In the epic and eternal struggle for freedom, There has been a question that mankind has asked, well, for forever, really. And that is ... what about the other guy? Should the other guy have as much freedom as I enjoy? Should he be able to go out at all hours of the night? Get piss drunk and/or high? Should he be allowed to fuck a hole in the wall if he so desired?
As many of you know there is a war on as we speak. And no, I'm not speaking of the kitty liter sandboxes called Iraq and Afghanistan. No! This war is being fought right here in the comfort of our own homes. It's being waged on one side by those who call themselves either "liberal" or "Conservative". They call themselves that. I call them "Statists".While the other side are people who value free speech, the right to PRIVACY!!!, and more so the right to fucking party, damn it! These people are what I call "Libertines"
Now whatever label the "statists" give themselves this week is subject to change at any given moment. Deception is their greatest ( well, the only one, and not all that great) weapon. The issues and alliances and dirty smoke-filled backroom dealings they engage in are also subject to this same change. Though barring all of that, they both have one very, very important thing in common. They both fight for your right NOT to party.
Yes, they are the nosy, tattletale neighbor who spies and hangs on your every word and deed, looking for any fault, however small. And upon finding it, snitches to the cops so he buy a bag of crack with the money they give him. They are the arrogant pig cop with the iron truncheon who "just wants to have a look in your car, if you don't mind." And if you do mind, you will suffer the death of a thousand shocks by taser gun. They are the empty suit talking head who shouts and screams at you through the comfortable distance of the TV, lest he get his fake Versace outfit ruined when you punch him in the nose. They are the strict draconian parent that tries to implement rules that make no sense. Taking your brain and putting it into a small box of their own creation.
" No Independant thought here, Son!" Daddy shouts as he sniffs the collar of your shirt to make sure you're not smoking "the pots".
These people are insufferable pantywaists who get their knickers in a twist at the very thought of their infant son listening to "metal", and their infant daughter drinking Drano like wine. Their thoughts reek of the retarded school-yard bully when he shit pants when the little kindergardner finally punched him in the balls for his stupidity and cruelty.
In closing "Statists" are weak-minded fools, and may the streets run red with their blood. :0
That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Until next time, fuck you, goodnight.
