We were promised hordes of malnourished bureaucrats roaming the frozen streets, huddling together in dumps, lighting a fire with crumpled pages of the Federal Register to keep warm. We were expecting wolves, bears, dragons and Mad Max LARPers massacring people, sick people dying on sidewalks outside zombie-infested hospitals, and all we got was this?

Those Prozicrat Shutdown Apocalypses just never quite live up to their billing, do they?

Still, we have to admit: Well played, Mr. President, well played.

We’ll be the first to admit that we had our serious misgivings about him when he invited Chuck Shithole and Grahamnesty to a meeting, seemingly promising all the low-rent slave labor and voters their filthy little traitor hearts could desire with a smile on his face, promising to sign any deal they could arrive at.

It wouldn’t be the first time we’d been stabbed in the back by the people we elected, after all.

And then… Something awfully funny happened during the negotiations.

The Cuck/Prozi dynamic duo, seeing the red cloth waved in front of their snouts and expecting the usual unconditional surrender, charged all in, thinking that this was finally it! At long last would their dreams come true and this “stupid, uncouth, political neophyte” would hand them everything on a silver platter. Oh sure, he might put up a bit of the Failure Theatre for which the Recucklican Party has become so very justly infamous, but when threatened with being blamed for Teh Shutdown Apocalypse™, he’d do just as his Cuck Predecessors and roll over.

Not so fast.

And so it was broadcast, far and wide, so loudly that even the most uninterested voter in Outer Bumfuck couldn’t miss it, that the Prozicrat Party cared more about half a dozen million foreign criminals than keeping our armed forces paid, that they’d rather burn it all down around our ears than let us stop them from letting in swarms of unskilled competitors for jobs.

Signal received, loud and clear.

We already knew this, of course, but this certainly ensured that there is not a soul in this nation with readable vital signs left who doesn’t know.

And as if that wasn’t enough, their Shutdown Apocalypse lasted all of three days. Over a weekend, no less. We barely knew.

Our enemies exposed as traitors AND humiliated as inept amateurs without a spine.

Not a bad week’s work, Mr. President.

We still would have liked to see some of those starving bureaucrats, however. Roasting slowly on spits. Forever.


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By Emperor Misha I

Ruler of all I survey -- and then some.

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