To all you dirty fascist leftists,
It’s absurd, really, that I have to remind you once again that your emotional appeals are simply ridiculous. You go marching in the streets with your black boots, skinny jeans, and nose rings saying we need to stop fracking or some other Marxist garbage.
It’s laughable; charming, even. Good policy is based on fact, such as the fact that my priest told me life starts at conception. You wave around that fist convinced you’re gonna use it to choke the 1%, and if that’s the case, choke me first.
Come on, do it. March to my house, bust down my door, and throw me onto my table. Look me dead in the eyes and tell me all about the so-called “exploitation of the working class.” But not right away, wrap your fingers around my neck and stare into my eyes, and only let go when I start to feel myself slipping away. Only then do I want to know what you’re going to do to me.
Because you won’t be asking – you’ll be taking.
Redistribute the wealth that is my body, you pig.