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FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Sirs and Madams of the Establishment,

Would you allow me, a nobody from nowhere, grateful for the kind reception extended to me by a few ghostly friendlies as I have re-launched my low-born re-e-incarnated self, to show my concern about recovering your dignity and to humbly advise that your stars which, since e-time immemorial, seem to have shone so brightly, are at risk of being dimmed forever by a most shameful and indelible of stains?

Yes, I know it hard to imagine worse to come. Call me Cassandra. (Or call me Shirley. Just call me!)




Sad to say, despite the dedicated attempts of the revolutionaries, the black sheeps, the old farts, the more original of the cardinal dioists, along with other chucklheads, ne'er-do-wells and humorists to offer corrective remedies, there lingers about your lordships and ladyships a collective, ummm, excuse me, oh, how shall I put it, umm...athletic?...smell. And your fat as... Oh. Or. Well. What I mean is. As the Great Marx Hisself once put it: "I can see you now. Standing in the kitchen over a hot stove. But I can't see the stove."

Get me?



And despite all of this, you still sit about unscathed, self-congratulating on winning the deep admiration and affection of all.

Yes, you are seeing a radiant reflection in your looking-glasses, messieurs et mesdames, in the patriotic and partriarchal glory of our country's alliance with Russia and other imperialist swine, as you are fixing to preside over the staid and solemnal triumph of, what is it, cycle 120 or something, of the post-Emerikan jewel that crowns this great labor of "federalism" and "workerism".

But alas, what filth dastardly e-history has cast upon your reigns. And now I see, having looked back from beyond, that the image of e-America is sullied by a filthy veneer, and that history shall record that it was under your serial engineered presidencies that an astounding crime against the people was committed.




As others have dared, so shall I dare. Dare to tell the boring truth, as I have pledged to tell it, in full, since the normals have failed to do so. My duty is to speak out; I do not wish to be an accomplice in this travesty. I have returned from the e-grave haunted by the spectre of the innocents, here in eRepublik, suffering the most horrible of tortures -- a boring e-existence -- for crimes they did not commit.

And it must be to you, Serenes and Serenas, that I shall proclaim this trust, with all the force born of the revulsion of an honest player. Knowing your core integral strengths, knowing that the light still burns somewhere inside you -- well, except for certain of your hatchetmen and golems who are just irredeemable -- I am convinced that you simply do not know the truth, or have forgotten it, or mislaid it, because I must believe in the light within you, even if I do not believe in you.

And after all, to whom if not to you, the top combo magistrate-magnate-maestro-politico class of the country, shall I reveal the vile baseness beneath the glam of power? It is, after all, your duty, which is ultimately ours, of which we speak. So let us speak frankly. (Speaking of Frank, where is he?)




At the root of it all, obviously, is one evil man: Ajay Bruno, who, like his Dark Master, has gone by many names. He is the entire case, and the entirety of it will only come to light when an honest and thorough enquiry firmly establishes his modus operandibutt and responsibilititties. He appears to have been the shadiest and most complex of creatures, spinning outlandish intrigues, stooping to the deceits of cheap thriller novels, complete with innuendo, insults, meetings in underground parking garages, with mysterious wimminz and minstrels scurrying about in the night, the excessive peddling of pernicious rightist hoo-ha, racist flim-flam, anti-gay gibberish, reaganistic poppycock and misogynistic moonshine, and other assorted hogwash, guff, bosh, drivel and malarkey.

It was he who drove you, somewhat insanely, to implement a regime of such mind-numbing boredom, to promote a dictatorship of drivel that most boldy and goober-patriotically aimed at stomping out the least flicker of naughtiness or resistance, to erect a machine of the keenest controls, lest a single wave of populism wash over The Wall That Publius Built and thereby threaten to introduce a bean of good bosh, the slightest crack of craic or, Bruno forbid, even a teaspoonful of e-terror.

Somewhat ironically, Bruno is both the bane of your existence and the reason for your "success".

He was the one who came up with the scheme to put the fear into our minds, who dictated the text of subversion to the scheming mad Servian hordes (LOL), whilst casting anti-communist aspersions on the brave proletarian-internationalist heros of the SFP who strove so bravely to show another way. He, the nefarious Bruno, was the one that was caught carrying a private encryption key that he planned to use to open the hidden tax vaults, where the people's money is squirrled away for the use of the elite soldiers who are really, after all, the only ones who deserve it.

OK. I'm not entirely sure about that last one. But somebody has probably tried to break into e-Fort Knox by now. And if not, here are some helpful hints. (Take note of point #3 in particular.)



In all of this tragedy, it was the Over-Reaction to Bruno, the soul-killing Epoch of the Trial of the Age of Anti-Brunoism, in which so many have lived and so many faded away, that is the mind-killer. It is the obsession with Anti-Brunoism that is the little-death which brings total obliteration, the philosophical and ontological fellow traveler to the Decline of eRepbulik.


However, I can testify that, strengthened by the revolutionary science of Ramonism-Nolanism, PQ Thought, I faced the fear head-on. I laughed at Bruno and despised him and never feared him. When in my cups a bit, I even admired him a little, for shaking things up. I have faced my fear. I have permitted it to pass over me and through me. And when it was gone I turned the inner eye to see its path. And where the fear had gone there was nothing, only a wasteland. And only I remained.









Obviously, I need say no more. Let us seek and we shall find. I am stating simply that all the Clams in charge, as well as their many hangers-on, minions, vassals, toadies, votaries, zealots, bootlickers, copycats and fancy companions, along with silent partisans of boredom, the adherents of the status quo, as well as the apologists for apostasy and the legion derelicts of the common malaise of tergiversation, and not forgetting the toad-in-hole revolutionaries like lame "anarcho-capialists" and whatnot, in short, a good 98% or so of the eUSA population, have been done in by garbage anti-Bruno-ist ideology, which instills fear, encourages boredom, and puts people to sleep.










Take out the trash, get woke, and don't forget bash the fash, amgios, 'cause it's OUR game.

All Power to the People.

Stand Proud, Sing Loud, Never Say Die!

Viva la Revolucion!