As I entered in through the back of the building I noticed the calmness in the air, and It felt good. It told me I was first, and that my plans should go through without a hiccup. My cameraman was not a professional, and I could tell the anxiety was getting to him. But I kept my cool, as this was not a warzone... yet. I strolled down the windowed hallway towards the main entrance, easily noticing that there wasnt a meeting being held on this floor. Even though It was well after 6pm, the library was very much full of people either reading books or browsing the internet. They seemed pleasant in their surroundings, and obviously hadnt the slightest bit of knowledge on the filth going on down below. As I entered Mr. Packs Library, I asked the security guard for the location of the meeting. The old and weathered man looked at me and my Cavalry Stetson and just put his head down, in shame. The socialist meeting? He asked. I could tell that I had just broken this mans heart. Here I am, some young veteran duped into believing socialist lies. He told me it was down in the basement, and the sadness in his voice really hurt me. I knew I couldnt tell him the truth of my presence or else his job would force him to stop me. So I said thank you in the kindest possible way, and took a left face towards the steps. Once below I had another hallway to contend with and several doors. I hadnt a clue which one to go through but then quickly noticed several people sitting in a circle over in one of the big glass-walled rooms. I made sure to keep the camera rolling on the action, but I could feel the drama starting to set in. The little red headed girl sitting behind the table locked eyes with me, and she knew. We held each other’s glance for what felt like an eternity. Through those glass walls she knew that I was a real American Warrior, and She knew exactly what I was there for. As I came to the front of the door she had quickly positioned herself to block me and asked what I needed. Smiling, I questioned if this was the socialist meeting. In the very moment that these few words were spoken, she reached out to grab by smartphone, only to be stopped by by hand. I grabbed her by the wrist and held her very firmly in midair and remarked- Dont touch me. I could see a large male coming towards the door to block my entrance further, and knew that now was the time to make my advance. The surprisingly husky male organizer tried pinning his backpack to my face in an effort to shove me away, but I easily just slipped under him and through his haphazard move. You cant touch me like that! He exclaimed, as I kept walking without being phased a bit. As I stood before the group of young and old, hippy and socialist... jihadist dreaming up terror; I filmed them. I made sure to put my camera lens in each and every one of their faces. I wanted them to know how this was all going to play out. That playing around in basements plotting our Republics demise will not go unnoticed. That they truly will have a resistance. My next objective was to bring out my Bag O Tears, the crumpled up pieces of trash that these degenerates had littered all over the city. As I took a few out at a time, tossing them at each of the members in attendance, I started explaining my reasoning for being there. I informed them all that This is jihad! I would then go on to exclaim to them the situation of how “jihad is evil.” And that, “Siding with islamic extremism is wrong.” jihad is genocide! I yelled. This is killing people! The next male organizer had enough of my words and decided to start asking me questions to somehow prove that their side is right. This is Not a debate!, I baritoned, while launching the last of their scraps of trash. Now it was time for my speaker. So I flung my paper Bag O Tears over my shoulder and marched straight towards my carry bag. I hurriedly reached in for my prize and turned on all my devices as quickly as I could. This was the point where I could no longer record with with my video camera, because my smartphone isnt smart enough to use the microphone and video recorder apps at the same time. No big deal, as I brought a second camera guy to aid me in case of legal problems. But then, without any warning, nothing... it wouldnt work! I sat for a good thirty seconds fiddling with the buttons and gizmos, trying to get it going. My patience was now wearing thin, their chants of bigotry and calls to the police to have me arrested started building up. Anxiety took hold, and then I finally realized, Turn up the volume! The high screeching and low bellowing of a microphone next to its speaker is absolutely atrocious! I turned it up as loud as I could and spoke firmly into the mic, jihad is evil. The echo starts to trail off, evil...evil...evil... There is nothing progressive about socialism. ...screeeeech...boom… boom...boom.. The whining sound and low growls reverberating from the device was sickening. It sounded like war had finally come for these people. The absolute insanity of it all as I circled around the room spouting these phrases had finally gotten to them. The male organizers decided that they had had enough. They kept sprinting to to try and stay in front of me, shoving me from left to right. But never once did I raise a fist to meet them in violence. No matter how many times they put their hands kept putting their hands on me, grabbing at my clothes, arms and waist; I just kept on marching. sharia law has no place here. ....here...here...here.. rraaawwwwrrrrrr.... The security guard I had talked to was now in the room, demanding my attention. I would not listen, naturally, and just kept up with my march. The noises bellowing from my speaker sounded like God awful Hell, as if demons were all around screeching out their most viscious of nightmares. jihadist are going to kill You all. allllllllllllololololool, the speaker garbled. He was now in front of me screaming for my attention, so I calmly stopped, looked at him and asked in the politest voice possible, Why are You screaming at me? In amazement he and the crowd saw my calmness and were just stunned, at which point he yelled back, Because I want your attention! I knew my time was up, that this man was going to have me arrested for disturbing the terrorist. So thats when I told him, with all those who were left in the room, In the loudest voice possible my mic and I rang out: These are the enemy, they are not our friends. And no, they dont deserve anything. He looked at me dead in the eye and said exactly what I wanted to hear... Yes, they are the enemy. They are terrorist, but they still have the right to be here. I won. And I won in front of all of them. I made one last swing around the room with my microphone and speaker in hand yelling out, You are all terrorist. You are not welcome here. You will never be welcomed here. The security guard started chest bumping me out of the room, as I slowly let him perform his duty, I voiced my final few lines into the mic. And then that was it. Out the door we went. But this story isnt over yet, for as we left together we were able to talk on a more one on one basis. He first asked if I was going to be anymore trouble, and I quickly assured him no. I told him that I was done for the night, and that I had completed my goals. And as we stepped into the elevator we shook hands. Inside the cramped metal box he told me how he was a Vietnam Vet, Military Police; and that he agreed with my antics completely. He asked me what unit I was in, and I told him 7th Cavalry. I was the tip of the spear. I then lifted my finger up to point out the row of unit insignias that adorned the right side of my stetson, and said- Its how I earned all these war patches. The door opened up, and we shook hands one last time, saying our goodbyes. and then left the building the same way I came in. I had completed my mission, and felt a great sense of accomplishment. My cameraman told me later that I drove over half of the people away. He also explained how one of the younger girls was in tears. All I could think about at that moment, was how will she react when the jihadist starts cutting off her fathers head?
Posted on: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 16:56:04 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015