World War Q

Samuel Michelangelo Rosenbaum the Younger

writing as

William Luther Pierce

writing as

Andrew Macdonald

A 33º Masonic Joint

Copyright 2022

*****

Special Note About This Digital Edition

Sooo...what to say, what to say? It’s 2022, Russia has invaded Ukraine, citizens in Shanghai literally welded inside their homes because of a new COVID outbreak scream fear and anger into the recoding gear of news helicopters, and the United States is set to elect a new cadre of the worst politicians and people the country has to offer, literally set to undo 200 years of propriety, human rights, and basic decency. And you’ve chosen the electronic version of this manuscript—for which the Author is honestly grateful. With that said, this manuscript is something of an enigma wrapped in bacon around a pitted date, thrown into the oven for about 20 minutes, and served skewered on a toothpick. So good. There are footnotes in the manuscript, like, a lot of them, if a lot of footnotes were 666 of said notes, that is, 666 to the lot. These would be things you could either engage with or ignore on the printed page, but in an electronic version? Well, that’s a whole different kettle of worms. So, it’s 2022, and, by hand, We/we going to make the effort (the Author is not up to the challenge, so We/we going to do it for Him) to ensure you get full access to footnotes, comma, the entire lot.

Wish Us/us luck! Oh, if you don’t see the footnotes hyperlinked, then We/we have failed. Tell our Wives We/we love Them/them.

*****

Fair Use Policy

Federal law allows citizens to reproduce, distribute, or exhibit portions of copyrighted print material, interactive material (including but not limited to web presences, game, information, or entertainment), motion pictures, video takes, video discs, future technologies, or by any other means, under certain circumstances, without authorization of the copyright holder. This infringement of copyright is called Fair Use, and is allowed for purposes of critique, criticism, comment, news, reporting, teaching, scholarship, entertainment, parody, satire, mockery, research, and any and all other literary techniques.

This Work is presented as an effort to advance understanding and recognition of white supremacists, conspiracy theories and theorists, and other issues too numerous to list via critique, criticism, comment, news, reporting, teaching, scholarship, entertainment, parody, satire, mockery, fuckery, research, and other literary techniques, and thus benefits from the Fair Use Policy.

Limitations On Exclusive Rights: Fair Use

The fair use of a copyrighted work, including such use by reproduction in copies or phonorecords[1] or by any other means, for purposes including but not limited to critique, criticism, comment, news, reporting, teaching, scholarship, entertainment, parody, satire, mockery, research, and other literary techniques is not an infringement of copyright.

FBI and Fair Use Warnings

It has come to the attention of the FBI that Fair Use Warnings accompanied by an image of the FBI seal (or similar insignia) have been posted on various websites, giving the appearance that the FBI has created or authorized these notices to advise the public about the fair use doctrine in U.S. copyright law. This is part of the Illuminati’s plan to control the government. The FBI recognizes that the fair use of copyrighted materials, as codified in Title 17, United States Code, section 107, does not constitute infringement. These warnings, however, are not authorized or endorsed by the FBI. Unauthorized use of the FBI seal (or colorable imitations) may be punishable under Title 18 United States Code, Sections 701, 709, or other applicable law

*****

In Communist China, every Citizen is assigned a social media score, and depending on the quality of that score, is given access to, or restricted access from, healthy food, safe living, and gainful employment.

In Capitalist America, we have the same thing. It’s called your credit score.

Duke Turner

*****

Exhaustive literature exists about the world before the glorious Age of Aquarius, but Turner’s Diaries provides unique insights into the time just before the Age itself, written from the viewpoint of a rank-and-file member of the Discordians.[2] Less a here to there narrative and more a day-to-day log of observation and philosophy (and wholly unlike the purple-blottered accounts recorded by some Discordian Sub-Genius Operation Commanders), Turner’s Diaries is the narrative of a citizen-soldier who bore the world on his shoulders in its time of greatest need.

