As the Fundo Fascist's dreams of an enduring Islamic Terrorist Bogeyman fade away, like the star and crescent into the pale light of dawn, they reach farther and farther into the realm of improbability, for domestic threats with which to whip up support for the dictatorship of the Baptocatholic Zionist coalition, that they wish to inflict upon our hapless nation.
More and more they target, if not exactly benign, certainly less than fearsome opponents and try to imbue them, in the eyes of the public, with an animosity that is overstated and a threat that just isn't there. Blood thirsty abortionists, stalking the streets for preborn innocents, to rip from their mother's wombs. Deranged global warming proponents, seeking to force us back into a hunter gatherer society, sheltered in solar cell roofed mud huts, situated squalidly in the midst of malignant wind farms. Maniacal animal rights activists, slaughtering white coated cosmetic testers and setting loose slavering hordes of squirmy, tail wagging puppies and soft, fluffy bunnies. Little old ladies in pink T-shirts, menacing our armed forces recruiters and the flower of our youth, who yearn to defend the nation. The list goes on and on. My personal favorite, Cossack like hordes of Lycra clad bicyclists, led by their bandit prince, "Lance" Armstrong, hugely tumescent from injections of ungodly androgens, mounted on their alloy framed, ten speeds of death, blocking traffic lanes and entrapping helpless soccer moms, plucking them from their stalled SUVs, making off with the poor dears and their rolley polley broods, to be defiled cruelly and sold in the swarming slave markets, that spring up each Summer, along the route of the fabled Tour de France.
What a fuckin' riot.