“The reason Trump – a weapon, not a cure – scares the living sh*t out of the other side is because he doesn’t give a rusty fuck what the other side thinks of him, rabbit punches the sh*t out of them on their own media, and he’s immune to their disdain and catcalling.”
Trump doesn’t give a rusty fuck, it is true. But do we give a rusty fuck? Do you give a rusty fuck? We act all tough on the interwebs but it’s pretty well useless when the left has won and controls every aspect of our culture.
They control the government (in Australia we have a prog prime minister who has spent twenty years half-trying to pretend that he is a conservative, and then only because the progs wouldn’t let him join their party when he approached them first); they control film (anyone really looking forward to watching the puke-inducing awards coming up where they get some Mexican film maker fuck to get a little teary on stage as he says that there should be no walls because all your wealth belongs to them?); they control television (boy oh boy it’s so wonderful to turn on the box and be told that as a straight white male I should roll over and die so that my inferiors should feel good about their gross ineptitude); they control all education (look at this stupid mad cow from some demented university in Melbourne write a paper on how preschool-sized chairs for fucking preschoolers talked back to me about the preschool as a workplace that is gendered, feminised, child-focused and ultimately disempowering which is prog language for saying, nhana-nhana-na-na we’ve stolen your learning institutions and turned them into fucking toilet paper and not only is there nothing you can do about it but we’re going to use your taxpayer dollars to keep doing this while indebting your kids for life for a useless degree before they enter the workplace and we get hordes of third-world shitheads from shitholes to get a degree too and then give them citizenship into the bargain while we call you racist for not giving them all the jobs they want based on the color of their skin).
And they control sport. I’m getting to the sport rant.
They control it all because we don’t fight. We pretend like we don’t care. “Television? Oh, man, I don’t care about television, it’s so shit now.” Yeah, it’s shit, you stupid moron, because we ceded control of it to SJW prog retards. Don’t act all high and mighty about how you’re all above it. I bet you’ll tell me next that you don’t own a fucking television. I bet you go around reminding people on a daily basis that you don’t own a fucking television.
I’m talking about you alt-righters here, peeps. I’m talking about you people who voted for Trump and reckon that you’ve busted a nut on the commies or something. I’m talking about you droolers who read American Thinker or Catallaxy Files or Taki magazine or Brietbart fucking news. Because you all talk a big game and then what happens when it’s your personal shit on the line? What happens then? What happens every time someone from our side gets in the spotlights for a brief little snippet of time?
They say that they’re not really like that, or they don’t really read those alt-right sites, or they misclicked a few thousand times, you know the score.
What’s wrong with the alt-right anyway? Tell me what’s wrong with Vox Day’s 16 points of the alt-right? Are these somehow offensive? Don’t you pea-brained intellectual lightweight fucks understand that those sixteen points merely reflect the underpinnings of Western Civilisation which is responsible for all of your own fortunate personal circumstances? Don’t you get it that Western Civilisation was the first time in human history that man decided that the individual had worth instead of the collective? Don’t you get it that that is why we now have not just indoor plumbing, but gold plated taps and little jets of warm water to shoot up your steaming ignorant ungrateful arseholes?
This fucking guy – this fucking guy who hits fucking tennis balls back over a net for a living of all things, this guy was an active participant in alt-right discussions until he unexpectedly did better than expected at hitting balls back over the net. And what did he do then? What did he do when some fecal little guttersnipe journalists began digging around and asking him questions that should have been met with a grand Trump-inspired go fuck yourselves?
He folded, of course. He deleted his tweets going back years. It’s like a broken record. The progs just laugh at us. They don’t even really need to plant demented soyboys in the alt-right and get them to perform Nazi salutes at rallies that a prog organised for us and you all trotted along to:
“I find some of the content interesting. But no, I don’t (support it), not at all. As a firm Christian, I don’t support things like that. I support Christ and following Him. That’s what I support.”
Oh bullshit. Then why did you delete all those tweets? Hundreds of tweets going back years?
“And by Tuesday morning Sandgren had deleted hundreds of tweets, including a debate with former tennis player James Blake on racial injustice and messages supporting Brexit.”
