White Cough Genocide

Sometimes when I dream of my perfect President I think of a good percentage of Trump, ramping things up the way he does, getting good people riled up and awake, because we need them, every last one of these Americans. But I wish there was also a part of this perfect President, haha, that balanced, and that was Pence, especially in emergencies. Because he can be so calm. He can bring people together. We need the rage figure, but we need a seeker. And Mike is a seeker.

October 6, 2020

Painting by Dan Lacey.

Stephen Miller

Well well cough well well well it seems that everything is going as I’d planned and cough all of the ignorant fools and liars and reprobates who have showered their hate on me for having a basic understanding of America and what cough makes it great have fallen into a trap of laughing and saying I’m gonna die but I have no symptoms or only mild very mild and what’s happening is happening and I’m not a cough moron I’m here in quarantine and I know this election could go either way but it doesn’t matter because what is in place is in place what I’ve done and put in place is here to stay and what is happening in this country is happening and whatever the election what we’re dealing with at worst is 2024 and a new and better Trump with all of his positives and none cough of his deficits someone young and handsome and brutal if I can say all that off the record and what we talk about with white cough genocide these are things I don’t even need to talk about anymore because people knew it in a deep way and I’ve told them through this administration and I’ve awakened what was there so people get it now and if you don’t understand why they come here and why they lie their asses off and how they cry boo hoo cough at the border about how there’s some gang violence or whatever and they’ve been coached on it and it’s this whole scam I mean take a look at the world around you and the erosion of our common culture and are they cough are babies literally being ripped from a woman’s breast well yes well yes that of course that is what has to be done because they are themselves liars and thieves who want in on this country and not their own shithole if you’ll forgive the expression they are shithole country kind of gross shithole people and it’s lies they say to get in and how is it that the Democrat world will countenance that like it’s the real truth and if a child is quite literally ripped away from the momma’s sucking breast maybe that is a net positive if it tells others like that momma and that sucking baby and every momma and every sucking baby to stay the fuck away as a Jew I cough I understand bigotry better just better than anyone but with family separation et cetera and how everyone says it’s so bad it’s like well look at what they were doing which was illegal and what you need to look at is the big picture we have a country and a world and it needs to be separated and what we need is bodies and brains that are good ones and not just some admixture of dregs and the garbage of the world and yes the Statue of Liberty but that was then and this is now that was there for a time I mean let us be clear that statue was literally a gift from overseas it’s like some big nanny cam from overseas watching and judging but we aren’t fucking looking for babysitters anymore and the point is if you can’t see what I see just wait another year or ten and I’ll dance on your grave in a cough cough in a beautiful white nation.


