Ouyay An'tcay Ixfay Upidstay

Well, unless you use a big enough hammer.

I've attempted, earnestly, logically, and at length, to point out the 57 ways Richmond is liable to turn into a shit show. The Tard Army apparently likes the taste of shit sandwich, so they're ordering a double-burger. This is why they're the Tard Army.

Absent, in every reply in opposition, was any actual explanation of the following:

Who's organizing your goat rodeo?

Why are they doing it differently than every other year before this one?

How effective is it likely to be now that you've lost the majority of your entire state government?

If you know it can't work to any good purpose, why do it?

What is the benefit of threatening your own violence at an alleged "peaceful" rally?

Why walk into a venue where you control nothing, and risk everything, when the best outcome you can hope for is that it doesn't explode in your faces, to the detriment of your purported cause, and risks injury or even death to your nominal supporters?

Why would you make your most potent national appearance a suicide mission?

Zero answers to any of that have been given, because to focus on the obvious foolish, stupid, and borderline insane mission would be to admit that it's all that and a bag of chips, on even the most cursory examination.

When it blows up, with a greater than 75% likelihood, you will change minds.
You'll get all the uncommitted Norm the Normies to go from wishy-washy unsure, to dead-set against you, and lose your state forever, and the argument from here on out.

Your "sanctuary" counties will start to slip back the other way.

Uncommitted people who'd have sided with you when you seemed grassroots sensible, will see you as nutroots deranged and dangerous.

Well played: Fucktards.
QED

But let's be fair: some of your aren't fucktards at all. You're doing exactly what your Soros- and three-letter-agency-funded handlers hired you to do. Those folks will miraculously be nowhere handy when it goes pear-shaped. And then, some of you will actually want to follow them next time, because they've BTDT and got the T-shirt. Google: controlled opposition, will ya, FFS? Sweet suffering Shiva, the FBI was doing this in the 1960s. They wrote the gorram manual on it. You could look it up!

And so, because the Bubbas nominally running this aren't any brighter than the buffaloes in a buffalo jump, they will merrily and cluelessly run you all right over the cliff. But they'll pay their rent for another month or two. Their subsequent legal bills, not so much.

Some jackhole accused me of profiting from warning you to try more logical and sensible resistance. I write no books, sell no ads, and make not a dime or anything else from putting out more smarts in the last week than some of you could gather if you doubled your IQ every day for a year. It's purely pro bono work, in this case casting pearls before swine. Fortunately that's a miniscule fraction of who reads this blog, but those of you who own it, go big and loud.

Stampede on, fucktards. What I will get is laughs, tinged with a minimum of sadness, when this almost inevitably does nothing, and far more likely explodes in your faces, as you jump up and down on it. Darwin will have his culls.

Here's the all-time classic example of what happens when Useful Idiots toting guns show up to do something they know nothing about:

Go, Tard Army! Keep working on this! It's coming loose...!

I've laid out two options here. I'm nine states away, amazed that a population that nailed down 90+% of their state now wants to set themselves on fire in public rather than calling a time out, and stopping this rush off the cliff, but you're the ones who'll live (and perhaps die) doing stupid things to no good purpose. And the ones who'll live under the consequences of the Second Pickett's Charge. It's no skin off my ass if you're suicidal, and wish your entire lives to be useful mainly just as a cautionary warning to brighter people elsewhere. (Like Malheur was.) As you will. But you get to choose, and you get to own that choice. ROWYBS.

But every day you gallop another league closer to the cliff, and the calendar's pages flip relentlessly, and the only thing you'll provide for me and a dozen other bloggers asking you to stop thinking with your big heads instead of your little ones is a punchline the next twenty times I need one, for how not to be dumber than a bag of rocks.

IQ is destiny.
Yours isn't looking very promising.

Tick-tock.



{Common sense and logic in reply is always welcome, exceedingly rare though it is.
Dick-measuring replies in Comments will be deleted into the ether, or scathingly mocked, solely at my whim. Enjoy your brief ejaculatory spurt of internet glory. I especially love it when really tiny-minded cretins accuse me or anyone else of doing nothing but typing, by doing nothing but typing.}