Posted on 07/02/2020 4:37:13 AM PDT by EyesOfTX
Haven’t you heard? Wearing a mask is a symbol of freedom. A la 1984.
I might suggest intentionally spreading wuflu in order to get the herd immunity finished, except that I don’t know where one could find a source. I don’t know anyone with wuflu, I don’t know anyone who knows anyone with wuflu. I suspect almost no one knows anyone with wuflu.
This is all so absurd, so extremely absurd.
Obviously the virus is everywhere. Nothing can stop it now. Wearing a mask and shutdowns are an exercise in futility. The powers that be are insidiously wrecking our liberties. Its way too long for a revolt.
The mask is also a symbol of manliness. George Orwell was a prophet.
All the left has to offer is virus, and the threat of violence. The Democrat party and America can not both survive together anymore.
Based on my conversations with high school children, America is done. Just a matter of time now.
“This is all so absurd, so extremely absurd.”
What’s more absurd is finding a gaggle of Cov-bots here on FR. They fell for it and push it here daily. I’ve given up thinking “Did you forget the sarcasm tag?”
Yeah, we’re gonna get a revolution out of this bunch! Give me a break.
The young folk (mostly asymptomatic and mild cases) were starting to develop more of the herd immunity the state needs.
Put a human head on an animal. Fauxi’s head fits on a worm, Gates’ on a jackass. Apologies to the animal kingdom. Man is The Most Dangerous Game.
“No animal had a chance with me any more. That is no boast; it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought of this it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you.”
Rainsford leaned across the table, absorbed in what his host was saying.
“It came to me as an inspiration what I must do,” the general went on.
“And that was?”
The general smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmounted it with success. “I had to invent a new animal to hunt,” he said.
“A new animal? You’re joking.” “Not at all,” said the general. “I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island built this house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfect for my purposes—there are jungles with a maze of traits in them, hills, swamps—”
“But the animal, General Zaroff?”
“Oh,” said the general, “it supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow bored now, for I have a quarry with which I can match my wits.”
Rainsford’s bewilderment showed in his face.
“I wanted the ideal animal to hunt,” explained the general. “So I said, `What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?’ And the answer was, of course, `It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason.”’
“But no animal can reason,” objected Rainsford.
“My dear fellow,” said the general, “there is one that can.”
“But you can’t mean—” gasped Rainsford.
“And why not?”
“I can’t believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke.”
“Why should I not be serious? I am speaking of hunting.”
“Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff, what you speak of is murder.”
The general laughed with entire good nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically. “I refuse to believe that so modern and civilized a young man as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value of human life. Surely your experiences in the war—”
“Did not make me condone cold-blooded murder,” finished Rainsford stiffly.
Laughter shook the general. “How extraordinarily droll you are!” he said. “One does not expect nowadays to find a young man of the educated class, even in America, with such a naive, and, if I may say so, mid-Victorian point of view. It’s like finding a snuffbox in a limousine. Ah, well, doubtless you had Puritan ancestors. So many Americans appear to have had. I’ll wager you’ll forget your notions when you go hunting with me. You’ve a genuine new thrill in store for you, Mr. Rainsford.”
“Thank you, I’m a hunter, not a murderer.”
“Dear me,” said the general, quite unruffled, “again that unpleasant word. But I think I can show you that your scruples are quite ill founded.”
“Yes?”
“Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. The weak of the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth:
“The Most Dangerous Game” - Richard Connell
Fauxi and Trey Billygoat Gates are the scum of the earth. Eugenicists in the Softkill Army of the Super elites.
Arm up.
Worm head with his buddies...
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.