Katie Miller

Stephen’s diagnosis and this plexiglass stuff for the VP debate, it’s a day. If Sen. Harris wants to use a fortress around herself, have at it. It’s public now that she’s weak. Her brand is tough, and she’s weak. That was a win for the day, and whatever happens with the rules set forth by the debate committee is what happens. I’ve said to the Vice President that he should use a line about how the looters she encourages don’t use plexiglass, but I don’t think that’s a Mike angle. It did make him smile. Anyhow, our ultimate position is to be strong but accommodating. Generous to the weak. As far as the debate, the Vice President will be fine, he’s good at it, he is always the one who knows what to say. We’re dealing with cool, steady Pence against an angry they say Black but she’s a Black and Indian woman with a weird laugh who also seems to think she’s funny? I don’t want anyone to take this the wrong way but look at her a cop a prosecutor who fucked up and did so many stupid things just absolutely dumb as hell, and she says she’s Black but she’s Black and Indian and she’s this law and order cartoon when the Democrat thing is defund the police and so they want some POC cop who would have slammed their own asses in jail? It’s bizarre to me that some people get to the places they do. Sometimes when I dream of my perfect President I think of a good percentage of Trump, ramping things up the way he does, getting good people riled up and awake, because we need them, every last one of these Americans. But I wish there was also a part of this perfect President, haha, that balanced, and that was Pence, especially in emergencies. Because he can be so calm. He can bring people together. We need the rage figure, but we need a seeker. And Mike is a seeker. He had an HIV outbreak in Indiana and he set up a needle exchange, and that was hard. But he saved lives, he kept it calm, he considered each step of the decision. He still got criticism—that will always happen from the Democrat media—but he stamped out the outbreak swiftly and without great concern for what anyone would think about bold moves like his needle exchange. That’s why he’s the right choice for the coronavirus taskforce, and he’ll be the right choice in the future, when he’s ready, for other jobs, for the biggest jobs. And I’ll be with him. Stephen has this joke, where he himself is so so powerful now, writing all these speeches for the President, dictating policy, vetoing the bad stuff, but in a few years I’ll be his boss. Well, it’s true. My dream is I want him to be a house husband, to write his books, take care of our kids. I’m pregnant. And Stephen is my child. He’s my husband but he’s my dear, dear child. And I sponge his forehead and listen to him talking in his fever. He always jokes that we don’t want his big weird head on any kids of ours, they’d probably break me down there during childbirth. It’s a disgusting joke and I wish he wouldn’t make it, but also, I’m very pregnant, but what I don’t say to him—you can’t say things like this to the ones you love—that his head isn’t so much big as misshapen. If we were to get out his nifty old vintage eBay calipers, it wouldn’t be so big. It would just be a bit more in the shape of an alien patch on a pair of JNCO jeans than the average human head. And that’s fine, I’m attracted to that, I liked my X-Files, I was always more attracted to well then to to—I have to say—than to the aliens than Mulder. I liked their strange smooth skin and big eyes. You know? They were hot, I wanted to be one of those government scientists, working with their pliable bodies. I liked their long fingers and imagined them touching me back, wanting me back. I just can’t tell him any of this, of course. Hey, I get a sexual buzz from squinting a bit and thinking you’re a space alien. You know that when the family separations started to happen, my family and colleagues told me that when I have kids I will think about the separations differently. Why? Stephen and I don’t fuck anymore, but I do some occasional quick work on him with lotion while he keeps his eyes shut and draws breath. Squirt, squirt. Then he sort of nervously vibrates on his back for ten seconds, eyes still closed, and bolts for the shower. His eyes—this is amazing to me, his perception of a space and a room, his situational awareness, what his mind can accommodate, he truly is a genius, on so many levels—his eyes are closed as he bolts out the door down the hallway to the bathroom and into the shower, and he doesn’t open them—I’ve quietly padded after him, I’ve seen this—he doesn’t open his eyes until he’s been under the shower with the spray beating down on his face and body for a minute or two, then at last his eyes screw open, and he grabs for the face cleansers and shampoos and Aesop geranium leaf body cleanser, and he scrubs himself all over with a strong wooden boar bristle brush. I can watch all this and not love him anymore or any less. I love him. It’s steady, and it’s for my whole life. It’s him I care about, our child, our children. Homeland Security once sent me to the border to see the separations myself to try to make me more compassionate, but it didn’t work. My philosophy is: I take care of mine, you take care of yours. I beat Covid. I’m—excuse me for saying this—I’m a tough lady. For me it was a bad cold. I know it varies case to case. I don’t actually know if I want my baby to look like a Stephen-style alien or to look like a Mulder or Scully—those are different paths through the world, and I’ll love the child no matter what. Stephen and I will be together, and we’re going to have a great kid, and then more, if that’s what we’re given. We’re going to have a whole bunch of kids. And you, if you think my husband’s going to die from this, number one, you’re wrong, and number two, you fucking die. That’s my man you’re talking about, and I will slice your fucking guts wide open into the gutter before you wish your bad wishes on my good little sweet little baby boy my good boy Stephen who does so much for all of our lives and for everything that’s coming.

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