“Give me your wired, your prison-core, /Your huddled masses Learning to vote for me, /The wretched refuse of your teeming shore."
--The WEF, probably
Apologies to Emma Lazarus, but damn. This lie, this sticky woven confectionary, this cotton candy fluff "migrant" crisis, is every bit as dishonest as Al Gore claiming the ice caps would melt in five years...in 2009.
Here's a clearer picture: Nancy Pelosi, queen of the ice-cap sized freezer, hairdresser-throned, lockdown-cheating diva, and top options trader in taxpayer-salaried history...okay, hold on. Too many hyperlinks, sorry, sorry. Got carried away.
Let's start again. A new lens.
Here's a clearer picture: Pelosi recently admitted that the Democrat plan is to legalize the recent coincidental "arrival" of 20 million or so (who knows the real number? Not the US government!) "migrants", all somehow simultaneously fleeing conflict in their various home countries.
We've seen this scenario play out in America before. The Republican Party was formed, in large part, to end slavery. To end the cabal of elites organizing the trafficking of primitive people to our shores for financial gain.
The only difference in this case: replacing an eroding voter base (the cheap labor is just a bonus, and a way to ensure corporations go along with the ruse).
"You must take them in," say Christian leaders. The Vatican decries Trump's "cruelty" for vowing to deport the illegal invaders. But Pope Francis, whose views so often align with those of Soros, Gates, Obama, et al., conveniently ignores that the "tired, poor, huddled masses" envisioned by Lazarus look like any equatorial country's World Cup soccer team.
They're almost entirely military-aged males.
Maybe we'd find an answer to the problem if we looked at it through the prism of universal joy that is music. Might an old hit song lend a new perspective to the crisis?
The Banana Boat song, that Burgie/Attaway classic made most famous by the brilliant Harry Belafonte, offers a nifty yellow-green answer key. Let's take it verse by verse.
Work all night on a drink of rum
Daylight come and me wan' go home
Stack banana 'til de mornin' come
Daylight come and me wan' go home
The drink of rum is analogous to free EBT and debit cards proffered to the new slave class: a small concession to keep the workers happy. Stacking bananas = voting.
Come, mister tally man, tally me banana
Daylight come and me wan' go home
Come, mister tally man, tally me banana
Daylight come and me wan' go home
The tally man stands in for multiple alien handlers: the coyote who helped arrange passage through Mexico and other countries, the advisor who made sure the invaders destroyed their identification papers before crossing the border, the greeter on the American side of the border who told them where they'd be going.
The tally man is the system designed to send the new voters to the neediest swing states (and states-in-danger-of-flipping-to-red) precincts.
A beautiful bunch o' ripe banana
Daylight come and me wan' go home
Hide the deadly black tarantula
Daylight come and me wan' go home
We, dear reader, are the deadly black tarantula. We are the fly in the globalist ointment. It is up to us to upset this nefarious plan to steal the election with dumb, borrowed help.
It is up to us to end slavery--again.
