You have probably heard the term, drug pusher – most often used in the context of the generations-long “war” – as assaults upon human liberty are always styled – on some arbitrarily defined “drugs.” Which definition never includes the drug, alcohol – probably because it is liked by too many of those who wage war upon human liberty, such as the armed government workers who wage the “war” and the robed archons styled “judges” who punish the POWS taken in by the AGWs for harms they didn’t cause.
It takes the government to do that – and with the effrontery of legalism. The nauseating bray of “we’re here to help you.” The “hesitant” needing guidance – schooling regarding what’s good for them. Because they are too stupid to know any better.
We are presented with the prospect of drug-pushers actually pushing their drugs – showing up at our homes, rapping insistently on our doors. They are the street-level dealers of a cartel that makes the fictional Tony Montana from Scarface seem like a street-corner organ-grinder in comparison. And it is revelatory to recall that so-called “drug pushers” like Tony Montana didn’t knock on your door – unless of course you owed him money. They didn’t push anything. If you wanted what Tony was selling you approached him. And you were free to buy what he was offering.
Federal drug pushers come to you, unbidden and unwanted. They wheedle and peddle and cajole. They want your children to take their drugs. The dealer they are working for – the pharmaceutical cartels – is incredibly pushy and wants very much to arrange it so that everyone is forced to inject the drugs they are pushing.
But how to deal with these pushers, when they show up at your home?
One’s first instinct – and it is a natural and sound one – is to reach for the baseball bat. As one would if a “drug pusher” accosted one’s child on his way home from school, say. But there is the problem of legalism – as well as the problem of the framing.
It would look bad, in this topsy-turvy world, to deal with these pushers in the way appropriate when this country wasn’t topsy-turvy. Or rather, so it would be framed – as in the case of the couple in Louisiana who let the “peaceful protestors” know they were unwelcome at their home.
Don’t do this. It will only make us look like the bad guys. Or rather, it will let the bad guys make us look bad.
And: Federal drug pushers are – somehow – authorized to annoy you. Uncle Joe can just send them over. Even if you have No Trespassing signs posted it is apparently the case that one must actually tell the trespasser he is unwelcome, and then to leave, before one may legally have him trespassed (and removed) from one’s “own” property (air-fingers quoted to reflect the irony of having to go through all of this rigmarole to establish the sanctity of one’s own supposed property).
These pushers are just going to show up, apparently – and there’s not much, if anything one can do – legally – to prevent them from doing so. And it is illegal to reach for the baseball bat – or the garden hose – to get them to leave.
Even though they are pushing drugs – on your property.
But you can push back.
Mockery is a kind of drug, too – and it works wonderfully on pushy people, especially. The face-effacers, for instance. I wear a T-shirt I had made that has a picture of Landru, the fictional computer cult leader from an episode – Return of the Archons – of the classic Star Trek series on it. The caption reads: Are you of the body? People who know Star Trek will get the reference and it’s all kinds of fun to explain it to face-effacers who ask about it.
Others have worn “masks” made of sheer women’s nylons or even full Clown Doctor suits, like my friends over at Media Bear. The Clown Doctor is merciless, praise be heaped upon him. When accosted by a cultist over his “mask,” he explains – with great offended unction – that it is a prosthetic, that he has no nose. This always causes the accoster to peddle backwards in gaslit reverse-virtue-signal shame.
Similarly, when the drug pushers show up at your door, make a mockery of it and of them. Tell them – through the closed door – that you cannot open it unless they stand six feet back and when they do, open it – and proffer additional “masks” for them to wear. Make it a condition of conversation that they wear at least three masks – explaining that one cannot be too safe.
Wear an actual diaper, even – without explaining why. Scratch yourself, incessantly – in awkward places. Hold your hands together in a prayerful pose – and ask that they pray with you. Tell them the good news about the religious figure of your choice. Tell them about the vial of gypsy tears you wear around your neck. Ask them about the Epsilon semi-moron “variant.” Ask them whether the “vaccine” has electrolytes. Speak to them in Biavian . . .
O Quann Tangin Wann? Qua Omsa Lagee wann!
Waste as much of their time as possible. Be as evasive and inscrutable as Pope Fauci. Never answer their questions. Instead, ask them more questions, relentlessly. The more ridiculous, tedious and irrelevant the questions, the better.
Then tell them to get off your lawn.
. . .
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