By Nicky Reid aka Comrade Hermit
Exile in Happy Valley
One thing that has become crystal fucking clear to any sane sentient creature with a pulse who has paid attention to current events over the last month is the fact that America’s cherished fascist institution known as the police is completely and totally fucking useless to working class people. By night, our self-flagellating martyrs in blue become harder to find than Waldo as they’re outnumbered by the most irate of the citizenry they’ve wronged, who’ve turned their rage inward towards defenseless small business’ while the true target of their anger cowers in the shadows of the flames. By sunrise however, these heavily armed cowards suddenly rediscover that old fighting side of them and prove their shriveled manhood by laying into guitar-strumming pacifists with flailing truncheons, Covid-friendly tear gas, and a torrential downpour of barely-less-than-lethal rubber rounds. Just like schoolyard bullies and neo-Nazi skinheads, the neckless jarheads of the American police state are only badass’ when its ten against one and that one is a sickly old peacenik that could be bowled over by a stiff wind.
This little ritual of jackbooted nocturnal pussyfooting is only broken up when these uber-macho alpha males take the time out of their busy ruthless schedules to cry on Tucker Carlson’s shoulder about how they’re the real victims in all this. Speaking as a transgender anarchist who has literally had friends murdered by my local police force, there is nothing more nauseatingly hilarious then watching a bulging clump of roided-out, military armed, poster boys for toxic masculinity throw themselves a pity-parade masquerading as a press conference so they can tell faggot snowflakes like me how oppressed they are now that they’re finally being called out for their hyper-homicidal behavior. “Well, I’m proud to be a pig! My pistol goes Bang! Bang! My siren goes Woo! Woo! And mommy says I’m still a hero!” “Yeah!” “That’s right!” “You tell em Sarge!” For the love of Christ, talk about crisis actors. Someone bring me the world’s smallest violin so I can play a maudlin tune for these blubbering baby-killers.
Naturally, the only people more sickening than the endangered white males of the right are their sycophantic, glad-handing, partners in crime in the Democratic Party. While Joe Biden is kept a safe distance from anymore black men with microphones in his basement, Nancy Pelosi and her posse of woke Clintonian dinosaurs dawn dashikis, take a knee, and work hard to heal our nation’s wounds with wheel spinning empty gestures like changing the Confederate names on our war criminal factories to something more politically correct, because god knows George Floyd will rise from the grave if we can just train Bolivians to waterboard their Indians in a building named after Harriet Tubman.