Easy there, Field Marshall Fucktardette Snowflake.
Morons like you forget at your own peril, that exactly like the recipe for ice, the recipe for Arkancide has been out on the internet and in the public domain since about 1400 B.C.
Your mouth is writing checks your ass cannot cash, and you're going to find that unless you have a mouse in your pocket, there's no "we", there's only "you", and you are a very vulnerable and fragile little lump of protoplasm, on whom the universe has conferred no discernable superpowers.
This ain't the movies, and you ain't Captain Marvel nor Wonder Woman. But one whacktard out of 330M people decides it's open season, and you're about 3 pounds of pressure away from being an utterly forgettable memory, with less presence in the collective psyche than the name of The Knack's second album.
But keep throwing jet fuel on the rhetorical pyre, and you're going to discover the afterlife at the speed of heat when it blows up and consumes you, and the universe won't even burp at your transition. And your appointment book a week later is gong to be pretty wide open.
And you set the precedent that it's open season on your entire political opposition merely because you think you can, and they may decide to open the range hot in both directions, pre-emptively, and end your entire caucus, just for the exercise.