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Behind them, a large guy with an evident taste for ’roids and vehicular phallic symbolism was getting out of his Camaro howling with rage at his impacted front end.
“You’re one of the good guys, and there are a lot of us in the Bureau who are with you but who are keeping our heads down,” she replied. Turnbull looked at her quizzically
“You think we’re all leftist pieces of shit?” she said, her voice low. “We aren’t. There’s lots of us who are actual patriots. And if that freak out there reminds me one more time that his pronouns are they/them, I might slap the shit out of them.”
“The Bureau is turning into an American Gestapo. We’re moving from chasing crooks to chasing patriots, and I don’t know how long I can be part of it,” the tech told him. “Stay where you are on the inside of the agency. You can help from there.”
Yeah, Gestapo, or Stasi (take your pick).
“Take their driver’s license. Tell them you’ll come to their house and cap them and their life partner and their cats if they ID you. That’ll shut them up.”
How about “it” as opposed to “them/they?”
“And you, dude?” “I don’t identify as…” Pat began, but Turnbull kicked him in the leg. “Yes, I got you,” Pat said. “Just don’t hurt my kitties.”
Haha, zing. Inspired by the old SNL character Pat by any chance?
She was in jeans and a dark top, definitely toned down from her on-camera Baptist Girls Gone Mild vibe.
Can you imagine coming to your editor today and telling her your secret source is named ‘Deep Throat’?” Avery giggled. “That’s a #MeToo felony.”
“I believe you, but unlike the Times and the Post and CNN and the rest, we don’t go with one-source, anonymous stories.”
They’ll try to ram them through, but Cocaine Mitch is pretty wily.”
Heh heh, “Cocaine, It’s A Helluva Drug.”
“I’m whatever the opposite of the Deep State is.
“Four-way chili mac.” That was chili over spaghetti with cheese and onions. It was the closest thing on the menu to his favorite MRE entrée.
Blecchh. Eh, whatever floats yet boat, Kelly.
Ten feet away, Lindsey Graham was grappling with a rioter and pulling his hair.
Haha, I’d pay money to see that in real life!
She caught a glimpse of Rand Paul, who had apparently decided he was never again going to come out second best in a fist fight, judo flipping a fat Antifa-type onto the stone floor.
Haha, I’d pay money to see that one too!
And then they banned prisons, excepting for those convicted of these new crimes or of “such other crimes that may impact the people.” This was not defined in the law, but there was little focus on details as the festival of faux-legislating continued.
The CNN reporter screamed, and Turnbull punched him in the ample gut.
BOOM! Suck it, CNN!
“No, I was here to rescue some different folks, but they don’t seem to need it. McConnell’s locked in his office, and when I tried the door, he unloaded a double barrel blast of buckshot in my direction, so he’s good. Tim Scott didn’t need my help – he knocked the guy getting in his face on his ass. And Lindsey Graham nearly scratched the eyes out of a couple of these shitheads.
More BOOM!
“Why’d you shoot me, bro?” Turnbull paused. “Because you’re an asshole,”
Even better than “Don’t tase me, bro!”
One young Goucher College sophomore had laid her (maybe xir – Mr. Soto did not care) hand on him,
“Yes, but what allows you to shed blood?” Crane did not answer, so Harrington answered his own query. “Power.” “So, your objective is power, Senator?” “Yes, Mr. Crane. As is yours.”
Turnbull punched him in the throat, and he went down.
Vive Le Throat Punch!
The back of his target’s head vanished in a pink puff
Yum, pink mist—or would that be a new meaning of “pink slime?”
We aren’t a democracy anymore, Chris.” “I thought we were a republic….” “I’m serious!” She was visibly upset. “This was all coming for a long time,” Turnbull said. “I’m not political, but I could see it happening even from overseas. It was inevitable. And it’s only getting worse.”
“‘They’ being the ones who want to tear things apart today?” asked Turnbull. “Yeah,” Deeds said. “And like back then, a lot of them are Democrats. Many are straight-up socialists, communists,
We’re on the side of the United States of America, and Kelly, I can’t tell you that today that is still the same side as much of the United States government.”
“I’d volunteer to go find out, but I’ve made it a point of pride to stay out of the Pentagon.”
“Communist lives matter,” Turnbull said. “Just not to me.”
“We’re trying to save the same government that will be hunting us? I’m not at all confused or anything.”
You have Texas, whose governor seems to be nearly ready to declare it the Texas Republic again, and it’s got Austin in the middle of it like a malignant tumor.
Turnbull sighed. “I hate politics.” “Politics hates you back. Time to choose.”
“There’s just one problem.” “And what’s that, Kelly?” “I hate generals.”
And admirals too, I presume?
totally indistinguishable from the other suburban Virginia houses around it, with one exception. At 1366, there was a beige house with a Prius out front that had a large sign in the front yard listing exactly whose lives mattered, with the lives of those absent presumably not mattering much at all.
There was a Beretta 92F pistol in his right hand.
Nice choice!
“I’m a general,” Scott replied. “Not an idiot.” “Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” Turnbull said. “Let’s go”
Ha!
Killdozer 6, no better friend, no worse enemy,” Schiller said. “Sulla,” Casey said. “That was Sulla’s epitaph.” The general smiled. “It was indeed. Sulla has been one of my historical mentors since West Point. A great general.” “Didn’t he pull off a coup, occupy Rome, and kill all his enemies?”
“He restored the Republic after it was undermined by morally inferior men.
Anyone could kill them, even a slave, who would win his freedom on top of a bounty.
Scott’s logic was sound, and even a general could be right occasionally.
“Chamberlain was a college professor before the war. Imagine that. A college professor who loved America enough to take up arms to defend her. Now our college professors are at the vanguard of those who seek to destroy her,”
“Genocyde City” spray painted in black. Turnbull wondered if the spelling was intentional, or evidence of a public-school education.
More like pubic school.
there were also comments about “Antifa deviationism.” Turnbull smiled at the thought of the two strains of the Marxist pathology in conflict with each other. Blue on blue was awesome.
Yep, the trash taking out the trash, kinda like Commies and Nazis killing each other.
“Well, far be it from me to want to interfere in shooting communists.
Patagonia vest – the company was a big supporter of the left
Maybe the guy had some Irish blood in there somewhere – when he got angry, he reddened up like a Kennedy at an open bar on St. Patty’s Day.
Ha!
“The only thing I know about Minot is that there’s a big Air Force base there,” Turnbull said. “A nuke base, Kelly.”
HOOAH!! Aahh, memories of Minot…
“So don’t make me shoot you because then your buddy is going to have to clean it up and if you saw Pulp Fiction you know you don’t want to be Travoltaing it out here tonight.”
“Christian Collins, DHS,”
“Because you local guys have common sense and intuition, unlike most feds,
“It was a good day,” Turnbull said, recalling a popular Twilight Zone episode that involved consigning offenders to a cornfield. “But I did have to use my AK,” replied Deputy Joe. “Love me some Ice Cube, especially after he went for Trump.”
Heh heh, WORD! ✊🏿
A security police sergeant, identifiable by the stripes on his jacket, approached him.
SSgt or TSgt. And BTW/FYI, USAF Security Police were officially renamed Security Forces back in 1998. Frankly, I like the old moniker better, but eh, it is what it is.
