Statism: The New “Rebellion”


The 1960s happened a few years before my time. But through film, music, and the stories of my elders, I have a pretty firm grasp of the massive social change that took place. It was a decade when young women burned their bras, and young men burned their draft cards. While other young men their age, went off to die in the jungles of Southeast Asia. It was an era of rampant drug use, outstanding music, free love, and culture-changing unrest on the home front.

If you take a step back, and a long look at the modern United States, the similarities are striking. Consider that we have now been at war for seventeen years. Some men who were in boots in 2001, now have grandchildren fighting on the same battlefields. Afghanistan has become our Vietnam. A festering, forgotten wound that barely even gets a mention in the newspapers anymore. Yet, our young people give their lives everyday, in cities and villages that the modern social justice warrior can’t even pronounce.

Afghanistan combat photo

No protest, no public outcry. Because the SJWs are preoccupied mourning the passing of random thugs, who played a stupid game, and won a cop’s bullet as the prize. I don’t pity pieces of garbage like them. And if you do, you’re most likely an idiot, or a Commie, which are basically synonyms. And most certainly have never been a victim of violent crime. And by “mourning” their passing, I mean, rioting, looting, assaulting police officers and innocent civilians. Yes my friends, “social justice” at it’s finest.

I must admit, I was a Socialist as a young man. Guilt by association, if you will. I had a few older friends who were quite radical. I looked up to them. Most of whom were female. They saw reality in black and white. To them the President was evil, our heritage was evil, our flag, was in fact….evil. Yet, even as a young radical, I stood for our flag and our anthem. My uncles laid waste to Nazis on the battlefields of WW2, and it’s something that I am so profoundly proud of, it makes my eyes water. I don’t glorify violence. I do, however, glorify bravery. These were normal, humble men. Yet, I sit here tonight with the blood of legends flowing in my veins.

It was this paradox that led me away from my radical role models. Love me or hate me, I’m an American cut from an old cloth. A tattered cloth, stained with blood, sweat, cordite, and sacrifice. It’s something I can never abandon. Nor will I ever be forced to feel shame for who and what I am.

You see, I’ve done quite a bit of soul searching these past few years. I’ve come to the sad realization that I am now hated more than I am loved. Why? Simply for being. Being what? For being a man who refuses to feel guilty for his pride. I refer to my readers as friends. In reality, my life has few of these. I have two close friends that I can think of. They live just down the street. And, although we don’t always agree, we trust one another. We come from the old America. A time when failure was life’s first lesson. And you didn’t get to go home with a trophy just for showing up.

How times have changed. Because everyone is an SJW now. I was accused just last week of being a homophobe. I made a harmless joke to a fellow male (whom I’ve known for 20 plus years). This was blown out of proportion, I was labeled a homophobe, and the witch hunt began. I found this ironic. Because back in the day, I was marching for gay rights, while these same morons were strung out on heavy drugs, and living in roach-infested basements. But everyone’s an SJW now. It’s easy. Watch CNN, get the lowdown on this week’s scripted crisis, call your neighbor a racist (or homophobe), talk about gun control, and you’re an SJW. Never mind real sacrifice, or, heaven forbid…danger. That requires actual work, and you don’t get a trophy.


You see, we live in an era of two states. We have a lawfully elected President, and we have his saboteurs. I call them “the other state.” This other state hates traditional American values so badly, they will go to almost any length to discredit, disrupt, or destroy real progress. Be it by phony, scripted stories, staged interviews, or absolutely manufactured division. And this phony division is something I’ve really been wanting to talk about for a while.

I find it rather funny when celebrities climb onboard. Yes, please, preach to us a bit more about racial inequality and class warfare, from the balcony of your mansion. Oh, yes, Mr. talentless, overpaid, worthless athlete. Kneel before that flag. Disrespect the very nation that has made you a millionaire, for doing absolutely nothing of significance. Somewhere along the line, these people woke up with the delusion of importance. I can assure you, they are not. They are merely marionettes, and will be remembered as such.

Yes, they can disrespect the Flag, the very nation that throws wealth at them. Yet, when I, or others of like-mind speak an opinion…well, you know the rest.

