FILL YOUR HAND

==I never use cussing in 22 years - but the gloves are off. Listen you son of a bitch. What the fuck's your problem? You wanna sit here and say that I'm a goddamn fucking Russian? You get in my face with that I'll beat your goddamn ass you son of a bitch. You piece of shit. You fucking goddamn fucker. Listen fuckhead, you've fucking crossed the line. Get that through your goddamn fucking head. Stop pushing your shit. You're the people who've fucked this country over and gangraped the shit out of it and lost an election, so stop shooting your mouth off claiming that I'm the enemy. You got that you goddamn son of a bitch. Fill your hand, I'm sorry but I'm done. You start calling me a foreign agent, those are fucking fighting words, excuse me.==

That's about all.
Peace out.

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discord.gg/7ZBqx3m
twitter.com/AnonBabble

??????????

Calm down, the emus can't get you here. This is a safe place.

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.

you feel like punching me in the face? bring it on you ***got. I know multiple fighting styles, and I also carry a switchblade with me at all times. Something ****ing tells me that you'd be better off keeping your arms down at your sides. If you can't ****ing put "cause" and "effect" together in that pathetic brain of yours, I'll help you out here. You'll be standing face to face with me, and let me ****ing tell you, it'll already be too ****ing late to back down at that point. You might decide "well ****, I might as well stay true to my word and throw a ****ing punch". This is where you will go wrong. I hope you don't have a job that requires two ****ing hands, because you're going to be missing one after I'm done with you. I'll casually divert your fist off to the side, as you suddenly realize you may have gotten yourself into something you can't back up. You'll try to regroup and pull your arm back, but that wont be easy when I jab my spear-pointed Benchmade switchblade straight through the bone in your forearm, and proceed to rip your entire ****ing forearm and hand off in one quick pull. At this point, you'll probably spend 2 seconds in shock. I say 2 seconds, because thats the amount of time you'll have before I reverse the knife in my hand, and uppercut it straight through your throat. You'll spend your last few seconds gurgling blood, and wondering where you went wrong. After that, I'll be forced to take care of any witnesses who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing a few quick choke slams can't fix, followed by a nice gentle slice across the jugular with the Benchmade.
Now, mother****er, you sure you want to go through with that punch?

*slow claps*
*steps out of the shadows*
Heh... not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Your meme, I mean. It's not bad. A good first attempt. It's plenty dank... I can tell it's got some thought behind it... lots of quotable material...
But memeing isn't all sunshine and rainbows, kid. You're skilled... that much I can tell. But do you have what it takes to be a Memester? To join those esteemed meme ranks? To call yourself a member of the Ruseman's Corps?
Memeing takes talent, that much is true. But more than that it takes heart. The world-class Memesters - I mean the big guys, like Johnny Hammersticks and Billy Kuahana - they're out there day and night, burning the midnight meme-oil, working tirelessly to craft that next big meme.
And you know what, kid? 99 times out of a hundred, that new meme fails. Someone dismisses it as bait, or says it's "tryhard," or ignores it as they copy/paste the latest shitpost copypasta dreamt up by those sorry excuses for cut-rate memers over at reddit. The Meme Game is rough, kid, and I don't just mean the one you just lost :^). It's a rough business, and for every artisan meme you craft in your meme bakery, some cocksucker at 9gag has a picture of a duck or some shit that a million different Johnny No-Names will attach a milion different captions to.
Chin up, kid. Don't get all mopey on me. You've got skill. You've got talent. You just need to show your drive.

See you on the boards....

Ladies and gentlemen:

Mr. Thompson will not speak to you tonight. His time is up. I have taken it over. You were to hear a report on the world crisis. That is what you are going to hear.

For twelve years, you have been asking: Who is John Galt? This is John Galt speaking. I am the man who loves his life. I am the man who does not sacrifice his love or his values. I am the man who has deprived you of victims and thus has destroyed your world, and if you wish to know why you are perishing -- you who dread knowledge -- I am the man who will now tell you.

