Bully The Bullies.

We in this benighted nation live in an age of chronic fascism.
The fascists have taken over, like the scions of the 'Boys From Brazil', a rampant( slightly), thriving(apparently), aggressive, fearful, cowardly bunch of youthful trash, the sort of rubbish that nobody wants to grow up to be, the sort of rubbish that everybody else seems to be growing up to be.

The point is not that they are tough.
They aren't.
They are pack-animals, even when alone, carrying the indelible imprint of the pack in their shrivelled minds wherever they go, awaiting with boredom the moment of 'joy' when they acquire a new victim.
They see me and feel very defensive, because when they see me they see someone who doesn't live by their rule of thumb.
They also see someone who isn't a victim particularly.
If they see me at all.

Anyway, they do not seek to develop courage; they seek to destroy it in others.
They do not seek to prove anything to themselves; only to make others forget what they already knew.
They do not seek to win a conflict; they seek to perpetuate it.

They are the enemies of life; they are the enemies of the living.

The bully isn't big;not all the time.
The bully will be big once or twice, to catch us out.This is supposed to put us back in our box.
Stop us from getting angry ever again with the lice.
Who can then dance on our living graves and faces.

But it doesn't work like that.Not when you're a man.
We men thump a few bullies; hit them hard, kick them in the balls and forget it, only to be capable of remembering whenever we like.

We never do the obvious.We never do what's expected.We never do anything if they are calling the shots.
We never forget that the only reason these bipedal turds aren't dead, is because of the law.
And we use the law.
The conflict becomes a contest of who breaks it first and most often.Our way of fighting is to keep putting them back in their boxes, and never forget that they are evil.

So when my pet (disabled) guy listens to everything he can through the neighbouring wall, I make sure he doesn't hear anything but provocation.
When he makes clattering noises, I shout out"next door has dropped his crutch again".

Believe me it won't change the way he thinks, but it will make him think twice; and when he does, he won't be under any pet illusions.

The fascist may be planning psychic invasion;not much fun in Stalingrad!
And when I finally get the garbage evicted, victory will be total.