They've fucked this place. Revachol is in ruins. The kojkos and the kipts and the armataurs with their desert pygmee magic spinning tops – they've fucked it! Oranjese liberals and vespertine moneylenders too. They're all socialists, especially the women and the kipts. You have only a vague idea what this means, but it's clear that a *good strong state* must be erected upon the ruins, if any of us are to have a future. The shadowy outlines of this State start forming every time you close your eyes...
The Revacholian State will be a serene place. (You should get a drink.) A beautiful, serene place of mystery and peace. It will not be a place for women to infect with their frailty and hysterics. Or where the Semenese will be allowed to wear their pants around their ankles. All of that will go. (Once you get a drink.) The socialist professors at the École Supérieure will be fired, the editors of Trompe le Monde will have to beg in the streets. You'll pour your beer into their begging hats and laugh. (You should get a beer.)
This page was last edited on 8 May 2021, at 04:13.
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