As the consequences of losing control of the federal government seeps into their delusional entitlement, the ultimate statists of the Left scamper to find a method to regain power. A concept, whose day is gaining acceptance, is the Nation of Pacifica. With the incompatibility between the Trump Nation deplorables and the intolerant collectivists of Leftist state worshipers, the end game is rapidly approaching a final conflict that easily could erupt in a real civil war. Leave it to the beautiful people; their fantasia screen play scripts a peaceful dissolution of the disjointed union. A sample of their dialectic:
I got buck-arsed naked—to the point of my ding-a-ling shriveling up to next to nothing–slap dab in the middle of Big Earl’s House of Porn and Bait Shoppe. That kind of thing ain’t normally allowed in Big Earl’s, but the whole dang crowd knew I was recovering from a three-month binge on rot gut just to make these world-wide awaited predictions.
Giving the condition of my Johnson an appraising look, Lucille, shimmied up and down, weaving them hips that would’ve froze a cobra his-self dead still. Despite her being one of the sexiest lasses this side or the other side of the Pecos, Big John remained Little Johnny. So, Lucille called in reinforcements. Little Egypt and twelve Egyptian belly dancers. Their super-perilous curves and yiyi overcame the cold and resurrected a unit Anthony Weiner would love to have tweeted as his own.
It has long been known that the concentration of media ownership and the staffing for their “political correctness” message on broadcast, cable, printed press and on the vast majority of establishment internet outlets is filled by committed destroyers of the American Constitution and traditional Western Civilization moral values. With the resounding defeat of the globalist cabal with the Presidential election of Donald Trump, the rats that propagate the propaganda echo chamber for cultural distortion are working overtime to hold onto their fading indoctrination influence. Now the latest catch phrase is to stamp out fake-news.
Every day the world moves closer to a nuclear winter. The finger on the trigger presses upon the button and only a slight movement will launch unthinkable destruction. The point that it is so unthinkable yet so close to happening is caused by the overwhelming denial that Americans have towards the real nature of international brinksmanship. The United State foreign policy for global dominance cannot be defended as a righteous imperative. Those who naively believe that NATO occupies the high moral ground are just as confused as the dupes that cheer the dough boys or the GI’s in the previous two world wars.
It does not take a great amount of brain power to comprehend that for the U.S. to surrender the final oversight of ICANN that the internet as it has functioned with relative acceptance of political emancipation is fundamentally at risk to end as we know it. In this campaign cycle of American First Nationalism vs. Internationalist Global Despotism, the stakes are most clear. Where is the public indignation and anger that a cornerstone of most people’s lives is about to be ceded with little or no outrage?
In your face and rubbing your nose in it is for all to see. That’s the pattern of the Clinton clan that perfects their criminal culture of corruption and law-breaking. The unmistakable premeditated meeting between William Jefferson Clinton and Attorney General Loretta Lynch is a violation of every ethical legal canon. It should be grounds for expulsion from the practice of the law. Well, in Clinton’s case he is no stranger to disbarment. For Lynch, who was appointed to United States Attorney for the Eastern District of New York by President Bill Clinton in 1999, she should know better. Yet, if you are the successor to Eric Holder, there seems to be no need to conduct your affairs ethically as AG.
“Crooked Hillary” is not just a nickname; it is a way of life. For the latest generation of indoctrinated millennials, who were educated in the black hole of Clinton’s actual political conduct for decades, the notion of selling out real national security for funding her family slush fund may be hard to swallow. For hard core Clintonistas, the practice of trading favors for money is politics 101, taught in the book from “Chinagate”. Lest you forget, “the transfer of America’s most sensitive technology, including but not limited to nuclear missile and satellite technology, apparently in exchange for millions of dollars in contributions to the 1996 Clinton-Gore re-election effort and the Democratic National Committee”, is a family tradition.
A ship of fools setting sail on a collision course can only result in the sinking of the election process. Civil disobedience is a valid tactic to confront abusive power. However, to intentionally disrupt the Free Speech dialogue of a Presidential campaign misses the legitimacy of opposing truth to power. Donald Trump is not a public official and has no civic authority to demonstrate against. Yet, the brainless minions that make up the ranks of twisted lunacy are in the service of a Soros funded and nihilist agitator system, intent upon destroying America.
Now that the Iowa Caucus is in the record books, contrary to Trump’s demand for a redo, the respected party brokers are eager to weed out the hanger-on’s. Mike Huckabee, Rick Santorum, Rand Paul and Martin O’Malley are gone. The GOP Party, started in 1854, is circling the wagons behind their establishment pick, Marco Rubio and the Democratic National Committee, founded in 1848, will do everything necessary to see that Hillary Clinton gets her chance to steal their selection. All of this chicanery is being practiced by two private political power hungry organizations. Proprietary rules and internal arbitration is the hallmark of party control and discipline, which ensures that the final outcome goes as the money interests deem.
Producing this year’s soon-to-be amazingly accurate predictions was a virtual miracle. I, Nostradamus Jr., spent the month of August and the following two fortnights drunk as a coot on Carolina shine with Lucille (oh those deliciously dangerous curves) at Big Earl’s House of Porn & Bait Shop. Round about late September, I wandered out to the edge of the woods, and being about nineteen sheets to mild hurricane winds, thought it a good idea to wrassal a bigfoot name Norm I’d met years earlier while tormenting an alligator near Hell Hole swamp. Well, I was so whooped up and worn out by the time I pinned Norm in a two-out-of -three match, I wasn’t certain I could keep drinking. I forgot all about my duty to make predictions and walked with Norm as far as the Appalachians to hibernate with some black bears while I recovered. I finished off three triple-X jugs of hootch and tucked myself in between them fat, snoozing bears.