Duke Turner was born in 42 BAA[3] in San Francisco, a metropolitan area on the west coast of the North American continent. Turner grew up in the city, trained as a graphic designer on the public dime, and learned to make hallucinogenics via the internet, publicly-funded libraries, and sources like the, Anarchist’s Cookbook. He made a name for himself in the underground psychedelic scene as a man who could fly you to the Moon and make a black light poster advertising the event. For those talents, Turner was inducted into the holy Discordian ranks in 5 BAA by none other than .4 After indoctrination, Turner was then stationed in New Jersey, and placed at a Japanasian pharmaceutical research firm, giving him regular access to the raw materials used in executing Operation Fuckup, which, of course, finally freed us all from the tyranny of Conservative/Alt-White/Xenophobic/Nationalistic/Right Wing/Entitled/Fanatic/Reich Wing/Evangelical/Q-Humping/Inequalitarian Elder Illuminati plans, plots, schemes, and ensorcelments, and, lastly, breaking the scoliotic back of The Man. Turner was 35 years old. He drove a monkey-shit brown Impala. And so on.

Turner's Diaries itself was recently found by an archaeological team led by Professor Chuck Chuckles Anderson in a Washington short-term stay residence in an area called DuPont Circle, hidden beneath a to-be-desecrated/consecrated pile of holy books and texts from all denominations and schools of thought. The physical manuscript of Turner's Diaries fills twelve three-ring binders, two Trapper-Keepers, all the memory of a still-working Blackberry, and yards-long parchment scrolls stuffed into a dozen bottles of the finest single malt you ever sampled, all, sadly, empty, otherwise. Also included were many inserts (Discordian tracts and the like), electronic media, and fun little art projects made of CAT12 cables and macaroni. Very campish. This publication also includes the, Protocols of the Elders of America, the disgusting how to rule humanity playbook of the Illuminati, seen only by Evangelical leaders (all ideologies), servants of The Man, and the Martyrs of St. Bernard the Leopard Prince[5] in dreams.

In closing, these Diaries span barely two years in Duke Turner's life, but gives Us/us intimate acquaintance with one Martyred to the Goddess.[6] It is fitting a fully restored edition of Turner’s Diaries is now available during this, the 200th anniversary year of the Age of Aquarius.

Tune in. Turn on. Drop out.

Barack Hussein Obama, LsD, 25th Level Grand Master of Flowers, DnD[7]

*****

Editor’s Note

This manuscript is definitely NOT satire.[8] Nor ironic.

Editor’s Other Note

The opinions expressed in this book/story are not those of the author, the author’s alias, the alias of the author’s alias, the alias of the alias of the author’s alias, editor, designer, publisher, publicist, agent, distributor, or any and all other people and organizations too legally burdensome and numerous to list. The opinions, beliefs, and viewpoints expressed in this book/story do not necessarily reflect the opinions, beliefs, and viewpoints of the author, the author’s alias, the alias of the author’s alias, the alias of the alias of the author’s alias, editor, designer, publisher, publicist, agent, distributor, or any and all other people and organizations too legally burdensome and numerous to list, nor official policies of the author, the author’s alias, the alias of the author’s alias, the alias of the alias of the author’s alias, editor, designer, publisher, publicist, agent, distributor, or any and all other people and organizations too legally burdensome and numerous to list.

Author’s Note

This is a work of Maximalist Literature, so, hang on to your Faulkner.

It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

Author’s Other Note

There’s an underground American culture that, not until an orange-faced Hump-Fucker became President of the United States, stayed pretty much underground and were demonstrably beta, if not gamma, cucks. Working for the Hump-Fucker, someone who looked very much like Presidential Fart-Biter Stephen Miller had a lifetime history of terrible sex, the empathy of a desiccated monitor lizard, and the outlook of an eggshell-White supremacist. He was balding, and I bet that pissed him off, too. Like Grima Wormtongue from Lord of the Flies, Herr Fartenbiter whispered racist poison in the Idiot King’s ear and changed public policies for the worse. The normally cesspool-submerged White supremacists finally felt They had a platform with this new President, and walked with convenience store tiki torches through a bleak Florida night bleating something about, spuds and oil, and who doesn’t like good French Fries? Why, these polo-shirted ass-hats, so it’s Freedom Fries all around. Things went very bad from there. There were killings. By Conservatives and the Alt-White and the supremely Whiteous. Also, lone and lonely incels—but, like Twain commented, I repeat myself. School shootings popped up every day, every day. Then the economy broke. And this white supremacist culture, all lower case ünder alles, was no longer masturbating in sidewalk-collected feces to Guns and Ammo in their closets, they masturbated in sidewalk-collected feces to Guns and Ammo in the streets.

