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Conservative Chronicles
By NotCIAAgent | Edited by Learned Nand | 19th August, 2015 | 11:54 am

I was walking hastily away from the Brazilian branch of the Republican Party with a very important load. I was carrying with me definitive evidence that the Theory of the Evolution is a hoax by the Democrats to turn all our children into gay communists.

I was travelling through a slum's dark alleys on my way to the nearest news building (this is Brazil dammit, we have slums even in the rich "white" neighborhoods) to share this groundbreaking discovery with all the world's nations, I was assaulted by a gang of thugs, armed with knives, broken bottles, and hard cover copies of Marx's Das Kapital.

"Give us those papers!", one demanded, pointing his knife threateningly.

"We are outlaws, but our skin color is completely unrelated to that!" clarified another one, as he moved closer towards me.

"Aye fam, check out my mixtape", said a third one, throwing a CD at me.

Thankfully I had the protection of the Second Amendment to defend me against the bandits, but as I reached for my gun, I remembered that I was Brazilian and therefore those rights did not apply to me. I began to lament my lack of Freedom, but my line of thought was cut off when one of the bandits grabbed the papers out of my hands.

As soon they had them, they opened a crate labeled "From Amsterdam", causing the horrid stench of marijuana to fill the whole alley. They grabbed handfuls of the Devil's herb from the crate, and rolled them in papers reflecting cumulative decades of research into the fact that evolution couldn't possibly be true because it didn't eliminate monkeys when it produced humans. Then they began to blaze it.

Immediately upon inhaling the smoke from their first joint, aggression (the most common effect of marijuana consumption) took hold. The bandits turned on each other. One of them stabbed the mixtape bandit just as he was trying to light up another one, which was a shame, 'cause he did got some talent. Meanwhile, another bandit was watching Chinese cartoons on his cellphone with bloodshot eyes, foaming at the mouth. In fewer than five minutes all the papers were gone, sacrificed for their hedonistic pleasure. But it wasn't over yet.

As soon as the bandits found themselves without any paper, they started injecting the marijuana, using whole handfuls of syringes at a time. Taken to beyond the realms of hallucination, two of them began to engage in raw, violent, bestial, unchristian homosexual sex. "They'll be dead of AIDS by the end of the day, no doubt", I lamented, turning away so that witnessing their unnatural behaviour wouldn't destroy my wholesome heterosexual marriage.

Two more bandits died at the hands of their friends as the needles were passed around. And then it started. One of them rolled his eyes up and began to foaming blood out of his mouth, as if he were undergoing demonic possession. They had injected so much marijuana that they were overdosing. From the moment they had stolen the papers to that point, not more than 15 minutes had gone by. And now, only one bandit was still alive, trying desperately to sniff the marijuana, as no needle was within arm's reach.

"That was some danky ass kush man", he said with a satisfied smile. Then he coughed up a glob of thick, dark blood, collapsing to the ground.

"What lead you to this?", I asked. "Don't you have a family? Don't you have God? Who, or what, led you down this path of ruin and death?"

I held his head up to prevent him from choking on his own blood and, straining to speak, he gave me his answer:

"The weed, man. They legalized it. If the cops kept sending all the hippies to prison like it was before, I could be a shoe shiner, or sharecropper, or whatever profession a man of my unspecified race could get. The legalization ruined my life, man.

"The liberals... ruined... my..." he told me, as gave his dying breath. Another life claimed by the marijuana.

I stood up, wiping the tears from my eyes. Seeing the crate there, still half full, I knew what I had to do. With a match, I set it ablaze, so that no children would wander into the alley and become addicted to the herb. Eight hours later, I left the alley, swearing vengeance on the liberals and feeling hungry as a fuck.

I crawled my way to the nearest Taco Bell, ordering meal after meal. Even after finishing my ninth burrito, I was still hungry. By the 12th, I realized it was no longer hunger that I was feeling, but pity for the poor mislead young men I saw die. They could have been rappers, comedians, or basketball players, but their futures were cut short by the Devil's Weed. But I knew the truth. I knew whom I had to blame, and in the name of the Lord, I will!

"Hey, you tortilla shit!" I scream at my waiter. "Go back to Mexico, you fucking alien! You come here to steal our jobs, pollute our streets, and steal our highschool girlfriends with your dashing good looks! I fucking hate you, go back to your country, you godd--" My righteous rant for racial unity was cut short with a hard hook at the jaw, followed by a luta technique he used to throw me out. If he had manners, he should have stood there while I spoke to him, looking down, nodding, and saying "yo estoy sorry, ese." How rude.

As I sat on the sidewalk, collecting my thoughts (and teeth), a strange figure exited the restaurant. I could immediately see that he was dressed the same as I was.

"I... think the Mexicans aren't really the ones to blame for the current situation, Mr. CIA."

I quickly stood up, ready to give that commie bastard some good ol' Yankee justice. But when I saw his face, I stopped dead in my tracks.

