on the 25th of december i wake up surrounded by material goods. i am no longer a commie. antifa saw me enjoying private property and banished me. i look at the last unwrapped gift. its a copy of ayn rand. im suddenly an ancap. my neighbour’s kid trespasses on my property. he’s trying out his brand new toy. i shoot them both.
i wake up hungover on the 26th. i look at my gifts and the kid’s gifts i have stolen. i should redistribute those things, i say to myself. standing in my kitchen is the ghost of christmas past. he looks at me like he does every year. he asks me if im back to being a commie yet. i tell him im not sure but im ready to smash the cistem. he nods. once hes left i light the ayn rand book on fire. i validate strangers on my way to the protest.
@datmoki reading your posts is honestly like trying to solve some sort of cryptic code
im actually an scp, im not a danger to anyone but i can project into people’s heads a strong feeling of melancholia for the days where guillotines were used to decapitate bourgeois. side effects include: sometimes people kick cops in the knees while crying because they miss guillotines.