Voices Inside My Head #3

I have to, with great reluctance, retract something I wrote here recently.

Not because I have to; not because someone complained (as if that would work?); not because I was necessarily wrong. But because I have made a fundamental error in logic that surprises me. It's as if, for a brief moment, my normally superior linear thinking skills deserted me.

Galactic Overlords do not like to admit mistakes. However, one becomes a better Galactic Overlord by admitting them and learning from the experience. Internet Hegemony does not come to those who cannot identify and correct a critical mistake in thought.

I wrote here, with regards to the Antifa (bowel) movement that I believe that the only thing that will put an end to all of this nonsense would be to beat the snot out of these little fucktards, and then it struck me today: that's exactly what they want.

Antifa believe they live in a fascist country, because they lost an election.

Antifa believes that everyone who didn't vote they way they wanted them to is a fascist.

Antifa wants a confrontation with these imagined fascists, just for the sake of being able to say "Ha! I TOLD YOU SO!".

And then I remembered something that I've known for a very long time, but had briefly forgotten in what must have been a distracted moment when the words needed to get out of my brain and onto the screen in a hurry:

Liberals live in a fantasy world, it's true. Reality for them is something to be avoided like  simultaneous cases of Zika and Hemorrhoids, but they often have this remarkable ability to make the untrue, the unreal, come to life. Whether it is by deliberate mental exercise (Orwell called it Doublethink), or by constructing a patchwork of disparate circumstances, deliberate lies and falsifications, or a conscious effort of the will (and always with the help of media, because pictures convey lies better than words), they have this mystical ability to turn the impossible into a virtual reality.

It may be a gossamer-thin reality, because it becomes real for just long enough to have the desired effect, which in this case is to unleash a violent and deadly anger that will make the country ungovernable, to justify their lies after the fact by getting at least one Neanderthal "reactionary" to go just a bit overboard in front of a camera, and if happens to be Trump's Stormtroopers, so much the better.

So, no, we don't want to beat them bloody and toothless, even if that's what we really, really want, because in the end, it's what they really, really want, too.

So, for now, I would think the best idea is to rethink the initial strategy and find a different method which is just as shocking and more-humiliating, and demonstrates just how stupid they truly are.

Because if there are three things that will shut a libtard up and make her (it's usually a "her") go away for a while, it's to hit them over the head with their own stupidity in the most humiliating way possible, and then laugh at them. They can't stand to be shamed, they can't stand to be identified as an obvious dumbass, and your laughter is like Holy Water to a Vampire.

I will think upon this some more...

Has this ever happened to you, or am I the only one?

You're driving along. It's a long trip. You're all by yourself, and your imagination begins to get the best of you. Next thing you know, you're imagining that some figure from history has appeared in the passenger seat, astounded at their own arrival and puzzled at the very strange world they have suddenly entered.

And the dialogue begins inside your skull. You explain to them where they are, when they are, and speculate about what has happened to them. You explain the concepts of the automobile, the internal combustion engine and the expressway, stopping every so often to yell at the numb-nutted dickhead who just squeezed in between you and the car in front of you with but inches to spare before switching to the next lane, the dingleberry who has been driving for the last two miles with his left turn signal on, and the short-bus veteran who apparently doesn't know what the word "Merge" means. A string of invective flies from your lips between  brief-and-interrupted explanations of satellite radio, GPS, and Air Bags, as you need to shout at the asshole who just jammed on his brakes with no one in front of him, or the Turd Polisher who is straddling two lanes and can't make up his mind which one he wants to be in.

And the next thing you know, William Shakespeare has figured out how to use the power window and is shouting at a passing car:

Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands! You qualling whoreson mumble-news! If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases!

And then Mr. Shakespeare turns to you and asks if he's done it right.

And you tell him:

Perhaps if you tried it in Spanish, Sir?

And then you're zapped back to reality and realize that your exit is coming up.

And then you realize you've had similar experiences with Benjamin Franklin, Henry VIII, and Herodotus....

Something that pleases the Galactic Overlord to the point of astonishment:

McDonald's is now using FRESH beef in the Double Quarter Pounder.

And yes, you can taste the difference.

I don't know why I was compelled to share that with everyone, but I think today is one of those Cesspool of Consciousness Days, and my Cesspool runneth over.

Suffer...


Voices Inside My Head is a regular feature providing insights into the Superior Mental Process of Your Galactic Overlord.