VPWWG1WGA!:

 VPWWG1WGA!:

Landry--

“Vice President Smith, I am a big fan; it’s wonderful to see you here today.” I knew Jeff Smith’s face from his blog. I had never before met him in the flesh.

He paused, looked me right in the eyes, then touched the frame of his smart glasses a few times and said, ‘Great to see any of my followers here. I knew I could count on you, Vice President Landry Jones.’ I was thrilled he had recognized me, even if it was with the aid of his digital assistant. It must have matched my face up with his subscription list, another reason to be glad I wasn’t wearing a mask. I had been one of his first couple of thousands of his followers. There were a lot of VPs in attendance at this rally. Many of them were there to see the boss, President Carlson, and all of us VPs were there to see Vice President Flynn. After all, ‘Where We Go One, We Go All,’ and all of us were one with Flynn, and Flynn was one of us. So, the way I, and a lot of people like me, see it, we were all second in the line of succession. If anything were to happen to Tucker, the storm would indeed occur soon after.

There had been a storm coming for a long time. Some prophecies did not play out exactly as they were supposed to, and there were those who questioned the veracity of the updated prophecies. All of this was going exactly as it was planned; you had to trust in ‘Q’ to let us know what we needed to know when we needed to. Dis-information to throw those trying to stop us off our scent --well, that was just a good strategy.

Our collective confusion was one out of the many small cognitive transactions we had all made on our way to where we are today. Once you are brought into the fold, you recognize the lies you’ve been told to protect the inhuman scum oppressing us for what they are. Well, once you know, you begin to see everyone who is contradicting you or laughing at you has been duped. They are either an unknowing tool of the elites or worse, they are one of their soldiers and are actively trying to do you harm. The more you know, the more you can see the truth of the world, and you realize super powerful forces run it, and that’s why you have never been able to succeed. The biases you build up and the contradictions you ignore are small prices anyone would gladly pay for the reward of true belief in a simple and righteous cause.

It’s what Jesus would have done. I am not talking about Black Jesus or the hippy, faggot, Jewish Jesus, but the buff, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, true Aryan American Jesus. It’s what Trump would have done. It is one of our sacred duties to maintain faith in the face of fake news; as members of the Army, our loyalty can never waver.

“Gaetz, good lord, look at that hair; what a poser,” I said to no one in particular. A couple of the VPs near me chuckled, and I got a thrill from putting someone down. Stepping on somebody, even if it is just a bit, and even if it is someone ostensibly on my side, putting someone down raised my spirits. It wasn’t as good as getting a flood of emojis in response to an online comment; I guess laughter is good medicine. I also got a couple of dirty looks from the sheep.

“Baaah, baaaaah,” sticking my tongue out at them, playfully, at first. Then, I put the fear in them. I let my hand fall to the grip of my AR-15 while my eyes were occupied in drilling deadly menace into the grumpy gimps -shut them right up.

I looked out across the crowd and was proud to be an American. It was a sea of red, white, blue, camouflage, and sparkles. Being of a military mind, I realized the contradictions contained in the palette; these people still made me proud to be one of them. Heck, I was wearing urban tactical gear with a red MAGA hat; I wanted everyone to know how I felt. I wanted to make those liberal elites cringe as much as the next guy; when it mattered, I would ditch the red target. I would be taking my hat off soon.

People were chanting, “U! S! A! U! S! A!” for a long minute.

As the crowd settled down a bit, I could hear someone over the PA quieting them down and then spewing some political-sounding nonsense; of course, it was none other than Matt Gaetz. Gaetz was a poser. He said a lot of the right things. I could tell he only wore those opinions as another layer of makeup, and if the wind blew, he would bend fast, and if the wind turned into a storm, he would break. His hair would probably survive anything you could throw at it; he had no backbone, no morals, just an empty skull beneath his hair gel helmet. The crowd liked him. People sure are stupid.

I let the fantasy of raising my weapon, killing Gaetz, then flipping the switch to fully auto and spraying the crowd play out in my head. I let the vision dissipate before I got to changing clips. The idea of killing so many had always been one of my favorite daydreams; it was a huge turn-on. It was a crowd made up of people like me. That made me slightly, kind of, uncomfortable, sort of, mildly uneasy; just a bit.

“We want Flynn! We want Flynn!” I was pumping my fists in the air and nodding to the other VPs who turned to witness my spectacle. I gave it my all and willed them with all my heart to join me. Like it was a preordained miracle, they took up the chant. Soon, it spread through the crowd until no one could hear Gaetz anymore. I could tell Gaetz was super pissed off; the guy sure loves the limelight. He knew it was time for him to go. He twisted his face into a TV smile and started pumping his fist along with the crowd. When he started chanting as well, it got the crowd going; even the non-VPs were joining in. Then, the crowd was going in a direction I could follow without dreaming of slaughtering them. Everyone was chanting for my hero. The pressure was building; the storm was on the horizon. A tidal wave of applause washed over the Walmart parking lot when our hero, Mike Flynn, bounded briskly up the stairs at the side of the stage. He grabbed the microphone with one hand started beating his fist in the air. With ease and the confidence of someone used to rallying troops and taking command, he transformed, ‘We want Flynn!’ Into ‘U! S! A!’ His shouts were contagious. His eyes sparkled in the spotlight. He was 10 feet tall.