And the President said they were very good people, and they should, stand by.

And there’s a book, a book, say it like you were holding a stinky diaper, called the Turner Diaries, between thumb and forefinger, written by some guy you know has licked the business end of a cat more than once. The diaper would have smell rays, too,[9] like in the funnies. This book he wrote, a poorly written Excrescence, actually inspired other of life’s never was-ers to COMMIT ACTS OF WHITE SUPREMACIST TERROR IN THE UNITED STATES. And it’s all right there, in that book he wrote. I don’t know if the manipulations are intentional, but they’re easy to spot, and you can DIY a psychological profile of the man who would respond to this drivel, this drool, a man sure he knows better than other men, a man who feels he’s oppressed by society at large (i.e. rejected by the hottest women, if only he were an Alpha or Sigma),[10] possessed of just enough knowledge to literally build literal bombs, and provided just the right reasons to kill fellow American Citizens. Literally. It’s a very badly written book, and a stupid one. It deserves to be a wipe-rag for the bepimpled hemorrhoid-riddled ass of History. But first, let’s beat the living fuck out of it.

Because this Book claims it’s always okay to punch Nazi propaganda.

If psychological services were public and readily, freely available, and there is a non-zero chance when you have populations the size of villages, cities, states, countries, population services will be needed, these shootings and related may[11] never have occurred (in the United States). Thanks Reagan. Some of this is a direct result of your policies, and then the fault of every President after who did nothing. It is axiomatically in the Federal Government’s best interests to help those in need. By definition, Federal—and state, and local—Government exists to alleviate need, providing for roads, clean water, particulate free air, safe food, emergency services, to enable structures for legal representation, provide for the common defense, and ensure the general welfare after ensuring liberty and everyone is treated equally under the law. To date, this has never happened. And the reason for it is American Conservatism, not so much an ideology, but a shopping list of selfish, sociopathic and psychopathic wants and rejections, which is wholly identified by its tendency to generally accrete the Worst in All Things and the Worst People.

In other countries, self-serving politicians are shot. Take heed. Take heed.[12]

*****

Note From Special Guest Fascist Adolph Hitler

To all Whites. ZOG, the Zionist Overlord Government, has infected you, putting Jewish blood in your food and drink via the influence of the Freemasons and aid of the Post Office, since the founding of the United States and before. With forbidden knowledge gained from the same double-dealing aliens—of course it was aliens!—that gave us the technology to build the Fourth Reich base on the dark side of the moon, ZOG has genetically engineered animals and plants/vegetables with a virus to infect everyone with the filthy Jewish gene. Any White who has eaten beef, fowl, fish, vegetable, anything available in a restaurant or grocery store or farmer’s market, has this Jewish gene embedded in their DNA. 5G cell phone towers have activated the virus, browning White genetic codes[13] Nowhere is safe. The virus has tainted fishing and hunting areas. Chem trails have infected home gardens and forests. DNA testing kits—all testing companies owned by ZOG and its affiliates—obfuscate this information. ZOG’s campaign is forever occluded.

Whites lost long ago. We are all Mongrels now.

It’s why I shot myself. In the head.

Maybe try injecting bleach.

*****

Publisher’s Note

Any copyright, trademark, or service marks are assumed present and applied.

Any resemblance to anyone or anything, real or imagined, is a coincidence and not meant to disparage anyone, anything, any place, any idea, nor to disparage any manufacturer or their fine products.

Jackson, Leopold II, Hitler, Stalin, Minh, Mao, Mugabe, Pol Pot, Sung, Duvalier, Amin, Gaddafi, Reagan, Thatcher, Clinton, Hussein, Bush, Kim, Obama, Trump, Khan Noonien Singh can still go fuck themselves.

Note on the Use of the Word Elder

Throughout these diaries, Turner makes use of the term, Elder. He is colloquially referring to the prophecies, writings, and straight up warnings of Non-Euclidian Saint H.P. Lovecraft. If you’re not familiar with the Saint’s works, you may have at least heard the name Cthulhu in hushed whispers at dive bars and fancy-dress cotillions, where the Great Old Ones and their ilk dance and sacrifice when the stars are right...

