The End of the World as We Know It
Ah, Doom. Unleashed upon the heads of them that made up the witches brew. The angry pounding of a thousand enemies feet upon your pavement. The fringe leftists, now running things, now have problems. Foreign powers now meddle in domestic affairs. Open borders, not just for Mexican agricultural labor; but for spies and killers. Their agenda is the same as the Tapeworm media: to manipulate events to get their guy in office. Precedent set, easy to fund and staff; and now the fringe leftists find that there was a reason for a work ethic, inalienable property rights, and national spirit.
I grew up in a household of veterans of the Second World War. Their friends from work or private dealings would meet on weekends for beer and start talking about the war right after dividing up whatever bowling ball bag of money was there for the division. One of the regulars at these was a chatty, when in his cups, fellow called Chris. A veteran of the British Mission to the partisans in Serbia. I heard all about everything about the Balkans, history, geography, social structure, military campaigns, and the sort of food you can to eat that is better than crow’s eggs. So, when you, over an extended period of time, see State Leadership, namely the unelected Archons of the media, cause to be created in their own largest city, a grim social laboratory that will re-create the full horrors of the Balkan sectarianism, what do you do?
A great way to make a cheap buck, is what my closest relatives have suggested. They follow up advice with action. My brother, the Baron Badwulf, masterminds shady renovations to public housing, using Asbestos-era ethics. My sister dispenses morphine to state pension holders turned madmen in old age. Their golden health care puts gold in her pocket, even as her drooling victims linger on in straightjackets and restraints. Indeed. The actual conflagration will not happen where, well, most of the people I care about live, work, and shop. They may commute into Biafra, but they do not eat meals there. They may shop in Beirut, but not for long. So, why care? Better, make a buck.
How can I profit from the collapse of Socialism? You do not need to write I am here for revenge on the bathroom mirror at work, any more. You do not need to say, my middle name is Evil, to yourself when you brush your teeth. Challenge yourself to look for some quick scalps.