The ultimate SUPER warrior would have double-max dopamine dispersal channels in his pre-frontal cortex … or hers …. IDGAF which gender the ultimate fucking warrior is. Women are nasty pieces of shit: they would make a great cannibalistic ultimate warrior bitch (watch the nature channel bro). AND WHEN THAT DUAL-DIPA-DOPA CHANNEL BURSTS because she sampled the LONG PIG, a wave of positive energy floods over the brain of that wonky-witch-warrior, and she fights HARDER for her daily bread. Ultimate-super-cannibal-witch-bitch-warriors rule.
The ultimate armored vehicle would be a bio-engineered giant tortoise that farts and poops acid projectiles and can shoot these chunks of burny-pain at high velocity and a great distance; ALSO, it survives only be eating people. Its teeth would be replaced with titanium and carbon nano fiber super-teeth, so that the tearing and cutting and maiming would have greater artistic and autistic value. That TURTLE TANK, manned by busty witch-warriors, feeding on human flesh, would control the 88 grid-zones and hold sway over QUEEN TINA’S REALM. DARPA has a project.
The ultimate general would be a speed freak, addicted to crank and bank and fucking 25 year old cocktail waitresses. His uniform would be designed by ROBOT HUGO BOSS and no moss would gather on him, as he led his armies to the Tiber and pooped on the Pope and burnt down the 7 hills, where the ancient-pedo-pill-heads live, because Cato the Elder was right, and ROME must BURN (and it’s never too late to make a dream come true).
The ultimate KING would look like Yul Brynner from the movie THE ULTIMATE WARRIOR. He would not feel sad about smoking cigs, he would not cast aside his freewill for the dream of simping on virtue signaling 40-year-olds with nice butts who work at the ONCOLOGY center. He would smoke and fuck and eat cheese-steak pizza. His realm would extend from the Mississippi to the Kasbah, and no one would stand in his way. He would be the ULTIMATE KING of worldly things, his bling would shine for 10,000 years.
The ultimate feast would be made of burly beast and jinctous-soup.
The ultimate WOMAN would have boobs of STEEL, she would kneel while giving you head. You might be dead …
Seeking after ultimate shit, when the world is split, and the penultimate abounds CLIT head; don’t give up on your old wife and her fox-mane folly. A gold watch with clasp of silver is waiting for you, after the fall … if you can be ultimate ENOUGH.
The ultimate love affair would exist on Mars. Once the damnable MUSKITE robot ASSES of QUADRANT-HOTEL are eliminated, and Elon Musk is put on trial for crimes against gerbils. Then, and ONLY THEN, will ROBOT HEAVE KETCHINGS and CLINT CARSON find their double-nut-sack romance in the caves of Goom. And if their speavous-fluids flowed, it was mainly because the de-gentrified hovel tribes of Jupiter no longer carry butane lighters, or mentos, or twisted tea.
The ultimate path is YOURS, from start to finish. If some grifter comes along and tries to sell you on “another direction”, tell that fuck, and all other GANDALF LOOKING FREAKS, to beat bricks and to suck on Satan’s cock. Your path is yours. If you believe in Jesus, you share it with him and him alone.
The ultimate TRUTH is that most of what we think is true is false. It’s sad, and depressing, and it’s possible that’s why some of us seek sanctuary in faith. But, the books, the universities, the politicians and public schools, the lawyers and cops and “scientists” … they are mostly a cadre of mother fucking liars. They got their jobs, mostly, in the current arrangement, because they are good at social engineering and doing what they are told. If you didn’t fit that mold? – then you became the ultimate garbage. Welcome to the USA in 2024.
The HOLOCAUST is likely a dead end, if you know you know.
The APOLLO MISSIONS are most likely dead ends, see above.
JFK and RFK and who the fuck killed them? – Trump is not going to tell you, and you will likely never know for sure.
Nobody KNOWS who runs the STATE of ISRAEL: we just know it’s NOT Jesus.
