These boots are made for walkin', and that's just what they'll do.

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over this festering pumpkin carcass of American rot crammed into an ill-fitting suit.

It’s been tweetin’ when it oughta be leadin’, a dumb orange clown shoutin’ greed as substitute.

Ignore all other photos you think are of me—this is 100% the real me. And for the love of the entire observable universe, please, DO NOT take me to your leader. I’ve already served enough time on Uranus. It was real shitty.

Psychologists call it dairy-induced kleptomania. In Wisconsin, it’s just called ‘a balanced diet.’

So they’ll know when and where I’m taking a massive shit and shitposting memes about Thiel at the same time? Perfect.

The language of war turned inward—rhetoric of a thug in office. A head of state bragging about “deportations in the morning” isn’t a leader—he’s a domestic terrorist in a suit, the festering carcass of American rot, animated by cruelty and parading the stench of collapse as if it were providence.

Behold. The festering carcasses of American rot all shoved into ill-fitting suits.

I miss him. Still one of my heroes. He spoke truth to power without flinching, even when it cost him everything. He believed in a better future—for Russia, for all of us. The kind of courage that leaves a hole when it’s gone.

Non-political post—just sharing some homemade Bouillabaisse with fresh rouille and a glass of Pinot Grigio. Simple pleasures are important, my friends.

Facebook nuked my profile overnight—180-day lock, appeal denied. No warning. Fuck that. I’m not shutting the fuck up. I’m doubling down—Bluesky, Substack, Reddit, new FB. Fuck the fascist cowards. You won’t silence me. Truth doesn’t die in silence. History will remember who spoke. I won’t be erased.

Fuck Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook. Fascist fucks.