LF: Our New Gig: Sickness Theater

Nahhnnnlevven and Corona Fever have much in common, including theater.

After the “enemies of freedom” struck, we got Security Theater. The Homeland Security Department, blue-uniformed crotch fondlers, cattle-chuting at airports and “freeze in place” – which some of you may remember.

It was proposed that Americans traveling through airports do exactly that when so ordered by a loudspeaker voice – Because Trrrrr (as The Chimp used to say – for everything).

And here we are. Sickness Theater.

People ordered to “shelter in place” and when not doing that, strongly urged and soon-to-be-forced to wear surgical masks as they scuttle stoop-shouldered and suspicious of floating bacilli from shelter to shelter, always maintaining their “social distance.” Press conferences almost hourly warning of the Dread Threat, which – like ululating Islamists – seems less an actual threat than the people giving these press conferences.

The Trrrrrists supposedly knocked down three buildings – including one they didn’t hit with an airplane. The Chimp took down America, which became a place where “if you see something, say something” – anonymously, of course.

Sound familiar?

It ought to, as precedent always becomes practice – whether for bad or good. Usually for bad, though. Which people get used to as normal. Which makes new and worse inevitable.

Having been habituated to, for example, cattle chutes at airports – no more freely walking up to the gate as you like, as an individual – people are ready to be cattle chuted at grocery stores. No more just walking in and walking around.

Instead, walk where you are told.

Enter here, stand here. Do not stand too close. Do not stand there. One way in – and this way out – all under the supervision of Government’s Little Helpers. Your fellow Americans. Who are becoming indistinguishable from East Germans except they mostly don’t speak German.

But the language is the same.

Officiously order others about. Which they do, if not eagerly, out of what they consider to be necessity, because the government (the actual officials) have made them very grateful for whatever employment – and thus, food – they are still permitted to have and so have very little dignity left – and no respect for yours.

They will do as they are told – which is to tell you what to do.

Which most Americans seem willing to do – the cost of getting the food they need. Which they have to pay now because of their willingness to play Security Theater, their first “gig” now become our daily life.

Take off your shoes. Empty your purse. Raise your hands. Spread your legs. Little kids and old people; wives and daughters right in front of their husbands and fathers – who stood by in the most unmanly manner conceivable and watched it happen. For the sake of getting on an airplane, usually not because it was essential.

To go to Disneyland.

That’s what they exchanged for their dignity – and yours.

Now we all get the same treatment at the grocery store. And unlike air travel, it is hard to avoid buying food – which will mean those of us who avoided Gate Rape and Submission Training at the airport will soon be forced to decide whether to accept it for the sake of food.

Some are worried about the possibility that mask-wearing will become mandatory. Which it probably will. So will vaccines – and not just for Corona. Because We Can’t Be Too Safe. Because a precedent will have been set on that basis.

Thousands may die!

And thousands may die next year, too. Of Corona, the flu . . . of anything and everything. Just say Boo – and hear them Moo.

Just as random roadside checkpoints became the precedent for more the same – and worse – at airports.

If we can lawfully be treated as presumptive drunks, absent any reason to suspect us of that – or of anything, in particular – and then obliged to prove we are not guilty of that (or anything else) then why not treat us as presumptive Trrrrists at airports?

Why not treat us as presumptively sick? Until we prove otherwise? As by testing us – for Corona and anything else? Why not force us to prove it, as by a vaccination receipt? Without which we may not enter a supermarket, say?

You know – just as we may not enter an airport without a REAL ID?

This will not require checkpoints to enforce, either. Just a chip. Money, you see, is unsafe and dirty – it spreads the virus! – and must be abolished Because Corona, just as the freedom to travel unmolested was abolished Because Drunk Drivers.

All currency – the ability to buy and sell – will be electronic. And turned off just as easily as kitchen light only not by you. By them. When you do not behave. No food (or gas or water) for you.

Until you do behave.

Maintain social distance. Stay home. Keep that mask on. Etc.

Forever.

The chip may perhaps even be in you. This idea – once the dread plot line of dystopian sci-fi – is being actively pushed by technocratic World Controllers such as Bill Gates. And is being framed in the most gaslighty way conceivable: It is a human right to have a secure ID, Gates and his fellow World Controllers say.

One you won’t be permitted to not have, on the same basis that you’re not allowed to enter an airport without being Gate Raped and Submission Trained – and will soon experience the same at the grocery store, if you haven’t already.

How long do you suppose it will be before there is a Health Security Department? Nahhnnlevven was all it took to justify a Homeland Security Department – and Security Theater. Americans not only accepted all of that, they begged for it – to keep them safe from ululating Islamists, which were lurking practically everywhere.

Now we have a bug that is asserted to be actually everywhere – and what measures won’t the Corona Cattle accept? There are literally cattle chutes now at supermarkets. People are being tackled and cuffed and stuffed – Hut! Hut! Hutted! – and egged on to narc out their fellow citizens – for not maintaining “social distancing,” a thing which seemed to arise out of nowhere, like a bad pop song and for the same reason. Both suddenly being played everywhere.

His Masters Voice.

. . .

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