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I Really Must Write My Manifesto
by T. Mike
Well another day has gone and passed, and once again I have yet to write my manifesto. Where does the time go? It seems like every time I sit down to rail against the evils of technology or outline the Trilateral Commission's evil evil plot, it's time to do laundry. Or clean and oil my guns. Or patrol the perimeter. It's just always something!
It's going to be a humdinger of a manifesto, too! That's what makes my trouble getting it written extra frustrating. Sometimes I just have to go and shoot at that junked car until I feel better. You see, when it all comes together, and I do get it written, it will shake the world, or rather, I should say, the part of the world that is still human and unbrainwashed. I put it at about forty per cent, give or take a few per cent.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I haven't done anything on it. I have tons of notes. My compound is simply littered with them! Notes on cigarette packs and MRE wrappers, whatever was handy when sudden inspiration hit me in my water tower defense post. Call me crazy, but I've even been known to cover my abdomen in my dense, spidery writing when no other usable surface was available! I really should get some handy notepads and leave them around the bunker, but I do so hate going into town and dealing with the Beast and his neo-LaRouchite shopkeeping minions.
This manifesto is important- not just for exposing the Rockefellers and Popes as the tools of the Reptilian-Gray Hybrids they are, but for me. This is something I need to do for me. And not just for the ego-stroking universal acclaim that will be lauded on me for saving all true humans, mind you. I have slowly and steadily worked my way up the ladder from grump to curmudgeon to crank. But if I ever want to get to the next level, I've simply got to have a manifesto. Anyone who's ever been anyone in my field has had a manifesto.
Maybe I'm just intimidated by the size of the project. I know it's going to be a big, big effort, but maybe I should approach it in little pieces instead of thinking I have to write it all at once. All it takes is discipline, that's the key. I've applied discipline to all other waking moments of my life with ruthless efficiency, why can't I do it for my manifesto? Maybe it's just writer's block. Maybe it's just procrastination. Maybe it's just every time I look at the piles and stacks and ammunition cases full of notes, I get so disheartened, I find an excuse to do something else.
Sometimes at night, I'll lie awake listening to the crackle of my police scanner, and as the black pills wear off, allowing me to drift off to sleep, I imagine my manifesto, all complete and properly organized. I can see the chapter headings, the appendices, the index, the beautiful color plates of Easter Island in the middle, and a glowing forward by Admiral James Stockdale. I can see the genuine black leather binding, with gilt edges and I can crack it open and smell the glue and see the quality stitching, the kind you hardly ever see anymore since the Rosicrucian-Freemason Axis added book publishing to their control of all media. One day, I tell myself, one day.
Maybe I'll work on it tonight.
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