I'm someone seeking election to the prestigious position of "Leader of the Free World". Only, I'm doing it as someone who has not been dealt into the table and who, by all accounts, is an uncouth, unwashed mass not worthy of the illusory class present at the table.
If, and this is a long shot, I am elected, then I face an uphill climb against unrelenting winds of establishment habits, manners, and rigor morale. I have to battle the entrenched cancerous unionized people who's sole focus is to preserve their steady paycheck.
As this newly elected personage to such an office, I still retain my conscience and soul. How can I save my fellow countrymen from continued enslavement? If I use a broadsword, I will by called a tyrant. If I use a scalpel, I will be called impotent and a coward. But, if by some slim chance, I can slowly wake my countrymen from their decades of slumber so they can truly see what has become of their country, well then I may stand a chance of excising the rot and restoring the American Dream.
Q isn't the broadsword or the scalpel. Q is the full brass knuckle fist impacting our left cheek to wake us up to what the heck has been going on in our government for far, far too long. But, it couldn't be broadcast like that. Q's punch had to float like a butterfly yet sting like a bee. If you dump cold water on a drunk at 6am, the drunk is just gonna be mad and piss on you. If you slowly wake up that drunk and offer him a breakfast taco, well, that hobo may be your best friend for life and be willing to listen to what you say.
We've been hobos for too long. Q is running out of breakfast tacos. But, it's ok, the hobos are waking up.
Thought experiment time.
I'm someone seeking election to the prestigious position of "Leader of the Free World". Only, I'm doing it as someone who has not been dealt into the table and who, by all accounts, is an uncouth, unwashed mass not worthy of the illusory class present at the table.
If, and this is a long shot, I am elected, then I face an uphill climb against unrelenting winds of establishment habits, manners, and rigor morale. I have to battle the entrenched cancerous unionized people who's sole focus is to preserve their steady paycheck.
As this newly elected personage to such an office, I still retain my conscience and soul. How can I save my fellow countrymen from continued enslavement? If I use a broadsword, I will by called a tyrant. If I use a scalpel, I will be called impotent and a coward. But, if by some slim chance, I can slowly wake my countrymen from their decades of slumber so they can truly see what has become of their country, well then I may stand a chance of excising the rot and restoring the American Dream.
Q isn't the broadsword or the scalpel. Q is the full brass knuckle fist impacting our left cheek to wake us up to what the heck has been going on in our government for far, far too long. But, it couldn't be broadcast like that. Q's punch had to float like a butterfly yet sting like a bee. If you dump cold water on a drunk at 6am, the drunk is just gonna be mad and piss on you. If you slowly wake up that drunk and offer him a breakfast taco, well, that hobo may be your best friend for life and be willing to listen to what you say.
We've been hobos for too long. Q is running out of breakfast tacos. But, it's ok, the hobos are waking up.