*****

September 11. And thus began World War Q. I’ll vox what I can for now on this PDA. I can’t sleep, can’t sit still. I may or may not be blottered up.[14] I have been without sleep for days and on the move since Jamal phoned saying arrest waves were heading to my zone. With all the action, this is the first moment I’ve had to myself. Jamal and Hoshi are sleeping on the couches, so it’s only me and Plural Danne[15] awake, and they’re staring at the ceiling. I think they’re intoxed, on psilocybin mushrooms soaked in whiskey. On May 22, a cloudy Friday night, American Citizens saw National Guard and military units dispatched throughout the country, putting up fences, look-out towers, razor wire. Earlier that day, the Cruz Act,[16] a Sweeny Todd meat pie of legislative villainy against the American people, outlawing all Sacred Expressions of our Constitution-granted rights (Guns, Intoxicants), passed in the House and Senate. The Man immediately broadcast the terrific news on all Illuminati-owned media,[17] saying the Cruz Act demanded items and like paraphernalia named in the Act be surrendered next day post haste.[18] The Man noted He’s had Our/our names and habits on file for years, where We/we buy our Intoxicants and materials, where We/we buy our Sex Toys and Guns, and claimed He already knew what We/we had, the records right there in sales receipts, and there was no reason not to comply with the special deputies who would enforce the Cruz Act in person evening next. The Man instructed America to get the exhaustive list of offending items the next day—Saturday, seven in the morning—for final details, which included locations of disposal areas.[19] After the day’s deadline, five o’clock Saturday evening, it was going to be armed Feebs in the streets to flush out what wasn’t voluntarily surrendered. So, ready player one.

In preparation of May 23, The Man had long been invisibly pilfering funds slated to fight the never-ending pandemic,[20] nicknamed the, Raven, redistributing to rent Fnord Sedona minivans and hiring faceless men in balaclavas tasked to arrest Unmutual American Citizens Saturday night. This cesspool[21] of jackholes with ties to the Department of Education[22] playing national oppressor would all receive payment on the taxpayer dime. Saturday night would also introduce the special deputies, all volunteers, and just the right kind of limp-dick bigots you didn’t have to pay for this peculiar form of work. Said limp-dicks had been deputized and allowed to carry any weapon they wanted, meaning the most hard-on inducing firepower they could find. vis, generally, AR-15s[23] and Desert Beagles for those who could afford one (I’m led to believe the ammunition for this particular weapon was very expensive). Being limp-dicks, their attempts at hardening their ons were, of course, raté.[24] Howsoever, notice[25] of the possibility of this moment, in postcard form, weeks in advance of the Senate’s vote and the Fun Raids (as they also became known)—notice delivered via the W.A.S.T.E. underground mail system, said notice designed and screen-printed by myself—meant those I was able to reach (((and yet not all)))[26\ were long prepped to defy the Cruz Act and The Man, hiding their firearms, marijuana, LSD, hash, cocaine, mescaline, peyote, khat, crack, heroin, opium, oxy, GHB, X, moly, morphine, fentanyl, puppy uppers, doggy downers, zombie dust, Prince Valium, adrenochrome, soma, melange, semuta, sapho juice, water of life, tasping, boosterspice, tree of life root, Victory gin, black lotus, nitrous, muscle, the psychedelic leaves of Yaje plants, nepenthe, Quaaludes (from Qanada), Percocet, chloral, author Ned Beauman’s glow, vug telepathy, mandrake root, bhang, womandrake root, the unnamed potion in Romeo and Juliet, unicorn farts, vert, more moly, Tolkien pipe-weed, synthetics of every stripe, azoth, mana, nectar, ambrosia, moloko plus, laudanum, Ice-9, the seven percent solution, all the enhanced baked goods made by Josh Hoberman in the Magicians, DMSO, Dick-drugs like Substance D, Can-D, Choo-Z, Dolls, as in Valley of the, dust, of the angels and otherwise, teas, high, low, and in-between, finest tobacco, the Videodrome signal, coca leaves, still illegal Cubans, deli bal, lembas, Rohypnol, the bug powder from the movie with Peter Weller based on the book by William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch, steroids, Shatner’s tek, objet of artistic expression and questionable ethic, Scooby snacks, mother’s little helper, that stuff used in the Scanners movies, decent coffee, long before there was danger of arrest to anyone desirous of keeping their Freedoms in hand.[27] Also, American hard work and know-how created years ago a thriving underground market working cash-only or in crypto transactions, and I’m guessing there wasn’t nobody that didn’t have a little something-something stashed somewhere, safe, not in the records of The Man nor his Rube Mechanicals.[28]

