MAGA My Brothers! To Arms! For the Golden Haired Emperor!

Sit my child. Listen to my song!
There were many tribes before the Great War.
The gawkerites, destroyed by the hulkules,
the chipotle plague bearers,
The millennials, forever in their quest for the promised land of safe space.
More tribes than can be counted.
It could not last.
The cuckening and its followers were coming.
The followers of the way of the golden hair knew this.
We knew this.
Others…did not
Many challengers arose against the golden hair.
All fell in the end.
MAGA was the truth.
MAGA was the way.
MAGA was fate.
“Our morals! Our values” they cried.
Cries cut short by the blades of the red-hatted legions.
“MAGA!” Our forefathers cried in triumph!
One by one they kneeled before the God -Emperor.
The elephant itself took on the mantle of MAGA and served our master
Our Emperor, The One
The way of the golden hair, the book of MAGA would be brought to all corners of the world. ‘Sad!’ we would call to those who resisted.
Sad they were.
To be pitied, and then destroyed.
They knew not of the truth, of safety in the hands of gold with fingers of perfect length.
We know though, don’t we my child?
We have heard the song of Saint Milo and his victory over Ben, Shaper of Evil Rose.
We have sung.
Sung the ballad of Lord Hannity.
The only servant to look upon the orange visage and not be burned by its glory.
We shall believe.
We shall know.
We shall remain vigilant.
The cuckening will return.
We will be ready.
Eternal is our watch.
We shall all be one at the tend of time.
The golden throne on the fields of Trumparadise will shine forever.



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