I saw the story on Fox: some smug activist shouting “F*** Charlie Kirk” at a vigil for a man murdered for daring to speak his mind. At seventy-six, I’ll tell you this much: if I’d been there with my cane, I’d have been tempted to give him a correction he’d remember every time he sat down. That’s how fed up I am with these parasites who live off outrage and think respect is optional.
The Parasite Class
Black Lives Matter was never about lives — it was about money. Cash grab. Scam. A grift dressed up in hashtags. The only people enriched by it were the ones running the hustle. The true believers? Useful idiots, carrying the signs while their leaders carried the cash.
These activists are parasites. They latch onto a tragedy, inject venom in the form of slogans and false narratives, then bloat themselves on attention and donations until they fall off to feed somewhere else. It’s the same cycle every time — and America’s skin is scarred from the bites.
Reparations? You Gotta Love It
And now we’ve got another round of the “pay us reparations” chorus. You gotta love it when people a hundred years removed want today’s working stiffs to cut checks for something their great-great-grandparents never owned. Here’s a history lesson you won’t hear in Moronica U: slavery wasn’t invented in America. It was perfected in Africa long before Columbus set sail.
If you’re so eager to pay reparations, don’t come shaking down the white guy working double shifts to keep his lights on. Book a ticket to Africa and hand your “reparations” over to the descendants of the people kidnapped and sold by their own kind for a sack of trinkets and a jug of rum.
The Cultural Revolution
Our Founders never imagined free speech being twisted into this circus. They fought for liberty, not for mobs screaming profanity at vigils, not for liars staging hate crimes, not for an industry of professional victims who think patriotism is optional but handouts are mandatory.
The cultural revolution isn’t coming — it’s here. And it isn’t about color, it’s about character. About parasites who bleed this nation dry versus the hosts who are finally saying no more.
Final Sitrep
I don’t care what labels they scream: racist, xenophobe, whatever the word of the week is. When truth burns, they always call it hate. Fine. Let it burn. Give them their own country, their own playground. Call it what it is: Moronica.