You have heard it said that this is an age of moral crisis. You have said it yourself, half in fear, half in hope that the words had no meaning. You have cried that man's sins are destroying the world and you have cursed human nature for its unwillingness to practice the virtues you demanded. Since virtue, to you, consists of sacrifice, you have demanded more sacrifices at every successive disaster.

In the name of a return to morality, you have sacrificed all those evils, which you held as the cause of your plight. You have sacrificed justice to mercy. You have sacrificed independence to unity. You have sacrificed reason to faith. You have sacrificed wealth to need. You have sacrificed self-esteem to self-denial. You have sacrificed happiness to duty.

You have destroyed all that which you held to be evil and achieved all that which you held to be good. Why, then, do you shrink in horror from the sight of the world around you? That world is not the product of your sins; it is the product and the image of your virtues. It is your moral ideal brought into reality in its full and final perfection.

You have fought for it, you have dreamed of it, and you have wished it, and I-I am the man who has granted you your wish.

No, I don't like you. I think you're a phaggot. The sound of your piss hitting the urinal, it sounds feminine. If you were in the wild, I would attack you, even if you weren't in my food chain. I would go out of my way to attack you. If I were a lion and you were a tuna, I would swim out in the middle of the ocean and freaking eat you and then I'd bang your tuna girlfriend

Your ideal had an implacable enemy, which your code of morality was designed to destroy. I have withdrawn that enemy. I have taken it out of your way and out of your reach. I have removed the source of all those evils you were sacrificing one by one. I have ended your battle. I have stopped your motor. I have deprived your world of man's mind.

Men do not live by the mind, you say? I have withdrawn those who do. The mind is impotent, you say? I have withdrawn those whose mind isn't. There are values higher than the mind, you say? I have withdrawn those for whom there aren't.

While you were dragging to your sacrificial altars the men of justice, of independence, of reason, of wealth, of self-esteem -- I beat you to it, I reached them first. I told them the nature of the game you were playing and the nature of that moral code of yours, which they had been too innocently generous to grasp. I showed them the way to live by another morality-mine. It is mine that they chose to follow.

All the men who have vanished, the men you hated, yet dreaded to lose, it is I who have taken them away from you. Do not attempt to find us. We do not choose to be found. Do not cry that it is our duty to serve you. We do not recognize such duty. Do not cry that you need us. We do not consider need a claim. Do not cry that you own us. You don't. Do not beg us to return. We are on strike, we, the men of the mind.

We are on strike against self-immolation. We are on strike against the creed of unearned rewards and unrewarded duties. We are on strike against the dogma that the pursuit of one's happiness is evil. We are on strike against the doctrine that life is guilt.

There is a difference between our strike and all those you've practiced for centuries: our strike consists, not of making demands, but of granting them. We are evil, according to your morality. We have chosen not to harm you any longer. We are useless, according to your economics. We have chosen not to exploit you any longer. We are dangerous and to be shackled, according to your politics. We have chosen not to endanger you, nor to wear the shackles any longer. We are only an illusion, according to your philosophy. We have chosen not to blind you any longer and have left you free to face reality -- the reality you wanted, the world as you see it now, a world without mind.

We have granted you everything you demanded of us, we who had always been the givers, but have only now understood it. We have no demands to present to you, no terms of bargain about, no compromise to reach. You have nothing to offer us. We do not need you.

Are you now crying: No, this was not what you wanted? A mindless world of ruins was not your goal? You did not want us to leave you? You moral cannibals, I know that you've always known what it was that you wanted. But your game is up, because now we know it, too.

Through centuries of scourges and disasters, brought about by your code of morality, you have cried that your code had been broken, that the scourges were punishment for breaking it, that men were too weak and too selfish to spill all the blood it required. You damned man, you damned existence, you damned this earth, but never dared to question your code.

Your victims took the blame and struggled on, with your curses as reward for their martyrdom-while you went on crying that your code was noble, but human nature was not good enough to practice it. And no one rose to ask the question: Good? -by what standard?

You wanted to know John Galt's identity. I am the man who has asked that question.

what did he mean by this?