Z-anon-sensei Speaks #98

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“Frederico, you remember from under the earth…” Neruda

William Aaron Burr is the Attorney General of the United States. He is standing alone in a restroom in the halls of Congress, pissing painfully into a marble urinal. He finishes, goes to the sink. His own face surprises him as he starts to wash his hands. It isn’t pretty. He looks more and more like the bulldog both his enemies and admirers compare him to. An old, and extremely ugly bulldog. He blames his congressional enemies, he blames the press, he blames the job. Burr is really, really tired of his job, but he knows he will die in jail if he loses it, and so he heaves a deep sigh and gives himself a sharp, but not self-punishing slap across his own cheek. Just a little wake-me-up. After all, what are a few more counts of perjury on top of treason, anyway? He chuckles to himself, shakes his jowls in the mirror, straightens his tie, and walks back out into the Congressional hearing, thinking, “This shit is getting old, but I guess I am, too.”

All of Burr’s responses to the predictable Congressional questions have been scripted by Blake Steele, on loan from Wolfe-at-the-door over in DHS. This takeover of the cities business has Burr working closely with Wolfe-at-the-door lately. Burr hates that little turd, but he has good staff. That Blake Steele knows how to handle a few stupid questions from the bozos in Congress.

Meanwhile, back at the WhoreHouse, Pretendident Thump is finally getting his wall erected, after years of failure and dysfunction. Granted the new, limited wall stretches only around the WhoreHouse itself, blocking from Melancholia’s view the endless protests which upset her greatly. Melancholia Thump doesn’t want to hear all those nasty voices or see for got’s sake those nasty faces, and for once Thump is going along with her. He hates all that crap, too. And Thump is giving her free reign behind the new wall to turn the newly renamed GrossGarden into a permanent version of her nightmarish Christmas decorations. Rumors are that it will feature carnivorous plants. Z-anon-sensei says they are glad it will at least be blocked from public view by the new wall.

Like snow to the Aleut or rain to the Oregonian, things known too well develop for themselves a finer-tuned lexicon, a vocabulary focused in to another scale of detail. Coughing becomes like that for those too often exposed to tear-gas, and for those in the early stages of Covid-19. From “just a tickle” to “clearing the throat” to hack to cough sneeze choke wheeze snuffle up through various octaves and nasal passages into unstoppable fits and full-on, super-volcano-style lung-eruptions that leave the sufferer exhausted and unable to breathe for minutes afterward. There are levels of all these things— snow, rain, and coughing— for which no words are available. They are becoming expert enough to know which cough it is before it even begins.

But Z-anon-sensei says they are suffering today from a peculiar reduction of symptoms, an uneasy easing of the pressure of the moment which only allows a more acute awareness of the broader situation. It isn’t pretty.

^darkpower has always had deep roots in racism, back to the days of American slavery and far before. Hatred of an identifiable other is so easy for them to manipulate, once the ^mythmeme of racism is instilled. Their ^darkplan involves using an affiliation of racist organizations in full cooperation with the Thump regime to create racial division and violence. Thump’s fixer and crony, the recently convicted and pardoned Rager Stain, was photographed in Oregon last year with a group of “prowdbois”, part of the racist network aiming to spark the great boogaloo, which in their imaginations will be the final race war to create a white nation in America. The murder of George Floyd was the trigger, and the first act of destructive rioting came from the white supremacist ^umbrellaman, who has now been identified.

The first domino in the chain. And here we are.

Nuff said.


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