Chapter 17: Locks and Chains (6/23)
Chapter 17: Locks and Chains (6/23)
And Now: Riot Season
Everyone knows by now that BLM is a Marxist terrorist group looking to overthrow traditional American values and destroy the American family and their way of life.
But most people don’t know it is based right here in Boston, Massachusetts.
Or Somerville, mainly (we’ll talk more about that sick and twisted place in Chapter 27), which is to say:
There weren’t many riots here.
The people planning the riots wouldn’t want their own lily-white Communist enterprises disrupted, would they? You wouldn’t want to risk damage to, say the Center for Marxist Education in Central Square, Cambridge or the so-called “Democracy Center”in Harvard? No, no you would not.
So much of the rioting was limited to looting the famously-wealthy shopping district of Newbury Street or overturning a few cop cars in front of the statehouse and lighting them on fire.
Naturally they would go from the blackest part of town or through the towering Millennial gulags, smashing windows of black-owned pizza shops and CVS’ where the dog moms get their Xanax … but never near the organizers.
But ActBlue, the Democratic (slash-Communist) fund-raising apparatus that received all the BLM donations from virtue-signaling dog moms, is based in Somerville. Boston University, which is officially the home of anti-white race hustler Ibram X Kendi, is in the Fens. Somerville, which is probably the largest concentration of Marxist bolsheviks in the world—literally—did not burn.
None of those places burned.
Nevertheless, fear-porn sells chains and locks and soon enough we were plumb out. People pad-locking their back gates, putting an industrial hasp on their back doors and running chains around their patio furniture and the like.
Hell, I even did it (putting a barrel-bolt on my back door) as the rumor was the mob was coming to Southie. And Lord knows I had a big Marxist target on my back.
So, as was the case throughout this accounting, our store was a kind of meeting ground for those based enough to stick around. Cops, counselors, many business owners (and, yeah maybe a few gangsters) could be found commiserating in and around our aisles, and now it was probably at its apex.
“We can’t let them come to Southie,” says one. “Don’t worry we have a plan to divert them,” says another. “They better not come to Southie,” say another in a thick accent. “If they start something … there are so many cops in this neighborhood … don’t they realize how many guns we got around here?”
Sure enough, that night, the mob made their way towards Southie, heading down from city hall and making a right turn at the waterfront and, sure enough, they were stopped and turned away at the Callahan Bridge on Summer Street.
… And a crisis was avoided.
Up the hill from the store, there is a local pub which is veteran-owned and very based. They were selling t-shirts to support the local cops and firefighters. They look like this:
One night, after work, I went for my customary dinner and asked if they had sold many of the t-shirts and the owner says to me in a thick accent:
“Are you kidding me? We’re like The Gap over here.”
Of course, I bought one on the spot. (It was their last one).
Addendum: I knew the heads of Antifa. They even corralled me into an “action” some time ago (2015?). My weakness is naivete so I figured why not, let’s go. (I even briefly went to the after-party meeting of the Democratic Socialists of America wherein you were lucky if you got a slice of cheap pizza.)
I don’t even remember what we were protesting, but we had a few trucks and were blasting music. Suddenly BlacBloc shows up and I realize something is off. As they light trash cans on fire and kick them over I realized I was among the leaders. They were (/are?) MIT Professors and Microsoft tech overlords. They were Harvard scholars and Wayfair programmers.
They were powerfully rich and influential.
They are the leaders of Antifa.
I know who they are.
Next week: We have to place a rush order on moving boxes:
