It's make or break time for my people.
This dirty war against the traditional peace-keeping office of constable has reached fever pitch. The criminal 'elite' wish to introduce an army of
private pseudo police for their own protection. The deluded fools thought they could easily manipulate the public into destroying the constables for
As demands for action against the war-profiteering crooks grow stronger, those crooks become very, very scared. Crime doesn't pay. It's all fiat
currency, created from nothing, backed by nothing. The only way to hang onto their ill-gotten loot is to pretend it's all real. They can't do that
when the peace-keeping constables, backed by the power of the people, say "ello 'ello 'ello, what 'ave we 'ere then? A bent financial system with
as much credibility as Mister Squity Mitchell, The Man In The Yellow Jersey And Brown Trousers? That won't pay the bills."
Squawking the dastardly mantra, "Hillsborough, Plebgate, Hillsborough, Plebgate", the faces of tyranny lead the charge against all that is good and
Yet still one final act is needed. Another Tomlinson. One facing the right way this time. Younger. Sweeter. With his whole life ahead of him.
To make this sacrifice look good they have to wind up the Bobbies till one or more goes totally New Year's postal. To do this they need provocateurs.
Winding them up, winding them up, winding them up.
That's what we're going to see on New Year's Eve. The mainstream media has carefully provided the talking points. The vast majority of the wind up
merchants are just usefully ignorant. But here and there, slipping in and out of the crowd, will be paid provocateurs, trying to trigger a scene that
can be used as the final piece of propaganda.
Don't give them that chance.