My Letter To Amnesty
Dear Amnesty,
You were once an admired and august body, you actually did many good things and watching your demise has been a fascinating if somewhat disturbing pastime.
You aren’t the first and will not be the last to fall for the foul and fetid parasite of intersectional Cultural Marxism and it’s multiple Hydra like heads.
Nor are you the first to make a horses ass of yourself globally, for that honour must surely go Stonewall in court with their support dogs and several witnesses, oddities all.
But you are the first to corporatise Schmitt’s friend enemy distinction with a clarity not seen since he used jurisprudence to justify the Night of the Long Knives for his mate Adolf.
After all, what is a list of crapola masquerading as truth between friends in any cult eh!
I thought I might offer some cultural relief from the many legal letters and other heavy duty missives on the way, probably foreshadowing your immediate bending over the wooden horse, pants at your ankles, followed by the cry of “brace yourself” echoing in your NGO ears before the length width and depth of the shaft is fully realised.
You should think yourself lucky, I know many gay men, you know, the ones you have fucked over, that would pay for that privilege.
I am 62, and a film nerd, so forgive me if I indulge if a little flit down memory lane allows me to demonstrate my passion, for film, which unlike yours, is not used for “othering” folk and emulating some of the thinking of the 20th centuries worst dictators.
I do this because I have to ask, what exactly did happen to your august body?
Is it a case of the Shivers?
Has a slimy slug like beastie crawled up your minge a la Barbara Steel, and turned you into sex crazed cretins cheering on fetishists, transvestites, cross dressers and predatory wispy bearded women prowling gay spaces?
Or did the body suffer the fate of Kane, orally raped by a face hugger a la Alien?
In the NGO space can nobody hear you scream these days?
The face hugger latches on, the embryo grows unseen, and at the moment of triumph the chest burster explodes outward, killing the carrier in agony.
That is what is happening to you, the parasite always destroys the host.
Or is it more of The Thing scenario, where your body may at any time succumb to the ultimate shapeshifter, as the board looks nervously at each other not quite sure who is the Thing and who is not.
You have to wonder at what point you will reach for the petri dishes and flame thrower to test, via a little bloodletting, which of you have been captured and which, to put it another way, doesn’t want to "spend the rest of this winter tied to this fucking couch".
The Thing may well capture your senior managements paranoia perfectly.
An alien organism assimilates its victims one by one, imitating them so convincingly that trust evaporates.
Anyone could be infected.
Teams disintegrate in suspicion and flame.
Anything sounding familiar to some of you, the ones left that are human?
Or is it Aylmer of Brain Damage?
A parasitic creature lodges in the brain, promising euphoria and altered perception while it steers the host toward self destruction.
The victim feels enlightened, liberated, even superior, right up until the moment the worm demands more and more.
That you?
In every case the horror shares one unbreakable rule. The parasite does not negotiate with the host. It does not assimilate on the host’s terms. It consumes, replicates, and discards the empty shell.
Once it is inside the system, extraction becomes almost impossible without destroying the host in the process.
We have been warned by these films for decades.
The monsters are not coming from outer space.
They arrive dressed in reports, waving lists, and speaking the soothing words of compassion.
That you Amnesty?
Yes, yes it is.
Join me.
DM @HeadwarriorTWM or Tag me on X to Join the Team for our October start.
Well said Barry.
Superb!