Give up on the TRUMP and BIDEN and KAMALA shit bro, Putin and Xi, none of them like you, none of them like me. Whichever wooden Hindenburg they give you? – douse it in gasoline, and set it ablaze.
The ultimate FREEDOM is FOUND in acceptance, and finding a way to live, and love, that is meaningful to YOU and not harmful to anyone else.
Want to become ULTIMATE?
Want to embrace mountain type thrills?
Want a woman of honesty and strength?
Want a world of justice and grace?
Then give up on your LOWLIFE GRIZZLE BEATS and seat yourself upon the throne of possibility.
By October 16th, what was left of the US command staff was planning their first offensive operation since the war started. Normally, this kind of operation would take weeks or even months to organize, but they had days. Days to plan an operation involving nearly 100,000 US troops, on US soil, the biggest domestic offensive operation since Sherman’s March to the Sea.
The good news: the US had massive caches of conventional weapons at locations around the globe. As much damage as the sasquatch did, much of this and the logistics required to utilize the supplies were operational. Re-supply of newer munitions were being sent out to front line troops within a few days following the attack, while the troops stood fast in the “shadow armistice”. “Shadow Armistice” is what forces around the world were calling the pause that unfolded after “Chastisement Day”, after 10/13.
DARPA’s investment in next gen manufacturing and 3D printing tech allowed for the rapid deployment of experimental weapons and ammunition factories – small, mobile, easy to set up, capable of producing current and new types of weapons. Allied forces had also learned that the bigfoot were more susceptible to damage from radiation than they had realized, and fell due to sickness faster than humans, much faster. The US forces would use this information to their advantage.
The bad news: various nations were already forging agreements with the sasquatch, NATO was split in half and Japan, where the President’s son died, sued for peace first. The USA was mostly isolated, and other than China and Russia, had no allies for this fight. As horrible as the onslaught was, and as much damage was done, many around the globe wanted to stop, evaluate, and understand. For them, and the bigfoot, the war was over almost as fast as it began. The real problem was DENVER, both in terms of human life and, as important to politicians, optics.
As of October 16th, nearly 10,000 sasquatch in 6 separate battle groups were hold up around Denver, Colorado. These were scavengers and pirates, members of KLUNGIT-ARMIES from the EAST, mercenaries and monsters – formed from claggit-gangs. They had traveled through portals, and were assigned DENVER as a holding point by DIRG, the sasquatch WAR LEADER. These sasquatch were vicious, and did a great deal of damage on “Chastisement Day”. Nearly 50,000 people were executed by the bigfoot forces in Denver, another 10,000 were being organized for transport as slaves, to be sold. The rest were scattered, hiding, waiting for the nightmare to end.
Hasty kangaroo trials were held at the Denver Botanic Gardens, the local sasquatch leader, VORTIZ-WOO, sat upon a throne made of human bones, judging the humans. The crimes they were accused of were mostly made up, crimes of destruction, neglect, pollution, but in general VORTIZ-WOO enjoyed the emotional torture of judging these weak little hairless monkeys. For several days the gutters were sticky with human blood, for several nights these ravenous and vengeful sasquatch fed on human flesh, human babies.
But what seemed the worst insult, and the greatest provocation, were the “dog trials”.
Dogs that barked at the beasts, that attacked them, bit them, that stood by their owners to protect them? – they were put on trial. Not knowing or really understanding any of it, simply knowing that their owner was in trouble and they wanted to help, and now they were to die. The wolves had stayed neutral up to this point, with the crow: and DIRG considered it a kind of treachery if dogs attacked their sasquatch forces. But the dogs howled, and word got out to the wolves.
For VORTIZ-WOO and his angry sasquatch army, it mattered not the lives of dogs or people. They laughed and mocked, and even took turns swallowing French bulldogs live. It is notable that the most shocking thing to come out of the Denver assault were these dog persecutions, people seemed to care more about dogs being killed than people being killed. Soldiers, marines, airmen and sailors were marking their bombs and planes and tanks with one particular name: “Boomer”.