There had been a lot of out-freaking Friday night, especially online, users aghast at The Man’s absolute audacity. I agreed. But out-freak, I did not. In a long prepared spot, I hid my champagne magnum of house-made .357 caliber LSD, still awaiting a name and related bris, inside the door frame between the kitchen and living room. I played some MeinCraft and went to bed. I got up without the alarm, probably around eight, a warm and sun lit Saturday morning. There was already a good deal of noise from inside my building, shuffling feet, scraping furniture, swearing and flushing and cleaning like the Pope was bringing personally blessed Pope-brand slippers for the children.[29] I shaved and showered and stared at the lab equipment I had to destroy, mostly glass, easily shattered and swept away, and promised I would hold a memorial for all the pieces at some later date. I hope they don’t feel pain. The pieces. Out the window, growing lines of Citizens, precious Freedoms in hand, marched on either side of the street toward whatever disposal station they were commanded to visit.[30] Citizens bore their Guns. Citizens bore their Intoxicants. Half wore face masks against the pandemic, but were unable to socially distance at the six foot mark insisted upon by ex government epidemiologist Fauchi. The other half gleefully yelled at the first, The pandemic isn’t real! It’s the China flu! Face masks are muzzles! thrilled to have someone to deride and another someone to surrender to at the same time. I may have felt similarly derideful from my Liberal side of the fence, once...before connecting to the Akashic[31] via the Bifrost of Chemistry. When I showed my derision, it was based in human decency, fairness, and the desire for the rising tide to lift all. On the other hand, the left hand, this other half’ believed, truly believed, Liberals had cannibalistic child sex trafficking rings run out of pizza restaurant basements. The Illuminati conspiracy thought experiment designated Qanon was a wild success, pushing this Pizzagate" and similarly false scenarios to the fore of public notice.[32]

It took the afternoon to euthanize my LSD lab, all the chemicals mixed with bleach and toileted. I had time for dinner. I think it was leftover Indian. Biryani. I hate peas. Feebs were at my door by midnight, just like Orwell wrote they would be, as I was putting away dishes. I opened the door and three Feebs pushed in before I could stop them. One carried an aluminum baseball bat, and two had dirty-with-blood kitchen knives in their belts. Bloody kitchen knives. Sure. Why not. They had gray armbands on their left arms, with a large, red, white, and blue capital Q stitched on. They stank of pig-eyed belligerence and convenience store-quality beef jerky sweat. The one with the bat shoved me into a corner, standing guard, legs akimbo, while the others ransacked the apartment. Guard Boy flashed some card and informed me he and his fellow Feebs were the promised special deputies. Searching for Drugs and Guns. I was well versed in the art of stashification.[33] An experienced policeman wouldn’t uncover the bottle I’d hid. A search by a cartoon crime dog wouldn’t uncover it. These inexperienced dolts couldn’t find it if their banjos depended on it. After five minutes, they got bored emptying drawers and cabinets, turning to slitting open my mattress and sofa cushions with their blooded knives. This burned my Bunsen. The furniture wasn’t new, but it was something. I considered putting up a fight, but really, who am I?

