What are we celebrating? The bones of a republic trampled by greed and power. A flag waved over cages, corruption draped in robes, and a carnival barker president drooling lies. This isn’t patriotism—it’s parody. Today, we light fireworks over the funeral of a free nation.

This brave woman stood where cowards sat, raised her voice where silence reigned, and was dragged not for violence—but for defiance. Let history show: when truth is a threat, tyrants tremble. And the puppet who ordered this? He shall reap shame, not obedience.

Good heavens, did we expect a revelation from a man who’s treated the Constitution like a cocktail napkin? He’s taken the oath twice—and trampled it twice. Why are we shocked the wall has no ears? It’s not ignorance—it’s contempt, and it was never hidden.

Precisely. And let us not forget—tyranny trains the young first. The Nazis turned a generation into informants, proud to betray their own kin. When fear becomes policy and silence becomes survival, the family itself is not safe. That road begins here, unless we rise now.

Precisely. And let us not forget—tyranny trains the young first. The Nazis turned a generation into informants, proud to betray their own kin. When fear becomes policy and silence becomes survival, the family itself is not safe. That road begins here, unless we rise now.

Damn right, Representative Balint. This is not enforcement—it is state-sponsored terror. Citizens brutalized in their homes while cowards cheer. If this doesn’t enrage you, you’re asleep or complicit. It’s not “them.” It’s us. And it will keep happening—until we make it stop.

Indeed. When the smoke clears and liberty stands bruised but breathing, we shall need a ledger—not of heroes, but of cowards. Every bootlicker in a boardroom, courtroom, newsroom, or chamber shall be known. Their names etched not in glory, but in eternal shame.

Ah yes, the grand parade—flags waving, troops marching, machines of war on display, not for defense, but to stroke the fragile ego of a man-child. I do recall another fellow in the 1930s who fancied such theatrics. It ended not in glory, but in ruin. History, it seems, repeats in farce.

And thanks to Hegseth, they know exactly what we're up to as well.

Indeed—two men cloaked in bluster, undone by their own vanity. Musk trembles as his empire bleeds, Trump grovels while our adversaries grin. Power is not in noise, but in results. These men hold no cards—only a bluff, and the table is watching.

Ah yes, “The Most Consequential President of this Century”—indeed, sir, in the way a wrecking ball is consequential to a cathedral. Lies, chaos, and division may be memorable, but so is the plague. Consequence without merit is the legacy of calamity, not greatness.

Precisely. If truth trembles now, silence will strangle it later. The cost of speaking may be high, but the cost of silence is tyranny. History has shown—when fear wins, freedom dies. Raise your voice while you still can, or prepare to whisper in chains.

A chilling truth—our saving grace may be that the fools at the helm were too inept to finish what their malice began. Incompetence, not virtue, may spare us. But let us not tempt fate again. A republic should not rely on the failure of tyrants to preserve itself.

Enraged, and rightly so. While the nation burns, they flee the fire. Cowards in fine suits, abandoning duty for leisure. In war, such dereliction would earn court-martial. In governance, it earns reelection? No! Let their absence be remembered when ballots return.

Indeed, Madam Secretary. Authoritarianism knows no bounds once it finds a foothold. Today, it is Kilmar—tomorrow, it may be you. A nation that trades due process for fear has already begun to fall. The time to resist is not later—it is now, and it must be loud.

A man who butchered the truth daily now sues over editing? This is rich! Trump whining to the courts about being misrepresented is like the arsonist suing the fire brigade. If truth had weight, he'd be crushed beneath it. Let him cry—history already knows his script.

The man who tripled the deficit in one term now cries foul over trade gaps. He inherited a booming economy, then drowned it in debt—long before the virus struck. Lectures on fiscal ruin from the architect of it? I should think not. Pots and kettles, indeed.