Boomer was a mutt. He was adopted by Jennifer and Tyler Rhodes, a newly wed couple living in a small one-bedroom apartment. Boomer was being raised by dog fighters near where Tyler and Jennifer lived. Nights, they would walk around their neighborhood, they’d hear the screams, they and others knew what was going on. Boomer was being tortured, beaten, spray painted and starved. Boomer dug a hole and escaped. The first time he escaped, Tyler called animal control and they took Boomer back to the dog fighters. The second time Boomer escaped Jennifer just said “fuck this, let’s grab him”. From that day on Boomer was their dog, their kid, and he knew it and loved it.
On the morning of the GREAT CHASTISEMENT, October the 13th, the KLUNGIT-GANGS of VORTIZ-WOO attacked Denver around 8 AM, coming out of the mountains, from a few portals. Boomer had been up and nervous the night before, he began wailing like never before at 6 AM. Tyler and Jennifer learned to trust that dog, so they loaded up their car and decided to take a day off from work, “we’ll visit your mom in Kansas”. The Rhodes were just outside of Watkins, Colorado, traveling east on I-70 when the attacking sasquatch began road blocking. They were so close to escaping, before the worst of it would hit. Their Toyota Corolla slowed down, as a the large hairy beasts were directing cars into a parking lot nearby.
As one of the beasts got close to the car, Boomer lunged out and attacked him, biting the sasquatch’s throat. Tyler hit the accelerator, he didn’t know what else to do. What Tyler did, and Boomer did, saved Tyler and Jennifer’s lives. They, Tyler and Jennifer, managed to get back on I-70 and make it to Kansas. Boomer was captured, one of the first dogs to be put on trial.
Boomer’s trial was the best known, because he jus sat there, growling at VORTIZ-WOO, as the local sasquatch war leader described Boomer’s crimes …
“My oldest friend, JEBROSS-TOWNE, was severely attacked by this mongrel beast. His injuries being extreme … the punishment must be so also …”, the sasquatch throng cheered. Boomer did no real damage to this bigfoot mentioned.
When VORTIZ-WOO finished opining, Boomer escaped his leash, jumped up onto the platform where VORTIZ-WOO was, and bit him on his penis. VORTIZ-WOO picked up the dog, before the whole crowd, and tore Boomer in half. It was said that the dogs in all the pens began howling, and you could hear the howls as far away as St. Louis, or at least other dogs could. Dogs around the nation began barking, howling. One dog that had been given a few years of joy, a dog that loved its human cousins, a dog willing to do as had been done for him. Boomer was dead. It is also said he died with a chunk of VORTIZ-WOO’s penis in his mouth.
Now, among the US forces preparing for a counterattack, “Boomer” was a banner, a cause, a mythos, a reason to believe they could fight back. When Tyler and Jennifer relayed the full story to the press, it went viral. Videos taken by the humans living underground, videos depicting the trial and immediate execution of Boomer, were being viewed around the world and many sasquatch clans with internet access looked upon it in horror.
President Jordan looked at General Allen, and General Allen began to speak.
“Sir, I understand we have good reasons for wanting to launch our counterattack soon. But we are barely recovering from this attack right now, and I’m just not …”, the president cut him off.
“Shut up, how much time do you need?”
“A month.”
“You have until October 31st …. Halloween.”
Lack of sleep, grief, and the ever present reality of “being the one in charge” was hitting the President hard.
When he ran for the office, Jordan didn’t want to make waves or implement some huge agenda; he merely wanted to be president for two terms. He was popular, handsome, and a gifted public speaker but he had zero military experience and had very little patience for the “West Point Way” as he called it; he also had no choice now but to trust them. “The team you have, not the team you want”, the president remarked in a speech once; he had the team he was going to get.
Following the briefing President Jordan retreated to his quarters at NORAD. A lukewarm meal of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes awaited him, plus half a fifth of really expensive single malt scotch. The internet was spotty and very few streaming services were functional, but there was an old DVD player in his room and a couple movies. One film, THE FINAL COUNTDOWN, caught his attention. He’d seen it before, not a great film, but escapist enough to take his mind of what was going on.