I could say I’m tired of it, and I am, but most importantly, I’m just tired. As a gun owner, I’m vilified by the progressives I know, every time one of THEIR heavily-medicated, Socialist peers blows a schoolyard or concert hall to Hell. These same SJW do-gooders who lay blame on me, need heavy medications just to muster the bravery to leave their homes. Few have known real tragedy. Few have known the night terrors of fallen battle buddies crying for help. Few have ever woken up not knowing where in the fuck they are. And I would venture to say that their sleep is not haunted by men who no longer live, or the lovers and peers that have abandoned them.

Yet, they are always the experts on struggle, and injustice. And always the first to find a scapegoat. To call them cattle, would almost be a compliment. Cattle serve a purpose, and they never expect sympathy.

I will call them what they are. “Statists,” whether they know it or not. They’re being used. Being manipulated, force-fed, and feeding this fake division that is nowhere near what the robots in front of the TV cameras will have you believe. I know this because, I work with a wide variety of cultures, and ethnicities.

Statism SJW

They work hard, and expect nothing but what they have broken their backs for. This is a concept that the SJW can not understand. Hard work humbles a person. Ethnic background quickly melts away when you’re grinding your bones into the dirt together. At some point, you just become brothers and sisters. And this “divide” that is spoken of, quickly becomes a falsehood. You’ll never find an SJW wearing work boots. I would bet money on that.

I look at this David Hogg twat that is suddenly everywhere. I can’t imagine this little prostitute doing anything but eating tide pods. He is the walking definition of a “cuck boy.” A living, breathing insult to manhood. Yes, Mr. Hogg, lecture us about gun control, and praise the coward officers who did nothing while children were being gunned down. Congratulations, kid, you’re a hooker. You’ll do well at CNN. Pardon me, but I’ll pass on opinions from someone who was shitting in a diaper when I was entering my thirties.

I know I give millenials a hard time. If you’re reading this, most of you deserve it. I don’t care what kind of hand life dealt you. I don’t want to hear about the troubled times we live in. Guess what, kids? In the real world, you don’t get trophies. You get knocked down, your heart gets broken, and people you love die. And when you stand in the street, protesting whatever lie you’ve been fed this week, you get run over. The world owes you nothing. And you don’t have my sympathy. Man up, get up, and work for a change. It’s hard, it’s ugly. Sometimes it makes you bleed. Sometimes you’ll come home at the end of the day, and weep silently at your desk. It’s called adulthood. I suggest you get used to it. My generation is aging, and beyond tired of holding your hands.

The world is far from black and white. And I’ll tell you a secret, some of the very people you claim to be fighting for, hate your guts. I challenge any of you to lecture one of my Puerto Rican coworkers about class warfare, or perhaps desecrate an American flag in their presence. I literally cringe at the thought of what they would do to you.

You’re the entitled generation that has had your exsistence handed to them. Things like mere words hurt your fragile little egos. You need safe spaces because thee President is “scary.” What some of you need is a solid ass kicking, and an old fashioned 9-5 job. Something funny happens to a young person, when they put in 40 plus hours a week busting their asses. The cold fist of reality knocks their jaw sideways. And the radical idealist withers away.

I’m damn proud of my parent’s generation. They made real change. Maybe I don’t agree with all of it, but they did it. And they asked for nothing. They fought for social change, and made it happen. They also put a man on the Moon and fought against the evils of Communism and Nazis. From my perspective, I’m looking at an entire generation of 21st Century, walking memes. You would fit well with the progressives I once let infect my life like a cancer. They need safe spaces as well. Things like words, and lawfully elected men in suits scare them. They need drugs just to walk outside, and very few have ever worn work boots.

Yet, you think the liberal professors, and talking heads care about you. They need you. They’re too old, and too tired to have any real impact. They need someone to roll over on when things get rough. Believe me, I’m a subject matter expert. I once called these venom-spewing bigots my allies. I grew tired of the anti-Jew hatred, I grew tired of their worthless protests, and obese man-hating women who smelled like cat piss. These same women, who saw me as inferior, simply for being born with a penis. If you happen to be a cuck boy, refer to your own mother as a reference. And if that remark strikes a nerve, it’s probably true.

This world isn’t yours, SJWs. You’re born with life, liberty, and the PURSUIT of happiness. You can view your elders as the enemy. You can view traditional America as your enemy. The cold hard truth is this, your enemy looks at you every morning in the mirror. And your handlers are laughing at you, all the way to the bank.


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here