was unfolding, off Deb (Deb Parker, that would be, a very well-known and successful entrepreneur who I hear is out in Vegas these days) would go to purchase another pair of fifty-dollar-apiece padlocks. Next morn, the cycle would begin anew.
The boss felt confident she knew who the perp was and the motive behind these serial outrages, even going so far as to recruit a brace of NYPD detectives—one of whom happened to be a close friend of hers—for an off-the-books consultation. But the evidence was insufficient to warrant police action, the sabotage stopped after about two weeks, and life went on.
So yeah, in this film script we’re communally head-shedding on here, I can assure one and all that the Superglue ploy would definitely be a credible plot device. In a movie, I mean. If somebody was making one, like. Certainly not something to ever contemplate doing in real life, Agent. Not ever. No way. Because that would be wrong.
Am I free to go now?
When making this movie make sure you take into account that there are cameras everywhere these days and so the actor should conceal their identity as much as possible. Hoodies. Mask. Gloves. Night vision goggles. All black. No skin showing. Hunch to disguise size. Do it randomly and not every night or in any pattern, as much as possible. Make them have people watching the place night after night after night. Plus, since this isn’t a grudge against one place, rotate randomly amongst many places.
Of course this is all when writing the script and directing the actors. For the Movie.
“For the movie”
Can’t wait to see it on the big screen 🙂
I once had some spiteful anarchists superglue my door locks. There’s a simple, cheap solution, it’s called acetone, and it comes in nail polish remover. It takes a minute or so to do the trick, then a shot of WD-40, and then, presto! locks work as smoothly as before. For example: https://www.walmart.com/ip/FG678-Professional-Super-Glue-Remover-4-oz-Quantity-1/139267498 – but you can get it a lot cheaper, put it in a little spray bottle and put one in your car and one in the garage…
Yep, acetone is the same stuff used to remove nail polish. Works on super glue, dissolves Styrofoam, among other things.
And, having read that I suggested hardened acrylic, not puny cyanoacrylate glue, how then? 😉
“Where’s your God now, Moses?”
Without looking it all up, I’m pretty sure acetone will also dissolve acrylic. IIRC, acetone is used to bond two pieces of acrylic.
A few years ago, when about half of the visible part of my left upper incisor calved off from the still-attached half, I used Superglue for a while there to attach the departed chunk back onto the other one. Worked pretty good for a while there, in fact.
But in the process of looking into whether using Superglue might actually be of some use in my ultimately futile struggle to retain some semblance of the youth and vigor I was so rapidly losing my grip on, I learned that the stuff is supposedly water-soluble.
As I quickly found out, it’s saliva-soluble too, since each application to the fractured tooth lasted only about three weeks, after which I’d have to do the whole procedure all over again–which was a real pain, I must say, literally and figuratively. Eventually, the still-moored half broke off too, leaving me with no foundation where I could rebuild the house of cards sheltering my crumbling vanity.
And that’s when I threw up my hands in bitter defeat, resolved to accept the ravages of merciless time with whatever meager dignity and grace I could scrabble up.
The thinning, greying hair thing is a topic for another day. Maybe.
I shouldn’t laugh, as father time has caught and passed me as well. Balding, check. Tooth issues, check. The alternative seems permanent and I’ll avoid it as long as possible.
The good news for me, I have little vanity. I just don’t care much what I look like 🙂