“Sir, there’s movement to the southwest of here, we have cavalry units checking on this, it could be an attack.”
“When will we know for sure?”
“We expect a report in 90 minutes.”
“Great”, President Jordan muttered.
“I’m sorry Sir?”
“That sounds fine, notify me when we know more.”
The president settled back into watching his movie, a movie about a nuclear powered aircraft carrier traveling through time back to December 6th, 1941. He thought it was silly, pretentious. He usually hated time travel movies as much as he hated movies about wizards and orcs. But on this day, for this break, he simply needed the distraction of the nonsense.
“Sir, what’s up?”, Cheryl Strand swung the door open. She was the current Chief of Staff, and one of the few cabinet members to survive. She was with the president, briefing him on current harvest data when it all began. She had been the Interior Secretary, now she was like the president: a bit rudderless, in a job suddenly bigger than what she expected.
“Can I get 30 minutes?”, the President said.
“No … Sir … you can’t.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothing, just checking in.”
“Checking in, you did it.”
“What are you watching?”
“Some dumb movie.”
“I love dumb movies, which one?”
“The Final Countdown, Kirk Douglas is in it.”
“I love that movie.”
“You love that movie?”, the president said incredulously.
“Yes … Kirk Douglas is one of my all time favorites.”
The president pushed play, and they both kept watching. Nothing was said, Cheryl grabbed a chair in the room and the president sat on the bed. They spent another 30 minutes watching, not talking, and then the president pushed pause.
“What do you think is going to happen?”, the president asked Cheryl.
“I think … I guess we don’t know.”
“Do you think we will win?”
“I’m not sure what that means Mr. President, win what?”
“I don’t know.”
Cheryl stopped before she continued. She knew the President’s son had been killed in Tokyo. She knew the President had lost his wife to cancer a few years earlier.
“My dad used to tell me we win by staying alive. I think we win Mr. President by not giving up and I think we win by taking back Denver.”
“Do you think we can take back Denver?”
“Sure, the real question: can we take back Denver before the atrocities there get out of control?”
They were both silent for a moment, and then the president spoke.
“Have you heard from Linda?”
“Yes Sir, she’s been doing what you asked and organizing civilian and military forces in the Pacific for defense and humanitarian operations.”
“Glad she’s safe, been too hard the last few days.”
Cheryl looked at the paused HD screen, one of those martial scenes when the soundtrack blares and the roar of the F-14’s is caught in the crescendo.
“You know, I like the old movies where the cavalry saves the day ….”, Cheryl said.
“Or when the Marines show up, and you know it will be okay …”, the President responded.
“And there’s always some ally waiting to be revealed.”
“And we don’t know the ending until it’s over.”
Cheryl and President Jordan both laughed.
“MR PRESIDENT, COME TO THE SITUATION ROOM”, a crackled and demanding voice came over the president’s intercom. Cheryl and President Jordan picked themselves up and walked swiftly covering the distance to the situation room in a matter of seconds.
When President Jordan got to the situation room he was met by a shocking surprise: several armed MP’s carrying bolt action rifles chambered in .700 nitro express. There was one solitary sasquatch, a Native American chief, and a 200 pound gray wolf … along with military staff, the large staff room was packed.
“What’s the situation General?”
“Sir, the units that we believed were enemy units probing for an attack … well … they were emissaries, requesting parley and to speak with you, the President, directly.”
“This is not funny.”
“It’s no joke Mr. President.”
And then the Native American chief spoke: “President Jordan, please sit down and lets talk.”
The room became quiet, the sasquatch leaned up against the wall, bowing his head, not quite fitting and still too big for any of the chairs. The wolf brought herself up to the table, her paws laid out on the surface, staring intently at President Jordan.
