My dear Democratic elected officials:
So. Here's the thing.
I - we, many, many of us who voted you in - didn't give you this power, this chance, to "do policy".
We didn't hand you the tools of governance for "comity", "reconciliation", "moving forward", or "reaching across the aisle".
We want heads.
We want fucking heads.
On pikes, on fenceposts, in baskets.
We want skins tacked up on walls and blood trails dragged off into the darkness the way their fucking ICE goons dragged off our brothers and sisters.
We want torches. We want pitchforks. We want to sit at the foot of the national razor knitting and grinning as the skulls come bouncing down like a rain of Republican tears.
Okay. Now. Once the tattered corpses of human twatmites like Whiskey Pete Hegseth, Brainworm Bobby Kennedy, Nosferatu Steve Miller, Couchfucker Vance, each, every, and all of these Nazi scum have been dragged off by the heels, every bit of sheetrock from the fucking ballroom ha been shoved up Trump's capacious ass, every stick of the goddamn border wall, every blueprint for The Arch de Trump put in the burn bin?
We can talk legislation.
Until then, not one moment's peace. Not a second's respite. As an accomplished slayer of an earlier generation of traitors remarked:
"War is the remedy that our enemies have chosen, and I say let us give them all they want."
