“My words can’t be held against me
I’m not caught up in your law”
— Ol’ Dirty Bastard
Make no mistake, Milo Yiannopoulos being prevented from pontificating a blue streak of bullshit — duct-taped together with smeary data and then pepper sprayed with hyper-convoluted visions of a roaming doom that has already laid waste to the whole of Europe and is now encroaching its bad-self to our borders to rob us entirely of our national identity — is a massive win for Milo, which means an even bigger flag to bolster the gathering disciples of the one who was once known as “@Nero”…
Being silenced, ostracized and having Milo’s devilish details largely ignored by the left has added power to his platform, proof of a struggle to his base and lent ample breathing room to allow the message that — his particular brand of free speech as a paraded form of madness is gloriously too hot to handle for liberal gray matter, because it’s just so jammed pack with juicy truths so hard, and rife with shocking facts so harsh, as they pertain to the human condition that his adversaries in social justice will do anything they can, outside of meeting him face to face in a no-holds-barred debate, to extinguish the flames of his brash and bumptious intelligence. For Milo and his ilk, the shit is obvious to the point of absurdity. In the cover of night, America was betrayed, a Judas kiss planted on it’s star-spangled lips by a left side of the aisle that has been morally compromised, inside and out, by a passé and insincere ideology based on dangerously flimsy empathy, and that empathy has been allowed to fester, unchecked for so long, the maggots have reached the end of metamorphosis, and the halo of flies that is progressivism is upon them.
And so, he and his, have risen from internet obscurity to flip the script on what they see as social-justice bullying and nanny-state governing being dished out, like demerits by weak-willed subhumans who are stifling western culture with their mollycoddled upbringings and degenerate, identity-centered agendas that, (and stay with me here folks), have done a great injustice upon the straight male population, to the point where they are now the marginalized and the oppressed peoples of the United States of America, and, unlike the neutered, collared, European males who are, if you take Milo’s word for it, currently cowering in their own filth, as the keys to the kingdom they once called home have been handed over, free of sale, to Islam because, women, and explicitly women Milo finds unappealing on a purely aesthetic level, and so, they, the trigger happy kids club, have taken action in their own hands.
And this is why the former Gamer-gate defender, failed poet of pungent verse and (soon-to-be) British expat has come a meddling in American affairs, to save us from the horrors of diversity, equality, inclusion, body-shaming, poor life style choices, abortion and bad hair products, by using his unfuckwithable serpentine, coxcomb shtick, to convince the fallen and the hampered to push back against the ugly and the pampered, by using their Christ-given right to the freedom of speech, by standing up against all the scolders, the rebukers, the nags and the schoolmarms dragging them down and ruining their country with pure, high-frequency P.C. evil, and they are proving to be very resilient to the old ways of taking out the trash. Public shaming, like bad press, means zilch to them and offers not a dent to their armor.
They are here to say: Acting awful is the new beautiful, right before they read your ass the riot act, ya dumb cuck! You can muzzle, nay, you can subjugate as many as possible of these Breitbart dorks, you can find to an elinguation and then promptly nail their severed, forked tongues to Steve Bannon’s cave door, but I fear that will only add mass to this new, hard-right version of the Blob. For as protesting slid into violence and vandalism at Berkeley, no one among the mob should have celebrated at the news that Milo Yiannopoulos speech had been canceled, because, as he looked over the wreckage, the stampeding and the fire, Nero laughed. It had all worked out exactly how he had hoped it would. His yearlong cacophony of deliberate defiance had reached its crescendo, and you can guarantee he’s more than ready to begin orchestrating his next piece.