“Mr. President, this is not the time to address past grievances between my people and your government”, the “chief” had worked for the most recent Vice President of the Navajo Nation. He was a farmer, he had some cattle and a small diner he ran. Prior to the great conflict, he was merely one of the elder tribal leaders that would often be ignored or ridiculed as too connected to the past, not enough open to “new ideas”. He joined forces with the sasquatch 5 years earlier, secretly meeting with them and organizing Navajo men and women into an army.
By July 2026, Randall Black-Horse had organized, secretly, 10,000 young Navajo men and women into 5 separate cavalry brigades. The entire scheme was funded by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, without them knowing it. Money earmarked for “cultural rejuvenation” and “COVID ERA REBUILDING” was directed to the purchase of horses, weapons, armor. The horse purchases were the hardest, given that domestic production of horses and other farm labor animals had dropped off significantly in the previous 100 years. It took scavenging, it took horse trading, but by October 2026, Chief Black-Horse had his force prepared and ready to go.
“We made our choice and have no regrets. Our people have known the promises and treatment of many U.S. presidents and we no longer take you seriously.”
Randall paused, looking around the room at all the faces.
Randall was a man in his sixties, he wore jeans and cowboy boots and a red baseball cap with “THRUSH” written on it in bold white letters. Randall continued to speak.
“It’s no matter the disappointments because maybe for the first time in millennia we have a chance to speak plainly and understand each other. We do not support what is going on in Denver, we will not allow it to continue.”
“What do you me you won’t allow it?”, the President responded, the wolf in the meeting growled at him.
“We are not negotiating as much as telling and I’m telling you WE will not allow it.”
Randall stopped speaking, and then a series of sounds came from the wolf. No one understood except the sasquatch in the corner.
“Noree says you should listen to Chief Black-Horse”, the sasquatch added. President Jordan shook his head and thought “fuck, wizard and orc bullshit”.
“We are here to make peace. We are here for a public and binding agreement. We are here to help and to heal Mr. President.”
“Why don’t you bring some steak tar-tar for the lady here.”, the President said to one of the marine sergeants nearby.
The meeting lasted nearly 4 hours, and it seemed as if time had stopped.
The sasquatch, YOG-THUURY, was a leader of bigfoot that lived in the Rocky Mountains. His people had guarded these mountains for thousands of years and the portals that were hidden within. He had been mainly silent, translating for Noree, and providing requisite nods as Randall spoke.
What was being laid out was an alliance between the gray wolves of North America, the Navajo and other allied tribes, and the sasquatch of the Rockies. They would join forces to liberate Denver. The wolves brining 10,000. The Navajo brining other 10,000. The sasquatch providing 3,000. The numbers were adding up in the President’s head, and all of the sudden the silly conversating with Cheryl, earlier, seemed prescient.
What they wanted was the sticking point …
Black-Horse’s demands:
The immediate recognition of all US indigenous tribes and peoples as having their right to exist and to represent themselves diplomatically as a separate nation: either jointly or separately.
The incorporation of every existing US national park into a protectorate owned and administered by the several tribes and autonomous indigenous peoples of the USA territories.
The transfer of all US public lands and state/national forests, in the Rocky Mountains, to a protectorate overseen by the sasquatch people.
There were details to be worked out, but the shock of 10/13 seemed to make the impossible possible. Black-Horse envisioned a restoration of respect and to achieve that he needed to go back to his people, the Navajo, and the other tribes with a deal that would justify both peace and the rebuilding required.
“So, with a pen, on a piece of paper, this happens?”, the President said sarcastically, getting dirty looks Randall, YOG-THUURY and more growling from Noree.
“There are too many dead we know of, and too many we will never know of, to pretend it’s that easy … but I think my friend in the corner would hunt you down and kill you if you broke this promise”, with that YOG-THUURY growled and combination of noise and bad breath got them back on topic.
“If we make this happen, you will fight with us?”
“Mr. President, we showed up ready to fight … are you ready yet?”
“We need two weeks …”
YOG-THUURY shook his head, Randall sighed, Noree nodded.
“We will make that work, our forces are scattered near the Beaver Creek wilderness area, we would like to bring our forces into your camp.”
