Oh, how I’ve been looking forward to Aesop’s take. Needless to say, he doesn’t disappoint.
Dear Leftard Communist Cocksuckers,
You’ve been shrieking and flinging your diaper spackle for nearly ten years, hyperventilating like whiny little bitches about Cheetoh Hitler, “a threat to Democracy”, and any number of further delusional psychotic jackassical reactions, all because you can’t stand the fact that half the country disagrees with you politically, and no one from mommy onwards ever explained to you the power of “no”.
Yesterday, you came within an inch of kicking off the Revolution/Civil War you’ve been frothing at the lips to foment, for going on that entire time and longer.
So let’s be crystal clear about the stakes here.
Your whole team will be on the menu too, and then we’ll wade into the bleachers to get your fans.
You want to cry and project about what bloodthirsty monsters we are? Okay, have it your way. We’re going to make even your worst nightmares pale in comparison to what you’re actually going to get. If a man’s going to get hung for a thief either way, he might as well steal, right?
Don’t appeal to our better natures. That train left the station in 2020. Pray instead if you manage to kick this thing off, you get killed before you get fed to pigs, instead of watching them snack on you while you’re still alive.
So you’d better get down on your goddamned knees, and pray to Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, that Donald Trump stays healthy as a horse all the way to the inauguration of his successor in 2029.
If he gets so much as a head cold from now until then, there isn’t a mineshaft deep enough or another solar system far enough away for you to hide in to escape the wrath you’ve already got stored up.
In terms even your thickest halfwits should understand, it’s like this:
Seconded, unreservedly, right down the fucking line.
5
1
- Entries
Fort Sumpter/Butler, Pennsylvania?
Third. If they start a war we will finish it. And we will win.
I was getting up to work the night shift when I woke up to the news of the assassination attempt. That post, the fifth of seven yesterday, was my initial volcanic rage at what had been perpetrated, percolated through the filter of a 12-hour shift in the ER.
The rest of yesterday’s product was stuff I was thinking up at work the rest of the night, which I cranked out half-hourly the next morning when I got home.
And the post you liked?
I toned it down somewhat – okay, a helluva lot – from my initial take.
No filter?
We should return fire now.
When the body count gets to 7 digits, give them a pity pause, and ask them if this was what they meant to kick off.
Whichever way they answered, I’d be fine with it.