Society prospers when old men plant trees they know they will never sit under the shade of.
So what fate can we expect for a society where old men salt the soil that they should be planting these seeds in?
Decay is the only thing that will prosper and even that after enough salt will be made sterile. Not even the release of decay will free the young, they will be trapped in limbo, fighting for every scrap the elders couldn't carry up the ladder they pulled up behind themselves.
A mother smothers her baby so she doesn't have to share her milk, a father bludgeons his teenage son to eliminate the competition.
A sickness has infected humanity and that sickness is pure selfish greed, taken to its extreme by the modern financial system. The oldest generations before these new elders saw life as an opportunity to give prosperity to the next generations. The new elders see life as an opportunity to hoard and self serve to the fullest of excess leaving nothing behind.
An elderly couple takes out a reverse mortgage on their home to vacation while their children struggle to afford rent. They don't stop to think they will soon die and the bank will take the home leaving their children with nothing. They simply think of the slots they will burn their social security check on in Las Vegas.
An 80 year old man no longer sees a 20 year old man as his successor, he sees him as a rival meant to be crushed, And because of his hoard he will continue to succeed.
BTW I've never written about street fighting... but Caltrops are the natural counter to a riot line
Police use drilled riot formations to stretch their limited personnel against superior numbers. But this means they MUST stand in certain spots
They must stand on the Caltrops
Hey Irishmen, remember, if you stop now, at any given point moving forward, they'll be able to pick you up 1 at a time and throw you in prison. It's good that you're no longer playing the game you can't win. But now you have to commit, victory or death.
Godspeed.
To protect yourself from COVID, I advise my Irish brothers to:
• Wear a mask.
• Use decentralized encrypted mesh networks like BitChat to communicate over short distances (a crowd or a city block).
• Avoid transmitting sensitive data over apps like Telegram or Signal. GCHQ can read it.
• For sensitive information, old school is cool. Good ol’ fashioned “Sneakernet” (physically walking with an SD card or note).
• Scout your routes and meeting spots in advance.
• Compartmentalize: only share what the other person needs to know. Loose lips sink ships.
• Learn basic countersurveillance: vary your routines, use public transport creatively, and watch for tails.
• Don’t carry your cellphone with you on an op.
Most importantly, have fun.
I’ve just heard paramilitaries are now ready to get involved in tonight’s protests in Belfast and across Northern Ireland
Now, there’s some people you really don’t want to piss off…..
🇮🇪 A message circulated in Irish WhatsApp and Telegram groups, calling on white men in Belfast to take to the streets tonight:
“All men aged 18 and over, wear dark clothing... and be prepared to fight or be arrested... All businesses must close at 5:30 p.m. tonight, no excuses.”
Source: Memoria Natio / Telegram
Gregory Bovino, the former Border Patrol commander-at-large and face of Trump’s immigration crackdown, has launched a 2028 presidential exploratory committee.
His community also launched a “Bovino 2028” website featuring a graphic of Bovino in a long trench coat.
Follow: @AFpost
@FittsRaleigh Brother it was 4.10 last week and in Currituck it’s still 3.75. Americans shouldn’t have to live this way so Israel can kill more children
Black people are more biologically suited to the chemical conditions of modern existence than any other race on earth. They're supermutants built to exert intense displays of force, speed, and violence while their bodies run on the most putrid swill imaginable.
Black people will eat sour sugar coated corn starch shards and jelly melon kool aid syrup cubes, waylaying the incumbent waves of sugar rushes through a perpetually sustained train engine of weed smoke in their lungs that enhances their genetically granted subhuman IQ sloggery.
The core of their being is a series of biochemical tornadoes, all cancelling each other out into a chaotic stillness. Their hormone system is a nitroglycerin bomb that vibrates in unsettling anticipation for the most minor sensory input to trigger them into caving in an elderly retiree's skull into the corner of a trash bin at McDonald's.
Black people eat styrofoam and crisco while packing their kid's lunches with sour skittles and cornflour dust. They'll grow up eating nothing but candy, maturing into 6 foot tall ogres at age 13.
Much like slaves could pick cotton all day on a diet of pig guts and crawdads cooked inside a dirt hole for 14 hours straight, the modern black will pour an entire tub of sugar, salt, and rapeseed oil into their gullet before exerting themselves expeditiously. There are D-line tacklers on college football teams that regularly exert the daily Newton output of an industrial hammer mill fueled entirely by blue gatorade, nutter butters, and spicy dust sunflower seeds.
Beyond the taste, the vibrant colors suggest a childlike essence to their impulses. An eternal Shape Store out of the foods they eat, like a parade of Niggy Wonkas bedazzling their world in a technocolor fiesta of artificial flavoring. Divorced from any ancestral connection to their already pre-civilization bare mud culture, black people have borrowed the fruits of industrialization to invent something completely new beyond any scope of comprehension.
Black culture and its symbiosis of artificial elements and consumer products represents a natural organism completely adapting and thriving in the conditions of a post-industrial society. Rather than fighting against the entropy of biological health, they accelerate their own life cycles into rapidly dying and reproducing. Each wave of deaths induced through diabetes, gunshot wounds, crashed cars, heart disease, and prison stabbings slowly erodes against the barriers until they reach a state of equilibrium. They're much like orcs, consciously weaving through the limitations of normal human beings and carving out a niche of constant suffering and joy in abrupt oscillations.
As much as we despise the level of disruption they cause in society, their turbulence causes an extreme level of striving necessity that creates new elements of culture. They'll continue to slobber over pustules of aspartame coated pork fat and guzzle cough medicine sewer runoff, sprinting and hollering the entire time on all fours to climb 20 foot tall fences while being chased by the police.
They'll gather and howl and bluster and burn, exploding in a great societal supernova to beat their chest over the ashes of western civilization, corn syrup and Jolly Rancher malt liquor coursing through their veins. A brief reveille celebrating something they don't understand, ignorant to the dark storm cloud of Chinese slaughter cruelty and mestizo turboviolence pesticide coming from both flanks to eradicate them from modern existence.
And as is true for all fallen opponents in history, the traces of their spirit will reside on in the cultures that too replaced them. A chunk of pineapple marinaded in strawberry sugar as part of a 50-spice pot of boiling oil stew. A grunting ebonic element nestled into caveman gurbled Spanglish. Something not quite Asian, not quite white, not fully brown, neither human nor animal, embedded with wires stained in smoke. A shambler of the technopocalypes, sifting through piles of circuitry to rip gold flakes out for salvage.
A modern human in a time beyond your great grandchildren, r-type favela warrior jumbled beyond the comprehension of you or your fellow ancestors as you look down at him running, crawling, hiding, and evading killbots and acid rain. He chops a rat's head off before sprinkling gunpowder and chili flakes on its barely cooked carcass.
He rips bits of its flesh with fingers scarred by flechette-applied micro RFID chips, stuffing morsels of meat into a purple grape-flavored radioactive sugar simulant. Right after he stuffs it into a bare toothed mouth under an unshielded sun, you as his observant ancestor hear the ritualistic grace litany of his age and time:
Dih bih guh. Dah bih tuh.