"4chan, the world's most wanted hacker!" I exclaimed in near disbelief, staring at his featureless green face. "For all the places in the world you can be, why are you here in Brazil?"

"Brazil has a history of accommodating Nazis and war criminals seeking refuge. Are you really surprised?"

"Huh." I cleverly replied, placing the rest of my teeth in my pocket. "Then shouldn't I just turn you over to the INTERPOL, 4chan? You're worse than a Nazi; you're a fascist that hates your own country, organizes terrorist raids against government websites, and worst of all, you make jokes about 9/11. I will never forget, George W. Bush (may your soul rest in peace)."

"Half of that sentence made sense, if I'm being generous, but by your smell, I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, were you at the Rastafarian church during a holiday? Regardless, I have some important news for you. With my amazing hacking skills, I managed to discover why the left wing is so popular nowadays: autism. By making kids autistic, they create adults incapable of seeing how the Republican Party is obviously the one God intended to rule over America for an eternity of prosperity. I found the place where they are conducting their operations; all you have to do is to go there and shut it down." With those words, he handed me a piece of paper and walked away.

At not point would I ever trust that frog faced bastard, but as I was running out of political and racial stereotypes, I would give him the benefit of the doubt in order to drive the story to an interesting conclusion before I had to resort to making Chris Rock jokes. After all, an investigation into his claims couldn't do any harm. And if he was telling the truth, then I could use that to deal the left-wing a crushing blow. With that, I left to the address marked on the paper, an abandoned factory complex near city limits.

Meanwhile, somewhere else, 4chan encounters his partner, Reddit, another internet terrorist. "Why did you helped him? He's a goddamn funDIE, he's our enemy!"

To which, the greenman replied: >IMPLYING it is not just for the lulz.

I managed to sneak towards the backside of the huge factory, quickly climbing up an old service ladder, fueled by the 8th Nacho Loco I had consumed a few hours before. The smokestacks and the movement on the ground indicated that this facility was anything but abandoned. Despite having been bloated after having eaten a full gorditas menu and two bottles of cheap soda, I squeezed inside a ventilation duct, and crawl my way along for a full minute before the rusty metal failed under my increased weight.

But, thanks luck or destiny, I managed to fall over a platform overlooking dozens of huge industrial cauldrons. They were being fed by tubes, pouring noxious materials into the cauldron. I could identify both lead and mercury. Between the ingredients and the acrid smell, it was abundantly clear what this factory was producing:

"Vaccines", I muttered to myself, standing up. "A huge factory dedicated exclusively to the production of vaccines. I should have known this was the cause of all the autism. But who --"

"Stupid goyim, you really never suspected?". The realization hits my brain like a bullet hit JFK's. I slowly turned around to see a small, hairy figure operating the machine.

"The Merchant!", I exclaimed. "I should have known since the beginning! You were behind the 9/11, behind the Crimean Conflict, behind the Middle Eastern terror! You do everything within your power to profit from the destruction of the Western society! Of course you would be behind the leftist insurgence!"

The hunched man rubbed his hands gleefully, displaying a grotesque smile. "Oh look, the goy figured it out! But there's nothing you can do. Those vaccines will go not only to America, but the entire Western world! Children everywhere will have to take them, causing them to be bullied for liking horse cartoons. Their social isolation will cause them to grow up become homosexuals, hippies, and post-modern artists! And you can't do anything about it!"

"Then watch me!", I roared. I shoved him out of my way, and running to the opening of the cauldrons, revealed my secret weapon: a bottle of bleach! I could the terror on his face as I unscrewed he cap and began to pour it in. He shouted "oy vey!", "shoah"!, "Levant have always been ours!", "muh 6 trillions!" in an attempt to persuade me, but unlike the heads of the German government, I will not be guilted into submission.

As the bottle emptied, the cauldrons began to glow, as the autism-inducing chemicals had been purged. All the vaccines were neutralized. As I turned to deal with the Merchant, I noticed that I couldn't see him anywhere. He had disappeared, like ashes blown away by the wind.

Hours later, I was standing on the docks, staring into the horizon, pondering. Sure, I may have thwarted the Merchant and the lefties this time, but did it even matter in the big picture? Vaccines would still be produced, Chinese cartoons would still find their way to the West, and that's not even considering Feminism. It seemed like a losing battle. The world would be painted red, eventually, and there was nothing I could do.

"Don't be too harsh on yourself, young man. It hasn't even begun", a soothing voice reassured me. It seemed to come from inside me, even though I was not hallucinating. I looked around and saw, a well dressed, middle aged man with glowing eyes, floating gloriously above the ground. Ron Paul.

"My prophet!", I say, humbled, as I kneel before The Emissary. He gently touched me in my forehead, using his psychic powers to remove all my distressed worries and doubts about the efficacy of capitalism.

"Stand up, my child, for I seek your help", said the master, without needing to move his lips. "I'm here to talk about the Happening Initiative."


Tags: Humour, Conservative Chronicles 25

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