"Everything's on the table" cuts both ways, youngsters.
The Democommunists have now brazenly stolen two elections, the presidency, the Senate, and the entire republic, and they think there's no penalty for that.
They keep thinking that the courts they have on speed dial will always be the only ones in session.
Government, at every level, has been lawfully petitioned for a redress of grievances, and the response from each one has been unswervingly the same:
"Go fuck yourselves, peasants."
Fair enough, public disservants, and flaming assholes. We tried it your way. Now we know who the assholes are, and it's about time for a high colonic. The antics of our would-be overlords have now identified exactly where to insert the enema hose, and boy, howdy, this one's coming straight outta the hot tap, at scalding temperature.
You're all going to find out just how ungovernable an army of Deplorables is, when they revoke consent to be governed by such lawless bastards as what is about to be inflicted upon the entire body politic.
Everything is in bounds now.
You. Your family. Your home. Your entire life. Everything you count on. Every miracle of modern life you take for granted. All. Of. It.
Sweet Baby Jesus, jackholes, Shia La Bonehead tried to play hide and seek with a gorram flag, with the entire planet to hide it in, and weaponized autists played Capture the Flag crossed with Whack-A-Mole, and crushed him so hard he finally cried and quit the game. In mere days.
And you think we're afraid of you?!?!?
Pffft. You're going to be the first through seventeenth courses, with your own asses on the platter, until we decide it's time for dessert.
Two weeks. Or, maybe not. Maybe the hunting license has already been issued. It's hard to say.
Spoiler Alert: Unlike the cinematic Warriors, you won't be making it home.
But we're going to to be the Riffs of your nightmares. Because the whole country is our turf. Can you dig it?
Clue in, here. You're not dealing with your short-bus mental retards. You're dealing with the entire Basket Of Deplorables.
The people who work for a living, rather than vote for one. Scientists, engineers, medical professionals, welders, electricians, mechanics, and a thousand other occupations that make daily life in the modern world possible. Or,...not. People who know what piece takes forever to get, costs the most, cripples the Machine with one laser-focused blow.
And not to put too fine a point on it, the people from flyover country who always fight the wars that you and your cronies start, for your own benefit. The guys (and women, let's remember) who've served one/two/eight/eleventy tours in every Shitholia and Trashcanistan we've been to as a nation since Kennedy's assassination. Even the ones you don't know about, or would rather forget. But they know about them, and haven't forgotten any of it. They're the ones who can undermine, overthrow, and subvert a country a hundred different ways, and kill you forty-two ways, including with their brains.
You're in for an awfully interesting next four years of the coming Fraudulency.