You want to know why I’m leaving? You think it’s about the weather? About finding some cheap piece of ass in a foreign country? Christ. If only it were that simple.
No. I’m leaving because the whole goddamn house is rotten. Not just a leaky faucet or a few termites in the basement. I’m talking about the foundation. The beams. The whole goddamn structure is giving way, and the only ones who don’t seem to notice are the ones who are still busy polishing the goddamn silverware.
I didn’t vote for Trump. Let’s get that straight. I’m an independent, mostly because both parties look like the same two whores working different sides of the street to me. I voted for Bernie, the crazy old socialist bastard, not because I believed his bullshit, but because he was the only one who seemed to understand that the whole goddamn game was rigged, that the establishment, the real enemy, needed to be burned to the ground. They cheated him, of course. The Democrats always eat their own.
But Trump… Christ. He wasn’t supposed to win. He was the monkey wrench in their beautiful, quiet, and completely corrupt machine. He came down that escalator, and he didn’t just announce he was running for president; he declared war on the whole goddamn rotten edifice. And they’ve spent the better part of a decade trying to crucify him for it.
And you sit here, and you watch the show, and you have to admire the sheer, beautiful, ugly artistry of their desperation.
First, it was the Russia collusion hoax. A ghost story cooked up by Hillary, that bitter, ambitious queen of the damned, and her eunuchs in the Obama administration. They spied on him. They used the FBI, the CIA, the whole goddamn alphabet soup of the secret state, not to protect the country, but to protect their own quiet, comfortable power. They tried to sideline a duly elected president, to drown his first two years in a beautiful, expensive, and completely fraudulent investigation. And half the country, the good, quiet, respectable half, they cheered it all on.
Then, when that didn’t work, they pulled out the sequel. The Hunter Biden laptop. A real, honest-to-God artifact from the belly of the beast, a beautiful, ugly roadmap to the Biden family’s quiet, global corruption. And what happened? Poof. Magic trick. Fifty-one former “intelligence” officials, the same kind of spooks who’ve been lying to us about everything from Vietnam to WMDs, they all signed a letter. “Russian disinformation,” they called it. The FBI, who had the goddamn laptop in their possession, who knew it was real, they met with the social media companies, these new, quiet, and completely unaccountable gatekeepers of reality, and they told them to bury the story. And they did. They censored it. They killed it. Right before an election. A beautiful, quiet, and completely successful coup.
And that brings us to the final act. The coronation of the ghost. Joe Biden. A man whose mind is a goddamn museum of cobwebs and forgotten memories. They knew. The party knew. The media knew. They all knew he was a hollowed-out shell, a puppet whose strings were being pulled by God knows who. But they hid it. They propped him up, they fed him his lines through an earpiece, they kept him in the basement, away from any light that might expose the rot. They sold you a corpse and told you it was a statesman. And they kept the lie going until he finally had to stand on a debate stage, and the whole goddamn illusion just… melted. Right before our eyes.
And you look at all this. The lies. The manipulation. The quiet, steady, and completely ruthless weaponization of the entire goddamn system against one man, and by extension, against the half of the country that dared to vote for him. The FBI tapping the phones of senators, of political organizations. The local DAs, these ambitious little Caesars in cheap suits, coordinating their attacks with the White House. Fannie Willis, Alvin Bragg, Jack Smith… a whole goddamn firing squad, all aiming at the same target.
And you ask yourself, “What the hell is happening to this country?”
And then you look at the other side. The ones who are supposed to be the opposition. And what do you see? Silence. Quiet, respectable, and completely castrated silence. Or worse, you see them nodding along, happy to watch the machine take out the man they’re too scared to fight themselves.
And the people? The good, honest, hardworking people of America? They’re just… tired. They’re fat, and they’re comfortable, and they’re scared. They’re scared of losing their jobs, their friends, their place in the quiet, respectable herd. It’s easier to just go along with the madness than it is to stand up and say, “This is bullshit.” They’re like the people in the Matrix, the ones who know the steak isn’t real, but they eat it anyway because it tastes so goddamn good. They’d rather live in a comfortable lie than face the hard, ugly, beautiful, and completely inconvenient truth.
[Image contrasting the Matrix red pill and blue pill]
This isn’t about left versus right anymore. This is about America versus anti-America. It’s about the people who still believe in the messy, beautiful, and completely imperfect promise of this country, versus the people who want to burn the whole goddamn thing to the ground and replace it with… what? Some quiet, gray, and completely soul-crushing socialist utopia? Some beautiful, chaotic, and completely unworkable fantasy of tribal victimhood?
They’ve poisoned the well. They’ve turned everything into a weapon. Race, sex, history… it’s all just ammunition in their quiet, relentless war against the very idea of a shared American identity. They demonize half the country as “fascists” and “Nazis” and “threats to democracy,” and then they wonder why the whole goddamn place feels like it’s about to explode.
So you ask me why I’m leaving.
I’m leaving because the rot is too deep. The sickness is terminal. The quiet, respectable inmates have taken over the asylum, and they’re handing out the medication. And the medication is a beautiful, slow, and completely effective poison called apathy.
I’m leaving because I still believe in the beautiful, ugly, and completely honest idea of freedom. And freedom isn’t just the right to vote; it’s the right to think for yourself. It’s the right to call bullshit bullshit, even when the whole goddamn world is telling you it’s ice cream.
And that freedom, that beautiful, dangerous, and completely necessary thing, it doesn’t live here anymore. It’s been quietly, politely, and completely strangled in its sleep.
So I’m going somewhere else. Somewhere dirtier, maybe. Somewhere poorer. Somewhere more chaotic. But somewhere, hopefully, where a man can still breathe a little bit of honest air, before the whole goddamn, beautiful, fucked-up world finally, truly, and completely goes dark.
