If you can’t hire competence, hire at least a piece of ass.

As for “Q,” real Americans should be damned if an anonymous team of formerly-unemployed 21-year-old addicts, slamming Mountain Dews and takeout pizza in St. Petersburg, making $13.00/hr behind encrypted firewalls, is going to influence their politics. Hell no, I don’t believe Q is a single person, and hell no, I don’t believe Q is American. From the very moment I learned of its influence over Trump supporters I have, and continue to, assume that it is a well-financed, well-run, hostile state actor… and, particularly because it claims to be a retired U.S. intelligence officer. Anyone who takes it seriously in 2020, in my opinion, is politically brain-dead.

Do you know what anonymity affords one? Complete lack of responsibility for anything that they do or say, whether they succeed or fail. That means that, whatever real skin Q has in this game, it’s not one it can afford to disclose. What, are we to believe the fairy-story that Q is the new Banksy of politics all of a sudden, willing to quietly sit in his or her basement despite all of the adoration and attention from the “I’ll Promote Anything You Say As Long As You Put a Gun in Front of It” millionaires who currently control this country? What, are we to believe that this supposed genius sitting in his presumably American basement is still anonymous, forty days out from the most important election in human history? Spare me.

Since we and our kids get to see high-profile non-veteran politicians shooting high-powered rifles at signs with the word “socialism” on them– of course, people who appreciate aspects of socialism shouldn’t read too much into playful, joking statements like that from Qhristian business administration graduates who are about to enter Congress– let’s also brush up on what those guns are really designed to do:

Meanwhile, COVID deaths of Americans is 204,091.

The withered thorns that caress my tainted flesh
The shattered halo that shattered all our dreams
We’ve been condemned by the pages of false hope
We’ve been caressed by each others’ lives in death

Bloodstained sheets mask our grief
Will render our tryst incomplete

Trudging through the carcass of what used to be a living world
Ten thousand lovers of God’s forgotten child
We take our mark while on bent and bloody knees
Not saved alone, but together we are exiled