Eight years ....
Eight years.
Wasn't going to post. Wasn't going to make a nothing/token entry. But seems the world, our world, quite possibly ... will be lost. A generation of minds so weak, so pathetic. So called leaders, devoid of spines, and proudly ... ever so, smiling. Holding aloft their broken moral compass'.
Predicting the future ... not always a profitable or rewarding venture. But this path, this path to welcoming and inviting the caliphate, on hands and knees. Revolting. Lives are being lost. More will be. Even in surrender.
I shall stand tall all my days. I'll not live on my knees. I'll not pay homage to murderers. I'll not countenance cowards. Nor traitors. Nor agents thereof.
As the Islamist bug, who presumes to occupy the Oval Office, tries to sustain his faux presidency, through any and all means. This cockroach who seeks to destroy both memory and meaning of this day. Shall not take my memory. Shall not force me to look away. Shall not cow me into silence. Through deceit, lies, obfuscation, doublespeak, misdirection, and inversion. Via his own insect arm. And through his everpresent, always at the ready, loyal insect army/MSM/Obamedia propaganda machine.
Eight years gone.
Today, this very minute. This very second. This country is under attack. From within, by traitors. Make no mistake, our very lives, our very existence, our world entire. Is in peril.
Watch your six.
Wasn't going to post. Wasn't going to make a nothing/token entry. But seems the world, our world, quite possibly ... will be lost. A generation of minds so weak, so pathetic. So called leaders, devoid of spines, and proudly ... ever so, smiling. Holding aloft their broken moral compass'.
Predicting the future ... not always a profitable or rewarding venture. But this path, this path to welcoming and inviting the caliphate, on hands and knees. Revolting. Lives are being lost. More will be. Even in surrender.
I shall stand tall all my days. I'll not live on my knees. I'll not pay homage to murderers. I'll not countenance cowards. Nor traitors. Nor agents thereof.
As the Islamist bug, who presumes to occupy the Oval Office, tries to sustain his faux presidency, through any and all means. This cockroach who seeks to destroy both memory and meaning of this day. Shall not take my memory. Shall not force me to look away. Shall not cow me into silence. Through deceit, lies, obfuscation, doublespeak, misdirection, and inversion. Via his own insect arm. And through his everpresent, always at the ready, loyal insect army/MSM/Obamedia propaganda machine.
Eight years gone.
Today, this very minute. This very second. This country is under attack. From within, by traitors. Make no mistake, our very lives, our very existence, our world entire. Is in peril.
Watch your six.
posted by AnechoicRoom at 10:26 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home