Literally the Lord Farquad meme.

YOU ARE HUGE! THAT MEANS YOU HAVE HUGE SUCCESS!

We buy all our shit from China, how can they possibly owe us money? Where is the idea even coming from?

blompf claims china owes US money but the US is actually the one who literally has debt owned by china. the US has taken loans from china, not the other way around as far as i know

chuds would probably try to turn that into some kinda philosophical argument that “china owes us money because they took all our manufacturing jobs” but even if that argument could be made then it would be nike and all these corporations who moved to china who owe us money, not china

They want to put the genie back in the bottle. But restoring 1950s America means restoring 1950s Earth, and I don’t think countries like China want to give their factories back to the USA (as if the American workforce is even capable of working at such factories).

So, where will the raw materials come from so we can manufacture all of these wonderful goods? How about the workforce? Factories? Machines? Goods to build and/or develop said machines?

Me: Price of groceries cheaper pls

Trump: [sudafed fueled manic posting spree in all caps like grandma]

Other countries pay less for drugs because their government negotiates lower costs for them lol

Yeah we should be making the stuff here, but we gutted the systems that did that decades ago.

I guess you can’t be the “Stupid Country” if you simply cease to exist as a country

But for real, how can anyone look at that and think USA is getting screwed?

You give me all your labor and resources I give you a compelling bit of imagination, which I can make an endless supply of, on a spreadsheet somewhere

The first directive from the new town manager was communicated to us by a torn piece of paper that came skipping down the sidewalk of Main Street one day and was picked up by an old woman, who showed it to the rest of us. The paper was made from a pulpy stock and was brownish in color. The writing on the paper looked as if it had been made with charred wood and resembled the same hand that had written those words across the old boards of the town manager’s shed. The message was this: DUSTROY TROLY.

While the literal sense of these words was apparent enough, we were reluctant to act upon a demand that was so obscure in its point and purpose. It was not unprecedented for a new town manager to obliterate some structure or symbol that marked the administration of the one who had come before him, so that the way might be cleared for him to erect a defining structure or symbol of his own, or simply to efface any prominent sign of the previous order and thereby display the presence of a new one. But usually some reason was offered, some excuse was made, for taking this action. This obviously was not the case with the town manager’s instruction to destroy the trolley. So we decided to do nothing until we received some enhancement regarding this matter. Ritter suggested that we might consider composing a note of our own to request further instructions. This note could be left outside the door of the town manager’s shed. Not surprisingly, there were no volunteers for this mission. And until we received a more detailed notice, the trolley would remain intact.

The following morning the trolley came tooting down Main Street for its first run of the day. However, it made no stops for those waiting along the sidewalk. ‘Look at this,’ Leeman said to me as he stared out the front window of his barbershop. Then he went outside. I set my broom against a wall and joined him. Others were already standing on the street, watching the trolley until it finally came to rest at the other end of town. ‘There was no one at the switch,’ said Leeman, an observation that a number of persons echoed. When it seemed that the trolley was not going to make a return trip, several of us walked down the street to investigate. When we entered the vehicle, we found the naked body of Carnes the trolley driver lying on the floor. He had been severely mutilated and was dead. Burned into his chest were the words: DUSTROY TROLY.

We spent the next few days doing exactly that. We also pulled up the tracks that ran the length of the town and tore down the electrical system that had powered the trolley. Just as we were completing these labors, someone spotted another piece of that torn, brownish paper. It was being pushed about by the wind in the sky above us, jerking about like a kite. Eventually it descended into our midst. Standing in a circle around the piece of paper, we read the scrawled words of the message. ‘GUD,’ it said. ‘NXT YUR JBS WULL CHNG.’

AND IT WILL ALL BE WORTH THE PRICE THAT MUST BE PAID

… because whoever’s left won’t have paid it.

They call retweets ReTruths?

It all returns to nothing, it all comes tumbling down tumbling down tumbling down