Let’s scene jump a moment.[34] I saw this coming and I’m bombed out of my mind most of the time. Everyone should have seen this coming. There were trial balloon programs sent up months and years ago. Gun buy backs. Intoxicant exchanges. Austerity measures. The Illuminati had been stress testing the American Citizen to see how long it would be before the Citizens would voluntarily give up their Freedoms. And that time is now. Right? Orwell wrote about this, too? And Machiavelli said when you hurt them, do it quick? Next morning was PDQ. Also, shame on us that handed over our stash during those eight hours! Remember the brave talk? The government can never take our Freedoms! We’ve got Guns and we’ve got Militia and we can buy Anything we want! Then the bloated belly-exposing submission, handing over our beloved Freedoms in the name of Security, American Values, and, Honoring Heritage, slathered with a thick glutinous gloss of media-spewn (Christian, Muslim, Jewish, all the rest) Evangelical aural puke. Shame.[35]

There was a commotion in the hallway. Another group of special deputies found a registered but still on premises handgun poorly hidden in an apartment. The violent Liberal couple—the Eidelmans—had been zip-tied and forcibly escorted toward the stairs. They were in nothing but locally sourced hemp underwear. If I’d have known they didn’t have stashing skills worth a damn, I would have helped. Sunshine Eidelman screamed about her baby Agnes being left alone. Then there was silence except for the cries of the baby. Some besuited Matt Lauer-looking[36] motherfucker wearing a gray armband—with that same Q—walked walked into my apartment. Definitely the Alpha Feeb. He carried an attache case and clipboard. The sub-Feebs greeted him deferentially and reported the negative result of their search. No contraband here, Mr. Lauer. Lauer-looker dramatically ran his finger down the list of names and apartment numbers on his clipboard until he came to mine. This, he said with a nod in my direction. is a bad one. He has an Unmutual, very Liberal record. He made Liberal rhyme with scum. Lauer opened his case and took out a pocket FLIR.[37] He made long, slow sweeps back and forth over the walls. Then he swept the door frame. The FLIR’s electronic shriek brought up bile in my throat. The fucker found what he was looking for. Lauer snapped his fingers and one of the Feebs went out and came back a moment later with a sledge hammer and a pry bar. It took the Feeb less than a minute to find my Constitutionally guaranteed home-brewed hallucinogenics. I don’t think they knew, or could know, what was in the bottle. It didn’t matter. The bottle was hidden, ergo criminal activity, ipso facto, on with the zip ties.[38] I was man-handled downstairs and outside, thrown on the sidewalk with the Eidelmans and Mr. Bravo, an elderly Mexican man living on the fourth floor. Feebs found everything Bravo needed to keep his high blood pressure and diabetes down. He couldn’t afford his medication, so he had generics smuggled from Mexico over the Texas border, despite Big Pharma buying ads on all forms of media in America to remind him and the rest of the American Citizens prices set by Big Pharma couldn’t be lowered because of reasons, a Golden Corral buffet of word salads to mollify and address, but never nourish.[39] We waited for a police van to spirit us away.[40] My shoulders ached. Zip-tie couture wasn’t for me. Behind partially-drawn curtains, residents eyed the four of us. Sunshine wept uncontrollably. Mike leaned against her. They were each zip-tied. I couldn’t hear the baby. I hope that meant some other tenants were taking care of her.[41] Mr. Bravo stared down and muttered.

