Friday, July 7, 2017
Trail Of (Liberal) Tears
Another day, another metric fuckton of butthurt liberal shrieks of agony.
This is why the Left is squealing like stuck pigs nonstop:
All their little shitlords fiefdoms are being overturned, and exposed to the light.
Corruption in office.
Media shilling and lying nonstop.
And on and on.
What’s fucking with their heads is rather than just talking about doing something, and being totally co-opted in about a minute (Dole/Dubbya/McCrazy/Romney/Bitch McConjob/Quisling Ryan, call your offices…), the Trumpasaurus machine just keeps hammering the fences on their safe spaces, and knocking them down.
We’re nowhere near the beginning of the end for them, but we’re certainly past the end of the beginning.
Ain’t nobody ever born who’s going to bat 1.000, but some people have been so conditioned to giving up without a fight, they’re salivating at the prospect of nothing happening, yet again. Which makes about as much sense as people greasing the tracks and sharpening the blades for their own imminent guillotining.
So for the never-Trumpers and other Useless Idiots who'd willingly see defeat snatched from the jaws of victory, and dance in the blood of those who fail trying, a conservative/GOP tradition going back to at least 1989, a little parable from the medical arts, with which I have some vague familiarity.
When you lance a boil, there’s always an inevitable amount of pain, blood, and screaming. From the victim.
Learn to relish the patient’s screams, and pay no attention to the whining about it.
And FFS, quit screaming along with them. No sympathy points will be awarded.