If I was a journalist who wrote this, I would look for a quiet place where I might hide from the Night of the Long Knives. The Night of the Brown Shirts. The Night of the Executions. The Night of the Long March. The Night of Old Suitcases. The Night of the Trains. The Night of the Machete. It’s always at night. It’s always carrying you away in a flowing river of blood and death and overcoats. I will be censored for saying: overcoats. Take a long confrontive look at history in your face. It could never happen here. We’re free as birds and butterflies. We’re better than anyone. We are our own bigger, smarter, dominating subspecies when compared to The Them. The People Are Saying People. They know who they are. When Trump starts screaming They They They. He means you. Everyone, submit your lists of the people you don’t like and you think they should be executed.  New Oath: I swear to obey Donald Trump because he is immortal and he is god. Spits on hands. First, the women. When Trump is done with females, he can turn to politicians. Only, Trump will never be done with women. Objects he can play with. NATO is an object he can play with to the extent that pulling out is a stability issue, a survival issue, and does he really think Putin will share power with anyone. Putin is a lucky madman. All of this for free. Trump thinks he can sit back while Europe fights it out. Not even Calvin Coolidge thought that. MAGA sits back and laughs because they think it’s our turn. It is.