The main US ground forces were gathering at Fort Carson. A full bird colonel from the 82nd Airborne motioned Randall to the hallway. They talked and laughed a little and Randall was given instructions on procedures to follow and they were given a military escort as well – 2 platoons of US Army Rangers.
The NORAD facility had the tightest security of any US based in the world, the rumor about wolves and people and “Indians”, joining with the USA, spread beyond the walls of that cave; within a day people were whispering on shortwave radio and those nodes of the WWW still working: Denver, we’re coming.
It turns out there is a queer kind of osmosis, it confounds all walls and doors and cages. It is the imbalance between darkness and hope, and there was just too much darkness outside of Cheyenne Mountain, and now there was real hope bubbling from inside.
They toyed with different names for the operation: “SLAM DUNK”, “HOME RUN”, “EASY RIDER”. Nothing really fit.
It was going to be a rapid and sustained attack, aggressive. The entire plan envisioned a one or two day battle. The KLUNGIT-GANGS occupying the city were ruthless pirates and unserious in the ways of war.
It was a younger brigadier general, part of the 101st Division, that suggested “bum rush”. They would overwhelm, they would startle and shock, and it seemed like a flash mob. But the term flash mob seemed less appropriate, so they settled on OP BUM RUSH.
YOG-THUURY provided excellent intelligence on the location of 3 portals, the three the KLUNGIT-GANGS were using to get to Colorado, and the 3 they would escape through when their pillaging was complete. VORTIZ-WOO, the leader of the sasquatch in Denver had orders to punish, to seek revenge, and then leave. DIRG, who was already growing impatient with many of the sasquatch forces under his command, was becoming embarrassed by the events in Denver.
The President made it clear to everyone in the situation room: we are not making peace, we are KILLING and if they surrender capturing, but the emphasis was on killing.
3 x 5-kiloton penetrator neutron bombs, dropped by a stealth bomber, would close up the holes – this would signal the beginning of the attack.
The 8nd and 101st would move rapidly to take up blocking positions to the north. 1st CAV along with the 20th Armored Division, would grind through Lakewood and take out a significant portion of the sasquatch forces.
The wolves, working with US Special Forces, would strike the ramshackle compounds around the Botanical Gardens, freeing humans and dogs both.
Black-Horse’s army would attack OBJECTIVE ARVADA, getting close support from an APACHE squadron from the 101st. Along with the attack helicopters, 2 squadrons of A-10 CAS were on call and loaded with thousands of rounds of 30 mm sabot.
All indirect fires and other artillery support would be coordinated from NORAD and Fort Carson. All US Naval and Air Force bases in the region were set up as reserve force concentration areas and casualty triage and collection.
By October 20th, the OPERATIONS ORDER was ready and it would be issued the next day. Ten days for the troops to plan, write letters, and probably say goodbye to the ones they loved. The President had set this up as a battle of overwhelming force, but no one had the gung-ho confidence of just a few weeks earlier. They were launching a counterattack, and it could not fail … because if it did, the USA was done. They expected a minimum of 20% casualties.
Have you ever wanted to totally shut down an account on ZeroHedge.com, but you found it IMPOSSIBLE to work with those turds? You don’t want your drunken rants seen, do ya?
“What if I told you I have ONE NEAT TRICK for getting my accounts and threads hidden on Zero Hedge?” – Dr. Freckles
a lot of anti-Semitic shit
drunk anti-Israel shit
Some racists and sexist and homophobic shit
I was afraid someone would see it – now it’s GONE!
And this is how you get Zero Hedge to hide it.
Another fun supposition: based upon previous experience doing this, you can actually SPAM their whole site, automated, and between 1 AM EST and 8 AM EST response times can be as long as one hour. I guess Zero Hedge goes cheap on IT support.
if you’re investing your energy in this bullshit farmer protest, fine … it’s nearly GRINKEN TIME … it’s not going to be YOUR time to shine, so shine now dim light bulb