I don’t remember what he said. I remember screaming; I remember tears of outrage and tears of loss and tears of hope and tears of joy. I was with him, and he was with me. We were all one. An ‘Army of One’ with a leader who was worthy and ready and would ride the storm until he ruled us all. We were one, so we would rule. I would rule, along with the people who were with me, just like it was meant to be. The tears kept coming, and I didn’t know what to call the emotions associated with the fluid leaking down my face; it was the most incredible feeling anyone had ever felt. I was anticipating the world would soon be here, there, everywhere. I would become forever.

The crowd was screaming again when I came back to the earthly realm. I could not see, so I used my sleeve to blot the tears from my eyes. It was time to focus. It was the moment everything would fall into place. I was the key to opening the door to a whole new world.

I was at the rally for a more important reason than all these other patriots. You see, I am chosen; I have a sacred mission, secret and vital. I had been selected to receive early access to a drop. I not only knew about the ‘real’ plan, I would also be instrumental in it.

At first, when I deciphered the clues, I thought what they were telling me to do was a lie. I thought the deep state was manipulating me. I thought about the MK-ULTRA program, and I was concerned. Through a tremendous force of will and with a maniacal determination, I began to go back over the clues and the associated warren of rabbit holes, looking for the truth. I then bought an eight-ball of meth from that kid in the old Air-stream two stalls down from where I live and got to work. After a few days and nights of false starts and dead ends, the clues started to make sense. I think it was near the end of the fourth day spent awake, sitting in my chair, drinking energy drinks, smoking meth, and pissing in a five-gallon bucket I had an epiphany. I carefully retraced the path I had taken through the internet. Clicking on the bookmarks I had saved, tabbing back and forth, looking for misinformation and inconsistencies, I verified the notions riddled out of the ether to reach my conclusions. I was absolutely right, had correctly unraveled the riddle, and was the one who had to do it; I couldn’t tell anyone it was me or what I was going to do. The danger of it being a setup was too real; the risk posed by informants and/or the deep state was too extreme; the consequences of a misstep exposing the true plan were unthinkable.

Then there was Tucker; I voted him into the Presidency. It was me, and the other Q devotees got him over the top and through the finish line. He is like one of us. He made Flynn his VP. The years close to the media elites must have corrupted him. All his rhetoric sounded so real to me; the actual results of his becoming President were negligible. We might as well have kept President Harris. Nothing had changed. The storm hadn’t come. The liberal elite, child molesting, Satan worshiping, adrenochrome drinking, Antifa Jews running the New World Order were still in charge. But now was the time for the storm to begin. I removed my backpack and set it on the ground before me. I opened the zipper and pulled out the black fabric bundle. I started the app on the cellphone wired to the coffee cans in the bottom of the pack and shook out the black fabric to reveal my cape. Well, it was more of a smock or a poncho; a cape sounds cooler. It had taken me a whole night tweaking around to get the white ANTIFA stitched onto the front and back of the poncho. Any camera or cell phone trained in my direction could tell what it said. I slipped my head through the hole in the middle and pulled the trigger on my Air-horn. There was a moment of perfect silence wherein I could sight my rifle on Tucker Carlson. With my trusty AR, I sent a three-round burst into his face. Then the screaming started.

Everyone was so happy now I was the President. I could see it in all the smiling faces turned to me and chanting my name in unison. ‘Landry! Landry!’ Then ‘U! S! A!’ The whole world was glowing; every detail of every face, every white toothy grin, every tear of joy sparkling in an eye, every rapturous gaze, every knowing, loving, caring expression was made perfectly crystal clear. All the attention was focused on me and all the cameras. I could hear everyone’s thoughts, and they were ready to make their sacrifice for the cause. I switched my AR to fully auto and started spraying the cheering crowd. As each bullet tore through flesh, the newly minted martyr would thank me for sending them to heaven. They all knew my secret plan and approved. They threw themselves in front of my bullets. The fake news media could not deny my Antifa allegiance; yes, of course, it is misdirection; I will die in a reverse false flag igniting the storm.

All of us who went that day were one, and now Flynn was President, I was too, and everyone with Q. would crush this country under our boots and grind it into the bloody muck. I knew it was coming at any moment, so I was unaffected by the bullets entering me from every quarter. It was OK because I knew they were sent with love, and I knew my backpack was about to explode.

For one glorious moment, I saw President Flynn in a rainbow-hued aura and a golden crown hovering above his head, smiling at me from the stage. He was safe. He was the leader of the free world. God, resplendent in his dress uniform dusted with bits of Tucker’s brain, blew me a kiss while gazing directly into my eyes. He winked and walked away, the Secret Service sheltering him as they shuffled him offstage.

As soon as he was safe, I knew it was over.

I was so right.

As the explosion seared me in holy fire, I filled my boxers with come. Straight to heaven: a hero, a martyr, a saint. Where we go one, we go all, and the new Legion of Q-PUSA rode with me to Valhalla.