Oh noes, Brexit! It was only voted for by the majority of the British Isles but don’t be caught dead publicly supporting something that beat out the stay in the communist-inspired EU by something like 4 million votes. Because they might say mean things about you and how would you be able to hit balls back over the net then?
But then our tennis player, who incidentally has the best name of any man to play that silly game since like ever, lost a match and was out. And something snapped in his brain, warped by years of hitting yellow balls back over nets and then somehow seeing the ball come back at him for yet another time. He had a right royal go at those same fecal guttersnipe journo prog pieces of shit:
“You seek to put people in these little boxes so that you can order the world in your already assumed preconceived ideas. You strip away any individuality for the sake of demonising by way of the collective.
“With a handful of follows and some likes on Twitter, my fate has been sealed in your minds. To write an edgy story, to create sensationalist coverage, there are a few lengths you wouldn’t go to to mark me as the man you desperately want me to be.
“You would rather perpetuate propaganda machines instead of researching information from a host of angles and perspectives while being willing to learn, change, and grow.
“You dehumanise with pen and paper and turn neighbour against neighbour.
“In so doing, you may actually find you’re hastening the hell you wish to avoid, the hell we all wish to avoid.
“It is my firm belief that the highest value must be placed on the virtue of each individual, regardless of gender, race, religion or sexual orientation.
“It’s my job to continue on this journey with the goal of becoming the best me I can and to embody the love Christ has for me, for I answer to Him and Him alone.
“I’ll take questions about the match, if you guys don’t mind. Thank you. If you have any questions about the match.”
It’s good, I’ll give him that. It’s good. But how much better would it have been if that had been his response in the first place? No deleting of tweets, no dancing around the issues. What’s wrong with supporting what the alt-right stands for? If you don’t stand for those sixteen points then go and live in Mogadishu and say hi to your friendly local warlord as you go down to buy some rice and beans while dodging the piles of human feces on the torn and bloodied ground.
Enough of this cowardly backtracking. I’m sorry Mr Sandgren, but deleting those tweets was a coward move. It was a dick move. And we see it all the time. All the fucking time. You don’t bow your head. You push back – ten times as hard. Or you stand like unyielding granite as Dr Jordan Peterson did with his interview on Channel 4 last week.
You point out that they are the crazy ones, that their views are abhorrent, that they are the actual minority, that we don’t like them, and that we’re not going to put up with any more of their shit. And you do it the very first time. You hit back so hard that they won’t even dare attempt to take you on again in the future. Do you think that stupid bint of an interviewer will ever for a single second consider stepping back into the ring with Dr Peterson? How many high-profile progs has Trump taken down with one caustic tweet of hot and steamy truth, the kind of truth that you just want to lather all over yourself?
Don’t punch right, I hear it said all the time. Mr Sandgren is no doubt on the right but fuck me dead I’m punching. You had no right to delete those tweets. You had no right to throw away our side so you could hit tennis balls safe and warm from any prog criticism. They could never have stopped you hitting tennis balls; you just wanted to be able to do it in a continued cocoon of bliss and ignorance. You had a chance, you had a real opportunity to shine a spotlight on the alt-right in a good way. You could have won converts to the cause by showing some moral backbone.
And yet you failed. And your follow-up press conference, no matter how good it was and how hard you tried, doesn’t make up for your much bigger failure. It’s the first contact that determines how people appraise you. And my first glimpse of you was discovering that you were a supposed supporter of the alt-right but in the face of a few questions from people whose IQ is barely enough for them to get out of bed in the morning, you chucked us all under a bus.
Fuck that. Fuck that good and hard. And if you don’t like the tone of my language because of your good Christian beliefs then you need to take your head out of where the sun doesn’t shine. Because this is what you need to hear and you need to hear it hard.
And that is the plural you. This is for all of you who supposedly are on our side. What are you going to do if the spotlight of the drooling press turns its incoherent eye on you? Are you going to fold and crawl into a corner and curl up and die? Or are you going to stand and fight like Trump and Peterson? Because it’s the first contact that counts. It’s the first time that they attack you that counts. Not the second time, not the twentieth time, the very first fucking time. That’s when you have your greatest opportunity to stick it to them.
Don’t let us down. We’re watching.