Long time building resident and orthodox White Man John Herbs slunk out from the building. Herbs’ apartment had not been searched. John was clean, of course, practically the first man in town to turn his Freedoms over to The Man during the trial balloons. Why he lived among Us/us, I don’t know. He liked to proselytize about Conservatism and Christianity, so that must be it. At least a year ago, there had been bonfires in the streets of Guns, Books, and Intoxicants. Herbs poured the gas and lit the match on his own stuff.[42] He asked what was going on. A Feeb said with enthusiasm we were all under arrest for possession of items in contravention of the Cruz Act and we were going to be disappeared. Herbs stared at us, shook his head in disapproval, Why don’t you just support the police? and moped back inside. Disappeared was definitely a penalty the four of us faced, as the Cruz Act also included a domestic terror provision suspending habeus corpus (suspension actually Constitutional, but not on these legal grounds). Like, Crucifixion. First offense, from Life of Brian. Guantanamo Bay was still a prison no President could remember to close. It was distinctly possible we’d be heading there. We could get lost on the way. Or worse. Wind up in Texas. No actual domestic terrorists e.g. the KKK and the National Rifle Corporation, to name a couple, were ever reeled in by Homeland Security, the FBI, or local police, in case it comes up in conversation. I heard tapping on one of the windows behind us. The Guard Feeb didn’t register the sound. I looked. Sunshine. Sunshine! I said. Sunshine’s shoulders bucked with dry sobs. I couldn’t get her attention. Mike looked at me. I indicated the window. Another of the building tenant families were in the Eidelman’s apartment. The Patels. The very best family to watch Agnes. Mike nodded to them in thanks and to me for letting him know. These are my diaries, so I’ll rage when I want. Bringing down domestic terrorism requires the Judicial Branch to do its fucking job. The Supreme Court had long been Frankenstein Monstered in favor of tax-dodging Evangelical cults funneling their money back into Illuminati and Boy Scouts of the United States coffers. After Ruth Bader Ginsberg ascended to Discordian Heaven (peacefully in her sleep)[43] and was thence replaced by yet another Conservative criminal, dozens of similarly undesirable lower court nominations were also rammed through Congress, to the delight of The Man. Meaning judges were not on the side of the American citizen, but their Illuminati over-handlers. None of them were not White, not cisgender Male, not unwilling to do whatever they were told by their over-handlers, who themselves were Illuminati puppets within puppets within puppets[44]. The AG was a corporate weasel and scourge unto humanity.

The night of Saturday, May 23, would become known as The Night of the Great Joke, or, Crystal-nacho to those who couldn’t speak German or remember the past. On the Night of the Great Joke, countless (tagged as) Liberal (by The Man) American Citizens were dragged from beds, cars, sidewalks, beaten, gassed, clubbed, chemically sprayed, run over with vehicles, lynched, raped, the majority carried out by the gray and Q armband-wearing special deputies. Citizens were herded onto local trains, buses, moving vans, or Trail of Tears marched to any place that could hold a crowd. The country-wide raids netted more fish than The Man could handle, fewer Citizens willing to give up their rights like Herbs had.[45] There just weren't enough camps or shake-n-bake jails. Brick and mortar prisons[46] had long been filled to overflowing by harmless youth for crimes, and said youth were now permanent resident money-making mechanisms of the penitentiary-industrial complex.[47] Lacking sufficient holding pits made it possible for Citizens to wander off from their captors, their captors overwhelmed by sheer numbers to stop them. Also, plenty of ANTIFA[48] brothers and others freed from captivity everyone they could find and hide, Vulcan nerve-pinching Feeb assholes to the ground[49] left and right. I don’t recall the specifics, but the Eidelmans and Mr. Bravo got away and, I’m guessing, immediately left for spaces unknown. Me? I found the goddess.[50]

Liberal Conspiracy Smashed! Weapons and Drugs Seized! Over the next days, the media Squids, a Sean Hannity-looking motherfucker, a Tucker Carlson-looking motherfucker, and other similar looking mother-fuckers, alone or in Friend groups, money-driven, pig-eyed stooges of the Illuminati media-industrial complex, spun up public sentiment,[51] their ululating about gangs of violent Liberal ‘pugs’ roaming the streets paired sommelier-perfect avec rich claret images of the bloody havoc wrought by all levels of law enforcement. No body or group except Whites was spared the rod.[52] The news stories, and they were demonstrably just that, stories, ran and ran and ran. For the Conservative American public, illegally pulling Liberal Citizens off the streets was fine, because it made Them, the White Conservatives, feel both safe and empowered, and They were too scummy to care about equality of enforcement. The Conservative American public fully accepted nearly 800,000 Liberals, truly violent in their eyes, were engaged in a secret armed conspiracy HAPPENING RIGHT NOW! It’s like Goebbels were alive. Crystal-nachos. Crystal-nachos.

More details of the Great Joke’s raids were released by the media, public enthusiasm, and in some cases surprising/not surprising indifference, further inflated. The special deputies had exempted White Conservative neighborhoods from searches. The explanation given by the White House[53] media Blonde was, as Liberals were primarily suspected of harboring paraphernalia against the Cruz Act, there was no need to search White Conservative households, they’d get to the White Conservative households, another time. This made White Conservatives vibrate with Whiteousness, all their dreams, woes, and prayers addressed in one evening of unlawful, immoral, and unethical treatment of the other people